Suite A$$

I didn’t get my first job as a prostitute until I was 13. That gave me a couple years to prepare myself, but I was lucky to have a neighbor to help.

I grew up in a Hotel/Apartments/Condo.  Downtown, it used to be a Hilton, then Embassy Suites before it got bought by a private investor.  My mom, and dad were hired for Maintenance, and as a Chef for Room Service/the restaurant/bar, and moved into a suite on the bottom floor.  In this economy, you could rent a Suite for the night, pay month-to-month, or if you really had money, they could renovate the whole floor for you. You could even own a part of the historic building, as a Condominium, or just time-share.

My neighbor grew up in the suburbs, and fell in with the wrong crowd. He got a boyfriend before he was old enough to realize that he was being molested, then he started acting out scenes for his parents. His boyfriend’s parents were child molesters, and pornographers. Then, after a couple years of posing for dirty pictures, he was asked to do a scene with another man.

For money, he was a big fan of his work. (Modeling photos) Cross dressing, strip teasing for the hard little surprise at the end. His tight little ass, and after the modeling photos made him run away from home, he moved in to live with his pimp. He stripped, and did gangbangs for men, and made a lot of money for college, so then he moved out. Liberal Arts, Dance, Drama, Theatrical makeup, and Fashion. No major, no degree, just the skills he needed for his career as a call-girl.

Mostly, he’s really just a Transvestite, and a whore. While there’s women that pay for men to have sex as men, or in drag, of course the real money was in men. Gay, or straight, some guys just love to prove their machismo by ass fucking a pretty little faggot in a dress. Others just want to watch their wife with a shemale, and still others want to be assfucked by a chick that doesn’t have to wear a strapon. Somehow, that isn’t gay, I don’t really get it, but I don’t have to. I’m not exactly equipped for the side of the business that requires a cock, and balls, yaknow?

He never was one of those desperate street hustlers, sucking dick behind the bus station for a few bucks. Drugs, he’s not really into drugs. He smokes socially, but only if that’s part of the character. Mostly uses alcohol medicinally, but he does what the Client wants. He plays Who the client wants.

You see, there’s different classes of prostitutes. There’s the young, and the desperate. The old, and the washed up might get a pimp, and stand on the corner. An Escort isn’t selling sex. That’s part of the deal, but if you’re going to go out in public, meet in a bar, or just hold his arm at a function. You don’t just have to look the part, he has to walk the walk, talk the talk, speak their language, and keep anything from popping up under the Cocktail Dress.

All without coming off like a Drag Queen. First and foremost, he’s an Actress. His specialty is being exactly the kind of “Woman” the client wants, and can even show off to his friends. As long as “She” keeps their dirty little secret tucked into his panties. His long sexy legs crossed, and his voice from cracking in between sips of a martini or whatever.

If you want a drag queen, go to a gay bar, and make an offer. I hear that might work, or it might get you stabbed in the ribs, and left for dead with your dick cut off. I don’t know, I’m honestly too young for TGE. Yeah, technically a teen, but a petite one. Maybe even a little underdeveloped, and while I’d love to be one of those busty girls that started showing in 4th grade, I’m not. Have you seen how much implants cost these days? You wouldn’t believe, but I guess that was something to save up for.

Which means I can’t go out with men, who don’t want to be seen dating a school girl. A prep-school girl, in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform. Mine still fit! Well, it was getting kinda short, and a little tight around the chest, but it had plenty of pleats to let out, and stitch back to make room for my hips.

So, for this date I had a colleague pick me up from school. Talking to my friends about hair, I just bleached mine, and put it up in ponytails to twirl, and twist into corkscrews while I was waiting. Then, this Mercedes pulled up with the window down, and Madame Deltia pulled up.

“Chelsea?”

“No, but I know her.” I waved back to my friends. “See you girls later,” trying not to giggle with excitement, but Madam is her Job Title. She doesn’t look out of place, with her hair up in a bun, half glasses pinched to the end of her long sharp nose, and pearly beads on the keeper hanging behind her ears, around her neck.

She looked like a librarian, or a schoolmarm, because that was the job. Oh yeah, and I don’t know Chelsea. That’s just my call-girl name, and my friends don’t know that either.

“So, you’re Madame Deltia.”

“Mistress Deltia, normally.” She pushed the glasses up her nose, then tilted it down, to look over them. Like bifocals, only the bottom lenses. I don’t think she needed them to even read, just for the outfit. “But you can call me Mrs. Smythe for tonight.”

“Oh!” I stuck up my hand, “Ooh ooh, Mrs. Smythe?” Waving for attention perkily. “Like that.”

