Tag Archives: model

Photoshoot debauchery: the final installment

Before I describe the sexytime, I’ll briefly mention this funny shit:

After we’d decided I should stay over, I was giggling “We weren’t even drinking and it was still daylight; it was 3pm when we started. So we haven’t got any excuse – we’re just sluts!”

And, “You’re easy. I just met you and in less than an hour I had you by the balls.” “Yeah, LITERALLY!” said Donny.

Later, he joked about closing the window in case a rapist got in and came after me. I said it wouldn’t matter because Roland is not a virginity fetishist, so if I sent him copies of the police reports proving that it was rape, he probably wouldn’t cancel our deal and I’d also get Criminal Injuries Compensation for the rape so I’d end up even more loaded.

And I’d also made Donny strip and do a dance with his thing flopping about while I lay on the sofa and giggled a lot.

Anyway, back to the sexytime:

(Sexytime was the best word Sacha Baron Cohen ever coined. Just sayin’.)

I’m not going to give a blow-by-blow account like I do with Roland.

The first couple of times the bottle ended up pointing at Donny, to my great delight. I had him stick the Smirnoff bottle up his bum while facing and watching The Ring as Rachel held Samara’s skeleton in the well. I made him keep watching. It brought me pleasure just forcing him to watch it. At other times I pissed on him (iun the bathroom), discovering that I actually do enjoy watersports after all. I also rode him like a horse, spanking him with the hairbrush to make him go and strangling him with a belt to make him stop. I also got to spank him but only briefly because he didn’t enjoy it.  I also tried to make him wet himself but he said he wouldn’t be able to do it. Of course, roughly 50% of the time the bottle pointed at me. So, I ended up doing stuff like cock worship and having a belt tied around my neck and having to be a dog. Donny dragged me around the room on all fours and made me roll over and beg. At other times he made me stick a screwdriver up my bum and do forward and backwards rolls with it in. He also made me stick the other Smirnoff bottle up there. I also got my first taste of anal fisting, which hurt A LOT and I kept screaming and thrashing around, but was utterly determined not to ask him to stop. I can bear a lot of pain, but only sometimes. He did get five fingers in. I also sat on the sofa and made him present his bottom to me, saying “Queen Tut, you have the authority to spank me.” Of course I couldn’t resist smacking the two round cheeks. Then he had to kneel in front of me with arms outstretched and say “Hail Queen Tut.”

So basically I found out that I like being dominant in all aspects of BDSM except spanking, where I’m a switch. Then we went into the bedroom and did anal, which hurt a lot and was just painful with nothing good about it. He never got all the way in. Then we slept as the candle burned. I woke up many times during the night, always aware of where I was.

The next morning, the clocks went back. Donny wouldn’t tell me what time it was, teasing me that he knew something I didn’t. He said I should go round to Roland’s house and see what he says. I pointed out that Roland lives a distance away. We went out for breakfast and somehow got talking about US oral sex laws in Louisiana that had been made to catch gays in the 1990s but sent a 17 year old to jail for 10 years for oral sex with a 15 year old – despite repeated efforts to get him pardoned. He’s still there. Donny said imagine what we’d get for what we did last night – probably the electric chair! Back at the flat, his radiator caught my eye because it was so hot. I asked him to push me onto it. Donny was brilliant – he started interrogating and strip-searching me for drugs, then pushed me onto the radiator. It burned and I yelped; I got a red swollen bit on my bum that was sticky. He said he’d never met a girl as openly kinky as me. We went out on a few business calls, then back at the flat he spanked me, but only for a while because he was tired. Then he drove me to Princes Street, saying he would respect my privacy and not post the photos, and likewise he didn’t want me to put his real name on this blog. He kissed my cheek before dropping me off, saying I could stay over again or call if I wanted.

