I love sex. I love the feel of another person’s body close to me, touching me, caressing me, and arousing me. I love the promise of a climax that begins with a heated look and ends in a wet, throbbing pussy and delicious release. I enjoy the dance of my tongue against another person’s tongue, joined at the lips until we’re both moaning into each other’s mouths in pleasure. I love the soft touch of a woman on my skin, and I love holding the heaviness of her tits in my hands, just as much as I love the feel of a man’s hard body against my softness and stroking his thick hardness until it releases hot, white cum and becomes soft again. I love the feel of a talented mouth on my pussy and my clit, sucking me into oblivion almost as much as I enjoy blessing a lucky man or woman with the mastery of my lips and tongue. I love the feel of a hard dick inside me, pounding in and out of my hungry, eager wetness, just as much as I enjoy rubbing my hot, slippery pussy against another in undiluted tribbing pleasure. As a pansexual, I’m spoiled for choice, and as a sex worker, I love my life.
A lot of people do not understand my choice of career. For me, it was a no-brainer. What kind of work could be more perfect for a sex enthusiast like me than sex work? Getting paid huge bucks to have sex with people I want to fuck anyway is like paying a cat to eat fish—it is a double win for the cat. I considered doing porn once upon a time, but I decided against it because, for one, I prefer my sexual activities to be more private between myself and the person or people I am having fun with. For another, I love sex, but I enjoy it on my terms. It wouldn’t do to have a director yelling “cut!” just when I am getting my groove on, or more or less choosing my partners for me. That is why I carefully select my clients and only take new ones on referrals.
Being a sex worker is just like any other hospitality business, in my opinion. I have an assistant who helps me manage bookings, accounting, and health checks. My assistant, Mimi, is an innocent-looking demisexual whose sex life consists of writing hot erotica, while I am a sex-loving pansexual who can give her characters a run for their money. It always amuses me when people talk about my line of work as “selling your body”. Selling my body implied that it was a buy-and-sell transaction where the customer goes home with the merchandise and permanently owns it. None of my clients own me. They can own my time for a while, but what I sell is not even a service but an experience. A mutually beneficial experience of pleasure and intense orgasms. After the experience is over, we both go our separate ways, sated and happy until the next time—if there is a next time.
I am not a sex addict. I have sex-free vacations and rest my “moneymaker” at least once a week. When I’m not on vacation or travelling for work (some clients book me for extended periods and fly me out of the country), I work four times a week, volunteer at a local women’s shelter once a week, and spend the remaining two days relaxing and visiting friends. Apart from volunteering on Wednesdays, my working and relaxing days depend on the days my temps—or temporary partners, as I call my clients—need me.
In the four years since I’ve been a sex worker, I’ve had a variety of clients: younger men and women, older men and women, couples, and bi-curious women. I’ve had threesomes where I was the sandwich and others where I wasn’t. I’ve helped singles and couples live out their sexual fantasies and enjoyed every second of it.
My career kicked off four years ago by accident due to a case of mistaken identity. My first client, Leonard, was in a bar to meet a sex worker. I was in the same bar to score a partner for the night. My body was clad in a backless, short red dress that left little to the imagination, and my hair was in loose box braids that were longer than my dress.
Sensei inhabited the ground floor of one of the best apartment complexes in the city, where upper-middle-class and rich people frequented. It was one of the places I usually found the best partners, who three out of five times lived right there in the building. I was friends with one of the barmen, and he knew almost everyone that came through his doors. He would help me vet the men and choose who to approach or allow them to approach me. And before you ask, no, Kay and I were just friends. He was gay and had a very lovely boyfriend, whom I had met and liked a lot.
That night, I was at the bar drinking my poison, a Pina Colada, while perusing the bar to see who might be interested in a quick tumble in the sheets with me.
“The guy in a red shirt at 3 o’clock has been staring at you,” Kay whispered to me after serving a trio of women at the bar, seated near me, their drinks.
“I’ve seen him. Very cute, but he seems a bit nervous. You know I prefer my men to be confident and ready to push me against the wall.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but Leonard is a cool chap.” He left my side to attend to another customer while I snuck a look at “Leonard”. I caught him staring at me. But unlike the other times, he held my look this time and gave me a half-grin that was sexy enough to make me think twice. He was a handsome, rich-looking white man in his mid-twenties with short brown hair and a fit body. I couldn’t see the colour of his eyes clearly from my position, but they were dark and definitely interested in me from the looks he was aiming my way.
“Besides, he lives right here in the building, so you won’t have to go far,” Kay informed me when he returned, drawing my attention back to him.
“He lives here?”
“Yeah, he’s one of the new tenants. This is the third time he’s been here this week, but he hasn’t taken any women home yet.”
“Hmmm,” I thought. “He is cute. Okay, let me go and say hi.”
“Be safe!” he called as I slid off the bar stool, drink in hand. As I sashayed to my quarry, putting an exaggerated swing in my hips, I enjoyed the admiring glances from some of the other patrons. I slid into the seat next to my quarry and gave him a sultry smile.
“I hope you don’t mind my company.”
Up close, I could see that his eyes were very dark grey, and he was even cuter than I had first thought. To top it off, he smelled amazing.
“Hello, Beauty. I’m Leonard. Nice to meet you.” I raised my brows in surprise. How did he know my first name? Shrugging it off, my smile widened.
“Nice to meet you, Leonard. Most people call me Asabea, but you can call me Beauty.”
Leonard and I had a little chat getting to know each other for about half an hour, but I could tell that he was just as distracted as I was because he kept staring at my lips and my deliberately exposed cleavage. But he didn’t make the first move or suggest taking me somewhere private to do something about what we both obviously wanted.
