Succulence (Succulent Trilogy #1) (7 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I found Stacy crying in the handicapped stall. She was on the floor in the corner, tears coursing down her face with the stall open.

“Oh my gosh! Stacy! What’s wrong?” I rushed to her side and put an arm around her.

“I can’t fucking take this anymore,” Stacy wailed. Tears were streaming down her soft features, her nose
was runny and red. “I hate him.”

I already knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “Hate who?”

“Dean!” Her shriek made me jump.

“What happened?”

Stacy swore me to secrecy, and then shared the details of her predicament. Her mom had gotten laid off, and a relative had passed.

Her dad, however, had really set things off. He had been caught with his pants down, and while he’d already devastated her mom with his betrayal, things went from bad to worse when it was revealed the other woman was pregnant. Her mom ended up catching a DUI after a night of drinking and driving that ended with her crashing into a wall on 75.

Stacy’s dad refused to come home and care for her mom, so she was forced to stay with her all week. She didn’t have time to really get herself together to come to work, much less contact anyone, and that’s when she went missing. When she felt it was okay to return to work, the bar manager propositioned her, then fired her for being underage when it didn’t work. (Which sucked, because her 21
st
birthday was only a week or so later.) Having no job with the bar left her at Dean’s mercy.

As for that…

It was no secret that Dean was attracted to Stacy; she looked a lot like his wife, who was also busty, leggy and brunette. After several attempts to lure Stacy into an affair, Dean left her alone. He would simply make her do menial and silly things like tie his shoes or pick things up from the floor so he could look at her T&A.

Stacy’s financial vulnerability handed Dean prime opportunity to take advantage of her. He hadn’t reported her absence as a voluntarily resignation; he sat on the paperwork and decided to wait it out once he had heard from her. The day I had seen her was the day she returned. He called her into the office, informed her that he was sorry for her misfortune, and told her that budget cuts were being made. Due to the lack of work available for her position, she would have to be let go for a more skilled business admin with more experience.

Of course, this was bull, but in the heat of the moment, it was enough to send Stacy begging for an opportunity to stay and work harder. She promised never to miss a day and even to work extra hours to make up for her time missed. Dean said he understood but her computer activities had shown she had not been working, but spending company time chatting with friends, on Facebook and working on schoolwork. It was at this time he mentioned that he had come across chat logs where she would poke fun at him. I’m not sure what she said – she didn’t say – but apparently he was offended enough to mention it.

Seeing how vulnerable she was, Dean propositioned her. He implied he had pull with HR, and said if she looked out for him, he’d forgive her look out for her as well. Sexually, she was on call for him at work, usually after hours when everyone left. There were times, however, when he demanded her to show up at various hotels for trysts.

“It’s been a nightmare ever since,” she said gripping herself and quivering. “He’s not just happy enough to just get a blowjob and leave. He makes me do some of the most nasty and disgusting shit ever. All to keep my job.”

She turned to look me in the eye for the first time this entire conversation. “Please don’t judge me, Amy. You’re the only person I’ve told.”

She broke down into tears again.

That fucking bastard!

The poor girl was weak and broken. There was such sorrow in her eyes. I could feel the burden wearing on her spirit. Rubbing her back, I kissed her cheek, reassuring her that this was a no-judgment zone.

“I’m sorry, Stacy. Dean’s a disgusting prick. His day will come. Have you thought about going to HR?”

“So they can find out I haven’t been to work in like two weeks and dock me for the pay, much less put it on their records and really fire me?” she gasped. “My absence without notice or documentation really
is
grounds for termination.”

We sat in silence thicker than swamp water. It was close to lunchtime.

“There’s nothing I can do,” she said, shaking her head ever so slightly in disbelief. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. “…Until I find another job, there’s nothing I can do. He owns me. I’m a fucking sex slave, and there’s nothing I can do because I need this job more than ever.”

“Have you spoken to your dad?”

She leaned back against the wall and curled her lip. “He won’t come home. In addition to her unemployment, I help pay mom’s bills and taking care of her.”

She replaced her disbelief with disgust. Shaking her head incredulously, she muttered. “I’m twenty one. Just turned twenty-one. I’m supposed to be getting drunk with hot frat boys at, throwing down sriracha shots to pledge a sister sorority and having the time of my life. Instead… I’m over here sucking off a fat prick who likes to fart.”

Stacy turned her head and looked me in the eyes. Communicating frustration and despair, I couldn’t help but to feel her pain. She was really scared, upset and hurting.

“You know, I would never in a million years have believed that this would be me. Having sex for money is one of the lowest things a woman can do… and now I’m doing it to survive.”

Her broken spirit and candor tugged at me. I shed a few tears in solidarity with her.  I wanted to pull her closer and whisper that she wasn’t alone. I wanted to say, “You’re not alone. I have a confession for you too. I’ve been an escort since Christmas, and I don’t know how to stop. Not because I enjoy it, but because the money is too good to leave behind.”

Instead, I squeezed her hand and ministered sisterly love.  “Have you eaten? Let’s clean you up and head to lunch. We’ll continue this later.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Men are perverted. There are so many freaky things they’ll demand of you that they won’t demand of their wives and women. And when I mean you, I mean any woman who operates outside of wife or girlfriend mode.