I wish I wanted to see him again but I don’t. I don’t know why. I enjoyed doing it with Donny more because he’s more attractive than Roland and I actually fancy him. But Roland is sexier – his voice and the way he oozes perversion, and the way he spanks. The spanking and roleplay is better with Roland. I wish I did want to call Donny but I don’t. It’s like, the challenge is over; I won, I had sexytime with him, so now let’s move on to another guy and see if I can get him, too.

But you never know – if Roland doesn’t call me soon, I just might get sexually frustrated and call Donny. Who knows?



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Photoshoot debauchery continued: virginity checking & spanking

Donny said he never had fantasies like mine and never about spanking because he’d done it, though he’d never been spanked. I freaked out in my head.

“What? You’re into spanking! No way!” I went, “I don’t meet anyone into it ever, then in just a few months I do! This other photographer was into it too.”

We talked a bit about spanking and he asked if I’d ever been spanked or spankeed a guy. I was guzzling the Lucozade and absolutely delighted because I knew what was coming, what I’d made happen.

“Let’s get some spanking shots in,” Donny said, and we tried to figure out what to spank me with. He went off to get two plastic hairbrushes; one belonged to an ex.  Then he took a photo of me bent over the sofa, before slowly pulling the brush back and swatting me with it. It was painful and the pleasure was as intense as it was immediate. He did it a few more times, then I suggested we do OTK on the sofa, and that is what we did. “[Kalika] is your real name?” he asked, just before he spanked me. (I model under a fake name). And it was sheer bliss.

I had just told him about selling virginity and the blog – something I’d been telling myself not to reveal, to protect anonymity. After spanking me, and some chat about virginity and the corona being mistaken for the ‘hymen’ (which is fictional) for 500 years, he goes, “Want me to check?” I laid on the floor and he started pressing the bit next to my inner labia, and sometimes it hurt. I said he wasn’t even checking, he was just having a good time. He said he couldn’t see any opening and it was all completely closed with no way in.I felt relieved, because I was able to find my vagina aged 12 and 13 but I can’t find it now; but this meant that I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t find it. It must have sealed as I hit puberty. Donny seemed to think I didn’t have one, but I said I had periods so I must do; anyway I had one aged 9-13. He couldn’t believe how closed off it was and asked to take a photo (he wasn’t going to post any of these online, or indeed any pics before asking me first. Most of his photos never get put online at all; it’s his hobby and he just keeps them while only posting a few. Obviously, close-ups of vaginas could never be posted on non-porn sites, anyway.)

I looked at the photo, intriuged. I couldn’t see anything there; it was featureless; a slightly yellow-toned seal with a slight bump. I realized it was pretty cool. I also realized that I was looking at the thing that women had been – were being – killed or disowned for. Which is something I don’t really write about much because my words will be pretty much useless. And I felt terribly privileged then, to have been born where I could look at it and know it was worthless to me, to be able to sell it. And without fear.

I was happy about how pretty it was. Donny was all like, “Wow, a spanking and then checking for virginity! I haven’t had a girl over in a long time, and now suddenly, wow! I thought this was going to be a boring weekend.”

I don’t remember how exactly we got to this point, but he got a knife from the kitchen and let me put it to his neck for a couple of minutes. It wasn’t working for me, though so he asked if he could do it to me. I thought I’d be scared, but I wasn’t. Instead my breathing quickened as if in the throes of sex and I got wood. Interestingly, I can tell if I’m stiff easier than I can tell if I’m wet. I dunno if this is universal among women.

And then I was lying on the sofa and he came over me, the knife to my throat as he lay on top of me and it was great! I didn’t feel scared at all. Then he was standing up and I was rubbing the knife against his crotch, and then giggling because he was wearing these Fred Flintstones ‘bed rockin” underwear; he said he hadn’t expected anyone to see it. Ha. Then I was pulling them down, examing him because it was only the third cock I’d seen. Then I gave him a handjob as we sat on the sofa.

