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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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Let them eat cream

I just played an RPG http://spankingadventures.webeden.co.uk, a ‘choose your own spanking story’ set in a mystical mansion outside of time where you start as a slave with the possibility of progressing to Mistress; the ultimate goal is to become Supreme Mistress, but it could be GAME OVER any time. It is a very detailed, long and varied RPG; it took me over 2 hours to get this far and I read very fast (so far I’ve reached Mistress level).

I really want to stay as Mistress in that mansion, until the end of time.

But I could not forsake my Egyptian palace for it, and my responsibilties there.

 

Now, back to the actual stuff that really happened:

Roland was lying on the floor of the studio for some reason and I was sitting on top of him, naked except for the purity ring, bangles and maybe a necklace. I don’t know how this happened – maybe he was lying next to me and I just clambered on him? I think I said that he couldn’t get up with me sitting on him. Anyway, he had clothes on which continued to irritate me, but I was equally afraid that if I took them off he would be all wobbly rolls of fat, undulating and bobbing slickly under his skin.

We were talking about some stuff and I began to thrust in a rolling sort of motion, first sitting and then with my weight equal on all four limbs; at first I was gentle, then harder and squeezing my thighs as each thrust was completed. I imagined that he was mine, to torture and to dominate at my pleasure.

“If we were in my palace right now, I could torture you,” I said. This amused him, but I can’t remember what he said.

I blindfolded him. Then I jumped off him to get the whipped cream, climbed back on and squirted the cream in his face, giggling, and then in his mouth, forcing him to eat it. “That’s for being a millionaire,” I said, rocking now, “I don’t like rich people.”

A little while later, being puzzled why he wasn’t getting hard, I asked “Why isn’t this working?”

“Because I know that’s your kink,” he replied, still eating the massive wads of cream, “And I’m not going to let you have it. And I don’t have much of a submissive side.”

“Wait – you can control it? All men can?”

“Yes, except in very few situations,” he said.

“I can’t – at all. I wonder why – but I guess women are just more sexual. We’re multiorgasmic.”

“Well, yes,” Roland said in a very educated tone, like there wasn’t a naked hooker dry-humping him on the floor of a studio, “I think that’s it.”

“But in some situations it would work, like how you can control yourself not to come but sometimes you couldn’t control that.”

“Yeah.”

“So if I wanted to, I could tie you down and do this and rape you and force you to impregnate me.”

He chuckled. I was moving backwards and forwards this whole time and it was having no effect. “Well, no, because of something called the pill.”

“Yeah, but if I wanted to get pregnant. I could force you.”

“Well, yes,” he admitted, still swallowing Kalika-cream, “you could.”

I licked the cream off his face.

 

Then he drove me to his house. On the way out of his studio and on the drive, I found out that he wasn’t disappointed that I would’ve done it for less, because he  wouldn’t have wanted me that many times if it had been for less (and neither would I; I hadn’t envisioned 8 times at all till he said it at the restaurant.)

I also found out that if I’d said my student debts were 12k he’d just want to see me more, so it would’ve been the same, as we might do more than 8 times anyway – well, actually, it would’ve been less as he’d have wanted 15 times for 12k so it wouldn’t be a k a time. So, I’m really happy about that! It was important for me to know that. I don’t think Roland realised it was important for me to know that.

He can’t grasp how much I love money.

As we neared his house, I knew which one it was, and I was correct. Sometimes I’m just slightly psychic like that. Well, actually, it’s not psychicness, but sensing certain feelings and the air.

 

 

 

 

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List of all known people who have sold virginity

I have decided to compile the World Wide Web’s only list of everyone known to have sold their virginity, along with the amount and outcome. (Does not include people who planned to sell their virginity but have no evidence of a serious attempt to carry on with the sale, or people who traded it for shoes, Justin Bieber tickets, marriage, Apple products, commitment, Blackberrys, or small amounts of money. These all happened – Google it.) As brothels and agencies take large percentages of the amount, it is not known how much some of the sellers recieved, especially if they were taxed.

A 16 year old Irish Girl posted ad/auction on Gumtree.co.uk to fund Art supplies for university -attempted for £6,000 Result not known http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/northern-ireland–teen-selling—virginity-to-highest-bidder-14650532.html

A New Zealand 19 year old student, through action site ineed.com, equivalent to £20,000  http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthepacific/newzealand/7146187/Poor-New-Zealand-student-sells-virginity-to-stranger-for-20000.html

Noelle, a Belgian 21 year old student through an Amsterdam escort site – £45,000 for 24 hours. Bidding started at £4,200 and after two months of bidding it rose to £45,000. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1383814/Student-sells-virginity-online-45-000-shes-keeping-identity-secret-case-parents-out.html

Australian, Chinese-born schoolgirl through escort agency – $12,000 (whatever that’s equivalent to in GBP) for 2 days or $15,000 for 4 days, depending which story you read. The agency will take up to 50% http://news.ninemsn.com.au/national/8462671/sydney-escort-agency-selling-schoolgirls-virginity-for-12k

Natalie Dylan (not her real name) , 22 year old American student, through a Nevada legal brothel to fund a postgrad degree, goal of a million USD, sold for 3.7 million (amount never verified, actual transaction never verified). She got the idea from her sister paying for tuition after prostituting herself for 3 weeks.http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,480037,00.html

Alina Percea, German erotic website18 year old student, to help her family in Romania and fund university education -£8,000 but may have lost over half in tax and VAT, leaving her with over £3,000 in the end. She claimed they set up another meeting, and this time she wouldn’t make him pay.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/germany/5363002/Teenager-who-auctioned-virginity-loses-half-the-money-in-tax.html

18 year old Hungarian girl, to pay off family debts and go to medical school,  £200k but knew she will lose half in tax. http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/3083258/Teen-girl-sells-virginity-to-Brit.html

18 year old British student Rosie Reid, a lesbian in a relationship. Sold through Ebay then through a website she set up after Ebay shut down the bid, £8,400. Sold to a BT engineer to pay for tuition fees. She initially posted it as a joke but then recieved responses and realized people would pay.

 

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Slutty dreams

Ah, ‘slut’. The perfect word. I am a slut. What kind of disgusting slut would sell her body? And not only agree to such a thing, persuaded by a much older company director, but actually go to a nude modelling shoot to see if this is the right man to sell her virginity to. It’s absolutely disgusting. Dirty. Sordid. Unseemly. Naughty. Bad girl. Obscene. Licentious. Libidinous. Perverted.