She laughed, and kept a grin, shaking her head, and signaling. Downshifting, and puling over to the turn lane. Up to a red (<) arrow, so we could talk until the tight changed.

“Huh, not exactly. We’re not doing a Classroom scene today.”

“Okay, well rule #1 is money first, and rule #2 is agree on what I’m going to do, for that money.”

“Who taught you?” I just crossed my arms, and shook my head. “Fair enough. $800.00, for that, you’re going to play the baby sitter. Put the little girl to bed, tuck her in, and read her a bedtime story.”

“Okay, but I don’t have to molest her?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not the gay part, but the little kid part?”

“Oh, no. She’s not a real little girl. She’s just a doll.”

“Oh, okay then yeah. I can do that.” I grew up with dolls, tucking them in, and reading bedtime stories. Tea parties with the animals, and cooking them pretend dinners to feed them, burp them, that kinda stuff.

Little did I know that the doll was a Realdoll. I think, I didn’t see any tag I could check, but a sex doll. A little girl sex doll, even flatter than me, in a nighty, and panties. So, her daddy dressed her first, but it wasn’t the definition sculpted into the crotch of the panties. I could pull the covers up over that, and tuck her in.

“Huh!” It was her face. Her dead staring eyes, and her mouth wide open in a silent O. The cocksucking mouth, how cold, and rubbery the skin was when I accidentally touched it, the eye lashes drawn up, and down, the utter lack of lids so I couldn’t even close them, and the necrophiliac in the room, handing me a book.

“Huh!”

“The Princess and the King’s Men is her Favorite.” It had a little pink ribbon, he could pull back to the page, and gilded edges, like a bible. I think it even had a leather cover, with the letters molded in, so I could feel them under my palms. “Once apon a time…”

A princess got bored in her tower, seduced the guards so they would come in, fucked them so they fell asleep, then went down the spiral staircase to meet up with the men. All the king’s men, thank God there weren’t any horses in there, but we’re talking about the kind of high rise apartment where you could afford to get a book like this made, and never published. A 1 off, a primer for Daddy’s Little Girl.

“Huh, the end.” I closed it, and looked over at the doorway, when the light went out.

“Good,” he waved me over, “Good girl, you’re very good with children. So, I think we’ll keep you on.”

The wife, and him. The wife being played by Madam Deltia, but she’d changed. Gotten ready for bed, but not to sleep with him. Nobody really sleeps in lingerie like thigh high stockings with the seam up the back, a garter belt, and matching black panties. A shear negligee that didn’t even try to cover them, and a bra with holes in the cups for her nipples to poke out.

She let her hair down too, and she ditched the glasses.

“Huh,” I crossed my legs, “Mommy? I have to go pee, so if you could show me where the little girl’s room is?”

She just took my arm, and said “Of course.” She left her purse in there, I didn’t bring any supplies, in my backpack. Don’t want to be caught with them at school, especially a Catholic run all girl’s prep-school. (K-8, so we skipped Middle School.)

She had the squeeze bottle, full of lube, and expertly gave me a couple of squirts. Not a douche, and an enema. Just enough front and back to appear wet for him, but not run down my legs. So, we didn’t have to use one of his washcloths to wipe up my things.

‘huh!’ I kept my voice down. ‘so, he’s going to want to do the back?’

‘is that a problem?’

‘no, but $800.00 isn’t a lot of money for my V card, my butthole, and.’ I hooked my thumb back at the girl’s room. “That.”

Honestly, the doll freaked me out more than anything. I guess a close second was that fucking fairy tale he made me read it.

‘well, he’s not going to break your V card, but I’m only making two hundred off this, so if you’re asking for more money, it’s a little late.’

‘oh, no.’ I decided, ‘that’s okay, I’m ready.’ I just want to hang onto my V card, because I only get to cash that in once, and it’s just not worth it for a measly grand. Especially since she’s making so little on it, but seriously. $200 for a madame, a dominatrix, and the new girl? She had to be losing money on this whole audition.

Now I get it, he wants a virgin, but he doesn’t want to break it. So, he’s going to settle for the next best hole, and I kinda wonder how they deal with that. Realdoll, and other manufacturers of fake plastic sex corpses for necrophiliacs.

Come on, man. Seriously, it doesn’t feel a little like necrophilia, when you have to put her cold arms around you? Look at her dead eyes, and that expression on her face. Yeah, I had a nightmare about that. 1, but I guess he settles for that, in between calling girls, real live girls, with a pulse.

;

David (Mf)

She came back, holding her dress over her bottom, and ran for the bathroom. I threw the bar over the post in the door jam, the knob locks itself.

KUNK! She dropped the seat and sat down. Blasting ass loudly into the water, and holding her nose. Taking a deep breath. “So, how’d it go?”