It was much more enjoyable than with Roland because I wanted to. With every fibre of my being, I wanted this and it felt so right, so good, so natural. He said he felt like I was doing all the work while he had fun, but I assured him that wasn’t true, and continued jerking him, trying to make him splurge all over the place. It was so fun! So right! I also got to fiddle about with and examine his foreskin, and I suspect that the foreskin is a remnant of a biology similar to a dog’s, when the penis comes out like a lipstick. A lot of mammals are like this. So that is my evolutionary biology theory about foreskins.

Donny suggested I stay over and we could go out for drinks. “And don’t worry, your virginity is safe with me,” he added, and I giggled – it was so funny! Just such a funny thing to say, and of course nonsensical, because the only way I’d lose it would be if I suddenly decided I didn’t want the remaing 6k, or if Donny was a rapist, something he obviously wasn’t because he’d had plenty of opportunities. He also recieved and made a couple of calls – he’s self-emplyed fixing both hardware and software. It was about 5:30; I waited till 6 to call my mum, saying I’d met up with Kathy after the shoot and we were going clubbing so I was staying at her place. I’ve stayed over at Kathy’s before – last time a couple of weeks ago, so it was believable.

Donny said I sounded very real and believable on the phone. I’m great t lying, so yeah, I probably did. Also, I wasn’t under a lot of pressure as my only reason for lying is my liking of privacy; there was no reason to keep it a secret from her, I just don’t think she’d be that interested or want to know, and I like privacy in unimportant matters like this.

I was snickering about my former worries over Donny potentially being a murder and my mum telling me to give her Donny’s number in case he was a rapist/murderer; yet now I’d let him put a knife to my throat and wanted sexytime. “Yeah, ‘I should be so lucky’!” Donny laughed; “I mean that in the best possible way.”


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Spanking and anal at photoshoot with a guy I just met

Well, dear readers, this sexytime post does not feature Roland! But it still deserves its place in my Diary, because it is an experience I’m having while selling virginity, and we did talk about this blog and Roland. He even offered to make a website for me so I could auction off my virginity for a much higher price. I turned him down because a) I wouldn’t necessarily get more – Rosie Reid only got £400 more than me and the girls who got loads, such as Natalie Dylan, have never been verified to have sold it; b) I have a verbal contract with Roland, c) I prefer it to be someone I like and d) it’s harder to vet bidders online and I want to be safe. And of course e) – I want a kinky person.

I’m sure that this blog post will convince you all that I do ‘put my money where my mouth is’ – in other words, that I am indeed a slut.

It certainly convinces me, because I never saw myself as doing something like this. I guess you don’t know who you are until the opportunity presents itself. A few short years ago, I would’ve despised a girl for doing this and said she was a slut, a tart. But I changed shortly after going to university because I saw no point in judging people and comparing peoples’ sex lives to other peoples’ sex lives, especially when I realised I couldn’t draw up a slut table (ie is being married to 5 men less bad than cohabiting with 5 men just because she’s married? Or even worse? Is 2 one night stands in a month better or worse than 3 in 5 weeks? If it’s with someone you know is that better than with a stranger? Having 3 casual boyfriends in 6 months better or worse than 1 one night stand?) There are no answers to these questions – at least, none that aren’t debatable and controversial and probably case-specific.

The guy has requested to be called Donny on this blog, which he will read because he thinks it’s interesting.

I don’t know what Roland’s reaction to this will be, if he sees this post.

I was waiting outside the Festival Theatre, Southbridge, Edinburgh. This was on Saturday. Donny was going to pick me up to do a photoshoot. It was a mostly fashion shoot with some lingerie and artistic nude. He was taking me to his home, which I’d agreed to because I’d seen his portfolio and knew that other models had worked with him, so he was a real photographer and not a serial killer posing as a photographer. Heh.

Anyway, Donny picked me up. He had black hair – my fave hair colour on a man – good looking, maybe late twenties (I found out later he’s 30). He drove us to his flat in a fairly affluent area of Edinburgh. Donny told me he’s a computer guy although his degree was in something totally different.

