The Exclusive Sex Worker Novel Novels & Stories

Then to my shock, I saw him pinned against the glass, his wet palm sprawled on the glass leaving scratch marks as a very huge man thrust into him. My toes curled. What The Fuck! My boss who seemed so unreachable, being fucked out if his mind but yet another black man? My hands moved in a blur on my cock, feeding my eyes when a choked grunt drew my eyes back to the screen. The sub’s arms flailed as the Master pulled out and slammed back in painfully… once, twice, thrice… My eyes rolled back to my head and my ass lifted off my chair, driving into my fist twice before my cock burst uncontrollably, milky liquid spilling into the air.

"Hi, this is Miss Donna. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Clifton?" The sex worker hesitated before answering, "Sure, what do you want to know?" Miss Donna asked, "How long have you been seeing him? And what does he like in bed?" The sex worker replied, "We've been seeing each other for a few months now. And he likes it rough, if you know what I mean." Miss Donna's heart skipped a beat, hearing the sex worker's response. She couldn't help but imagine herself in bed with Clifton, fulfilling his desires.

Knox ordered against her mouth. Lila moaned as he thrust harder. “You pay.” “More.” “You don’t invade my life.” “More.” “And this access is exclusive.” Knox kissed her like each line made him harder. He rubbed her clit while he drove into her, and the second climax tore through Lila with a cry she didn’t bother to shape into anything pretty. Her cunt clenched around him in hard pulses. Knox kept going, jaw tight, eyes locked on her face. “Mine in these rooms,” he muttered. “Mine in these hours. No other private buyers. No other hands.”

I could almost taste the alcohol underneath it, the high. “Think of all the things I can do to you. Indulge your mind.” Whispers filled with citrus and heat burned my skin. My ears woke up ten times more. So many filthy sounds, cries of women and men, a chair bucking in the distance, I think right underneath us. I remembered we were on the first floor. There was the slapping of skin against skin, the unmistakable sound of raw sex. Fucking. Guttural.

you're a bit of a prude. ‎"I am not." How can I be a prude when I work as a phone sex operator? ‎"You are," he argued lightly. "When you had that one-night-stand after you and Ben broke up, you cried for three days." ‎My shoulders slumped and I mumbled, "I was ashamed." ‎"Well you shouldn't be," He spoke firmly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is beautiful. And fun." ‎"That's easy for you to say," I pointed out to him. "You're a man. Women get labelled and judged." And oh boy did I hate being judged. It's why I didn't tell people what I did for a living.

"There's this party. Underground. Exclusive. Rich guys. They bid on women for... companionship. One night, they paid big money. I'm talking serious money. Some girls make ten, fifteen grand in one night." My stomach turned. "You mean like... sex work?" "Yeah. But listen, it's different. It's not like being a prostitute on the street. This is exclusive. The guys are rich, powerful. The money is real. No strings attached. You show up, you do your thing, you get paid. In and out." I thought about my mother lying in a hospital bed. I thought about the surgery she needed. I thought about how I had nothing else to lose. "Tell me more," I said.

They alternated, spit-roasting me, hands pinning my wrists. I came repeatedly, body shaking, until they both pulled out, cumming on my tits and face. Hot ropes of semen marked me, their possession complete. As we lay tangled, sweat-slicked, I knew this was just the beginning. My deceptions were unravelling into reality, and I craved every taboo moment.

He yanked her bra down, exposing her breasts to the afternoon light. “Look,” he commanded, his hands roughly kneading her flesh. “Look at the city. At your husband’s empire. And look at you. My accomplice. My beautiful, broken accomplice.” He spun her around, forcing her to face the window, her breasts pressed against the cool glass. He lifted her skirt and entered her from behind in one swift, brutal thrust that made her cry out, her hands flattening against the window to steady herself. He fucked her against the glass, his hips pistoning, his hands gripping her hips, holding her in place. The city spread out below them, a sprawling metropolis of millions of people, none of whom knew of the

My fingers danced across the keyboard, its click sound lining the air as I typed “Becoming a slave to your male co-worker after losing a deal.” A lot of research popped up. Some talked about running errands and doing their share of work. While some crossed into the sexual terrain. I read a blog where the writer said that after losing a bet and becoming her co-worker's slave, they began having sex. He’d order her to suck his cock in the office and he would eat her pussy. As I read through the sex tale, I imagined Daniel. Him pulling my hair and ordering me to suck his dick. I remembered how his cock poked at me in the elevator.

But even though there are hotels available in that city, I was still not able to enter one despite being a sex worker. It is not unusual for the hotels to be the place that sex workers frequent. But not for us, the sex workers that work at Victor's club. One of the rules that Victor has imposed, and one that I like very much and am thankful for, is that no workers of his should be taken out of the club so that they can monitor us and prevent any weird customers from hurting us. The only place that the customers can take us is the rooms inside Victor's club. And yes, I can go to those hotels if I want to because I can already afford it, but the thing is, I don't want to. Why the hell would I