The elegance palace I work at is huge, larger than most I’ve seen in the city, with at least two thousand working girls at an average age of twenty-five, which is pretty decent for a bordello.
In the center of the Hostess Center, there’s a big stage, where a live band sets the palace’s mood. Why a live band at a sex shop? To help break the ice. Most of the clients are pretty intimidated when they first walk in, so it’s the hostess’s job to make them relax.
One of the activities is the Single Mingle, where I have to dance with a client if they ask me. Refusing a client the dance means I have to pay a penalty. The only time I was ever tempted to pay was when this client who looked like he had great, great, great, great grandchildren, asked me to dance.
He kept pulling me in close by the waist and I could feel his erection poking my thigh. Hard enough to sex four women at once. But that was the only solid thing about him. His grip around my waist was feeble and he had a body tremor that he desperately tried to suppress. My guess is that he was rounding the corner on eighty and found a pill that gave him an eighteen-year-old erection. Problem is if I kissed him hard enough he’d have a heart attack, so instead, I danced him around until his hard-on caught up with his age and sent him on his way. I considered that my senior citizen service for the month.
I have a regular customer, a blind man, and if it’s possible for a girl in my line of work to have a favorite, then he’s mine. A hassle-free man that I don’t have to dress up in silly costumes for or pretend to be someone else. Our sessions are almost always the same. Short, but sincere small talk, followed by kissing and heavy petting, then a massage followed by a leg hump in cowgirl position until he ejaculated. The very first time I put his erection between my lubricated thighs and moved up-down for several minutes, he exploded easily.
When it was over, he asked, “Did you use a rubber?”
“No, I didn’t.”
It caught me off guard, the way he asked. If I’m honest, I felt a little insulted that he thought I was so filthy that he could get a disease off me from a simple leg hump. I wanted to tell him what I pack is far worse than any STD he could ever imagine.
“Is it really all right with you?” he asked.
Then I understood. He thought he was inside me. I chuckled and explained who I was, what I was capable of and what I actually did.
“Taking advantage of a blind man, eh?” If he was hurt, I couldn’t detect it.
“That’s not it at all. You didn’t know who I was. You didn’t come here looking to beat the odds or for an easy way to die. You didn’t judge me based on my appearance. I wasn’t a spectacle. So, what I gave you was pleasure and let you keep your life.”
He reached out for my hand and I took his. “I’m not sure how happy I am being deceived like that, but it felt real. The best I’ve ever had.”
And the damnedest thing happened. Despite the fact that I sell sex and death for money and I hate my job, this blind man paid me a compliment that made me feel good about myself.
Pathetic, I know, but you have to take the good bits as they come.
And for the record, for all you that might think a leg hump is lazy, let me tell you that it’s more work and harder to make a man ejaculate than either manual or oral stimulation.
Now, I hear you asking, “If you can do all this then why do you kill so many men?”
Human men die because human men are stupid! I offer them options but they always want what’s worst for them. Who wants any other orifice when they have access to a taboo killer vagina?
Did I mention how stupid human men are?
To be continued…
– Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys