Becoming a hooker

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Becoming a hookerthis story is written by Molly Day, it is autobiographical. I’m just pasting and copying it here.https://storiesonline.net/s/20590/becoming-a-hooker################################Sometimes, in the middle of doing it, I find my mind drifting: trying to figure out how the hell I got here.I’ll be on my knees in an alleyway, or squeezed into the footwell of a car that’s far too small for what the owner intended to do in it, and I’ll think: when you were 14, Molly, is this how you expected things to turn out? Tongue flat under a stranger’s cock, moaning and rubbing myself, about to cum as he fires his load into me, and clutching the few pound notes he pushed into my hand.Did I expect this?And I didn’t. I don’t know what I expected, but not this. But you know what: I don’t regret a thing.Let me tell you how I got here, and maybe you’ll understand why I’m OK with it. Not just OK – I love it.I guess, because you want to jerk off at this, I should describe myself aged 14. Honestly, don’t get overexcited too soon! I think I was pretty much average. Kinda pretty, brunette, but not a glamourous, glossy black hair – just slightly wavy, chestnut brown. I needed glasses but tried not to wear them, but that wasn’t because I was attempting to be sexy, it’s because I was a tomboy and glasses weren’t a good idea in a game of football with the k**s at school.My tits weren’t huge, by lips didn’t scream “blowjob”, my arse wasn’t spectacular. I wasn’t, in other words, some fantasy sex object like they always seem to be in erotic writing. I had long legs, which was a good feature, and I think I was “perky”: so those are good things I definitely had going for me. And I have always had a really nice curve from the bottom of my back into my arse, which it makes it stand out and looks great when I bend at the waist with my legs wide apart … not that I did anything like that back then. That happened … later … wait and see.I look at photos of myself aged 14, and I look like an excited puppy – bouncy, full of energy, and ready to play. I was an innocent.I can’t remember exactly when it changed – when I stopped being innocent. Memory is a strange thing, and some stuff is indelibly marked on my mind’s eye, while other things (which you’d think were important) are hazy. So I can’t remember the date this happened, and I can’t even remember whether I was still 14, or just turned 15.But I know exactly what happened, and exactly where.Some friends and I went shopping in the local city centre, in northern England, pretty much every weekend. We weren’t rich – not very poor either – but we didn’t often buy much. A £5 top from Primark, or cheap makeup from Boots. One weekend, as usual, we had a McDonalds and hung out for a while, and then all went to catch various buses home.My bus stop was right by the main train station, and I remember standing there for maybe 15 minutes, bored, looking around at the passing traffic. I didn’t have a phone – if I had, I’d have been staring at that, and none of this stuff would have happened. I can’t even imagine how different my life would be now.But instead of looking at Facebook or texting friends, I was just stood, gazing into space. I remember seeing a girl across the road from me. Nobody was around here: it was the edge of the city centre, and a main route for traffic heading out to the suburbs, and other than passing traffic and a few people at bus stops, there was nobody here.Just the girl.She was maybe 25 or 30, with mousy-brown hair pulled up on top of her head, and tresses tumbling past her ears. She was wearing a mid-length coat that she hugged around herself, as though it was cold – but it was maybe 4pm in the summer, and the coat seemed out of place. Heels and heavily patterned stockings. Even from 50 feet away across the road, I could see her make-up looked … well, it didn’t look like other people’s. There was too much of it, or it was too bright or dark, or it was badly applied or smeared, or something.And she wasn’t heading anywhere, just … walking. Slowly. Meandering, really.She walked about 30 yards, stopped, looked up and down the street. She causally lit a cigarette, and then meandered back again, and stopped just where the railway lines crossed the main road. In the shadows, under the bridge, she ducked her head to look into a passing car and nodded. The car slowed, swung around and drove back. And then he turned again, drove past her a second time, and she nodded again. She strolled deeper into the shade under the bridge, and watched the car swing around again.On the car’s third pass, she opened her coat and I saw she was basically naked underneath. Tiny microskirt and a bra, but nothing else. He stopped the car. She walked towards it … And my bus arrived. Shit! English, double-decker bus, right between me and the scene unfolding in front of me. I was gutted. I’d worked out what the girl and car were doing, of course, and I wanted to see it all happen, even though I remember thinking “what IS going to happen?” I was an innocent, you see. Not a moron, but not exactly familiar with sex, other than the shower-head and the handle of a particularly well-endowed hairbrush that felt delightful.I dashed onto the bus, sat by a window and looked out, but she’d already gone. And I knew, deep inside me, that she was probably already … well … what happens inside