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The 7 Nights (chapter 1)

I wrote this over a year ago, never dreaming I’d find my own special Roland pervert! And real-Roland is an improvement over fictional-Roland because he’s rich! He’s also much more kind than fictional-Roland.

Chapter 1

The sun was emerging from behind the clouds when Roland pulled back the curtain. Roland was gorgeous – he had black hair that rippled down to curls below his broad shoulders, olive skin and large deep-set dark eyes over high cheekbones. His full lips curved in a soft smile. Today was a special day. Chastity White would arrive from Mississippi at any moment, and Roland would be babysitting her for six days. Chastity was twenty, but her dad was very overprotective of his only child and would never dream of leaving her alone at home while he was on tour preaching. Chastity’s mom was a missionary and wouldn’t be home for months. For six days and seven nights, Chastity would know only this suburban two-bedroom house. Roland smirked in anticipation of what was to come. He had plans for her.

A soft knock made itself heard. Roland smirked again as he calmly strolled over to the door, unlocked it, and saw her for the first time in months. Her blue eyes widened and she smiled instantly, a child’s smile. She was beautiful, even without make-up and dressed in frumpy clothing as always, her long blonde hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, a gold cross dangling from her neck. Chastity had porcelain skin, a great figure and a kid’s fringe, her breasts hidden by a pink mohair sweater, legs encased in loose high-waisted jeans. She was wearing pink sneakers that looked new.
.Roland’s eye was drawn, as always, to the cheap red ring on her ring finger. It looked out of place, especially as Chastity usually wore quality. But Roland was one of the few people in the UK who understood the significance of the little plastic circle: it was an abstinence ring, a promise ring, and it meant that Chastity had taken a public vow of abstinence,  a sacred oath to God not to have sex until the plastic ring was exchanged for a gold ring on her wedding day – and that night, Chastity would fuck. Her years or even decades of inhibition would be rewarded, and she would mate like a rabid whore, all the years of sexual repression having spawned the most depraved urges.

“Oh Roland! How sweet of you to have me,” she squealed, beaming and smiling her pristine, sincere smile that made Roland picture all the other things he would make her do with her mouth, her innocent, pure lips that had never even touched alcohol or coffee. And yes, he was going to have her.

“The pleasure’s all mine, babe. C’mon, I’ll take your stuff upstairs, would you like a bite to eat? I can whip up some pasta.”

“Thank you, Roland,” she replied in her soft, breathy little voice, “You really are too kind.”

The pasta was cooking nicely. Roland pulled out his mortar and pestle, grinding four laxative tablets into a yellow powder. His heart was pounding; he was almost shaking with terror or ecstasy, he couldn’t tell which. He sprinkled the powder into the saucepan, adding spices and plenty of salt and pepper. Next, Roland poured out the lemonade and laced Chastity’s with diuretics. The water in the saucepan was starting to boil. With trembling fingers he turned off the cooker, took the lemonades to the table, and a few minutes later called out to Chastity that lunch was ready. Was that really his voice, sounding so controlled, so calm? Chastity ambled into the kitchen, even her walk was oh so prim and proper. But all that was about to change! Soon she would be embarrassed, her whiter-than-white cheeks flaming red as she uncontrollably  pissed in her prissy Southern jeans.

Roland felt his cock stiffening as she sat down in her still-dry jeans, completely trusting in him. Roland had a large package, and his lovely, thick member was slowly standing to attention. His penis was gorgeous, all shiny pink and veined, and Roland could picture it as he rubbed its head through his black jeans. He wanted to take it all hot in his hand and reassure it that it would have some action soon. Soon, he whispered to his hard-on, soon. Be patient.

“How was your flight?” he asked, marvelling at how light and airy his voice was.
Chastity twined some pasta around her fork. “Oh, it was fine, quite pleasant, really. I prayed for daddy’s mission to go well, it will, of course, but I always pray.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’ll go well. Your dad’s a really respected preacher, isn’t he? And it’s the Lord’s will, baby.”
They ate in companiable silence for a while. Roland was pitching a large tent in his jeans. When was she going to wet herself? The tension was almost unbearable.
“So, how’s life?” he said vaguely. Chastity toyed with her fork before pouting, “I don’t regret not going to college. It was the right decision, you know how much I’ve always wanted to be a missionary like mummy and daddy. I don’t need any qualifications for that. And someone else got to go to college in my place when I turned my place down.”
“Chastity, you’re a beautiful intelligent girl. You made the choice that’s right for you, and your gossipy friends can’t tell you what’s right for you. You’ll be a great missionary, I know it.”
Their eyes met, and she gently squeezed his wrist. Then a look of fear came into her face.
“Oh no, I have to pee!” she squealed, jumping up. She took two steps, crossed her legs and leaned forward. Suddenly something inside her slipped out of her control. her bladder let loose the muscle that was holding back her piss. Chastity peed her pants. She grabbed her crotch but it was too late – her mouth had gone dry and her pants had gone wet. A flood of piss poured into her panties as her bladder instantly deflated. Chastity gasped out loud – she had completely lost control. She piddled. She widdled. She peed and she weed. She was really doing it. She was peeing her panties. Warm piss flooded her thin cotton panties, seeping over her bottom. She squealed and clutched the front of her jeans, desperately trying to regain control of her rapidly emptying bladder. But it was too late. Chastity’s pants were completely drenched. She blushed bright red as she saw a damp blotch blooming over her lap. Roland was getting a full view of her peeing accident! “Ohhhhhh…oh no- no, no…” Chastity whimpered, clasping her crotch as the wet spot spread.  “Oooh…oooops… I’m wetting my pants, I’m doing a pee in my panties!” The spot on her lap dampened into a soaked patch. She crossed her legs and looked down at her drenched jeans. She watched in silent horror as the soaked blotch spread across her lap and the inside of her leg darkened. Chastity bent further, squeezing her legs together to keep the hot urine from streaming out, but the piss continued pouring out of her deflating bladder. Chastity closed her eyes in shame. She felt wee trickling down her thighs. She crossed her legs. She even crossed her fingers. Frantically she twisted her hands in her lap. Her  deflating bladder was letting her wee all pour out in a warm rush.  She got that warm feeling down below. she just stood there wetting her pants all the way through. She began to cry with embarrassment, the terrible humiliation of losing control of her pee while a boy was watching every squirt. The huge torrent of hot pent-up pee unleashed all over herself, she was emptying my bladder all down her legs. Warm wet wee was going down her legs. She just couldn’t stop peeing.  She started to cry as she realised she had completely lost control; she was going to keep wetting herself until her bladder was completely empty and there was nothing she could do about it. She was wet through. So warm. All wet. Swamping her jeans, the splattering down her legs becoming a stream, now a deluge. She stumbled away from Roland, trying to get to a bathroom, but Roland was prepared. Not for nothing had he spent the past two weeks feverishly scribbling his plans for her, The Seven Nights. Roland gripped her wrist. “Naughty sissygirls who go peepee in their panties don’t get to go to the big girls’ bathroom. They have to pee their pants…not that you’re able to stop pissing yourself anyway.”

