Confessions Of A Prostitute #3: The Irish Domination Orgasm

Who says you can't enjoy your job? I used to think an orgasm was too much to ask from a client. Then I met a 6'5 dominant Irishman...
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Who says you can't enjoy your job? I used to think an orgasm was too much to ask from a client. Then I met a 6'5 dominant Irishman...

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I’m coming, I’m cumming.

I love sex. I wouldn’t do this job if I didn’t but in the back of my mind, I knew that I was there to serve and expecting an orgasm was far too much to ask. I had never even considered achieving orgasm with a client. It felt so personal. And I never thought to fake it either. Sure, I’d throw in a throw in few moans and wriggles but that was all part of the deal.

The aim is to get in, and depending on the length of the booking, pace the client. I have heard horror stories where other working girls are being drilled for so long, they run out of lube. Touch wood (not that kind!) it never happens to me, I never walk with lube. And that is something I’m proud of.

Many assume that men paying for sex are sexually inadequate, incapable or so in love with themselves that they treat prostitutes like a vending machine. If you get a really bad Ham, sometimes he’s all three.

But then, just behind the ones that think a labia is clit, underneath the ones that ‘ accidentally’ try to ram it in your arse, and right next to the ones that send you texts dripping in pre teen sexual frustrations, sits the one who not only seems to be normal but almost perfect.

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Confessions Of A Prostitute #1: Why I Do It

Confessions Of A Prostitute #2: Losing Friends

Standing at 6’5, with greying hair and a dominant Irish accent, J was one of those. His penis seemed to bounce when released from his boxers. Performing acrobatics that highlighted his time as a sportsman, I found myself doing something I had promised I wouldn't  as it would of course blur the lines. But before long, I felt it; that slow climb as if ascending a marble staircase in five-inch heels, I mean, I felt great but I could slip at any moment. And yes there I was slipping, panting, crying out, becoming at once rigid then, immediately unable to control my muscles, falling limp into the arms of a stranger.

‘Good girl’ He laughed.

‘I’m sorry’ I whispered.

‘Why are you sorry? I loved it. Give me ten and I’ll be ready to make you feel that way again.’

Fuck, I had been getting this all wrong. Between assumption and gossip-mongering, I had believed that clients assumed it was all about them and getting what they want. Not realising that many, if not all get a kick out of me getting what I want too.

‘Wait, Wait.’ I told Mark, a surgeon who had become a valued regular.

He was just about to come and fuck it, so was I.