I hope by the end of it I feel used and dirty. I tried to cry when I ran away from Roland and he cornered me, demanding that I could either give him a blowjob now or do it “with a sore bottom” [back in a sec]

Right, where was I? Oh, yes. I wanted to cry, but I cannot cry at will, something that I regret. I can act very well and can lie very well, but I cannot cry, though I can fake crying and people will believe it. (Then Roland was all like, ‘If you don’t want to then we don’t have to’ which left me feeling insulted; what gave him the idea I couldn’t do it?? Except that I attempted to run away from him, then later did run upstairs where he cornered me). Then he was all like, ‘Are you really sure?’ about six times in different words. Why didn’t he just stab my bum with the knife and carry me downstairs, take the knife out, put it to my throat and tell me to get sucking? (Note: this is not a serious rhetorical question, unlike in 50 shades where Ana wakes up in a hotel and is all ‘Why didn’t Christian rape me while I was unconscious?’)

Anyway, the point of this post is that the other night I had a dream…a song to sing. I was in a student flat while a stunning boy one or two years older than me, with black, floppy hair (which I like) had sex with me. He knew I was a virgin. It hurt a bit but went on for a long time and was great. After that we drank coffee and agreed not to see each other again because we had fulfilled our agreement. Then I woke up in bed, realizing that I’d been dreaming about last night, took a morning-after pill, checked the time, realized I should’ve taken it before, wondered if I should go get emergency contraception, and went back to sleep.

Then I REALLY woke up and after a few minutes of worrying about this and deciding to go to the doctor for emergency contraception, I realised it’d been a dream.

I think the dream was showing me/was my brain showing me what would’ve happened if I hadn’t sold my virginity. That I could’ve had my dream man as a hookup but not been paid. My brain was idealizing the encounter – dream boy, no commitments. However, it seems that my subconcious thinks that unplanned pregnancy or stress would have resulted from it. I wonder if my subconcious was telling me why I must not annoy Roland – “Even if you found your dream man, you would be unhappy because you lost the opportunity to sell yourself”. -As Freud would say. He does oversimplify things and read sex into absolutely everything. However, in my case it’s warranted as the dream was about sex. And my dream was telling me that Roland is the opposite; someone I find deeply unattractive, but with whom I would apparently not get pregnant (for some reason). Or was the dream telling me that pregnancy from a student would only bring anxiety, whereas pregancy from Roland (if carried to term) would bring lots of money (child support)?

Possible meanings of the dream:

If I have sex I risk unplanned pregnancy

Sex with someone other than Roland is risky/Roland is safe

You can have a dream boy and stress, or Roland and money

You should get pregnant by Roland to get child support

At all costs avoid getting pregnant

There are so many methods of contraception that you won’t get pregnant

Losing your virginity will result in anxiety

You should break the deal and lose virginity to someone your age

If you don’t sell yourself to Roland, you will be stressed

Do not be a virgin when you have vaginal sex with Roland

Get pregnant by a good-looking man so your baby will look good, then tell Roland he is the daddy

If you don’t love Roland, as he claims, you shouldn’t have sex with him

The deal is a bad idea – you should hook up once and no more

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Waiting…

I’m in the Main Library, waiting for Roland, who is going to pull up round the corner near the steps on Buccleuch Place. He’s texted me while I was on the bus that he’ll be late cos of something at work. I just replied to Leanne’s text but it looks like it didn’t send so I’ll resend it after I type this.

He just called me a second ago, after I wrote that sentence, but I won’t type what time he’ll arrive now because I’m utterly paranoid that, if I do, someone in Edinburgh who reads this will arrive in Buccleuch Place first to intercept us. (See, this is why I don’t watch police dramas or spy movies – I’m quite paranoid enough as it is.) Now, all you kids out there who are reading this disgusting x-rated blog without proper parental approval: WORK HARD, GO TO UNIVERSITY AND BE SUCCESSFUL. Because then you might end up being a) the boss of a company and b) well-off so that c) you can leave work whenever you want to pay someone less than half your age to have sex with you.

Dear God, what has happened to good old-fashioned values? I bet people like Lloyd George, Thomas Jefferson and Marilyn Monroe weren’t skiving off work to sleep with people…oh, wait…

What I’m afraid of (as I texted Leanne but it didn’t send) is that Roland (if he had his shirt off, which I haven’t yet seen) will look like a blancmange…wobble-wobble. And then I might vomit. I don’t like wine (love vodka) but maybe I’ll have some to prevent throwing up later on. It might be better if I’m out of it a little bit laer on. I just worry he has moobs (man-boobs) so yeah if I have something to drink I’ll do better. But he’s not actually fat or probably even overweight so maybe he has a stunning body and I’m worrying over nothing. At least he is tall, and has broad shoulders and a nice voice. Nice eyes, too. I like the way he looks at me. I’d better go now, dear readers.

I’ve come back into the library cos he’ll be another 20 mins.. I was half-suspecting he is doing this deliberately to get me more sexually frustrated so it’ll be easier for me and better for him, but then he told me someone got fired!! But he didn’t “directly” fire this person, they’ll “see how it goes”. Obv I sympathise this person and their children if they have any, and I hope everything goes well for them. But Roland actually firing someone is really sexy and I think it makes him more attractive. So no more worries about throwing up now! Yay! I wonder what he’s telling his colleagues about why he’s leaving? “Just off to fuck a hooker” doesn’t sound very professional. Maybe “just off to see my girlfriend who’s young enough to be my daughter and won’t do it unless I pay her” would sound better? Somehow, ‘girlfriend’ always legitimizes things, it sounds better than ‘FWB’ or ‘some woman’. Anyway, toodles.

 

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Being even happier than usual (if that’s even possible)

Before I continue the story in my next post, I wanted to tell you this stuff that happened over the last couple days which illustrates the similarities of poly relationships with mono relationships/similar problems, the unpredictability of social attitudes and just some random stuff that makes me so happy.