In his house, he started taking fashion shots, and a couple of implied nude shots, and I changed several times. They were all fashion poses. Donny seemed very happy with how good the photos were. He said I have a natural talent for modelling and that I photograph very well, both of which is exactly what Roland said. So god knows why I hardly ever photograph well in ordinary pics. Then, after about 45 minutes he took a few implied nude shots and told me to look shocked and like I was screaming “Nooo” and covering up. He said I did this really well. It made me giggle though, and I said it was just like my fantasies and it was weird.

He said he needed a break cos his arm was tired, and I drank the Lucozade he’d bought me at the corner shop before arriving at his flat. He went into the kitchen to smoke. Then Donny asked me what my fantasies were and I told him, very briefly – spanking, government torture, rape, etc. He wanted to know how long I’d had them, I told him they arrived fully developed when I was 9 years old. I asked if he ever had any fantasies. Donny said he had to think about it for a bit, because I’m so open-minded that he thinks nothing will shock me but he wants to shock me. Then he came back out of the kitchen and told me about a dream of going into a van full of naked ladies in it when he was 7 which made him really happy, and backl then he “didn’t even know what naked ladies were for”. Sounded like a mobile brothel (like a mobile library) to me!



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Studio bondage

We didn’t get caught, which was a shame because I bet Roland, millionaire businessman that he is, would’ve still gone as red as a little boy when caught taking shots up some girl’s pussy. Bet he would. And I could be all, ‘Help, he exploited me! He lured me here under false pretences with promises of taking clothed photos and building up a portfolio and making me a proper model!’

On an unrelated note, someone who read this blog has told me that my writing is really good. I don’t think it is, but a few people have said this. However, I can’t help but notice that my writing goes off on tangents -like this one – and isn’t very descriptive of, say, the studio, restaurants, etc. Anyway, I’m very flattered to be told this by someone who isn’t my friend in real life (because their opinions would be biased in my favour, and a couple of them have read my stories and poems which are better than this blog.)

I suggested he squirt the cream on – as Roland said, because I didn’t use the word and he (maybe) thinks I can’t talk dirty – “your pussy” (said with relish, like a naughty spankable company director) and lick it off. Which he did, though it didn’t bring me to orgasm. Was good, though. He made me wriggle and squirm and moan, though sometimes the feeling was too powerful or painful – but mostly really good, better than last time in his office even.


He went on for a long time, long after all the cream was gone (idea for a product: low calorie sex cream, “Be a whore! You won’t get fat no matter how many people you do!”)  and watched me intently the whole time. Then he stopped.

I was lying on my back, worrying about the cleanliness of the floor – which wasn’t very clean – anyway, Roland blindfolded me. He asked first, which was nice. He’s a good boy.

Then he put handcuffs on me. “Now, those are locked and I’ve got the key,” he said.

I could not believe I was actually lying naked on the floor of a possibly unlocked studio while a richguy had the key to the handcuffs – I don’t trust rich people, especially millionaires.

He wrote ‘whore’ on my chest with red crayon. Then he snapped some pics and, after a bit, my eyes adjusted to the blindfold and I could see him clearly. My vision isn’t good, but I have great night vision, so maybe that helped.

I giggled and said “I can see you.” He rearranged my blindfold but my eyes adjusted to it again in a little while. Roland took lots of pics, then he removed the blindfold, though this didn’t make a big difference to what I could see by this time.  I said, “If you put the key in my mouth I could probably unlock them [the handcuffs].” Roland smiled. “Actually, they just pop open,” he said, pressing a button on the side, “you could’ve opened them yourself the whole time.”

That made me giggle. “You lied!”

“Yes, I lied.” He was pretty proud of himself.


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The Promised Smut

Well, guys and dolls (yeah, that was sexist. A bit of sexism or racism is okay; just not too much) I did promise you smut. (A Mexican walks into a black guy’s bar…nah, I’ll save it for later.) Anyway, I did promise you smut. And we all know that it’s the only reason that a significant proportion of my few followers even read this blog. Today was eventful: had a chat with an old classmate, fencing. Learned that GSW nearly got outed. Risked outing myself through being impetuous and thrill-seeking. The thing about me, folks, is that while I only rarely do stupid things, when I do something stupid it is SPECTACULARLY STUPID. Actually, here is a list of the most stupid things I’ve ever done/said starting from age 14:

When a stone made the blade of a lawnmower get stuck, I put my hand in to free the stone. The power was on. I was worried about the blade pushing my hand when I got it free, but didn’t think my hand would be cut.

