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Confessions of a Data-processor

The lights were low, the atmosphere intentionally sensual, and I said, “Trevor, I’m going to undress you, or if you prefer, you can undress me first.”

From my limited experience, I knew that guys couldn’t wait to get their gear off (and besides, I was already half-naked) and Trevor mumbled, “If it’s okay, you can undress me.”

Undress him I did, my hands greeting every newly revealed piece of flesh, then when he was naked, I cooed, “Wow, you’re in good shape Trevor.” I didn’t use that line for every customer, because you need to be realistic in this game. If I said to a chubby or portly guy, Wow, you’re in good shape … they would know that I’m bullshitting, and the chances of them asking for me again may lessen. For chubby or unattractive customers I would coo, I can’t wait to kiss you, and then maybe the customer would think, Great, this girl must like chubby/ugly guys like me!

I didn’t really, but I wanted their money, and I also needed to deal with my problem. If every customer was young and good-looking, prostitution would be an absolute joy, but I assumed that all the young and good-looking guys were probably humping young and good-looking girls for free.

I was naked inside five seconds, and I said, “I can tell that you’re a bit nervous, so before I start massaging you, to get you in the mood, maybe you can massage me.”

How’s that for a line, ehh? What a winner! I would win because I craved to be touched and handled, and he would win because he was touching up a young woman. I lay face up, and tentatively he knelt next to me and asked bashfully, “Ummm, do you want to roll over and I’ll start on your back?”

I presume you’re starting to understand what I was like, so my reply will come as no surprise to you. I said, “No, I’d like you to start on my front.”

Obviously, he needed encouragement, or directions, so I said, “Start with my boobs.”

Initially he was caressing my boobs respectfully, and that was okay for a limited time, but I was a gal who liked being handled, and my boobs needed to fully understand that they were being pawed, so I said, “Ohhh yes, I like it when you caress them more vigorously.”

His hands became more invested, the caressing becoming bolder rather than respectful, and I said, “Okay Trevor, can you massage my thighs now?”

He didn’t waste time, and he squatted by my ankles and started running his hands up my thighs, but I was me, and I said, “Higher Trevor, I want you to massage the higher part of my thighs.”

His hands cruised up my thighs, yet annoyingly, they stopped barely centimetres from my lips, so I shuffled down marginally, hoping that his fingers would touch that which-desired-to-be-touched, but his upwards caress shortened to compensate for my downwards shuffle. I was only centimetres away from being tickled and fingered, so I asked as pleasantly as I was able, “How are you feeling?”

He gulped, then mumbled, “Good, I mean I’m enjoying this.”

I couldn’t say, I’m a nymphomaniac, so finger me for Christsakes … instead I said demurely, “Trevor, you’re making me deliriously horny, so can I ask a favour?”

He gulped, then mumbled, “What?”

“Can you tickle my vagina please?”

He seemed embarrassed, and he pointed and asked, “There?”

“Yes, that is my vagina, and my vagina would like to get to know your fingers better, so feel free to explore me.”

Are you liking my lines? I mean that’s what I’m like at work. Most of the girls had to act or perform during the execution of their duties, yet with me, there weren’t no acting. In a work sense, I wanted to give him a memorable experience, but I also wanted him to blow me off. Trevor was obviously married, or had been married until recently, because his wedding ring finger still had the slight discolouration to mark where the ring had been. I noticed things like that; I mean while the customer was staring at my shaved puss, I was looking at his hands. I’ve heard it said that the longer a relationship goes, the less inclined the guy becomes to pleasure his partner. In the courtship, the guy can’t keep his fingers out of his girlfriend’s puss, then later, after fingering the same clitoris and G-spot for ten years, the guy starts becoming bored, and he moans, I dunno, can’t you do it? I guess guys just hanker to make their erections go away, and they become weary and frustrated when their partner demands an orgasm. I saw a naughty birthday card once, and the card said something like, When you’re twenty, your vagina is like the Greek Islands, and everybody wants to go there … when you’re thirty-five, your vagina is like the fabled tourist attractions, and everybody is still keen to check it out … but when you’re fifty, your vagina is like Africa, and nobody wants to go there. At the age of twenty-two, I had a Greek Islands-vagina, and thankfully, Trevor did start exploring.

See what I mean about the Win-Win? He was fingering a young woman who had a tight puss, so he was winning; and my tight puss was sending glowingly appreciative messages to my brain, so I was winning as well.

His fingers were short and thick, and he could only comfortably squeeze two inside me, but the short, thick fingers were busy and active, and I secretly thanked God for giving guys fingers, and I thanked him for giving me a vagina, and I also thanked him for giving me a brain, because during sex, my brain became the most important part of me, and it helped me to live and enjoy each decadent moment of the physical activity.