Firstly, remember the guy I mentioned who I would consider committing to? He dumped me because “I long ago told you that my personal version of Polyamory involves committed, loving, and trusting relationships.  This is not what you want; you have said as much…your comments made me realize that I should not be spending time talking with someone — especially long, drawn-out conversations which only lead to fights and disagreements — who doesn’t want security and care (the “white picket fence is a prison wall” comment was very revealing about your attitudes towards roots and stability) when I should be out there finding someone who does…you will become a formidable person, which is my sincerest wish for you.” Which is all true, so fair enough. I do miss him, though. I am far more attached to him than he realises. I wish I could make him happy forever and never have to be sad. But neither can I deny that since the moment when I read his email, I am the happiest I’ve been in several months; I guess lately I have been worrying about his desire for children; although I’d love to stay in America with him for a few months or even 1 or 2 years, it was getting more and more obvious that he wants much more than that. Being young and beautiful, I am not ready to settle down. I crave thrills, new experiences, adventure, exoticness in all aspects of life.

He claims to be able to pierce labia in a way that would time the piercing with orgasms, but in his infinite cruelty he did not give me the instructions for this when he left (or critique the UK Government Torture Act story, which he had nearly 2 months to do.) I will miss him soooo much! He taught me so many things which I’ll use for the rest of my life and he was someone I could trust with anything, and he made me not feel ashamed about my emotional weakness, which only occurs in a certain situation, but which was very shameful and confusing to me. I read his email just after modelling for the law school, and I was wearing a brown steampunk corset over a long-sleeved t-shirt, with a Goth silky red and black cardigan thing; it had ruffles at the wrist and edges. I was also wearing blue jeggings I got in Sainsbury’s. I got the corset online from an alternative store, and the cardigan thing from an alternative shop in Coburn Street which closed down. I got the tee in Hong Kong 4 years ago.

The next day (31st) I did some modelling for my university (to use in prospectuses, law school website and apparently bus shelters all over Britain to promote our law school). It was loads of fun and I met really nice people, we were actually talking far more than modelling because of all the waiting around. It was great getting to know people, especially Masters and Postgrads because our law school is quite socially “divided”, both from the rest of the University and internally among the different kinds of degrees and different kinds of people. The shoot was cancelled the day after because of rain, then I met up with Leanne, who I hadn’t seen in a while (she’s a law student in the same year as me.) We got takeout coffe in the Main Library cafe (I had a mocha with caramel syrup) and wandered out onto the big grass sqaure, which was sodden. So we were walking round this square (the benches were wet) drinking coffee and eating salad (her) and a double chocolate chip cookie (me) which are quite representative of what foods we like to eat respectively. She’s vegetarian and I subsist on chocolate, though I am eating more healthily now to make my hair grow faster.

Anyway, Leanne was saying she didn’t really want to graduate, which are my feelings exactly – I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE UNI!! She asked if I was going to the Grad Ball, and I said yeah, because I’d thought I might be in America with the guy at the time, but since he dumped me I would go to the ball then, as there’s no rason not to go. Leanne’s going. I told her about the guy. Then I wondered why I have way more friends from my societies and clubs than in the law school; I hardly have any in the law school but loads from other courses, universities, hugh school and work, which is a bit odd, I think. Though a couple of girls at the photoshoot were in exactly the same situation as me, so I guess I’m not that weird. And our law school is not exactly conducive to having lots of friends; we tend to have little groups at best.

Leanne said it’s  just about clicking with people and the overrepresentation of snobby students, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. I was saying that I wish I could travel, but for the moment I’ve got to stay here, cos I sort of met someone. She was all, “Cool, what’s he like?” and I didn’t want to lie, but neither did I want to admit that Roland is slightly chubby and really old, as well as only slightly above average in looks, so I just said “It’s complicated,” and I also didn’t want to lie to her that he is my boyfriend because I don’t like lying to her.

Of course she wanted me to spill, and I did want to tell her and had wished I could tell her. But Leanne is a very respectable, conservative sort of person – she even looks like a law student, unlike me and roughly 90% of our law school. (She even has nice sensible hair; its long and wavy but somehow looks sensible; I don’t know why.I mean, neither of us have an actual haircut; mine is shorter than hers and has a thicker fringe and highlights, but mine doesn’t look all sensible like hers and I can’t work out why. Maybe it’s her fringe? Because lots of girls don’t have an actual haircut and their hair doesn’t look sensible. So I don’t know why.) She’s a churchgoer and sort of Catholic-y without being Catholic, if that makes sense (does it? No, it doesn’t. And she is against some very fundamental Catholic principles). Anyway, she’s the sort of prim, proper girl that I would be if someone gave me a libidodectemy. Though she’s had several boyfriends while I haven’t had any which is unfair. But it’s not surprising cos she’s really pretty but then so am I. I sometimes worry what she thinks of me, and this was before I met Roland! So this is why I’m having reservations about telling her, even though I already told her friend Jay.

I said, “What if you don’t like it?”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot of pretty crazy stuff,” she said (it’s pretty much unavoidable at our uni.) “I’m not judgemental.”

“Yeah, I know you’re not…but it’s like, well, I told Jay. But I think that’s actually easier, because I care about, like, your opnion -I’m not saying I don’t care about Jay’s opnion. Just like if I tell you, and you didn’t like it…”

So far, only my best friend Lochlan and Jay knew about it. I was too paranoid to tell my friends in my town or my other Stirling friends. We were walking over the wet dirt-path with the Main Library in front of us again. Then I thought, well, if she’s your friend you should be able to tell her. And if she’s negative about it, she’s entitled to her reaction; and if she’s so negative and judgemental that she never speaks to you again then it’s better that it happens now rather than later when you’ve bonded more. And at least you’ll know what she’s like.

So I said, “OK, but you have to let me finish.” Then I told her: “OK I met this photographer guy on an art-sharing website, he does nude photography and he was based in Edinburgh and I liked his art so he did some photos of me.” There didn’t seem to be a reaction, so I went on “And…so he gave me 100 for that and…he gave me extra for letting him spank me. Like, we’d talked about it before on the website and stuff.” There didn’t seem to be a reaction to this either, or she’s really good at controlling facial expressions, which rather spoiled the dramatic effect. It made it easier to go on, though, instead of lying “…and that’s how we met and ended up dating.” So I went on, “Well, long story short, he’s paying me to sleep with him,” and I thought how simple life could be if we didn’t make symbolic associations to actions, gender and sexuality and make such a big deal out of everything.

“How much is he paying you?” she asked

“8,000. I’ve always wanted to sell my virginity,” I added, “It’s like a kink or a fantasy.”

“What did Jay say?”

“He said it was good that I’d have this experiencde that not many other people have and I’d always like be able to talk about it and have a good story to tell.”  and we came to a massive puddle and turned back, retracing our steps. Just for the record, I was earing my old leather jacket over a long cable knit fitted hoodie and black jeans with knitted shoes; Leanne was wearing a dark sensible-looking top, purple velvety skirt, tights and boots.