Chastity was still sobbing and peeing right into her panties. Squirts of pee spurted into her sneakers. Then she heard the drip, drip, drip. Chastity was dripping on the linoleum. How embarrassing! She was peeing right through her jeans! The drips became a trickle, then a stream of yellow piss splashing onto the floor. Then – oh the shame – she made a puddle. She made a yellow puddle on the floor like a naughty little girl. Roland’s eyes were watching the piss spraying out of her. Her  pee was on display for him to see. “Nonononono…oh no I’m pissing the floor! I’m making a puddle! I’m making a pee-puddle underneath me!” Slowly it pooled underneath her. She couldn’t believe she was standing in Roland’s kitchen relieving herself in her knickers right in front of him. She pressed her hands into her crotch, doubling over and slowly sinking into a half-crouch. “No, please…not a puddle…” She just went piiiiisssshhhh, all over her pants, her  jeans, the floor. Chastity could actually feel the pish running down her legs and splattering noisily all over the linoleum. Her trainers were filled with wee. She was pissing into her trainers, just standing in Roland’s kitchen with a steaming yellow puddle spreading round her sneakers. She knew she was a naughty girl, making a puddle of pee. Gradually, the last trickles drained out of her now empty bladder. Chastity found herself standing in a puddle, wet at both ends and wearing pissed-in jeans.
“Oh dear,” Chastity gasped, “I wet myself.”
“‘oh dear, I wet myself’? You just peed your pants and you’re saying, ‘oh dear I wet myself?’ Yes,” said Roland, “You just went wee-wee in your pants. Why did liddle Chastity wet her panties?”
Chastity’s face burned with shame. She just looked down at her drenched jeans and trainers full of pee. She looked at the puddle she’d made. Chastity was very aware that her knickers were wringing wet.

“Naughty widdle girls who go peepee deserve a spanking,” Roland announced. “Chastity, I’m going to spank you until your rear cheeks are as red as your front cheeks.”
Chastity’s hands flew to her damp behind. Her sobbing got louder. “No, Roland, please no! Not my butt! Please don’t spank my ass, I’ve never been spanked!”
Roland held her wrist as he moved his chair and sat. “You peed your panties like a little girl, so you’re getting spanked over my knee just like a little girl. Maybe that’ll teach you not to make lemonade in your knickers.”
He placed a tea towel over his lap so her piss wouldn’t get on his clothes.
“Please don’t spank me, I’ll never wet myself again, I promise!” she wailed, one hand hiding the sodden patch on the front of her jeans, the other protecting her backside . Roland patted her bum. “You won’t be able to sit on your arse when I’m finished giving it a good, old-fashioned bottom warming.” Chastity gulped. Her wet jeans suddenly felt very thin. “I’m so sorry, please not on my butt, it’ll be so embarrassing if you put me over your knee and smack my bottom.”

Roland looked into her blue eyes all wet with tears of humiliation. They were twin pools of terror, begging him not to spank her.

“You have totally pissed yourself. Your little ass needs a warm lesson across my  knee.”

Roland pulled the crying girl over his lap. Chastity went scarlet as she realised that she was over someone’s knee about to be spanked. Her bottom was tingling with anticipation of the smacks it was going to receive. Roland pulled off a pink sneaker and tipped the piss out of it. Chastity flushed with embarrassment as a pint of Chastity-pee poured onto the floor. Roland removed her other shoe and emptied the piddle out of it too. Then he raised his large hand and brought it crashing down on her trembling rear end.

“Oweee! My bummy!” she squealed, before another smack landed on the curve of her butt. Roland grinned as he gave the quivering rump another short, sharp shock to remind Chastity not to go pissing herself. Roland gave Chastity a hard smack on her butt and heard a whimper of pain. This was certainly going to be an education for Chastity’s bottom.

“Ow!” she yelped, “Roland -“. but Roland couldn’t have cared less. He delivered a flurry of spanks to the seat of her jeans, every stinging smack sending a fiery message to Chastity’s ass. Hard slaps rained down upon her jeans-clad butt, then a volley of firm smacks landed on her now stinging backside in quick succession.