a car when a hooker gets in?I didn’t know.Where do they go? To a hotel, or a field to lie down, or do the do it in the car?I didn’t know.Does he pay her first, or after? Do they haggle?I didn’t know.Does he know her name? Does she ask his? Do they kiss?I didn’t know. I didn’t even think much past kissing, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t know enough about this. I only knew it excited me.It was only then that I realised I was soaking wet. Not just a bit damp, but absolutely dripping. My inner thighs were sticky, and I felt I could almost smell my sex. My nipples too: rock hard. I was tense with sexual thoughts, and the moment I got home I ran to my bedroom and fucked myself with the handle of the hairbrush for about an hour.A week passed. I was in school, and couldn’t do anything, but all I thought about … I mean all I thought about, was that girl. Not the man in the car, just her. How she walked. How she dressed. How she smoked. At the time, I didn’t smoke, but in an instantly I knew I wanted to. I didn’t wear heels, but I knew I would buy some that weekend.Because the other thing I knew was, I was going back there. I wasn’t going shopping with friends; I was going on my own to buy something that looked as slutty and naughty as that girl did, or as much as I thought I could get away with. My mum would wash them and see them, and I thought it was probably OK for me to dress more girly – she was always encouraging me to be more feminine, and stop being such a tomboy. But my dad … he was as dry as an old stick, a nice guy but timid and rigid and judgemental about everything. I’d have to be careful to buy things that were sexy enough to fulfil my fantasy, but not so slutty that mum would complain.And I was definitely going to buy cigarettes and find somewhere to hide and learn to smoke them. You have to be 16 to buy cigarettes in England, but I thought if I dressed sexier first, I could look older and then buy cigarettes. And then I’d learn to smoke, and that would make me look and feel as great as that prostitute looked. Closer to the fantasy.But most of all, this weekend I was going to watch the prostitutes. And that’s exactly what I did. From that weekend onwards, in fact, all I did, pretty much every weekend for about a year, was go to my local city centre and walk where the hookers were.Of course, I was 15, and even in the high heels that my mum LOVED but my dad tutted at, I wasn’t passing for a whore. Even when I bought ankle boots and a short skirt that made my legs look amazing, and even when I wore more makeup than I’d ever worn in my life (which wasn’t much, let’s be honest).Even when I dressed in all that, and had mastered sexily smoking and rolling my hips as I sauntered., nobody stopped their car to ask me for sex.Because, even though I didn’t really admit it to myself, after a couple of months, that’s basically what I wanted to happen: a car to stop and proposition me. Another step in the fantasy. I wanted to hear what the men said to hookers, cos I had no clue.I knew I would put my hand on my chest, gasp, act shocked and say, “NO WAY” and run, but I also knew that if a car did stop, it would be ammunition for my frankly enormous masturbation habit. Whoever asked would be seared onto my brain, and no matter how old or ugly he was, he would be the thing I wanked to from then on.I knew all this, and I knew I’d run, and I knew it would scare me a bit, but I wanted it anyway; and the fact that it hadn’t happened yet just made me more and more frustrated.I decided I needed to up my game. I went shopping again, and this time I bought knee-high socks and a tartan skirt. Don’t ask me why: it just seemed sexy to me. My real school uniform was as sexy as a toad, but I knew men loved girls in sexy schoolgirl outfits, so – without being overt about it – I basically bought one, or the closest thing I dared.Mum loved the skirt. She said it made my legs look amazing, and she was glad I dressed that way. She wasn’t wild about my smoking, but she smoked too, so we now had something to do – stand in the garden and smoke, and talk about clothes, which a year earlier I’d hated! We talked about clothes and make-up, and about men (she was obsessed with George Clooney, and after a while talked about him pretty explicitly). But she disapproved of my make-up. I wasn’t that I was wearing too much, it was that it was the same old crap I’d bought before, more liberally applied. She said it wasn’t good enough, wasn’t the right look to go with the new clothes. She said I should get a make-over. And she said she’d pay.So – next major life event! Mum took me shopping in the same city centre. We drove into town, and went to Boots and found somebody to do a proper make-over for me. Make-up tests, choosing lipsticks … and mum was amazing. She picked out really glossy, dark colours which made my mouth look really alluring, and she encouraged the girl on the make-up counter to try richer, darker colours that made me look, well, like a bimbo! I’m dark haired, but light skinned, and the new colours brought my entire shade down, made me look tanned and glossy and lustrous. I loved it. We even bought hair dyes, to make my chestnut colouring into a profoundly jet black.I felt 1000% better as we walked back to the car, a cigarette at my lips, shimmying my hips, with my long legs on display and my mum proudly by my side. I got looks, and those looks made me feel deeply sexual and valuable. I felt aydın escort like I had an actual identity: it was all built around sex, but it was mine, and I loved the new “me” I was becoming.Mum and I got in the car, and headed home, straight through the red-light district. We stopped at traffic lights. I was trying to glance around, quite subtly, to see if any of the familiar faces I’d got to know were working at 3:00 on a Saturday afternoon. Even after about a year, I still loved to look at them. And mum saw me looking.I felt embarrassed and pretended I was looking at the bridge or some stupid shit. But mum … Well, my mum is amazing. The lights changed, and mum indicated and turned left, off our route, and straight into the red-light area. Left again, up a side-street, and another turning until we saw girls on a corner.And mum slowed – not to a stop, or even a crawl, but definitely slowed – and said, “There they are Molly”.And then sped off.The silence that followed lasted about 3 lifetimes, and when I got home, I had to wank myself into a c***, I was so hot. I had the hairbrush in my throat, and my fingers in my cunt, and I was at it for ages. I’d been practicing sucking the hairbrush for a while, because it felt like something a sexual person like me should know how to do. I hadn’t had sex, but I was, in my mind, as sexy as those hookers, and I wanted to know how to do it. So in went the hairbrush, and I frigged myself stupid.And when I eventually emerged from my room, I found mum, flushed, emerging from hers, and we shared a knowing little glance before heading off in separate directions.That weekend, I went back to the city and bought a dildo and got my nose pierced. Mum loved the piercing.With mum seeming to be OK about my new look, my clothes got sluttier, and dad started to complain openly about them. No girl of his … You’re not going out … Put some clothes on … It’s not right, and your age. All that shit.But mum just told him to shut up. No fucking about, just “Shut up Simon”. It’s a woman’s right to choose what she looks like, she said. And she reminded him that that it wasn’t as though he was a saint: he loved to look at hot girls, and she knew his type (I didn’t know what that meant … keep reading, I find out). So, mum said, it’s hypocritical to stop Mol looking like she wants to – why shouldn’t his own family look like the girls he wanks to?I laughed out loud at that, and dad went bright red and hunched in his chair, uncomfortable as hell.Big row, but mum won, because mum’s awesome, and I felt emboldened to buy more short skirts, tights with suspender-style tops, higher heels. I still really wanted a coat like the one the original hooker had flashed open at the car, but I could never find one, but I found a mock a****l-skin jacket that looked amazing.I was now walking around on Saturdays with a new sense of sexual confidence and sluttiness … but still, nobody had stopped for me, which was my dream!All that changed after Mum announced that I was getting older, and shouldn’t have to come home at 8pm. I could stay until the last bus, which was 11. Dad almost worked up the courage to complain, but mum and I just stared at him, and he sighed, resigned to his place.So finally, on Saturdays, I got to be in the red-light area after dark, when the streets were busy.And finally, a car stopped.I can picture exactly where I was walking. Deep under the bridge, by the streetlights, and it was raining. The pavement was glossy, and a car stopped, blinding me in its lights. Blue Vauxhall. My cunt twitched as he wound down his window, but I kept walking because in my mind I wasn’t actually a hooker, I was just a fantasy. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was playing a game, and of course if anybody asked me to get in the car with them, I’d say no. If I kept on walking, nobody could accuse me of being a prostitute, and nobody could arrest me. If I said no, or ignored him, or shrieked and acted offended, I could deny everything that I was doing.All I had to do was say no.“Are you working?”, he asked.“Yes”.The door opened. I didn’t even pause. He didn’t speak, he drove into an industrial estate and found a dark spot – clearly done this before. He stopped, left the engine running, and said “You look nice”.Thanks.Right now, I can’t remember what he looked like. Maybe 40? Not fat, not thin, pretty indistinct. Weirdly, I remember a lot about the car’s interior, cos I was just staring at the dashboard in panic. My mouth was dry, I needed a drink of water, or a smoke, or something to calm me down. I don’t know if I was horny, I was too nervous to even tell any more.I didn’t know what to do next, I hadn’t really thought about it.He said, “Thirty for oral?” and I nodded, and he lifted his arse off the seat and pulled his pants down, and then somehow – don’t remember moving – I was knelt on the passenger seat and his cock was in my mouth. My first ever blowjob. I remember his dick was hotter and thicker than I’d imagined. I’d done fantasy blowjobs on the hairbrush – or later the dildo I’d bought – over and over again, but that’s a lump of latex, and this … this was a real cock. It was warm and soft, and pulsed. It was heavier than I’d imagined – I could feel its weight resting on my tongue. And it was thrillingly, incredibly alive.I had no problem swallowing it down. It wasn’t tiny, not huge either, but after practicing with a 10-inch dildo or my hairbrush handle while I