I didn’t even have to ask her if this was what she really wanted. She robbed me, and made me follow her down to the basement, where she could count my money, and offered it to pay me for lessons. Some girls are cut out for it, if I didn’t know better I’d say she was a natural, but I do know better. Nobody’s born to be a whore, it takes years of practice, and she’s only had 2.

“Huh!” She wrapped her hand in several layers of toilet paper, and tore it off. “Is it normal to black out for the sex?”

“Huh. Honestly, there’s nothing normal about it.”

“But you trust MD.” That’s an alias, or initials. For an unnamed colleague. Discretion is another part of the business, since it’s technically a crime. She’s technically a minor, too.

“I don’t really know her, but she couldn’t be more highly recommended.” For specialty girls. I’m not a specialty Girl, so I never even tried out, but if you want a particular age, or a girl young enough looking to pass, there’s no one better in town. From what I hear. “The girls I know trust her.” The ones that worked with her, before they aged out.

“So, she didn’t drug me?”

“I doubt it, but in answer to your question. Your first time, there’s all kinds of ways your mind can try to protect you from something.”

“Well it wasn’t the sex, you know that. I don’t have any problem with the sex. Other than holding it in in the car.” She shook her head. “I never had to do that with a lubed butthole before.” She could always run straight to the bathroom, from the bed, the living room, or the kitchenette, wherever we did buttfucking practice. What do you think I was teaching her, just modeling, dancing, and fashion? That’s what her parents think. (They think I’m gay too, but her father knows what I do for a living. She just hasn’t told him what she’s going to do for a living, yet…)

She wiped, and just sat there, thinking for a while. I mean her cheek propped up on her knee, like The Thinker, but finally, she got up. Flushed, and pulled her old uniform off. She had her regular 8th grade uniform for school, but she also had an old one, that didn’t fit any more, without alterations. Too short for dress code, and too tight, but of course the clients don’t want a real school girl. The fantasy is a dirty school girl. At least the ones that want to fuck you in the ass.

“Huh, well you mind playing doctor tonight? You better warm up the speculum.”

“Why, you don’t feel any pain, tearing, bleeding, or swelling?”

“No, I just want you to show me my V card again, so grab the mirror too.” I ran hot water in the tap, to warm up the cold plastic jaws. To make her more comfortable now, that she’s just experienced possibly the most uncomfortable thing in her whole life. it tends to get easier after the first time, as you figure out ways to deal with what you have to do.

“Hhuh!” She shivered, hugging her knees naked on the bed. So, I pulled the stirrups out of the drawer, and clamped them onto the bedframe. “He had this doll. Hhuhuh! This sex doll, with a face like this.” She lay back, stiff as a board, and opened her mouth wide, with her lips pulled into a toothless O. The cocksucker sex doll face. She relaxed, so I could pick her leg up, and put her heel on the stirrup. Rubbing her arms, so the goosebumps went away.

“She was so cold, like a corpse. You think he was a Necrophiliac?”

“I don’t know, honestly if I knew your client, I wouldn’t want you to tell me who He is.”

“I know the rules, but how could you tell?”

“Well, what makes you think that he’s a necro.”

“Huh, just the doll, but now that I think about it. He had me read it a story, like a fairy tale.”

“Oh,” I have some idea who he might be talking about. I never worked with him myself, but I know women that worked with him. For MD, come to think of it.

I’m not his type. It’s not the age thing, he’s got a doll collection for that, but there’s a little something extra that might come between us.

“You think that if he was, a necrophiliac, he’d make me read Snow White, or Sleeping Beauty. Only instead of kissing her, he’d have to fuck her, rape her in her sleep to make her a real girl.”

“Huh, honestly? I don’t know if anyone knows all the things that they hide deep in our subconsciouses.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“So, maybe there’s a little of that fantasy, but he just doesn’t want to admit it to himself.”

“Well, in this one, the Princess wasn’t asleep. She went out of her way to get out of her prison, and fuck all the king’s men. No horses though, thank God.” She rolled her eyes. “Gimme the mirror, and show me my V card now.”

“It doesn’t look like the tear has gotten any longer.” I held her open, so she could tilt the hand mirror down.

“Huh!” She relaxed, and put her feet back down. Curled up, and pulled the covers over her. “Dave, you mind if I stay the night?”

“No problem, I’ll just call your mom.”

“I don’t think I can face her, tonight.”

I nodded, and listened to the ringtone… “Room Service?”

“Can I talk to Marsha?” She’s the soux chef. “It’s Dave.”

“Let me see if she’s available.”

“Have her call me back, she knows the room.”