“Roland! Please! I’m sorry!” Chastity sobbed. Roland swatted her bum over and over, until Chastity felt truly sorry for herself. She was sobbing and crying as Roland reached for an old wooden hairbrush, brought it down hard on Chastity’s trembling behind, and administered a sound bottom beating to her denim-clad ass, delivering a series of botty-trembling swats to the seat of her jeans. Roland didn’t let up, he knew he was warming her backside considerably. Soon Chastity was feeling very warm and tingly. Roland surveyed his target, then rapidly gave the undercurve of her butt his full attention. He finished it off with several whacks, right on the centre of her seat. When it was over, a sobbing Chastity was sporting a very well-spanked derriere. And she knew it. Her ass hurt.

“I’ll never wet myself again, I promise!” Chastity wailed. Roland spanked hard and fast and her hand flew back to clutch her throbbing sit-upon, but Roland caught it. Then he pulled down her wet jeans, exposing her even wetter pants. Chastity’s face cheeks turned as red as her ass. Roland was getting a full view of her dripping panties! Her pee-soaked underwear was exposed. He smirked as he gave Chastity a botty-swelling paddling to the seat of her dripping panties. He pelted her rump with the brush, spanking her soundly over her knickers. Her sorry ass was really getting it. Roland warmed up her derriere good and proper, and Chastity could feel her butt getting hotter with every smack.

Roland peeled off the undies, smirking at the sight of Chastity’s rosy red cheeks. Chastity gasped out loud – a man was seeing her bare backside! This wasn’t supposed to happen until her wedding night, yet he was getting an unparalleled, rosy view of her bouncing full moon.
“No, please no, not on my bare butt!” Chastity pleaded, but Roland was intent on teaching her naughty ass a hard lesson. Roland’s brush tickled her ass a warm, rosy red. Chastity cried with pain and embarrassment. Here she was, getting her bare bottom spanked for wetting herself. Worse, her naked ass was being exposed to a boy. What would her daddy say?

Roland delivered a series of short, sharp shocks to Chastity’s reddening rear end, confident that it would be a long while before she contemplated going to the bathroom in her pants again. He was intent on building a fire in her ass that she wouldn’t soon forget. Again and again the brush landed on her swelling bottom, and Chastity was bawling like a baby, wishing she could hold her burning butt.  Roland grinned at the bright red glow of Chastity’s cheeks. Her naughty backside looked like a red traffic light. Chastity howled as Roland turned his attention to her sizzling sit-spots, making sure Chastity’s rear was nicely roasted. Chastity squirmed as he paid special attention to her sit-spots, peppering her tender bummy with solid smacks. The brush gave her sit spots another fiery tickle, and her bottom blazed with heat. He was paying special attention to where Chastity sat, because she sure wasn’t going to be sitting down anytime soon. Roland was going to roast her rear for her. He gave several whacks to the centre of her heating hiney, then Roland unleashed his brush all over Chastity’s upturned butt, turning it fire-engine red. The now scarlet-bottomed girl was crying hard; all she could think of was reaching back to comfort her flaming ass.  It felt like her bum was actually on fire.

“Please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” she wailed.

“Oh, you will,” smirked Roland, as he firmly applied the brush, “I’m quite sure you’ll be a very good girl, at least until you can sit on your sitting area.”
Roland laid down his brush and took a ping-pong paddle to Chastity’s tail, watching her well-chastised arse rapidly blush a deep, dark red.

“Aaaaahhh! Owwww!” Chastity shrieked, kicking her legs up and down and squirming on Roland’s lap. Roland kept her pinned across his lap, receiving her punishment. She was bucking and screaming as he soundly thrashed her backside. Roland smacked the last vestiges of mischief out of her bum while she hissed with pain. Then he put the paddle on the table and spanked Chastity’s bared bum with his hand. He spanked hard and fast, eliciting more frenzied bawling from the chastised pants wetter. Roland slapped his handprints all over her swollen red ass. Then, proudly, Roland surveyed his handiwork. Chastity’s half moons were no longer the same colour and size as they had been before the spanking. This was one girl who wouldn’t dare take another piss in her pants.

Chastity was still bawling hysterically; she just lay over Roland’s lap, completely exhausted, tears coursing down her face. Gradually, her legs stopped kicking. Roland found the sight of her glowing red ass very comical. Chastity reached back and clasped her red bumcheeks and howled.

Chastity stood up very slowly, both hands clasping her throbbing ass. She rubbed and rubbed her stinging hiney, but it still tingled and felt very warm indeed. She had been transformed into a spanked, hot-bottomed little girl. She didn’t feel twenty, she felt like a spanked little girl who’d just gotten a bare bottom spanking over a man’s knee. Chastity cried as she hopped around the kitchen rubbing her throbbing asscheeks. “I’m sorry, Roland,” she sobbed, “I’ll never wet myself again, not ever!” Very gently, Chastity cupped her aching arse, giving her bright red bum a loving squeeze. She cradled her dark red sit-spots.

A few minutes later, Chastity was standing in the corner rubbing her naked, colourful bum. Her wet pants and jeans had been pulled down to her ankles and her freshly spanked derriere was on full display. Her tomato-hued ass was covered in strawberry-coloured handprints, sit-spots as red as a pair of cherries. Roland took another photograph. Chastity exhibiting her red, spanked behind was literally the picture of humiliation. Her head was hung in shame, fingers soothing the blaze in her rear.

He enjoyed the view for a few more minutes before leaving the room, letting her change in privacy. He’d picked the outfit – his house, his rules, he’d told her. There were pink, full-brief, childish-looking knickers, a white miniskirt, and a pink frilly kid’s top. Chastity emerged from the room, her breasts bursting out of the little top and her red ass hanging out of the skirt. Her face cheeks were as red as her ass cheeks. How shameful to have wet her pants in front of a boy and then been spanked over his lap – on her bare bottom! The reddened bottom that even now was on view, thanks to the tiny skirt.