“My boyfriend’s into that – spanking,” she said.

I was incredulous. She was the last person I would’ve guessed to be one of my kind, and I wondered if he liked it and she just went along with it to please him.

“Are you into it, or is it like he is, so you just…”

“Well, he really likes it and yeah, I do. Don’t tell anyone.”

I wondered if she was a switch or a domme or sub, but the question just boggled my brain and slid away because I couldn’t deal with it. I could not believe it.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. Not that I could, anyway, even if I was a bitchy wee gossip, because she’d tell everyone I was a prostitute. Not that I’d care because I only care what people I like or respect think about me, so I don’t care what they think if I don’t know them, and lots of them are quite adventurous anyway if the goss is true. I thought of telling her not to tell anyone about it but I think she knows not to, and if she didn’t care about my privacy then telling her not to wouldn’t stop her. Actually, I might’ve told her not to tell anyone earlier, before I told her, while I was stalling and agonizing over it.

Leanne said something like “Well that’s not something I would do, I think losing virginity should be with someone special, but I’m not going to judge you for doing it, I think everyone should be able to do what they want.”

“Imagine how much peace there’d be in the world if everyone thought that,” I mused.

Then we went to do the personality test that the Church of Scientology on the South Bridge was offering. We were put in a room to do the test, it was a questionnaire, the Oxford Capacity test which is meant to be really accurate. Leanne showed me what she’d written on her phone: I put a fake name so don’t be surprised if they call me Elena.

I’d only put my first name. When the results came back Leanne was taken to a different room. The woman explained the results to me and said they were very unusual – my happiness and confidence/certainty were close to the 100 mark (extremely high) with aggressiveness (which they define as ambition, ability to initiate things, get organized, concentrate, etc) also very high, as was responsibility. She said the test showed I was very sociable and active and love getting involved so probably I was doing a lot of extracurricular activities/very sociable and generally I’m goal-oriented and don’t reveal my negative emotions to others. I think its 100% accurate. She said my results were the only ones she’d ever seen that were so positive. She then tried to sell me a Dianetics book. She left me to wait for Leanne, but she didn’t return for a long time and I knew I’d missed the bus home so I’d miss kickboxing class, which didn’t bother me cos I’d rather spend time with Leanne. I’d let my social life fall by the wayside because of the dissertation and the exams right after that, and she’d done pretty much the same thing. I then wondered why it was taking so long and if they were indoctrinating her or something, so I decided to go look for her and pretend she had to catch a bus/train so I could just open the door if I heard her voice and tell her it was time to go.

I went down the corridor but I couldn’t hear her at any of the doors, so I turned back to check out the other part of the building when I saw a cute guy with black hair. I’m a sucker for any boy with black hair and also I wondered if I could get it out of him where Leanne had got to/what they do with people who do the personality test, because it might be quicker to get it out of him where she was instead of listening at every door in the place. So I talked to him about Scientology, and he explained how the body could be healed by healing the mind, which I pointed out was similar to Freud’s study of Clara.I detected no lie in his eyes when I touched on where Leanne could have got to – he didn’t know which room, but I knew they weren’t doing anything weird, because he was telling what he believed to be true. So I decided to stop searching for Leanne and we chatted about Scientology and I asked if Scientology had any values; he suggested I buy a book from them. I asked if polyamory was allowed; he didn’t know the word so I explained, but before he answered Leanne turned up.

We left, and she said they didn’t get her test results right, which is true.

We went into our uni’s microlab and went online and I showed her the times of the modelling shoot tomorrow because they were short on models, but she couldn’t make it. I told her I was blogging about Roland. We were doing stuff online and then she goes, “How do I get to your blog?” and that absolutely floored me, I mean I thought Christians aren’t supposed to be reading blogs on BDSM prostitution! What was happening here?! I mean, I’d guessed she wouldn’t be too negative about it, but actually wanting to read about it?? Anyway I gave her the link and suggested she create a wordpress account so she desn’t have to type the link each time.

After that we met up with her friend Duncan and ended up in Beanscene discussing persecution of Gingers, human rights and the media, the answer to my neverending quest to find the best country to live in, equal marriage, and, because I was thinking about this issue, the liklihood of legalizing poly marriage.

Duncan was very nice. I had a mocha with marshmallows and cream, and a crispy cake thing that didn’t taste very nice. Leanne had a berryade that was too sweet and Duncan had a thingie.

I felt very happy as I went home on the bus.

The next day I did some modelling on Calton Hill and met Kimberley who I instantly took a liking to. She asked me if the gold-coloured handflower I was wearing was “my religion” but they’re cultural not religious. Not that it’s even my culture, I just got it off Ebay. We got talking and she saaid I was the most ‘out of the box’ law student ever and she liked me, I was like, “That’s a great compliment from someone who’s only known me five minutes!” and we were giggling and I was all “I wish I was bi then I could take you out on a date” and we were just rofl. Then we all modelled in Princess Street Gardens and about 6 of us who’d gotten pally during the 3 days of shooting went to Maggie’s Pub in Grassmarket afterwards for some food (I had chicken wings and my first taste of breaded mushrooms because Kimberley couldn’t finish hers, and a Vodka and Irn Bru.)We were talking about the Eurozone, EU free movement law, whether Indonesia has “too much freedom” (of the media) as a girl who is from Jakarta claims,  and Ellen gave Kimberley a 101 on the gold standard versus fiat currency, something I know about but don’t know where I learned this. We all added each other on Facebook and got the waitress to take pics. I just checked out the pics on Facebook 🙂

 

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The flogger

So there I was, tied over the bench. As he listed out my naughty deeds, he smacked me with the flogger-it stung and the sting radiated out all over my bum. After two whacks, he swung harder , pausing after each stroke to take in the effect it had on my bottom. I tried not to make a sound but I squealed almost every time I felt the hot sting, and it felt almost solid not like felt strips cascading onto my skin. Sometimes the bench rocked a little. His eyes were shining with that purest delight, the joy that is only found in the flesh of others. I knew what he felt because I felt it too; I couldn’t stop staring at him (in between each stroke) and I wished he would take his clothes off and be naked so I could see him..I was watching all the time so see if he was getting hard from spanking me, but I couldn’t tell. There should be a law that all men must wear tiny little shorts that are nice and tight. Except the fat or ugly ones. I just remembered that when I was 13 and started a petition not to have to wear school uniform, my friend who was in my class said that I should make the petition say that all boys should wear a thong, except the ugly ones. As it happened, I stuck with the idea of just petitioning against school uniforms. (I gave it to the headteacher, because it was the headteacher who convened and chaired the Pupil Council. Everyone whose name was on it got called to her office the next day and asked why they had signed it and who had asked them to sign – despite the fact I already told her it was my idea and had started with my friends, which was why I was the one who was handing it in to her. Some signatories’ parents were called and told thert kids had signed a petition.That was the last we heard of it. I think the questioning/calling parents of signatories is discouraging free speech.And petitioning the pupil council or school was not against the school rules; it was done in a non-disruptive, nonviolent way at break time and lunchtime and not in class time.)