wanked 5 times a day for literally months, I easily deepthroated him. He groaned, and his fingers wrapped into a fist in my hair.I desperately wanted to rub my cunt now, but my hands were on his lap, holding my weight, and for some bizarre reason I felt embarrassed to do anything so sexual as touching myself in front of a stranger, even though his dick was delicious in my mouth. He tensed and quivered, and I slurped and made drooling noises like I’d seen in porn. He leaked into my mouth, and at the time I remember thinking he was pissing and thinking … well, it seems I’m OK with that! But it was actually precum, something I’d heard about but had no idea could be so copious.I wanted to take his cock out and lick it, but he had hold of me and was fucking me now. I remember looking around as he hit the back of my throat, because from down there all I could see was his pants, shirt and gritty pubes; but as I glanced I saw a bottle of water in the door pocket, and I thought “Christ I want a drink after this” because I’d been so parched with nerves.But then he grunted, and jerked, and my mouth was flooded. I swallowed some, and more of it drooled out and onto his balls and his thigh. He let go of my hair, and I realised my scalp was starting to hurt but I hadn’t noticed. I was breathing heavily, and didn’t really want to look in his eyes just yet, so I stayed down there, and licked the cum off him and ate it. Turns out, men love this. I didn’t have any idea, I was just trying to avoid conversation.He hadn’t given me money. I forgot to ask. I was about to get out of the car a mile from where he picked me up, in a place I didn’t know, when he said “Don’t you want paying, then”, and I made a nervous laugh and took the cash, and realised I needed to stay in his car for the journey back.I didn’t care about the cash: I just wanted to fuck everybody in the world at once. I’ve been chasing that sexual high ever since.He drove me back to where he’d picked me up, and I smoked about 3 cigarettes waiting for the bus, hoping they’d disguise the smell of cum before I got home.It was Tuesday before I told my mum. I know, it sounds mad to tell your mum, but I did.We were smoking in the garden, and because it was always easy to talk to her about clothes and makeup, I asked her about lipstick that doesn’t smudge. She gave me a knowing look and asked who I was kissing, and I giggled and didn’t answer. She asked again, a little more seriously, and I said, “I’m not kissing anybody”. I don’t know why, but I must have slightly emphasised “kissing”, because after a pause she said, “Well … what are you doing with somebody then”?I didn’t say a word, I just looked at my patent leather pumps and smoked. She started to speak, then stopped and peeked in through the French doors to see if dad was in the kitchen, and then she whispered, “Are you doing it safely?”What?“Sex”Mum!! I’m not … I haven’t had sex!“Oral sex, then”I didn’t say anything, just stared at my shoes and hoped an alien spaceship would beam me up and do terrible experiments on me. Anything was better that this conversation.She smiled and hugged me and said “It’s OK Molly, we’ve all done it, you didn’t invent blowjobs. But who is it?”I said, like a stroppy teenager hiding the truth, “I dunno” and walked to my room in a huff.Ten minutes later, she came to see me. I could tell she was concerned or serious, because she entered my room very slowly, and stood by the door, while sat by my mirror doing my makeup, and pretending she wasn’t there.She said, “What do you mean ‘I dunno’?”I just ignored her and kept applying lipstick. Fuck it, I thought, I know it’s Tuesday and I have school tomorrow, but fuck it: I’m not staying home if this is how it’s gonna be, and I could be chasing a delirious thrill in the red-light area. Fuck it, I’m getting slutty and going out.She asked again – what did I mean by “I dunno”.And I snapped. “I don’t fucking know, OK! Just some guy”She sat down on my bed. I didn’t get a sense she was angry, but I knew I looked guilty, and I felt flushed. I wasn’t feeling guilty, but I knew I should be, and that in itself made me feel guilty. I think I started to cry. She said, kindly, “It’s OK Mol, whatever you did … as long as it doesn’t hurt you and you like it, it’s OK”.I was definitely crying now. I sat on the bed next to her and after a moment I reached out to my bag. I pulled out the £30 and pushed it into her hand. And we say silently for what felt like hours, mum frowning slightly at the cash crumpled in her hand.She nodded to the money and said, “Do you want me to look after this?”I shrugged, Yeah, unable to look at her for more than an instant.She took a deep breath and said, “Do you want me to look after all of it”And without saying a word, we’d both admitted I was hooking. And she’d told me she wasn’t going to stop it.She said “You can have it back any time you want to buy something. Y’know, something … nice”.And she looked at my skirt and stockings. Nice. Nice like that.After she left, I was soaked again. I was horny a lot of the time now, but I remember thinking: I was definitely NOT horny when the conversation started, and definitely AM horny now. Does that mean … and it sounds mad now, cos it’s so obvious … does that mean the IDEA of being a hooker turns me on?Well … duuuuh.We didn’t tell dad, of course. Not that he’d have escort aydın the power to do much. Mum gave me a lift to the city centre at 