“My, my,” smirked Roland, “Who thought you were such a bad little slut? Look, your butt is saying hello under your skirt; look at your boobs! I thought a spanking would have taught you better.”

 
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Posted by on August 4, 2012 in The 7 Nights

 

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Why this blog/Kalika’s Q and A:your sordid questions answered!

Why this blog?

1. ‘Cause Belle de Jour did it.

2. I wanted to write a diary, then I thought, ‘why not a blog? Then it wouldn’t be so pointless, and other people will see it. And nobody’s done a selling virginity blog before, because most virginity buyers don’t want to drag it out like Roland.’

3. I like writing complete shit and ranting against the homophobes/Ann Widdecombe/Nadine Dorries/Rick Santorum/Rick Perry/the pro-lifers/the conservatives/the Conservatives/the government (which is mostly Conservative)/the conservatives who pretend to be feminists/the Conservative feminists…Is anyone even still reading this? Anyway, I like ranting against all of these loons, so why not rant on the internet, call it “blogging”, call myself “a blogger”, act smug about it and put it on my CV? And I can smear my complete shit all over the internet and act like it’s some kind of socially-worthy activity! (Some have called me an activist, even though all I’m doing is writing down what I say every day. Saying stuff to your friends is just slagging off people, but when you stick it on a blog, it’s activism!)

FAQ

(No-one’s asked me any questions…well, maybe one or two, but I forget what they were. Anyway, here are some questions I think would be FAQs if this morally reprehensible blog had more followers:)

Q. What prompted you to sell your virginity?

A. I’ve always dreamed of prostituting myself and been very jealous of sex workers. I especially fantasised about selling virginity. I love money, and love the idea of being paid for sex. It’s kinky.

Q. Why did you choose Roland instead of auctioning it as you would’ve got more money that way?

A. He was the safest and easiest option, and I liked his personality. I preferred it to be someone I liked and knew slightly. Sacrificing thousands for these paltry preferences was ridiculously stupid, of course – I wouldn’t pay thousands for those things, so why throw away thousands for those things? – however I don’t regret my decision, and I’ve never claimed to be intelligent.

Q.Do you enjoy being sexual with Roland?

A.Yes. I think I naturally am very into kinky sex. I didn’t know that before. I think the moral of this unseemly contract is: love sex. (Durex paid me £562,621,869.74 to say that last bit. The massive but somehow invisible prostitution corporations paid me twice that amount to say the first bit. I actually hate doing anything with Roland, because he forces me at gunpoint to do it, and has cut me with very cool-looking designer knives. On one occassion, he stuck a hot poker up my bum as an experiment, but forgot to record the result so had to repeat the experiment five times, then press a hot frying pan to my bottom as a control study. He then spanked me with it for not staying still and compromising the experiment. He also tortured me with electrodes and taser-like instruments, and has set my butt on fire repeatedly.  I don’t enjoy these things because Roland works for the despotic government of Fantasia and I think government torture is morally wrong. Roland agrees that it is indeed morally wrong, but he counters that it is also sexy, an observation which I find difficult to rebutt.)

Q.Why don’t you have two separate blogs, one for your perverted, badly-written diary, and another for your half-baked thoughts on feminism, BDSM laws, 50 Shades, and other sociopolitical things you obviously know nothing about? Or even a third blog for your kinky fiction that either goes on and on for thirty pages or is total rubbish?

A. I wanted to make the point that sex isn’t a separate sphere of our lives. It’s part of our social life, our family life, etc. We have sex with people we meet socially or through work; we use our social skills to pick up men or maintain relationships. We have sex with people in our family such as our spouses and partners. Our children are (usually) born by sex, or even if they’re not, the method used to create them was a secondary choice because the usual method wasn’t a viable option for us. We have a tendency in the west to segregate sex off from the other parts of our lives, and have distinct attitudes or unease towards it. (The forced therapy on two 6 year olds who had oral sex in an  American classroom proves that while dressing up or playing house is acceptable for children, ‘playing doctor’ or exploring each others’ bodies is not. Worryingly, this exploration used to be shrugged off as ‘playing doctor’ in the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s but now in our supposed ‘freer’ times, it is pathologized and medicalized. Facebook recently banned a user for posting a photo of her 5 year old pretending to breastfeed her two year old, because the photo was ‘sexual’. There are more examples, obviously, those are the first two I thought of.)

I also wanted to make the point that you can talk seriously about feminist issues and issues surrounding BDSM, sexuality and sex work alongside a sex diary – that the academic/political discourse around sex can’t be completely separated from the lived experience itself. When we research, analyse, discuss and legislate on sex – from gay marriage to abortion to the legality of BDSM – we are affecting real individuals’ lives and freedoms. When we don’t legislate on/discourage sexism, homophobia, slut-shaming/stigmatisation of lone mothers/the double standard enough (or, indeed, at all) this affects real people. I don’t think sex – or anything else – can be completely divided into two spheres as the academic-political discourse and the separate private experience. The lines are blurred.

I also wanted to show people that sex workers are well-rounded people who can be feminists – not victims – and do other things like write fiction etc. So I didn’t see a need to have one blog for my diary and feminism and a separate blog just for the few stories I have, especially since those stories are connected to the diary in that Roland and I frequently talk about them and Roland has mimicked the Queen Tut spanking scene/Kemet 1 twice and occassionally calls me by that name.