“Of course.” That’ll give me a moment to think of a good excuse, I haven’t used yet…

;

Chelsea (fM CD Shop)

“Huh!” I’m starting to realize what he ment. “Dave?”

“Uhn?” When I went out to the open door, he was sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes.

It’s not the sex that freaks you out. It’s the dirty freaks that want to have sex with you, but dreams are like the Subconscious trying to deal with this shit. If I deal with it consciously, “Get dressed, I want to go out.”

“All right, yearh!” He stretched, and pulled his shirt off. “Let me order some coffee.”

“Yeah, me too.” I can’t believe I slept in this old school uniform. Or the young one, the dirty clothes, for dirty old men. So, I peeled it off, pushed it over my hips one, bye one, and got in the shower.

“Yeah, can I get a French press, dark roast, and a shot of espresso in a coffee cup? No, not Americana, the sugarbowl, and a creamer too. We’ll grab breakfast out.” He hung up, and I stepped into the shower to wash my face. Shivered, but my pores slammed shut, then the water warmed up so I could soak my hair. “Huh!”

My bleached blonde hair, it turns dark almost to a dirty blonde when wet, but I scratched the dark stubble, and grabbed the loofah to lather up. Checked the razor, and changed the head to touch up my crotch, rinsed it, and got out to get my armpits in the mirror.

“Here you are, hun.” Shot in the dark, half a splash of cream (Not half&half) 2 sugar cubes, mixed in to a nice caramel brown.

“Thanks, sip!” He already took off his pants, and put on a monogrammed bathrobe to answer the door. “It’s perfect.” I took another sip, and set it down to get the other pit. Carefully, the right one is harder, because I’m right handed, but I didn’t scrape it, or cut myself. So, I poured about a tablespoon of Ouzo in my hand, and splashed it on. “AH!”

“You all right?” He pulled the shower curtain out to look around the side, with his hair full of lather.

“Fine, just your aftershave.” I held up the bottle of Boutari, he drinks it too. Smelled the anise, and other botanicals screwing the cap back on. It’s only 40% alcohol, but with the botanicals, it’s just this side of Absinthe. Nothing survives that, and I kinda like the spicy odor. Better than perfume, deodorant, cologne, and aftershave all rolled into one.

I didn’t shower to get clean. I didn’t douche, or enema again either. Rape victims, they shower to feel clean. When honestly, washing off the outside doesn’t make you feel any less dirty on the inside.

Don’t ask me how I know.

This is something else. Honestly, it’s prostitution yeah, but it’s some One else. Some.

Body.

“HhuhHhuh!”

“Sh,” he was gentle. Quiet, almost a whisper. “Don’t cry.”

“Snh!”

I couldn’t even breathe. I just held my breath, but he barely got it in before he filled the rubber with his spunk. It wasn’t the sex, I like anal sex. Dave taught me everything I know, how to relax, and push out so it stretches like a misguided turd. Turning back to go the other way, but I’ve had turds bigger than that. A dick bigger than that, it’s that I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t breathe. Not because he held me down, he didn’t. He didn’t even tell me to hold still, just don’t cry. “Sh, don’t cry.”

“Snh!”

I just knew what he wanted. Not who, but what, so I lay still on the bed, and held my breath, like a body. Like a corpse, like that cold doll I tucked in to read fucked up stories, and I’m so glad he can’t have kids. He can’t have a daughter, but I’m starting to wonder if that would feel worse, and I don’t want to think about that.

What’s worse than molesting a man’s daughter for money? Rolling over, and playing dead, for a pedo-necrophiliac. I don’t know why I blacked all that out until last night, in my dreams. Maybe I wanted to disassociate, and try to see it from the outside, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t crawl inside to see it from a long way away, so my brain shut down, and play dead.

At least it was over quick. “SNH!”

“Oh, shit. Honey, are you all right?” Then he was hugging me, letting me cry on his warm hard wet shoulder.

“No, but huh. Snh, thanks.” I felt the wet towel, and untwisted it from my hair. “Let’s go out, shopping.”

“Okay,” He put on a bra, and panties while I helped him pick out a nice dress, for shopping. You know what he says, always helps him feel better? Spending the money, on something new.

That’s better than clean, it made me feel like a whole new person, too. Of course, being able to pass as my Aunt, helping me pick out some clothes for my 13th birthday means she can join me, in the underwear department, and even help me in the changing rooms, when I need an honest opinion.

“Yeah, the green ones.”

“Thanks,” I took off the bra, and matching panties, so they could check them out. Put my pink cotton panties with the red accents back on, but I don’t need a bra.

“Huh!” Not yet, but a little padding doesn’t hurt. I can’t wait to get those implants…

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