I was always quick, because I was perpetually on heat; and as I felt it building, I closed my eyes, and with my wild imagination being stimulated by the busy fingers, I fantasied that Trevor and me were now in the Greek Islands, and he wasn’t an old guy anymore, he was a ripped and toned twenty-five year old football star, and all of his good-looking team-mates were waiting in line as they discussed who was going to give me my next orgasm; but then it all blew apart, and for twenty-five seconds, I was deeply in love with Trevor.

As my frantic breathing slowly regulated to chest-heaving pants, he asked in amazement, “Goodness me, so you know, you came?”

Cumm did me, cumm did I, and I had no second thoughts about relaying that information to my orgasm-procurer. “Wow Trevor,” I gushed, “You sent me soaring into the stratosphere, so thank you kind sir.”

Blowing a young female must have aroused him, because his penis was erect and ready for action. I pushed up and started stroking his weapon, and it was gorgeously smooth, I mean for a horny little slut like me, stroking a hard and smooth erection was one of my greatest pleasures. I would stroke hard and smooth erections all day if they let me, although the only downside of stroking erect projectiles was that they eventually went off, and then your hands would be covered in sticky semen. Maybe the genitalia inventors should have put a switch on dicks, and if you wanted semen to sticky your hands, you could flick the switch on, or if you wanted semen-free orgasms like girls have, you could leave the switch in the off position. I guess the original function of erect dicks was to spurt semen up the channel and impregnate the female participant, and that would then mean that the species would continue to propagate and flourish, but for prostitutes, we didn’t want semen propagating us.

One of our girls, Donna, said that she always spurts when she cumms, (and she added that she always spurts because she is non-binary) and while I would be mildly interested in seeing a girl spurt, I considered it to be more ladylike to not spurt when I orgasm. My friend Marcie and me watched a porno one time that was all about girls spurting, and while it was interesting, it wasn’t convincing. With computer technology and special effects continually advancing, we found ourselves still being sceptical as we watched the porno. Like how did the porno movie producers find these girls? Did they put in an ad in a porno magazine that said, Auditions are now open for our new movie, Girls Who Spurt-Number Twenty-eight; but only girls who spurt can audition. In our new and ever evolving world where offence and outrage were the among the fastest growing industries, the movie producers might face major problems with an ad like that. A want-to-be porno actress might complain, The movie producers are discriminating against me, because while I admit that I don’t spurt when I cumm, I demand the right to audition for this movie called, Girls Who Spurt-Number Twenty-eight! After watching that porno, Marcie said, I’ve had ten thousand orgasms in the last twelve months, and I’ve never spurted once, so what’s wrong with me? I consoled her by saying that I didn’t spurt either, so in a two-person survey sense, out of me and Marcie, 100% of us didn’t spurt. Female spurting intrigues me though, I mean what are they spurting? Is it urine? Is it semen? And if it is semen, what happens if they don’t spurt; does the semen stay in their vaginal channel and then self-impregnate them? If I was spurter, I could just imagine my mother being shocked as she asked me, What, you’re pregnant? Who’s the guy? I would have to own up and reply, There’s no guy, I masturbated recently and shot out a half-spurt, so I inadvertently impregnated myself. I would probably download, Girls Who Spurt-Number Twenty-nine when it came out, but as far as girl’s spurting went, I was still sitting on the fence.

I was confident that my client would spurt, and while gently stroking him, I cooed, “So Trevor, I think we need to discuss an important issue …”


“How will you have me? What position would you prefer?”

“Ummm, what would be comfortable for you?”

Trevor was obviously a considerate man, because he wanted me to be comfortable while he fucked me, so I said, “How about we try a few positions, and then you can decide.”

His eyes lit up as he sucked his bottom lip, then he nodded. After slipping the condom onto his rock-hard erection, I lay on my back and invited him to enter me, and then the compatible sexual organs joined, and after a few respectful thrusts, I said, “I’ll get on all fours, and while you’re kneeling, you can hump me from behind.”

I was hoping that he’d stick it in my puss and not my arse, because as far as I was concerned, the jury residing in my brain was still out on arse-fucking. If I had a penis, I would insert it into a vagina, not an arsehole; because a vagina is a thing of great beauty, while an arse-hole is a thing of, of … arhhh, well, let me just say that the functions of the arse-hole differ greatly from the functions of the vagina. Trevor gently pushed and probed, and I wanted his cock in my puss, so I guided my right hand between my thighs and assisted him, and the thought struck me that a fair percentage of guys needed assistance to stick their thing in my thing. It’s a hole right, a channel, and realistically, guys should better at putting their dicks in a girl’s hole; but no, with roughly sixty per cent of my clients, I had to steer the erect projectile into the specifically designed channel. When my clients finger me, they don’t need my assistance, because the fingers go straight in; and I’m always wondering why guys don’t use the same principle and bodily dynamics when they’re eager to stick their dick in. Didn’t matter but, because with my willing assistance, dick was in, and his hands grabbed my hips as he thrusted into me, these thrusts less respectful. It occurred to me that while he was doing me missionary style and looking into my eyes, he was respectful, yet when I was on all fours and he was staring at my bare arse, he was significantly bolder. Didn’t matter but, because I had a vast array of other positions for him to try, so I gushed, “Trevor, let’s get off the bed and try a few more.”