At age 17, put a hedge trimmer to my face, thinking that there was no battery in it, and nearly turned it on because the handle was a switch.

Nearly put a wallpaper trimmer to my face without the safety edge on (you can see there’s a trend here). -age 18

Bleached my hair blonde at 17 and then at 18; both times I then dyed it to brown.

Accidentally set my hair on fire.

On the first day of the Tahrir Square revolution, said to an Egyptian guy in a conversation “Is your government as bad as ours?” (referring to 9k tuition fees and the cuts) and “[in response to him saying his gov was bad] What did they do?” and “[when you go back] at least it won’t be cold and you won’t have to live under an insane government”. (In my defence, I knew they had elections so thought it was a democracy, and the riots hadn’t hit our news yet. I really feel this was set up to make me look stupid – if it’d been a Libyan or Saudi Arabian person or whatever, I totally would’ve known the political situation, albeit in very general terms. And really – the first day of the riots?? Someone up there totally planned to make me look stupid.)

Making up a fantasy inspired by Lochlan’s friend’s antics (which took place in a particular country when I was 18, and I spoke to him on the phone from Britain and told him I’d spank him for it if I was there and he wanked to the conversation) about police torture and spanking misbehaving tourists in a particular country, then found out it was true (for locals, not tourists) last year so moved the fantasy to Britain, wrote it down with embellishments and an actual plot rather than isolated incidents, then called it “The UK Government Torture Act”. The story was also inspired by the South Park episode where Santa gets his balls electrocuted by the Taliban, as a form of torture, and he yells out “No! Not Santa’s balls!” Favourite episode ever, but spoilt forever when I saw evidence that this really happened and terrorists weren’t the perpertrators. It never seemed funny again.

Pranked a prankster by telling him I would commit suicide. He told the police, the Scottish government and the health department, which meant the police ambushed me after my exam, my university teamed up with the police to lead me into their clutches and police told my parents.

Believing Roland’s fib that he had the key to my handcuffs and I couldn’t get them off when actually they were the pop-open kind.

Sending those texts to Roland. I think he’s annoyed with me. This was not good judgement.

Risking being outed for reasons that are unclear even to me. Again, this was not good judgement.

As you can see, I do only one or two stupid things per year, but they are very, very stupid.

And, without further ado, the smut:


We’re in the car park of Art’s Complex where Roland rents a studio under an alias.  We got here so fast from the restaurant because I know you guys want to get to the dirty parts quickly.

I tell him that when I gave him the message about wanting to sell my virginity – here it is:

[…]And there have been others who have sold their virginity, according to the news and wikipedia, though none ofthem were male, which may prove how sickening our society is that male virginity is devalued (or nonexistent)? Or female virginity prized because of traditional attitudes/the virgin/whore dichotomy. Anyway they got 4-8k for it usually, one Hungarian girl got 200k to pay her family’s debts and go to uni (so at least both parties got screwed). There’s a site called that my griend’s friend advertises on, but Iwant to speak to her about how to make sure I get paid and stuff. Not that I’m looking for as much as the girls above got, necessarily; it is more the thrill of selling it, I guess. And come on, who pays as much as that for a screw?? I’d be waiting forever.

…I deliberately thought about which amounts to type, and backspaced a few times. (The message originally said “they got 4k, 6k, 8k and 100k” but this was backspaced for being too low.) Only one of those amounts – 8k – was genuine; one was exaggerated upwards slightly – I think it was 100k. I did this to entice him to meet me because he wouldn’t know which amount I was referring to when I said I didn’t necessarily want as much as they got, so he might think it could be just 2k or 3k. Then, when I met him I could see how much he’d pay. Asking a higher price would be justified by the ambiguity of which of the amounts I was referring to – theoretically it could be 199k.