5pm at the weekend. I changed clothes in the car, so I could wear the sluttiest things I owned – the things that I knew would made dad angry, and then make him wank in the bathroom.By the time I got the last bus home I had £180. Two men had asked me to call them daddy. I liked that.For weeks, or maybe months, it was just blowjobs and hand-jobs. Usually in a car, but sometimes the guy liked to stand up against a wall, and have me kneel. I liked that. I liked the way my knees were red and my stocking torn after it, and from that position – standing over me – men usually like to cum on my face, and I look up and say “please daddy”. Even if they didn’t ask for that, it always makes them cum, and I’m really into it too. Standing, some even like to piss. That’s extra, but only cos charging extra makes me feel more like a hooker.Yeah, like it’s a shock that I’m a pervert.In a car, you usually swallow. I like being marked, and it’s fun to let mum “accidentally notice” it drying in my hair when I get home. So if the weather is OK and I can get him out of the car, I prefer to kneel and get a facial.In a car, the bonus is that you’re warm and dry, and that the guy will often push a hand down the back of my pants as I kneel on the passenger seat, and finger me. You’d be amazed – or perhaps not – how often the man “accidentally” fingers my arse, but after the first couple of times I just stopped sucking him and say, “I love that, do it more”. One time, I decided to help, and took the man’s hand, sucked the finger he’d just had in my arse, spat on his hand, and told him to use 3 fingers instead. I got a £50 tip for that, and I great story for mum.That week, she ordered a butt plug for me online. Before I went out on Friday (I was doing 2 nights a week now) mum showed me how to lube my arse and put the plug into me. She didn’t actually do it, she just showed me, and sat next to me breathing noticeably heavier than normal as I eased it into myself on my bed.I came in the car on the way to “the office”. Mum, driving, reached over and held my tit as I was riding my orgasm.And on Monday morning, I still went to school. No nasty schoolgirl outfit, just a godawful lilac polyester blouse and a navy skirt. I’d never been spectacular in school, but I tried. I stopped trying now. Why does knowledge of Henry the 8th help when my career plans are for Henry and his 8 friends to fuck me for cash?Why do I need to know French verbs, when the only French oral I plan on doing is with my mouth on a stranger’s dick?Why do I need to know how DNA works, when my only plans for DNA is to have it hot, fresh, splashed across my face?I had no interest in school. My grades collapsed. I wasn’t actively naughty, I didn’t disrupt classes, and mum and dad weren’t called in. I didn’t fuck any teachers. This isn’t that kind of story.But I definitely failed everything. Dad couldn’t understand why Mum wasn’t angrier with me – I had a year to go until my GCSE’s, and I “just wasn’t getting my head down”. Mum and I both absolutely laughed out loud at that, and dad looked very confused.But by that time, I was dressing like a slut around the house most of the time, and dad seemed far more interested in the seam on my stockings than he was in my exam results. He watched me a lot. I had worked out the kind of girls dad wanked to, and it didn’t prevent me from dressing exactly like one of them.After my mock-exams, I gave up on even appearing to try, and got pierced again. I loved how my navel looked when I tied the blouse of my schoolgirl outfit into a bow below my tits. Dad’s complaints about piercings and smoking in the house dried up in his mouth when I showed him the full ensemble. Mum looked so proud. Dad crossed his legs in his chair, and shortly after went for a surprisingly long shower.So, it’s a Thursday night, and I get into this guy’s car, and direct him to a favourite spot, in an alley near the railway arches, where the traffic in an overpass could see me swallowing his dick, if they cared to look. Normally, I ask what they want before I get into the car, and only get in if they want a blowjob. I love giving head.But I don’t always ask. If it’s pouring down, I just get in, and tell them I’m on my period if they want a fuck. I look pretty good by now, and I’m still pretty obviously u******e, so they don’t argue about “only” getting their cocks sucked.But tonight, he asks for a fuck, and I say yes. I can’t explain what changed, I just wanted his dick. I think he was mixed race, but it was dark and I can’t be sure. He pulled his pants down and I went to straddle him on the driver’s seat, and he stopped me. “Condom?”It didn’t sound like he was asking me for a condom. It sounded like he was gently reminding me, and hoping I’d say “I don’t like condoms”, but I went one further. I said, “I’m a virgin”.I’d love to say my first fuck was amazing. It was certainly hot, the look of shock as he stared into my eyes and came inside me. But I’ve since realised he lasted about 30 seconds, and admitting to being a 15 year old virgin who wanted to go bareback probably didn’t help that.My next fuck was less than an hour later, and much better. I didn’t tell him I was a virgin. I just told him I had a load of cum already inside me, and wanted more.Cara is about 40, and works the same streets, and we got to know each other fairly well. She told me to use condoms, especially if I was injecting. I said, “I don’t do d**gs” and