Erotic Writing. A Work Of The Imagination (albeit limited). NSFW 18+
For the Cinderellas who stay at home.
She knew days like this came with service. Yes she willingly accepted the terms. The Master of The House had chosen Annabelle for this particular soirée. And why not? That was her purpose, Trophy Whore. Who could be better? Trophy Teeth, Trophy Hair, blonde and bountiful, magnificent tits, “Magnifi-tits”, was the name the other members of The Staff, as they called themselves, gave Annabelle.
The part of Master not ruled by money was ruled by ego. Ostensibly, he liked sex, not because he liked women or boys even, but because he liked control, and being worshipped, bloody worshipped.
The rest of The Staff knew the amatory arts, like modern geishas. They served Master, or his clients, providing ancillary benefits for investing with Master. They enjoyed themselves, to be sure. All of them deluded themselves that being Master’s “associate” gave them time to write, compose, paint, decorate cakes. Whatever. That was the fig leaf that gave them just a little dignity, to cover their bare quims or labial rings.
So why was June so glum? Boredom? Yes. Disillusionment, for sure. That dream of a life of thrills was wearing thin. Being a whore on call to a Wall Street big shot seemed liked a tabloid job, definitely a source for unending anecdotes to go in the tell-all story. But the realization that rich people, weren’t particularly interesting, just because they were rich, hit hard.
Maybe that was why the pizza delivery guy looked so good to her. Jeans, tee-shirt, Mets cap, for chrissake. Not the zillion dollar suit, perfect tan, gym body, manicured hands.
“When you get off?” She asked as she proffered the tip.
“Eleven.”
“Come back here. I can add to that tip.” That was hard to imagine when he unrolled the hundred dollar bill. But show up he did. She came to the door, naked, pulled him in, pressed her soft flesh against him.
She took in the pizza sauce odor mixed with Axe body spray. Her hands reached for his belt buckle. In a matter of seconds his jeans bunched around his ankles like denim shackles, and she was steering him by his thick and uncut prick into the bedroom.
“Can you eat pussy?” He nods. Ever tasted asshole? Another nod.
“Time to earn that Benjamin, Junior.”
And he set to work, with just the instinct to please driving him on.
The safer sex rules sort of registered, as he made use of the dental dams and condoms so plentiful on the night stand. And that cunt. She did those Kegels religiously, he not knowing doing Kegels was her religion.
Yeah he had fun. And the bitch did squirt. Just like in the porn he jerked off to most nights after work.
And when he left around Two, she showered his smell off and brushed the Marlboro taste out of her mouth with Colgate. But goddam it, he was her Trick for a change.
The next morning, June packed a bag, and got on the train back to Georgia. Let “master” find somebody else for the apartment.