Q. Don’t you understand that you’re being exploited by that disgusting male who is little better than a rapist?

A. Yes, I feel very exploited. I went to a photo shoot with the intention of giving Roland a trial-run so that if he passed I could initiate a deal to sell my virginity. I’m a kinky student being paid £8,000 to have kinky sex with a millionaire I actually like personality-wise, who looks young for his age, pays for my food when I see him, and is overly concerned about my emotional health/consent issues. I have money saved up anyway from working part-time the last couple of years, I could get a career job as I just graduated; I’m doing casual work now anyway and have student overdrafts so I’m not dependent on him. I can stop this whenever I want. Of course I’m being exploited, please rescue me.This is horrible – I’m oversexed and have too much money.No woman should be treated in this way.

Q.Is there anything about selling virginity that you feel negatively about?

A. Two things – his age, and the hair thing.

Q. Do you ever detach yourself while doing it?

A. Once, for about three minutes, though I didn’t realise other sex workers do that sometimes, I thought it was only me. I did it as a precaution, but it got so hot that I began to like it so I un-detached myself.

Q. Why aren’t the Feminism and BDSM sections of your blog more objective?

A. In this stage that our society is now in, I don’t think we can afford to be objective any more. People’s freedoms and quality of life are at stake. You only have to look across the pond to see that, once a free country is on the way to becoming a theocracy, the slide is difficult to stop and lots of innocent bystanders will suffer a lot (If you haven’t heard of the ‘war on women’, Google it, or Google ‘last abortion clinic Mississippi’, or ‘teen abortion parental consent North Carolina’ – which wasn’t even part of the recent controversies, but an older law.) Who knows how many women especially young or poor women, are, right now, being forced by government (or in N. Carolina, abusive parents) to bear babies as a result of that? How many people got AIDS or pregnant because of abstinence education (which has mostly declined now but still exists)? These are the ‘invisible children’ that we- well, Americans – can actually do something about. The solution is simple – scrap all those newly-enforced laws. It doesn’t take millions of dollars or decades of scientific research to do that. The Americans know this, of course – they aren’t as dumb as they portray themselves in their films- but the loonies won’t let regular Americans put things right and save the children and themselves from unnecessary harm.

We don’t want this stuff to happen here and American abstinence programmes and anti-abortion government control have already been attempted (by Dorries. Most recently in January, which was her 4th attempt).

Q. Why do your posts go off on tangents?

A. They just do.

Q. To you, personally, what is the best thing about free speech?

A. Well we all know why it’s massively important, so my answer is: Being able to write the Santorum gets spanked scene in my story ‘The UK Government Torture Act’ and not get spanked by the police for writing it. Wait, is that actually a good thing?

Q.When did you begin to have BDSM fantasies?

A. 9 years and 2 months. This is also when I began to draw and write kinky stories and comics.

Q. At what age did you realise these fantasies were sexual and accept your desires?

A. 18

Q. Has Roland ever done anything to you that made you feel bad?

A. Woke me up at 5.45 am. In his defence, this was totally necessary.

Got a question? Ask me in a comment! 😀

 

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“Probably not.”

He parks and we talk about stuff and I say, “Have you ever had sex in the backseat?” There doesn’t appear to be enough space, and  I point this out to him. He laughs. I swear, he laughs all the time, just like me. I wonder if the entire world is just all a big game to him, like it is to me. Maybe he thinks video games can’t offer the thrills and heightened emotions that real life can. That adrenalin is a toy. That’s what life is to me. Only kink and the Case could ever summon the adrenalin.

He says, “No, but I’ve done it in the front…because the front seats can do this…” there is a slight hum and the seat basically becomes a slightly raised bed.

“Cooool,” I say as the seat returns to normal.

“We should do it after you take my virginity. Drive somewhere remote and do it.”

This makes him laugh again for some reason. The fact that he has clothes on irritates me. I want to see him naked. He looks good lying down, though. Vulnerable. I think off ripping his clothes off but I think the windscreen isn’t tinted enough for that. And he might not like that. I know that as a hooker you should go with what the punter wants.

(I really want to bite Roland’s cock right now as I am typing this. Crunch. Just bit my thumb instead. Ow. It hurt. Maybe that’s how he felt when I did that? And why I couldn’t bite as hard as I wanted because I knew it would hurt him. Actually, I suppose it would feel worse to him cos of sensitivity.)

Roland’s Blackberry rings and he talks about business stuff into it while the person on the other end is completely unaware that he’s sitting in a car with a prostitute, about to feed her so she’ll have enough energy to be debased later on. Naughty. Roland then moves the car forward while using a handheld phone, which is illegal. Doubly naughty. Roland does illegal things all the time (by which I mean extremely trivial traffic ‘offences’) which is really hot for some reason. (Although when other people do it, it isn’t hot, because they’re students and not professionals like Roland who are supposed to obey the law.)

We get out of the car and walk over a bridge and he tells me his company is being sued over a patent and it’ll take over a million to bring the case to court and all this stuff. Intellectual property law is not my forte. He needs Leanne for this. So this conversation is going waaaaaayyyy over my head. Also, we didn’t learn how much it takes for a company to bring a case to court. I can sort of tell Roland doesn’t like lawyers.

Anyway he keeps talking and it makes me feel sad that he/Luxor will lose a million. We walk on for a bit and eventually I go, “Do you, like, actually have a million?”

He pauses, thinks, then says, “…Probably not.”