she said “What … not even weed?” like I’d admitted to the weirdest thing in the world.We were sharing a cigarette in a side street, where the shrubs had grown so deep and wild you could drag a customer in there and fuck him standing up, and the police could drive 5 feet away and not spot you. She pulled out a joint and lit it, and the next time I was in a guy’s car, 10 minutes later, I was bouncing on his dick and feeding him my nipples, and I couldn’t stop giggling.I told mum about it, and she said, “Oh fuck, I love weed – it’ll be nice to have somebody to get high with”.She phoned a friend of hers, Darryl, who it turned out had a ready supply of basically anything you want, and just like that we were getting high together. We already smoked in the house, cos Dad’s attitude was now “Molly and her mum can do anything they want as long as Molly carries on dressing like that and doesn’t mind me staring and getting huge hard-ons”.Which I didn’t, obvs.Darryl is a light-skinned black guy, and when he delivered his weed – which, officer, was unexpectedly delivered in a plastic briefcase – he saw how I dressed and came on to me strong, right in front of my mum and dad. I don’t know if he sensed the whore in me, or was just incredibly confident, but his attitude hit me right in my ovaries, and I wanted him badly. The weed we all smoked together probably helped: it made me really horny, as if I hadn’t been already!At first, we got high cos it was fun on a Tuesday, when there was nothing on TV.Then mum and I would get high before I went out, and because mum was too high, we’d insist Dad drove me into the city “to see my friends”. God knows if dad had worked any of this out yet. I should ask him, I guess!Dad never smoked, and although I’m sure he got high from the smog in the living room, he wasn’t a smoker. He’d often go to their bedroom so mum and I could smoke get blitzed, and as soon as he was out of the room and my head was spinning and my mouth was cotton, she’d encourage me to tell stories.- What was the biggest dick you’ve had? (Probably a skinny 9 inches: sorry guys porn is lying to you).- The smallest? (Poor fella, maybe 3 inches).- My first Asian guy (Poor fella, maybe 4 inches and he was SOOOO hairy).- Biggest load? (I mean … honestly mum, it was huge, but it tasted revolting, like it had been resting in his balls for a year).- Ever jacked a guy off onto your tits? (Erm … no more than 30 times).- Ever been with two guys at once? (Just give me the chance!!) – Ever done anal? (I’d love to, but it takes preparation, and you can’t do that in a car or an alleyway, no matter what other stories might tell you – I make do with the butt plug) – Ever been pissed on? (On? No. In? Yes, lots of guys love to piss in my mouth) – Ever been with a woman?And I say, No mum, never been with a woman. Women don’t seem to want hookers.And mum said, “You’re asking the wrong women” and kissed me. Lunged, basically. Hot. Confused. I think our teeth clacked together. My mouth opened for her, but my hands went up to push her away, and then I stopped cos her kiss went gentle, and her mouth was so soft and her tongue was in my mouth, and this was different from ANYTHING. Most men don’t want to kiss me, cos they know I’ve just had 5 guy’s cum in my mouth. A kiss was … this kiss anyway … THIS specific kiss was … OMG.Was it different cos it was a woman, or cos it was my mum? I don’t care, kiss me more. Her hand on my tits now. Her fingers in my clothing. We’re lay down, her on top. We’re naked now, or at least topless, and my skirt is so short it might as well not exist. Her fingers are hooked inside me, my pussy, not my arse, for once – although I wish I had a plug in my arse, it feels so much better to be fingerfucked when you have that extra fullness, but Oh Christ this is good.I’m licking mum’s tits, her nipples are small and tight and surprisingly pink (mine are brown), but they stick out twice as far as mine. I want to bite one. She moves on top of me, her pussy above my face, and just like my first ever blowjob she makes a fist in my hair and I eat her clit. I’ve tasted my own juice a million times, but this is somebody else. I lap it like a dog, and then suck it, and flick it with my tongue, spit noisily onto it, and try to push my tongue right inside her. She’s rubbing on my face – that’s OK, I like it when men fuck my mouth rough, it’s even hotter when it’s your mum.Should I put my finger in her? Yes, I’ll do that. Another. And another. I have 3 inside her and she’s basically just fucking my face and I’m soaked. Not just below, but my entire face is covered in her, more than any man has ever left on me, and this time it tastes goooooooood. I’m slick, and her legs and pussy and arse are slick too, so I push a finger in her arsehole.She slows slightly at the newness of this, but then starts humping and grinding again. I think she’s cum already, but the noises she makes are pretty much constant, and I’m probably making noises too. And I know I’ve cum. I want to do it again. I rub myself, and wish I had more hands so I could caress mum, fuck her arse, choke her, rub myself and everything else that’s flashing though my mind.After, we smoke another joint and talk, wrapped in each aydın escort bayan other on the sofa, with dad asleep upstairs. Well, probably not asleep. We weren’t quiet, so if he didn’t hear us, he’s as deaf as a post but never told us before.I know he heard