Anyway, that was one massive digression, but lying over that bench I wanted to see if he was hard or not. It was amusing seeing how a professional businessman could become controlled by physical drives, with only one goal in mind and a lust that must be satisfied. Are we all instinctual, animals, at heart? I know that, when I spank him, it will feel even better than being spanked.

Roland flogged hard, questioning me about lying that I was about to commit suicide. (I did it because the guy I lied to (who lives in America) has a habit of telling me the most ridiculous lies, which he gets me to believe, then mocks me for being gullible. I’ve tried to get him to believe lies back, but  never been able to get him back for it until I told him I was going to kill myself, which he believed and called the Dept. of Health, Scottish Government and finally the Lothian and Borders police, who, with the help of a lecturer I knew who lured me to where they were waiting under the pretext of a conversation, ambushed me in a University building just after my last exam. I told them it was a joke and apologised for wasting police time. Luckily, they believed me.Five minutes later I met Roland at the restaurant.)

Roland, after briefly flogging me for offering pornography for sale, now brought up the subject of my fake suicide.

“You caused him to worry,” he stated, scraping the flogger’s warm tails over my bum. He whacked me and I jumpd slightly, yelping.

“And he worried so much, he called the police,” Roland continued, rubbing the flogger over my skin, then swatting me hard. I burst out laughing at how funny it was that the guy who had laughed time and time again at my gullibility had finally believed my lie. And called the police, creating a huge drama! How funny and interesting my life was! Roland stood there for a while, totally nonplussed and watching me carefully. (He told me later that at first, he didn’t know whether it was laughing or crying. Then he thought ‘I’ve got to stop her laughing’.) And he did. He slapped the flogger into my bottom hard and I squealed in pain as stinging fire raged across my cheeks; then he did it again, and again until I was screaming.

Then the blows fell lighter, and he stopped and said, “Where did you go for lunch today?”

“The Tower,” I murmured.

“And what did you discuss?” he pressed, looking towards the camera.

“…Stuff.”

He bent closer to me. “What kind of stuff?”

“Selling stuff.”

“And what was it you agreed to sell? Was it…yourself?”

“Yeah.”

 

 

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Tied over a carpentry bench

I rubbed my bum for a while and then Roland dressed me in a black and gold corset, sliding sheer black over-the-knee tights up my legs. My toenails were bright red like my fingernails and underwear so it looked pretty good. Roland tied a pink strap around my wrists so my hands were tied behind my back. I felt completely restrained and helpless, and even a little panicky because I thought that if I had to run (e.g. if there was a fire, or someone was in the building) then I wouldn’t be able to move.

“If you really want to, you can get out of that,” he told me, and I felt calmer as I surreptitiously tried my bonds and realised this was true and my hands were much freer than it appeared. Roland had me kneel on the sofa, my hands bound and knickers pulled down so that my freshly spanked behind was displayed. He took lots of photographs of me bound and bent over. He tried to put bunny ears on me but they kept falling off; I was able to readjust them sometimes, though with difficulty, even with my hands bound (if I contorted myself). He took photos of me kneeling over the arm of the sofa and kneeling on the carpet with my front on the sofa. I think he took around 200 photos.

Then he removed the door handle and said “You can get out but nobody can get inside, because the only way in is with this.” He put it on the windowsill. Roland went out into the large space outside the door which was empty apart from debris and stuff from the renovation. He came back, knocked and I opened the door; he was dragging what he called a “carpentry bench” that the workmen had left behind. It was about 60cm long and 50cm wide, with four sturdy black metal legs.

I felt intriuged as I looked at it, and a tad apprehensive, but mostly just impatient to be tied over it. Roland configured his video camera.

I walked over to the carpentry bench and he bent me over it; “All the way over,” he said, and my hands were nearly touching the ground. He started pulling out snaking lentghs and loops of bright pink and purple rope from his bag of goodies. “It’s bondage rope,” he said. “I got it in a shop in Soho.” He tied my legs, and I eased my arms into a position so they wereroughly symmetrically positioned and easier to be restrained. I was a little nervous because I’d never been tied up or even handcuffed before. Although I wasn’t deliberately paying attention, it was obvious to me that Roland was tying very loose, easily untied knots, using big loops instead of single strands. (I know nothing of knot-tying, but I rather suspect that my instincts lead me to observe details when they percieve a potentially threatening situation, especially as regards freedom of movement.)

Roland pulled something else out of his goodie-bag and it was a flogger/cat o’ nine-tails. Its pink and blue stripey design, and its tails, reminded me of the flail in my story (“Kemet”). I said so.

Roland moved behind me.

“Why am I being spanked?” I asked, grinning.

“Do you want a list?” he said, savouring the words.

“Yes. List it to the camera.”

“You are being spanked,” he declared, “For offering to post pornographic drawings, for lying to that guy through emails that you were going to commit suicide, and he was worried and called the police, and for agreeing to sell me your virginity. Your first time.”

 

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The spanking begins

I knelt there, my bum sticking up and bare, and felt kind of vulnerable. He smacked it a few times, then showed me his black flexible paddle, which marks the word ‘slut’ on your skin. He thwacked the middle of my butt with it.

“Is that sore?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said truthfully. I was pretty nervous about what was to come, though. He’d bought me and now I was his commodity, he could do anything.In my pseudo-reality he was the cruel sadist, the despotic lord or oportunistic bachelor, my Roland, who appears in different incarnations. I found him once in Sade’s Justine, by this name, which was a wild coincidence. (I suppose that’s why I chose the pseudonym ‘Roland’ for this guy).