 

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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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The End

Then he rubbed it in, and I liked it that he did that but I worried if it would break down with the heat of my body and smell bad in a few hours – it didn’t, though. It mixed with the Bio Oil that was already there and formed patterns. I didn’t see this as I was l wasn’t looking; I was pretty still, as I get occassionally when I’m apprehensive/surprised/disgusted though I wasn’t feeling any of that towards Roland. I think maybe I didn’t think we’d be doing this today, just spanking, but I dunno why I went still. I also felt powerful, precious, safe, and have no idea why I felt that either. Of course, the fact that I’d just had my last ever exam and had been ambushed by the police who I’d feared would cart me off to the mental asylum for days (well, local psychiatric ward for a couple hours’ observation, but I was not thinking clearly) may have affected my mental state. And the euphoria, excitement and perhaps tension (?) associated with the deal itself.

Then – no, it was before that, just before he came on me – sorry, people – he’d been using his pencil-pushing businessguy fingers on me, as I was lying on my back. It didn’t bring me to orgasm because I need fantasy to do that and he wasn’t being gentle enough – I’m very sensitive; perhaps I have more nerves than average? – and I tried to show him what to do but he wasn’t great at this. Of course, I wasn’t fantasising which is why it didn’t work. I had my eyes closed, though, and it was good and I tried to focus my attention solely on what he was doing, that’s why I closed my eyes. Then he was doing it while sucking my nipples, which are like really sensitive so it hurt but a good kind of hurt. I really liked this bit. If I’m ever a millionaire I will employ five sex servants to do this for me. Oh, wait…it’d be hard for five hands to get in there at the same time… and Employment Law is definitely against this sort of thing. I wonder if Roland is a millionaire. But if he was, he’d have a Rolls Royce, Bentley or Ferrari so maybe not. But then again, he’s going to get an Aston Martin so maybe. This useless backward-marching government of ours should make a law that all millionaires have to wear a tag on their shirt that says “millionaire” so we know which guys to fuck. And why not – they only make radical new laws/changes and change the laws/welfare state every other week anyway. But they won’t, because it’d be embarassing to have so many millionaire tags in Parliament. So I loved it when Roland was doing this, except when he jabbed my nipple with his finger so I flipped over so I was lying on my tummy and I think that’s when he got the idea to spray it all over my bum.

Roland made me lie on the sofa and he wrote “slut” in big, red letters across my backside; I knew which word he was writing by the feel of the pen strokes. Then he wrote “spanked and caned” in smaller letters. When I twisted my head round, I saw a black line from the cane and other stripes and blotches, but it wasn’t bright red, just dark pink because I’m toffee/caramel coloured; Roland had predicted as much. This reminded me of my conservative (Asian) upbringing and made me smile that I was half-naked in an office after being filmed getting a spanking for selling my virginity; it’s odd, y’know? Sometimes you can’t tell what your kids are going to turn out like.

Then after I cleaned myself off a bit at the sink, Roland said “Now let’s get you a deposit. Like you’re a Ferrari – I’ve got to put a deposit on you.” We went to the other bit of his office and he wrote out the cheque and I said it was funny how we write “only” after the amount so it read “One thousand pounds only” – it was hilarious (to poor people like me) but then I said he must’ve written cheques for a “million pounds only” or whatever. But he hasn’t, because usually it’s someone else who does that. I’d been curious to see his office/desk, for some really weird reason I can’t even explain to myself; after all, offices are pretty boring, minimally decorated, impersonal things to be in. I stuffed the precious bit of paper in my wallet. Isn’t it weird how we use paper for money? And all our money is invisible and doesn’t actually exist; there’s no physical accounts with your name on it like Gringotts in Harry Potter; fiat currency means that your account balance is just figures, a promise that the bank will give you that much. Didn’t Nostradamus say “invisible coins will lead to the joy of many who spend them”?

Anyways, Roland drove me to a bus stop. He drives fast. We were talking about implements and the spanking. He said I took it pretty well.On the way he said that the last time he spanked me he could still feel it on his hand for 3 days! He said that after the consummation, if I still want to continue, each time it’ll be photography and afterwards we will touch each other and fuck; I knew that already; maybe he already said that, or maybe I just knew. I mean nobody’s stupid enough to pay 1k for not having sex, and I wouldn’t take 1k off someone just for taking nude pics of me, so that’s what I’d assumed he meant anyway. And although 1k is cheap for sex, if he’s already given me 4k then it’s not so bad. He said was that okay and squeezed my leg and I said yeah. Like, what else would he want to see me for and be willing to pay for it? We stopped near the swimming pool – near Pollock Halls. I was keeping an eye out for the bus, it’s very unpredictable. Roland was communicating – not just with words, but with all of Roland – that he was worried I hadn’t enjoyed it. He was 100% sure of this. I think he was concerned and also admired me in some way; although his concern was an obstacle to my goal of selling myself (if he decided to stop) it also touched me a lot. It actually reaffirmed my belief that he was the right person to sell it to – not just the most available, easiest, least risky, geographically convenient person to sell it to, but the right one. He wasn’t just the lazy option anymore, or even the person I felt comfortable around and liked; I realised he was in this for the right reasons and not only to make art or fuck. I said I did like it and it was one of the best days of my life, but he said “I think the lady protests too much.”

“That’s from MacBeth, isn’t it? Methinks the lady doth protest too much? You think I didn’t enjoy it?”

“Well, when I asked you to masturbate me you hesitated. And you’ve reached for the doorhandle twice now.”

“That’s because I thought I saw the bus coming. And afterwards I did want to do it, it was just that the room was too cold.”

He was grinning, but there was a seriousness behind it.

“It was the best day of my life, honestly.”

“Really?” he said.

“Yeah. Why don’t you believe me?”

“I don’t want to make someone do things she doesn’t want to,” he said gently, “So if you want to stop, you can take the thousand pounds and have it.”

That made me giggle. “If I wanted to stop, I’d give it back to you.”

He laughed. “If it was me, I’d take it and spend it. But reenber you’re not bound to anything.”