He mumbled, “Arhhh Ruby, I, I think I’m close.”

“Do you want me to stay like this?”

“Ummm, yeah, if that’s okay with you.”

“It is,” I replied, then I cooed, “And Trevor, you can be gentle with me, or if you prefer, you can just let yourself go and ravage me relentlessly.” Just quietly, that was a new line, a line I thought of two weeks ago, and I suspected that the line would be trotted out for all of my first timers.

The erect cock thrusted into me again, and as I was still prone to doing, I marvelled at the fact that a part of a man’s body was now inside me. It slid in and then out, and I squeezed tighter, because I wanted to fully live each thrust.

Bodily engineering at its finest; two separate pieces becoming one, and I groaned in contentment as he began thrusting harder, and I squeezed tighter, yet erect projectiles can overwhelm and conquer squeezing lips, because the lips are pliable and expandable, while the erect projectile isn’t.

His frantic movements and growling sounds had me expecting that the load was just about to be shot, so I braced myself for the finale. I wouldn’t get humped again for at least fifteen minutes, so I tried to commit the experience to my memory; the cock thrusting in and out of me, his thighs slapping against my arse, my tits swaying like wind chimes on a stormy night … and then he blew, the release thrust pushing my head into the bed, the subsequent thrusts all rapid and urgent, Yeah, go boy, give it to me …

Having been fucked aggressively, I was content, and I rolled over and faced him, then I said approvingly, “Wow Trevor, you just rattled and resettled a few of my internal organs.” (Yeah, an admission here; that isn’t one of my original lines; I think it was from a porno movie, or a book, or something; but it was a line I’m hoping to make my own, because I wanted Trevor to come back and give me some more of his money, and then fuck me again.)

We weren’t strangers anymore, so we had a shower together, and I skimmed my hands over his arse as the water poured down, then I soaped up my hands and cleaned his dick. His right hand caressed my left buttock, and with his eyes on my erect nipples, he asked, “Do you work every Saturday?”

“Next weekend I’ll be working on the Friday night and Sunday during the day.”

“Would it be okay if I came on Friday night to see you?”

“I would love that Trevor.”

After we had both dressed, I led him over to the exit, and holding both of his hands, I pushed up onto the balls of my feet as I kissed him on the cheek, then I said sweetly, “It was lovely meeting you.”

“I’ll see you next Friday Ruby.”

“I look forward to it Trevor.”

He gazed at the ground, and he seemed to be pondering, then he looked up and said shyly, “Actually, my name is James.”

After fucking me, he obviously felt confident enough to share personal, intimate details about himself (like his real name). Sex is wonderful in so many ways (no, wait up; I meant that sex is wonderful in every way) because it helps strangers to not become strangers. I smiled for him, then I said, “I’ll see you on Friday James.”

And then he was gone.

My evening had started well; not even ten o’clock and I’d already had an orgasm and been humped, and excitingly, there was six hours to go.

I went to the changeroom and put on a new set of clothes; a white leather miniskirt and a see-through bra. In the early days, Chris had told me that she uses two costumes per night, and she changes into the alternate set after each customer, so I did the same. While in the changeroom I checked my phone, and not unusually, Marcie had sent me a message;

I hate you working on Sat nites; Beth

is on a date with some goose, while I’m

watching Love Actually for the fiftieth time.

I tapped in a reply;

Stop complaining, have a drink,

and then masturbate.

An immediate reply;

Jeez Jemma, I masturbated during the movie!

Strangely, or more bizarrely, thinking about Marcie masturbating over Love Actually made me horny, but then again, thinking about most things made me horny, especially when I was at work. I sent a reply;

I’m busy; I’ll catch up with you on Monday or Tuesday.

Another immediate reply;

I hate your stupid job!

I smiled as I thought wryly, Yeah, I’m sorry about that Marcie, but I don’t hate my job … I love it!

It’s now ten o’clock on a Saturday, and more regulars are shuffling in, and I need to have a good night so that I can pay my electricity bill and buy that dress, but most of all, I need to deal with my Nympho-Nice-Girl-Mania. My Mania seemed to be getting worse, because even though I’d just blown out a big one and been humped, it had the effect of making me even hornier. My nipples are still up, and my channel is alarmingly moist, and my clitoris is sending very rude messages to my brain, so you’ll have to excuse me, because I can see an erect cock in my immediate future.

I gazed around and noted that the customer area of Paradise Gardens was alive with movement and noise as upbeat, racy music pumped out at a respectable level, and men’s eyes were gazing at the scantily clad ladies who paraded before them, and fuck me (and I do mean that literally), I love this fucking job!

The End … (until next time)

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