He paddled me with it, the sound of the slaps ringing out loudly as each one left a stinging imprint on my bum. It hurt a lot, especially when he repeatedly struck the same spot near the centre of my butt. I felt tears in my eyes which shocked me as I so rarely cry. I was yelping or squealing each time he hit me, though occassionally I managed not to cry out or move at all. He askedif I wanted a break and I said no, and he continued paddling me. After a bit, he went to fiddle with his camera and so I did get a short break. He wandered bak over and smacked my rear again. I said, “You should draw a target.”

He drew a circle in with a red office board marker, then 3 more circles. “And then the bullseye,” he said, pulling my cheeks apart, and I yelped when he did that because it hurt a bit. He thought it was funny. “And the numbers,” I reminded him. Roland marked in the numbers – 10 to 50 points, and said “fifty is the bullseye,” and I wondered if he was going to stick the pen inside me again but he laughed and said “but it’s too small, isn’t it? I can’t – The bulleye is too small.” Which was really funny.

Roland hefted his ‘slut’ paddle and said, “okay, we’ll aim for some 10 points, shall we.” He cracked me two near my sit spot. “Shall we say, five ten points?” He continued in this way until he’d got ten that were worth 25 points and had gotten every score except 50.

He picked up the wooden dog brush and rolled it around in his fingers. He set it down on the sofa next to me.

“This is a brush, isn’t it?” he said, “A dog brush. Turn to the camera, and tell the camera what this dog brush is for.”

“For…brushing dogs?” I whimpered, with tears in my eyes. My bottom hurt quite a bit.

“No. Why is it here, today?”

This was very humiliating for me. “…To…spank me.” I whispered.

“Say it louder. Say it to the camera,” Roland ordered.

“To spank me,” I said slowly.

“Yes,” said Roland, and he moved behind me and smacked me over and over with it. I wriggled and yelped the whole time. Then he let me rest. I knew the flogger and cane were still to come, though.

 

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The fun begins…

Roland drove us to his company, Luxor, in the central Scotland region. The entire building was empty. We were in an office and he joked about making me his secretary, a position that he and his partner were looking to fill. He asked me if I can draw up contracts because maybe I could actually apply. I told him that it was two years ago that I’d studied contract law so I might have forgotten lots of it so might not be right for the job. I said it’d be cool if I was his secretary, and it’d be more convenient for doing the film; I’d just do a lot of overtime. Or I could be a cleaner or something if I wasn’t qualified enough to be a secretary. “And having sex with employees isn’t illegal,” I added.

He chuckled. “It is, actually. And it’d look bad for me; I’d be taking advantage of the poor secretary.”

He took me into another office, set up his camcorder and I gave him the dog brush I’d brought. He liked how hard it was. He had his ‘slut’ paddle from last time, and then he reached over to the desk and drew forth a cane; it was really long and I thought it would really hurt. I tried it out, swishing it through the air a few times. It felt great; it really called to my domme side.

“You like that, don’t you?” he grinned. He made me kneel on the carpet with my front resting on a grey sofa next to a desk. this is where the fun began 😀

 

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Being a good prostitute

We drove through Edinburgh, and in response to something I said, Roland said “but you don’t have a husband,” which made me giggle because the thought of being married was incredulous to me. He said he would probably tell his wife (they have an open relationship among their friends) and I couldn’t stop imagining myself having a husband. I told him that although I’d always thought of myself as being a romantic as a teen, actually I’d just realised I wasn’t – since the age of 9 I had fantasised about having a husband. However, those fantasies consisted of me being caught cheating and spanked hard by my husband, or my lover being spanked by him. Of course, I also fantasised about spanking my husband (I am a switch). Though unlike Roland, I am polyamorous rather than favouring an open relationship. I don’t care for polyfidelity either. While I’m on the subject of my sexual preferences, I have never really wanted a boyfriend as I’m unable to be attracted to guys more than superfucially; I only want casual relationships and commitment scares me. It’s one of the reasons I wanted the installments – because continuing to see Roland aftrwards is way too much commitment for me to handle; I will need to lead myself up to it slowly. (I told Roland this in the Tower restaurant and he says I’m alternative sexuality). He seems to think my preferences rare. So do I, which is why I am proud of them.

However, there is one guy who I would consider moving in with, so this is an exception to my comitment phobia; he is poly too. Unlike with other guys, I don’t see him as merely attractive or just sex on legs; I see him as a person. Though of course I would never sleep with a guy who I didn’t see as a person; that’s just wrong and disrespectful. The reason I tend to see guys as just existing for my pleasure is that I never get to date the boys I like; the ones I like always aren’t interested or have girlfriends while the ones I don’t like follow me around like bitches in heat. So, basically, I never get to really know guys I would consider hooking up with so never get beyond superficial attraction. And none of my male friends are into spanking, enemas, diapers,pee/poop desperation, torture etc which are my kinks.

Anyway, we’re driving along under the Salisbury crags and Roland starts joking about making a legal contract,except that you can’t make contracts about illegal acts (or the contract is void) and I said “Well, prostitution’s not illegal, it’s just soliciting and kerb-crawling that’s illegal. So we could make a contract.” And he laughed and rubbed my leg and said “Well, there’s the whole ‘moral turpitude’ thing; and this, my dear, I think would count as moral turpitude.” Which was really funny, for some reason. The ducks and swans were flying off the pond when he said that.

“I’m your prostitute now,” I said. “I’m going to be a good whore for you.” We both laughed at that. It was kind of exhilarating – almost liberating? for me; I’m a feminist.

.

 

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Afterwards

We talked some more – musing over how the film would be done, discussing ideas, and also chatting about other things like Creationism, the Epic of Gilgamesh and world stuff/current events. It was very much like talking online with him on the art site, where this whole Virgin/Whore dichotomy idea had been born through our messages about the double standard and its creation of the dichotomy, as expressed in many ancient religions and texts such as the Bible (and, more recently, in the works of de Sade: Juliet v Justine). Roland thinks that de Sade “places pleasure (philosophically) where Nietzsche places the will, and the rest follows inexorably both through feeling and through logic.”

Roland had said online that he wanted to do photographs of me in a brothel for his project “the Virgin in the Whorehouse” which we’ll probably do along with the virginity film, or after. When I told him about looking into selling my virginity on adultwork.com (a site which my friend had told me that his friend, a sex worker, used) he said a girl who wants to sell her virginity is surely “the perfect VirginWhore”  He also said “you are a piquant combination of a pure body and an impure mind; the fantasies and curiosities of the Virgin conspiring inevitably to bring about her own Fall of her own volition, and for her own pleasure. Whether that pleasure be physical, material, spiritual, artistic or all of these at once. If man-meal you would have yourself be, then these pleasures are the exquisite spices that make it worth paying for – and, indeed, consuming. It is a very human story, an old story”.