I was telling him this and giggling, and he said that’s the beauty of the English language – that it’s ambiguous. He said, “Well I thought ‘she’s after more than 2k’, because I could just tell that you’d want more by the way you wrote it.” He said that when he read it he knew it was deliberately ambiguous! Nothing gets past Roland!

So we get to his studio and takes lots of photos of me in underwear, fashion shots, more pervy shots, shots of me lying down biting my purity ring. As usual, he talks to me the whole time and it is fun. It hurts to do some of the poses though. He tied ropes around me and knotted them all together like the ready-made harnesses on eNay. I told him that, he didn’t know there were ready-made ones. Then he asks, “So how did you get into feminism?” and I try to explain and get as far as a lecture on it which made me realise I was a feminist, and my realisation that feminism didn’t have to be radical feminism or man-hating/sex negative and the merits of liberal feminism and how feminism affects academic, political and social discourse and lived experience, eg feminist criminology. But it felt kind of stupid trying to talk about the feminisation of poverty and the tension between objectification and control of female sexuality while he was getting shots of me bending over.

He said it was hard for me to explain objectification while being objectified by him 🙂  I think so, but also I think it is hard to talk about any serious subject while nearly naked with your arse in the air…it doesn’t work. I think it would’ve been worse if I’d tried to talk about AIDS in Africa or genocide or the holocaust.

Roland showed me an enema bag he’d brought, with a big wide Roland grin, then got me to put on this bodystocking I’d brought. It looked good on me. He took out a (unused) vibrator and photographed me licking cream off it and rubbing it on my clit, which wasn’t great, but okay. It was fun. I suggested he try to spank me while I tried to get away; he managed to pull me over his knee and eventually I fell off, which was funny. (Yeah, these descriptions aren’t great, I know.)

I told him nothing was going to happen with the vibrator because I have to be in a specific position to do it, so he asked me to get in that position. I got down on all fours and started doing my thang while Roland lay down on his side behind me and ogled. Then he got his camera and started taking pictures, really close up shots, like he might ram its massive telescopic lens right inside me by accident.

I demonstrated how I normally move and change position slightly, pressing myself forward onto my forearms as I progress and curling my toes under so I’m sort of on tiptoes. So I was saying “…And then I do this…then I shift…now I usually do this…” while he clicks away. I turned to look at him for a bit and he looked really happy and like he couldn’t believe his luck. He also looked very focused. If he’s that focussed when he’s at work, it’s not surprising he’s successful, and I was thinking how humiliating this was for him, a rich business professional reduced to lying on the floor taking shots up my pussy in schoolboy awe just because my vagina is dangled in front of him. Ah, the power.

I really liked doing this, it was very liberating. The door wasn’t locked and I hoped we’d be caught. (Him taking pics of nude girls is normal in a studio, but it would be harder to explain taking close-up genital shots of a girl masturbating.)

Loads more to come, but I’m tired.


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When I first met Roland

The weird thing is, I feel like I’ve known Roland for a long time. I’m very comfortable around him. He was doubtful that it was my first modelling experience the first time he met me and I modelled nude for £100, because, he said, I was very good at modelling and obviously experienced. I know that he was surprised how comfortable I was modelling nude, like I’d done it before. But I think it was because I felt comfortable around him and also safe, well as safe as you can feel naked and alone with a man in a mostly empty building with your phone way over there because you made a rare miscalculation cos you were so busy wondering if he’d possibly pay you for future spankings or sex acts or buy your virginity. I didn’t feel nervous at all about modelling or taking it off. Of course, it helped that he started off with clothed shots and then progressed to taking off layers, so I had time to get used to the clicking, flashing and lights. It is light and sound that can cause anxiety in me, not showing off my body (though I refuse to wear tarty/skimpy outfits even to go clubbing; there is only a certain amount of skin I will show and looking sexy doesn’t mean a micromini with no tights or boobs nearly falling out of your top). So, I’m not Snog, Marry, Avoid material by a long shot.