I knew enough about men to know when a man wanted to be led sexually, and I could see it all over him. Slipping my hand under the table, I stroked his thigh slowly, inching my fingers closer to his bulge. I brushed my hand lightly across his hardening member, happy to feel that he was already half-hard. Smirking, I gave his straining dick a good rub over his slacks, smirking when he inhaled sharply.
“Hmmm… what do we have here?” I asked in the sultry voice that drove my sexual partners wild. “It seems you have a hard problem under the table, Leonard. What do you want me to do about it?”
“Anything you want, Beauty,” he replied, inching closer to my hand.
“Where do you suggest we take this party to?” I asked, giving him the hint, which he quickly took.
“I live in the building. Would you come with me?”
I flashed him another sultry glance, licking my lips slowly. “I thought you would never ask.”
Within minutes, we were in his apartment bedroom, and I was naked with my legs wantonly spread while Leonard fucked my hungry, wet pussy with his mouth and tongue. He turned out to be surprisingly good at it, sucking as if his life depended on it. Reading him perfectly, I took his head and ground my sex forcefully into his face, moaning when the action caused him to moan in pleasure into my pussy. I came on his face, my legs shaking from the intense orgasm.
“That was—that was so damn good, Leonard. You’re such a natural.”
I watched as he flushed with pleasure at my praise. “Thank you; I enjoyed eating your deliciousness.”
I glanced down at his leaking cock. “You definitely did. Now you deserve a reward.”
Watching him, I rubbed myself lazily, slipping a finger into my wetness and stroking in and out while he licked his lips hungrily. “Would you like to fuck me, Leonard? Are you imagining what it would feel like to slip your leaking cock into my wet pussy?”
“Yes, Beauty. I want you so much.”
Pupils blown with desire, he reached for his hard cock, no doubt to stroke himself to get some relief, but one sharp look from me halted his movement. His breath hitched as if my control of his pleasure aroused him more. I watched as more pre-cum leaked from his thick member.
I brought one hand to my breast, fondling and tweaking it as I added another finger to the one fingering me, and looked up to find his eyes glazed with want.
“Do you want to replace my fingers with your leaking dick?” I asked him, hornier than I had been in a long time.
“Yes, please,” he breathed, his breath coming in unsteady huffs as he licked his lips in open desire. The fact that his dick was so hard and leaking even though it had been denied attention made me even hornier, so I pitied both of us and rose from the bed, tossing him a condom and arranging myself on my hands and knees before turning around in invitation. “Come over here and fuck me like a whore, Leonard.” The speed with which he scrambled to sheath himself and rush over to me, slipping his eager dick into my waiting wetness, was flattering, even if it lacked finesse. The good thing was that I wasn’t interested in finesse; I just wanted to be fucked, and he delivered.
Leonard turned out to be a very good lay, obeying my instructions to the letter and pounding into me with abandon until we both came in a shuddering heap on his bed.
Much later, Leonard watched me as I dressed up to return to my apartment.
“I really enjoyed our time together, Beauty. I will definitely book you again.”
“Hmmm?” I wasn’t paying attention as I was checking on my Uber to see where the driver had gotten to, until he handed me an envelope. I looked from the envelope to him in surprise, shocked when I saw the amount in it. “What?”
He frowned. “Is it not the right amount? I have added a good tip too.”
My eyes widened at the implication. “You think I’m a sex worker?”
Then his eyes widened as the implication of my answer hit him. “Oh, my goodness, you’re not?”
I laughed. “No, I’m not. Why did you think I was?” My eyes narrowed. “Was it because of how I was dressed? Did you profile me?”
He shook his head quickly. “No, no. That’s not it at all. I swear.”
“Then why did you assume I was a sex worker?”
I wasn’t particularly bothered by the turn of events, but I was curious about how it happened. In all the time I had been prowling for a sex partner when I wasn’t seeing someone regularly, I was never mistaken for a sex worker.
Leonard ran a hand through his short hair nervously. ”I’m so sorry. I don’t know how this could have happened.” Then he looked at me in confusion. “But you said your name was Beauty! And you were wearing a red dress. Just like Boye said you would.”
I began to understand. “You were supposed to meet someone at the bar tonight? A sex worker?”
“Yes. My friend Boye made the reservation for me. She was supposed to approach me at the bar, wearing a red dress. That was why I waited for you to come to me instead of coming to you earlier.”
“Oh. And you didn’t know what she looked like?”
He flushed. “No, just that she was dark-skinned and beautiful. You are.”
I smiled, the wheels in my brain turning with interest. “Didn’t he give you a name, at least?”
“Beauty. I called you that, remember?”
I laughed. “What a coincidence. That is my first name. I hardly use it, so I was surprised when you mentioned it, but I was too horny to care.”
He chuckled, then gave me a look when he sobered. “I hope you’re not offended by the mix-up.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. If anything, I’m intrigued. Is this how much you pay for a session?” I asked, taking the money out of the envelope. It was worth three months of my salary working as a department store cashier. All in one night. Leonard shrugged. “It was worth it.”
“Hmmm…” I said, considering the idea. Then something occurred to me. “Wait! What if she went there and didn’t see you because you had left with me? Maybe you should contact your friend.”
“Oh yes, you’re right. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me.” He picked up his phone to call his friend, then paused to read out something on the screen. When he looked up, his eyes were alight with amusement. “You wouldn’t believe what happened. The other Beauty cancelled due to an emergency, but I missed Boye’s message. He tried to call me too.”
As he called his friend to explain the situation, I slid off my dress to continue where we left off. After all, he had first given me a very good dicking and then went on to give me the best idea anyone had ever given me for work. He deserved seconds.
And just like that, my career as a sex worker began.
Read the next chapter here.