He asked me to kiss him and I was reluctant to, because he’d licked me out too – it was great but vanilla stuff doesn’t satisfy me as much as spanking – so, anyway, I didn’t want to taste my own juices because it disgusted me for some reason. But I did kiss him, just not with tongues. “We should kiss more often,” he said.

I watched him drive away, and of course on the bus I listened to Roxanne – the Moulin Rouge version.

 

 

 

 

 

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“I didn’t know prostitution could be this hard”

This is the bit that is hard to write, but I want this to be an honest record of my adventure, so I will reveal my weaknesses also. And I don’t want to spin a story about how this is all glamorous and raunchy fun; it isn’t, you gotta earn that money. It isn’t as fun as you think it’s going to be. I think it must be hard for ‘real’ sex workers who don’t always get to chose their clients (though some, like my friend Lochlan’s friends, do.) I’m not trying to create arbitrary distinctions by saying I’m not a ‘real’ sex worker. The reason I’m saying I’m not is because sex workers’ coalitions and unions such as COYOTE, PLAN or their International Trade Union (which is open to sales assistants in sex shops, lap dancers, porn scriptwriters and others who aren’t usually classified as sex workers) would probably not accept someone doing it as a one-off to a single individual as a sex worker. And nor would most people generally. However, I do feel like a whore with him, because I want to feel like a whore and so I do. And because I’m fully aware that he’s not my boyfriend. And that I am not attracted to him at all. That I wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t paying me. And not for less than 3k, perhaps 2k if he lost a couple pounds before we did it. So yes, I do feel like a prostitute. I feel like I want to give him his money’s worth 😀

To me, the intruiging, educated, one-of-a-kind Ro is, sadly, in possession of a body that is repulsive, though he is tall and has most of his own hair. I just think he’s fat even though he’s only a little chubby or just normal weight even…and he is uglier than I go for (just a little above average in looks) and very old (40-ish? I can’t tell).

I wish he had dark floppy or spiky hair and was slim, with a face that isn’t slightly fat. Though I have to say, in his defence, that he doesn’t have wrinkles. Actually, why do men (including my Ro) have grey hair? IT’S CALLED HAIR DYE!! USE IT!! He says he was blonde before he went past his sell-by date, and there is a lot of blonde on his head. It’s very short. I like something to tug and tug hard and make him squeal. Ro dresses okay but he doesn’t have a good dress sense. I think he’d look good in a leather or denim jacket over a shirt and dark chinos or slacks, but I’m not being paid to give style advice, I’m being paid to fuck. I’d be much better at giving style advice. I frequently have to give it anyway because my friends treat me as a style guru.

I like him. I want to spend time with him, a whole day. But it’s his personality I feel drawn to, the way he sees this little world of ours, the bright flashes of what passes for thought behind his eyes. No, he is smart, and more educated than me. He is so interesting and unique. If only I could stand to touch him.

I miss him right now, and I want to hug him. I look forward to seeing him! Even if he’s repulsive I’m genuinely happy around him.

I just realised, he must be really tall. Because I’m 5 6″ and I don’t come up to his shoulders. He might be taller even than Lochlan, who’s 6 2″, because I come up to Lochlan’s shoulders or even above his shoulders.

Anyway, that was a big digression.

So we’re in the office. Roland made me sit on his lap. Then he says “I want you to masturbate me.” I’m thinking about how that sounds more posh than ‘wank’ or the American term ‘handjob’ but mostly I was thinking how I didn’t want to do it. He said that if I can’t do this, how am I going to be able to lose my virginity? Did I really want to go through with this? I thought how sex would actually be easier, so there’d be no problem with that, and it would be easier if we did it right now than wanking him right now. I told him so, and he said that if we had sex right now then it wouldn’t be art and hence not worth as much. I didn’t understand why I didn’t want to do it, as the only thing I’d told him I wouldn’t do was blowjobs or large brands/scars or anything that damages my hair.

Roland wasn’t annoyed at me being a faulty product like I’d have thought; even when I said I would do it, he just kept talking to me gently and stroking my arm or back, saying if the girl didn’t want to then it wasn’t much fun for the guy either, and that I had to be sure I really wanted to do this. He said selling yourself is a very interesting goal but you are always free to change your mind, and that isn’t a failure, it’s a good thing because it’s responsible and means you know what’s best for you. He also said you shouldn’t push yourself too hard and do something you later regret. “You don’t have to prove anything to me or to yourself,” he said, “Nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to, no matter how many deals are made along the way.”

I said “I can, I can do it now” and he said it’s not about being able to, it’s about being willing and happy to. I said I was, and he said I wasn’t, I was just doing it for the money. We were talking with me on his lap and after a bit I said I’ll do it right now. He initially thought I meant sex, and said it wouldn’t be worth it, but I said, “What you said, just now…I’ll do it.”

He made me stand up and then patted my butt and suddenly I was turned on, and I wanted to, like my bum was a big squashy ‘on’ button. I said now I could because he’d smacked me, and that it would work if the lights weren’t so bright. He dimmed or switched off the lights and made the room less cold (I feel the cold more than most people).

I was thinking why am I doing this, and on remembering the 1k deposit I did feel a drive to do it, but it was also difficult to motivate myself to do it for 1k. I thought, ‘this is crazy, you can do this for 1k, of course you can, it doesn’t mean anything.’ But I couldn’t, not properly so I knew I’d have to detatch myself to do it well. It was so weird how this simple thing had been made into a big deal in my head, I felt frightened and like I was consenting to sexual assault, which doesn’t make sense logically or legally, but that’s how it felt to me. I didn’t know prostitution could be this hard.