Anyway he was nice to talk to and pretty easygoing, kinda fun. He didn’t give off the rape-y vibes that some people might expect from a guy utterly obssessed with erotic images of women to the point of producing beautiful art out of it. I’m just as obssessed with erotic BDSM images of both genders, especially guys, but my art isn’t as nice as his. Anyway, he never looked at me except in a professional way and kept skin contact almost nonexistent even at golden opportunities like rearranging strawberries in my crotch. Nor would I inappropriately stare at or touch a male model if I was photographing them either, because of cultural prescriptions for my gender. Only kidding! Of course I would!! (The staring, not the harassment/molestation). There was a notable absence of leering and drooling. So I was thinking, this might work, if he wants to pay me for more stuff after this time. (I’m not saying I was expecting something bad or uncomfortable to happen, just preparing for the worst. And sometimes people don’t realise they’re making the other person uncomfortable – a comment you’d take as a compliment when clothed might feel different when you’re naked.) This was the first time anyone saw me naked.

Afterwards he spanked me which left me very confused and shocked that such pleasure could exist naturally in the world and not cost anything. I felt saddened that we pursue movies, video games and commodities when all the pleasures of Olympus can be found in being spanked. I realised I’d frittered away my life not dedicating it to the pursuit of sexual pleasure. I was dizzy with the need for sex, but I wanted a proper negotiation when I was in my right mind and able to get loadsa money for it. He paid me, including £50 extra for spanking me, and I felt so proud and sick to be so favoured by my god. (That’s not entirely serious – I don’t believe God influences every nuance of our lives; I think he watches, judges, but is noninterventionist, as anyone dying of starvation will tell you.)

Roland had this look on his face like he would fuck me right there, a pure look of lust which I found intriuging. He was talking about maybe Saturday, in his office, with implements; maybe going to a hotel room. I was contemplating whether or not he’d pay me what I wanted. I wouldn’t agree to anything without being paid, and a fair price, not like £500 or some crap. So I wasn’t about to agree to it in this post-spanking state when my powers of negotiation were weak. I also wanted to talk to him about buying the rights to my hymen. So, I was all noncommital “maybes”.

On the drive to Buccleuch Place where he dropped me off, I told him I was a virgin, and he said he’d guessed cos I’d told him I’d never been spanked. I expressed reticence towards having sex with him, just spanking (due to not being sure I wanted to and also to justify asking a high price for sex in the future).

I also took the opportunity to find out a bit more about his kinks and concluded we were a good match. I also deduced from his car and the fact he co-owns a company that he could pay me around 3k/4k. He also claimed to be thinking of buying another car, and made a further claim that it might be an Aston Martin. I was pretty much thinking, ‘this is the one! But you accepted £50 to spank you, how will you justify 3k to fuck? No, justification isn’t the thing, it’s your prerogative to set the price. But nobody will pay that! He can! But he won’t! He will if you convince him to, just don’t act desperate! I’m not! He’s a good choice, though; well educated, and he won’t risk his success by forcing you to do anything. And he did well in the trial run, he didn’t try anything during the spanking and he stopped when you asked him to.And you like him.He’s mine. Just don’t go lower than 2.5k, not any lower than that; we want 3k or 4k. So don’t act desperate, play it cool. He’s mine! He’s mine! He’s mine!

It’s amazing I could talk with all that going on in my head.By the time he dropped me off I knew that if I wanted spanking-only prostitution I could have that with him; and I wanted it. But as for selling my virginity I wanted that too and I hoped my reticence over sex would pay off (literally) later.

I was feeling lightheaded as I walked into the uni library. I don’t usually feel any emotions apart from happiness, which is a constant, but the euphoria of pride, elation and hope that percolated in my blood was as potent as any drug. I thought I might vomit from happiness, it was so intense.


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