I wrote to him: “Oh to be a Victorian, to transform in an instant from angel in the house into fallen woman! The American Tragedy of the beautiful, intelligent young sluts the psychiatrists fled from in horror when they percieved the sexuality of the 1950s/60s woman. Maybe they knew, even then, that the repression was falling; maybe they glimpsed in their unmarried pregnant patients’ eyes the courage and adventurousness of their innocent daughters.”

I include snippets of these conversations because I believe they form a backdrop to our arrangement, and are perhaps the reasons for this deal – without any connection through writing I doubt the deal would have happened, because for Roland sex is all to do with the mind and the mind is the greatest sexual organ. And so it is with me as well, I think.

Anyway, we continued talking and I remember thinking that I probably look hot eating the icecream (not that I was attempting to do so in a hot way; just not shovelling it in as I would do if I was at home). I eat lots of icecream and 5-6 bars of chocolate per day as well as coffee, hot chocolate and crisps; I’ve never dieted in my life. I was feeling sort of mentally dizzy after he said £8000 because although I’ve always wanted to sell my virginity, I never truly imagined I’d succeed!  And I would have, if necessary, sold it for £4000 or even £3000; (but then since Roland would be seeing me after getting my virginity and giving me the rest then, you could say that the virginity itself was being sold for £4k). Before he paid the bill, I went to the toilet to jump up and down and go “YES!YES!YES!” in private and look at my beautiful self in the mirror. I’m not one of those squealing fashion-slave divas who spends an eternity getting ready. In fact, I’ve never had my nails done professionally or been waxed; I only go to the hairdressers if I want highlights and trim my hair myself. And I LOVE LOVE my style which, although it incorporates the trends, is not at all dependent on the latest look (though I usually will have one or two items of clothing that reflect the latest look.) But, despite only taking about 5-10 minutes each morning to get ready, I always look fabulous. I’ve had total strangers from teens to little old ladies and accountants come up to me in the street and compliment my cheapo outfits that I buy in Internacionale, Primark, New Look and at best Topshop, Bank, Dorothy Perkins, Next and Republic. Anyway, I jumped up and down for a while before actually using the toilet and then staring at myself in the mirror and my reflection looked radiant and golden. I thought, ‘I have to tell Lochlan’ (my best friend) but my phone, Fire, wasn’t with me or I would have right then. I may have said “8000! You did it! You did it! Yes! Yes! 8000” but I’m not sure; my memory is very fuzzy at this point because this was the best moment of my life, and the fact that I was experiencing the best moment of my life in a toilet cubicle didn’t bother me at all. After a bit more screaming, I went back outside and Roland and I walked to his car (it’s a BMW convertible and, as he says, it’s a boy car with muscles. I won’t describe it further though). We had the run the last hundred metres to beat the traffic warden, which we managed by one minute.

 

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The Deal

Roland’s mention of his art quest reminded me of what he said online: “I see you also as a lovely muse, someone with whom to create or inspire art – erotic art. I see what happens sexually between us as part of that art. It is surely appropriate that an artist pays his muses. And this payment does not – alone – make them whores.” I had suggested we film it, and I knew this idea appealed to him.

“If I could film it,” he said now, looking at me steadily, “And take photographs – if I could make some art out of it – a work of art, not just a porn film…I would look at the sex as part of that art…”

“Yeah, anyone can make a porno,” I said, “Two 12 year old neds could make a good porn film. It would have a narrative. And,” I added, dispensing with the hushed voice “It would not be just that one second, the goods would be yours for a whole day. If you saw my second-last message…” Roland nodded. “Yeah, just no big permanent marks. Small ones are okay.”

He grinned at me, amused and a little surprised. “You want a reminder, don’t you!” he said.

“I don’t want a reminder, I just wouldn’t mind one,” I smiled. “And now there’s a deal you won’t get anywhere else.”

He nodded.

“So, how good are you at negotiation?” he asked, looking right at me.

I smiled instantly. “We-ell, I tricked the Chief of Police of the entire […] district into admitting he’d lied and that police on his force had been corrupt – that was to do with the local authority thing I told you about. I was 18 then. So that should tell you something about my skills.”

Roland frowned, and I knew he was thinking about the local authority in another town and how they had lied about my family.

“That was pretty impressive, right?” I said, grinning.

“What’s the first rule of negotiation?” he said suddenly.

I thought for a bit, a little smile on my face and looking hot while I was thinking (as I always do if I use this particular ‘thinking’ expression). I said, “I think it would be always to keep the end goal in your mind. Because as long as you don’t forget your goal, you will make a good negotiation.”

“That’s very true.”

“So what do you think is the first rule of negotiation?” I said.

He thought for a bit. “I would say, don’t be the first to name a price. Because then the other person can change it or lower it or debate it.”

That made me smile. “I already broke that one, didn’t I? Like I said I wasn’t after as much as those other girls got.[4k; 8k and 100k]”

“How much are your student debts?” he said.

“I think eight thousand, but it might be like twelve thousand now because they changed it.” [Actually now I know it would have been 10k if they had not changed it, but after changing it it is now 12k. Which doesn’t matter anyway because I doubt Roland would have given me 10k or 12k; or if he had, he might have asked for more stuff in return.And as this venture is not actually prompted by student debts, it doesn’t really matter.]

“I’ll give you eight thousand,” he said, “Provided that we film it; we’ll do some spanking, bondage and some shots to establish the narrative. So it might take three or four times before we actually consummate it And you continue seeing me after the consummation, for photographs and some more spanking and sex.”

I put my dessert spoon in my mouth and sucked off the icecream. It was the best raspberry ice cream I’d ever had.

I said, semi-truthfully, “I don’t know if I’d be here after we consummate it because I might go travelling. I’m not going to say I certainly will be here if I might not.”

“Well, let’s say four thousand for the virginity, and a further four thousand for if you want to continue,” he said.

“Yeah, I think that’d be easier,” I nodded.

We agreed that he’d pay me £1000 each time he saw me; I wanted this method of installments, rather than a lump sum, because it meant that if either of us wanted to back out, it would be easy to do so without negotiating how much was owed or how much of the deal had been fulfilled.