Then I did it, detatching myself just as he pulled it out. He wasn’t as big as Matt, the only other guy I ever wanked off, which is odd because Matt wasn’t as tall or broad-shouldered as Roland. But it’s possible Matt was already semi-hard, so maybe that’s untrue. Anyway it’s not as if it matters, because the bigger they are, the less they grow when they get stiff so the end result is the same. And anything more than 5 inches is a waste because only the first third of the vagina has feeling. I enjoyed wanking off Matt.

In my detatched state, I thought of how it happened with Matt:

Matt is peeing in a bush in the early hours of his 19th birthday. It is around 2am. We are walking home after clubbing with friends to celebrate his birthday. We live in the same street. I am also 19. I’m looking at him surreptitiously even though I know this is wrong cos of privacy. We are both drunk. I think he is delicious.

“I’m not looking,” I lie as he catches me. I cannot control my movements when drunk so I didn’t turn away fast enough.

“You can look if you want”.

I look, then I stand right next to him and look. Then I step back a bit and look.

Matt shakes it and I touch it, it looks stupid.

We walk on a few steps. He still has it out as I’m admiring it.

“Can I touch it?”

He nods and I touch it for much longer, feeling it and sliding my hand up and down. It swells.

“Do you like it?”

I giggle. “It feels…rubbery.”

I wank him for a little while,  he tells me how to do it better and he says I’m really good, then I stop because I know we’re both drunk. I wonder if I will regret this in the morning. I can barely walk, anyway – I’ve been holding Matt’s arm before he went for a pee just so I didn’t fall over. And I’m wearing flats.

“Do you want to do more to it?”

“No…I’m sorry…it’s like, we’re both drunk…I don’t know if this is a good idea. Sorry.”

He doesn’t mind, just does it himself. We walk along talking while he’s wanking, it’s hilarious. I ask him does he think I’m a slut for snogging these two strangers and spanking that guy in the club. He laughs, “You’re a slut – I’m the one that’s walking along wanking!” We laugh, and although I’m embarassed at my changing my mind, Matt thinks its smart since we are both pretty steamin. We snog and my hands are all over his butt and we fall onto the grass. I am moaning as our tongues intertwine. Then we get up. We walk along with him wanking though it’s smaller now, and we hug for a long time then walk up beside his house.

“If you want to do anything more, say now. It’s okay. I’ve shagged someone up against the side of my house before.” I would if I wasn’t so drunk I’m having trouble balancing in flats. I snog him again and we part ways.

Of course, the next morning I regret not fucking him.

After that, I pretend Roland is Jay, Leanne’s friend and my acquaintance, who I’ve wanted for over a year, then Amir, the smartest guy in one of my classes who’s very cute and from Lebanon so he has a lovely accent. Then Kane, the guy who dumped me for not wanting the white picket fence. (He hadn’t dumped me yet). I use the baby oil. Roland says I’m really good and he can’t believe I’m that inexperienced. “I have a talent for this,” I tell him. Matt was surprised at my skills too.

I’m wondering why am I doing this and I know I don’t want to. Usually if I don’t want to do something then I don’t do it. But then I remember the £1,000 deposit and suddenly I want to, I want that £1,000 and I un-detach myself. I tell him a story about a girl called Chastity who was abstinent and got raped by Roland (I’ll post it here) and another story I forgot what it is (maybe I was detached while telling it). I was loking into his eyes the whole time, letting the inflections and nuances of my voice and expression fuel the eroticness of the stories. It went on for 15-20 minutes and I started to like it. Then he made me lie on the sofa so he could spurt on me. I lay facedown and he was above me; I felt contented and slightly excited.

 

 

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After the spanking

Roland held me against his chest – he’s really tall- and I felt embarassed about crying but I couldn’t stop, which was a bit scary as my body was outwith my control. I felt disappointed in myself for not being able to handle it, and disgusted with myself for crying (as I usually feel about crying). He stroked my hair and kissed the back of my neck, and I slowly relaxed. I hadn’t been comforted like this since I was 5 or 6. Roland said I’d done very well as it was only my first time with implements, and that it was good that I’d asked to stop when I knew I couldn’t take it. He knew exactly what I was thinking. He brushed my breasts with his fingers and I wished he wouldn’t do that. He cuddled me for a while and then asked if I still wanted to take photos or stop and go home; I think it surprised him a bit that I wanted to take photos. He said if I wanted to go home we could go right now, and he didn’t want me to feel like I had to.

He took lots of photos of me lying and kneeling on the couch, and told me to look “vanquished” like I just got spanked. He said I could do the pained expression very well. (It was easy because I just remembered how the spanking felt and recreated the expression).Roland reminded me that we could stop anytime if I wanted to, and I ased “Are you really not disappointed? That I couldn’t make it to six?” and he said he wasn’t. After he took the photos I said he could give me the rest of the six strokes, and this seemed to surprise him. He gave me the first/fourth very gently and I said he could do it harder, and he gave me 3 more (so 7 in all).

Then he took pics of me in more erotic poses on the floor and I asked him if he was going to put this on the internet and he said no, so I relaxed and posed much more explicitly like I was touching myself; then I started actually masturbating while he was shooting (because his camera doesn’t give blurry images if there’s movement and I was doing it slowly anyway). Roland looked like he couldn’t believe his luck. He was shooting away and then asked if I could do actual porn poses, and he said I was good at it, and photographed me sitting in porn poses which was lots of fun. He made me pull one of my inner labia out, and I found that mine are really stretchy, so they just ping back into shape if I let go, so I was having lots of fun going “PING!” and giggling. He used his video camera to film me pinging and I gave him a thrill by rolling around on the carpet and doing forwards rolls and backwards rolls.

 

 

 

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