us. I bet he wanked. I bet his cock is still hard now. I want to fuck again, and roll over on top of mum, mouth open, tongues thick and soft against each other, and this time we went slower.Obviously, the next day called Darryl and ordered more weed.The first time mum and I did coke, Darryl held my hair back and mum kissed him after her bump. He smiled, and then kissed me, which I thought was a bit cheeky: I assumed mum would be offended, but she just asked for another line, and then we all made out.Dad was out. He hadn’t said where, but I had an idea, because on 3 separate occasions I’d seen … let’s say, a car which looked suspiciously like dad’s … driving past me on a corner. Driving slow. Looking. We made eye contact, and I didn’t look away.So dad had gone out, and I hoped he was getting what I sold, even if it was from another lucky vendor.And in his absence, mum had made the first move on Darryl, and Darryl had responded, and we were both high on coke, and I was sure we would fuck. I was sure.But we didn’t fuck. I really wanted to, and was a bit offended that he didn’t stick around to fuck me. The cola made me very wild, really wanting to party and get nasty.But Darryl played it slow, he didn’t want to rush us. He got enough to know he could get more, and the next week, after mum and I had discussed hooking and I told the story of the first time I was nearly arrested (no, I didn’t have to blow him, cos his female colleague was sat in the car and he didn’t want to risk it; but I did have to promise to blow him next time).Anyway, after that story and 2 lines each, mum kissed us both and then Darryl took out his cock. And I sucked it while mum watched and frigged herself at the other end of the sofa. I was kneeling between Darryl’s legs, and he was touching mum with one hand and rubbing my face with the other. I’m really, really good at sucking cock, because on the streets that’s most of the job, and I fucking love doing it anyway.But now I wasn’t on a street. I was high as hell, really horny, and in a comfortable place with lubes and a butt plug, and I wanted to try anal sex.Breaking news: I’m 15, a hooker, on coke, and I’m loving anal sex with a black dealer while my mum reaches under me and rubs my clit. We did it 3 times in the first evening, the best time was on my back with my feet resting on Darryl’s shoulders. Mum did it too, and we didn’t even stop when dad slammed the door as he came home. He didn’t come into the living room. I don’t think he did. I’m sure he went straight upstairs for a long shower.Well … fairly sure.I didn’t spend all my money on coke. I did spend quite a lot of it on coke in the first month after trying it, but then I realised it might get really bad, and mum and I slowed right down. We still did it, but now we treated it like “pre-drinks”. You know when you’re going out with friends, and you have a glass of wine as you get ready, and it just makes the time pass better and puts you in the mood. Well I’d have “pre-coke” as I was putting on my sluttiest outfit, crotchless knickers, and getting mum to stop snoring my coke and put the butt plug into me.So not all the time. Just once a day, from Wednesday to Sunday.We also had a lot of apologising to do to my dad, a decent guy whose wife and daughter have gone out of fucking control. I love my dad, and I sensed I might have gone too far with the coke and Darryl. He seemed very, very, very OK with me kneeling on the floor in front of him, looking up with big eyes and saying “Daddy, I’m sorry”, while my open top 2 buttons made it pretty obvious I’d now had my nipples pierced.Saying “sorry” is one thing, but I didn’t know how to actually PROVE I was sorry. Offering to fuck him didn’t work, it just made him confused and speechless (another thing coke does is make you do things like offering to fuck you dad to prove you’re sorry for being such a slut). I think it would have been better if I hadn’t just blurted it out, but I shocked him, and he didn’t feel confident enough to say yes. The man’s an idiot.Eventually, mum came up with an idea that appealed to me a LOT. It also appealed to mum, Darryl, and I was very confident it would appeal to Dad too. By this time, I was well aware of what kind of girls made daddy happy, and they weren’t ones with a natural look.True to her word, Mum had looked after every penny I’d made, and I had made nearly £9,000. And it turned out Darryl had a friend in Barbados who would do boob jobs and tattoos on people under 16.So…By the time I got home from Barbados, I had a more natural tan, the pain had gone, the redness was fading, and daddy loved my new tits. Mum told him to stay in his chair, and in I walked … one-piece baby pink dress that was 2 inches below my crotchless knickers and mostly backless, and had been chosen specifically to show off my new 36G breasts.I unzipped the front as daddy sat speechless, and I gazed right into his eyes as I slowly peeled the dress open to reveal the silver bars piercing my nipples, and the tattoo around my pieced navel. I finished the look by turning around to show my lower back tattoo, and slowly bent at the waist, legs apart, arse right in his face, and looked over my shoulder and ran my hands down one leg to draw his attention to the delicate tattoo climbing up my left ankle.Mum said, “What do you think Simon?”I looked right at him. I will remember that look forever. I was playing all my cards, and I was daring him to refuse me. So I gazed steadily at him, legs spread, tits out, lips glossy with bright lipstick, and I said“Don’t call him Simon … call him Daddy, like I do”.And then I stood, looked mum in the eye, and stepped backwards to sit on daddy’s lap, facing away from him, my legs on either side of his, and I took his hands. I placed them on my tits, still bursting through the open zip front of my dress.