“And,” I said, “I would want something in advance; it doesn’t have to be much.”

“Like a deposit,” Roland smiled.

“Yeah – like I’m a Ferrari.”

 

 

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The Tower: How it started

So, it’s 1:17 am, I’ve finished all my exams, the summer is unrolling itself in front of me. And I’m lying here looking at the screen and wondering how on earth I’m going to get all my thoughts, facts and, well, everything onto WordPress in chronological order. This is a fun experiment, blogging, but I want to get it right. I’m known for being able to write well; I’ve had stuff published. So I don’t want this attempt to be a major screw-up, do I? Anyway, does chronological order matter – the film scriptwriters don’t seem to think so with their love affair with flashbacks. But let’s try for a little chronology here. I suppose it all really started in the Tower.

The Tower is a restaurant on top of the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh (it’s a great museum, by the way, you should go if you’re ever in Edinburgh.) Anyway I’d never been in a restaurant that expensive (from the perspective of students) before; I’m pretty sure I saw food that was £70 and that was a main course, excluding the starter. But I digress.

The Tower restaurant where we made the deal.

I was nearly at the museum but had to turn and come all the way back around, to avoid being spotted (for reasons not connected to this.) Roland had booked a table for us and it was lovely being in this restaurant because I’d never had this before, and it’s nice being treated as you deserve, I suppose. I’m not trying to say I’m a good person, just that I’m a pretty young girl and should be treated like a lady. (Yeah, I’m a spoilt bitch, as you guessed.) I hadn’t had time to flick my hair or reapply lippy/apply lipgloss or eyeliner after my exam (because of an incident unconnected to this) but it didn’t bother me Roland seeing me this way because I’m beautiful, even though my so-called hair has a life of its own. We were sitting talking, and it was kind of flirty; it was fun talking about these things in code in this restaurant. I had chicken – it was delicious.

I was wearing a long floaty opaque top with an embellished collar over a tight gold vest top and grey Aztec-print leggings. Roland is above average in looks, though not what I go for, and I was looking at him and thinking to myself ‘How on earth can you do this, you’re not attracted to him even one percent??’ but then I thought, ‘Kalika, you can do anything for money.’ And besides, he had a PhD, wasn’t fat, was tall, and was definetly someone I could talk to and connect with – we’re actually very similar in some ways. Even though he had a receding hairline and could’ve lost a couple of pounds, he wasn’t unattractive or wrinkly. So it wasn’t like he was totally unworthy of me or anything like that – in fact I like him. So why did I feel disgusted at the thought of it, since I genuinely liked this guy in every way except a sexual way? I decided that I must be even more interesting than I thought I was. If only we could control who we were attracted to! But then that is not true prostitution, is it, if you do for money what you would willingly do for free? That’s unfair to the client. I smiled and relaxed as I realised this.

I told Roland this, and he wasn’t surprised that I wasn’t attracted to him. I think he was amused by me saying that if I was it would not be true prostitution.

And the more we talked, the less disgusted I felt, as I realised how alike we were and the weird thing is, there was not one awkward moment.

Think about it.

We’d met in real life once, two weeks ago, to do a nude photoshoot and afterwards he spanked me (as we’d discussed online, or I wouldn’t have agreed to it. And come to think of it, he wouldn’t have done it, probably.) After that, I’d asked him if he wanted to buy my virginity online. Well, I didn’t ask just like that; I have well-honed social, negotiation and manipulation skills, though I deployed only the barest fraction of these skills to ask him this. He said yes and I said, good (that is what those messages boil down to, if you take out all the crap and posturing). Then he says, basically, that since we’re doing lunch tommorrow before he drives me to his company, Luxor Engineering, to spank and video me, we could talk about this over lunch.

So here we are. I’m very happy because I know my negotiation skills ensure me a good deal, even if I’ll be going up against a businessman. (Though my default state is being very happy, so this may not account for much.)

And it’s great; it feels right; I’m happy being here with Roland. If I were hearing about someone else doing this, I’d expect a lot of pauses and wondering what to say next. But that didn’t happen. We talked about all kinds of stuff; art, relationships, the stupidity of conspiracy theories, spanking, my BDSM political satire story; my other spanking story; America; stuff. When he mentioned he had bunny ears for me to be photographed in in his office after lunch, this oldguy in a red jumper stares and glares at him; it was hilarious.

I leaned forward and whispered that the oldyguy had given him a disgusted look; Roland said “I don’t really care what others think of me,” and sneaked a couple of glances over at him.

“So, what made you want to sell it?” he asked.

“I’ve always wanted to, since a couple years ago,” I said, looking directly at him. “Like, I think abstinence [the Christian ritual practice of not having sex until the night of marriage, similarly to Muslim and Middle Eastern/Asian cultural practice] is very erotic, but selling it is pretty sexy too…It’s just something I want to do.”

He said that he can understand why abstince can be sexy. “And of course, you’ve been doing something similar,” he pointed out. (Which is true; I am indeed sort of abstinent, but not until marriage. I am abstinent until either my virginity is sold or I find a guy who will “rape” me after a night of debasement, spanking, poop/pee desperation, enemas, diapers, babying, etc.) Being abstinent is, indeed, extremely sexual.

I told him about an abstinence indoctrination programme I saw once on a Christian channel and how very erotic it was (I disagree with its emphasis on female purity, its degradation of female sexuality and its perpetuating of the double standard, but abstinence as a concept is HOT!) and how Christian programs especially those which address fornication are wonderful to masturbate to; this made him laugh a lot.

Then we get onto dessert (icecream and sorbet, yum!) and start talking about selling virginity. Roland tells me, as he did online, that as an artist he’s interested in the art: making a film out of it and doing photography. The sex is only a part of the art, and it is the latter that he would pay for.

 

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Selling virginity: an attempt at documenting the experience

I started this blog because I am selling my virginity, and I wanted to document this wonderful adventure I’m having – not out of vanity or celebration, but as an accurate portrayal of our society at this precise moment – the human experience of pleasure, ideas, our social world, which led to this exquisite transaction and which will ultimately shape it – whether we are aware of it or not.

Obviously, all names will be changed. This is my first attempt at blogging so I cannot promise you an earth-shatteringly good blog which will blow your mind/provide a startling social commentary/whatever. All I can deliver is the truth; or rather the truth from my point of view, as I see it.

I hope you enjoy reading what I write – whether it amuses, entertains or surprises you.

 

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