One thing I’ve learned about this line of work is that sometimes men pay to disrespect you. Yes, the money is good, but I’ve had to have strong limits. I do everything I can to avoid having full out intercourse, but I don’t always get away with it. There’s a belief that paying should net you anything you want. The truth is they are technically paying for my time, so if I do or don’t want something, it’s my business and my right not to be choked, spit or pissed on. Turning away clients usually means a loss of pay, but that’s nothing in comparison to maintaining my dignity.

Oh! Chargeback attempts. Can I tell you about those? Usually the men doing this cannot afford escort services, so they book and pay in full with a credit card. They’ll do this with full intention of disputing the charges.

I’ve had a few chargebacks. There’s not much I can do; it’s not like I’ll call the company and say, “But I sucked his dick for this money!” and they’ll cheerfully comply. I don’t know; I never really discovered how to prevent these things from happening. However on the rare occasion someone books with me a second time and I recognize, I end the evening immediately.

I know that, for the most part, escorts tend to meet prospects at the bar. But I didn’t want to be caught, especially due to my career. I wasn’t out to be well known, recognized or even popular. And while I don’t have an escort name, I never gave out my actual name either. I never needed to. I did a good job of flirting and keeping the focus on the client, just liked they liked. If all else failed and they asked too many questions, I would lick my lips and kiss their crotch through their pants in a heartbeat.

That’s enough to stop most men. A man can rarely focus once you make his crotch the center of attention. I go a step further though. I make his crotch the center of my world.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I can’t explain how or where I got off by enjoying blowjobs. Most women complain blowjobs are all about the men and say there’s no pleasure in it for them. The idea of a “pee pee” in a woman’s mouth can really make some women act rather…
childish.
I admit that I was one of them.

All that changed when I met Jared though. He was focused on my pleasure, focused on my satisfaction, and focused on all of me. Mentally, emotionally, and sexually – he wanted every portion of me.

I’m more than aware that I’m gorgeous. That I’m young and 24, so therefore men flock to me. These big round titties? Yes, I know men fantasize about wrapping their lips around my big tits with their perfect rose-colored nipples and sucking on them until I scream for them to fuck me. I know about these sparkling emerald eyes, and these pretty dick-sucking lips. I know the idea of wrapping their fingers around a fistful of my long blonde waves and facefucking me into submission excited them. So does the idea of slapping and mauling my tits while leaving a creamy load in mouth.

But at the end of the day, all the lips, tits, eyes and hair – all this beauty – means absolutely nothing if a man can’t penetrate me deep enough to look past my appearance and look into who I am. Appearance is important to me, but I’m not interested in being a beauty queen. I’m not interested in being a trophy wife, nor a sugar baby.

Jared asked me about communications. He asked me about strategic communications planning, communications arts and the politics of developing a communications strategy. He understood why I was firm believer in real-time communication. I knew it created consumer trust and loyalty as opposed to the “be quiet and hope it dies down” approach. Jared invested in me. He even paid for my subscriptions to industry magazines because I was a fervent believer in my craft.

Being able to open up to Jared outside of the bedroom, sharing my passions and interests over late night baba ghanouj and baklava; that’s what made my body so supple and open to him inside the bedroom. Because he received me in every way I needed him to, I was able to receive him every way he wanted me to.

Jared wasn’t into BDSM or anything; however, he was very masculine, and quite dominant. He was aggressive, yet gentle; forceful, yet tender. He slapped my ass hard and grunted like a caveman as he thrust himself through my plump sugarwalls, yet he was always attentive to my reaction. He whispered sweet nastiness in my ear, and my pussy would erupt, releasing hot, sugary waves of creamy sweetness.

Jared mastered me. He controlled my body, but most importantly, he mastered my mind, and that’s because he mastered my mind. 

Sucking Jared… that’s when giving head became pleasurable. A man who worships your mind and spirit as much as your sex appeal makes you feel every ounce of the woman you truly are makes you feel deeply affirmed from the inside out. When you’re used to being solely celebrated for your looks, it gets old. Being admired for your
intellect, cherished for your inner beauty and fucked because you’re so
gotdamn
sexy is such an indescribable feeling that could only be repaid through sucking the soul of your man’s penis.

Jared transformed everything I knew about sex and pleasure. Everything. Fellatio transmuted from a simple skill meant to stimulate and excite only him into an art form. I wasn’t just swirling and pulling on his dick with my mouth and jaws just to get him up as soon as possible. I began lovingly polishing his rod, giving it a palatial spot clean that demonstrated my passion and appreciation of the man he was to me.

Sucking Jared’s cock, I learned to appreciate the art of an amazing blowjob. I inhaled the power of slowing it down when it was time to perform. I learned to spread a man’s legs slow, take in the masculine power that lay between them and lean in to shamelessly indulge in his robust scent. I learned to slowly trace my tongue from the base and drag it over the terrain of his hard shaft, leaving no vein, ridge or groove uncovered as I nudged it to awaken in its full power.

As an escort, you’re being paid to worship the client’s body, usually his penis. To worship a man’s cock in such a shameless and careful manner requires a deep connection. I work on borrowed time; sometimes the client’s physical package is anything but impressive and the mental stimulation isn’t there. In order to master my performance, I’d refer to the theater of the mind.

I’d make love to the client’s penis as if I were making love to Jared. I cast so much passion and pleasure into what I was doing that even the crankiest client would forget about having sex because I’d suck the tension out and turn the appetizer into the main act.