“Do they feel fake, daddy?” I said.And then, already knowing the answer: “Do you like how fake they feel”.And his cock … there was a moment of silence as I sat on his swollen, surprisingly big cock, mum looking on with her lips open, almost panting with lust, my shaven, glistening pussy visible to her, dad’s hands on my big fake tits … and I waited for him to finally decide to be governed by his wonderful cock.And he did.In a car, with a stranger, my usual blowjob is straight down to business. I grab the guy’s cock tentatively, as though I’m shy and haven’t done this 6 times today already; and I look at him and say “nice” (because all men like that) and then I spit noisily on the head of his dick and shove it straight down my throat (because all men like to know a shy girl is turned into a cockmonster by their prick).This, now, with daddy … It wasn’t like that. I didn’t want that. I didn’t so my “usual” actions. I didn’t go into autopilot. I didn’t want him to feel I was fucking him like a whore. I mean … I definitely was going to fuck him like a whore: but a whore who loved him. A whore who had wanted this for a year, and was now going to make it oh so very special for both of us. Well, all three, including mum.I had my hand around the base of his cock. This time I said, absolutely genuinely: nice. Because it really is a nice cock. Around 8 inches, thick, hairless, and the tip is round and glossy with his precum. His balls are quite tight to his body, they don’t hang or sag like most men over 35, so his cock looks like a perfect club, curved upwards, muscular, quite smooth and, at that moment, twitching in my small hand.I didn’t rush. I looked at it from 2 or 3 inches away, rapt. Slowly, gently ran my long nails up it as he panted, and I heard myself say “hello, you” to his cock, in a soft, heated voice. I hadn’t planned that, it just happened, and as soon as I said it mum whispered and intense, involuntary “oh shit” behind me.I didn’t need to look up to know mum was touching herself as she stood watching. I didn’t need to look, but I looked anyway, because, well, wouldn’t you? Her skirt was pulled around her waist and she was rubbing her cunt very graphically in front of the French windows. They were open – we’d come in that way, and it was a warm day, and we hadn’t paused to draw the curtains. Who, at this moment, gives a fuck about neighbours?I turned back to daddy and said, “Look at her daddy” and turned to see him tear his eyes away from me and look at his wife.And then I said, “Now look at me daddy”, and his eyes snapped back. I opened my mouth wide, slick with extra-thick red lipstick I’d put on in the earnest hope that this would happen, and I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock as I gazed up at him.I slowly, gently let my mouth consume full length, licking as I did. At the bottom, I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and slid my tongue out to lick his balls, and I gagged very slightly. Then I slid all the way back up, drooling deliberately, so there would be a wet, slick coat of spit on his cock, trailing up to my lips. I looked down. My lipstick marks were all around the head of daddy’s dick.I did it again, slowly down and up, looking at him, three times, four, and then I heard mum gasp and cum behind me. My hand went to my naked pussy, dipped my fingers inside, and I ran the wet fingertips around daddy’s arsehole as I showed him the inside of my soaking mouth, his cock resting against the entrance.What a fucking whore I am. What a perfect little whore. I knew it, right then, as I eased a finger up daddy’s arse and mum started licking me from behind. I was still, just, in the pink dress, and mum had pulled the bottom right up over my arse and her nose was pressed against my arsehole as she tongued my pussy. God, it felt so good. I mean … god, so perfect and right and amazing.I wanked and sucked and drooled and spat on daddy’s hard cock, and I lapped at the underneath and rimmed his arse as I stroked him. And even though later that night I would snort coke off his dick, I was never in my LIFE higher than at the moment he started cumming on his own belly, and I had to pounce forward to get it on my face and open mouth before it had all gone. And then, to add one extra fillip of absolute ecstasy, mum licked it off me so passionately that dad’s dick didn’t have time to go soft before I guided it into my cunt and rode him to my first orgasm.As I said at the start: sometimes, in the middle of doing it, I find my mind drifting: trying to figure out how the hell I got here.It wasn’t quick. It took nearly 2 years to get me on my knees in an alleyway, with my daddy’s balls cupped in my hand, and my mouth full of his big dick, and my bald pussy leaking 2 loads of cum from earlier tonight, and my spare hand wiggling the plug in my arse. He knows I’m a hooker now, and that’s exactly how he likes to treat me.Two long years. But I hope you agree; it was worth it.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32