sex

'I was an escort for 3 years. Then I developed feelings for one of my clients.'

Content warning: This post contains graphic sex scenes and explicit language. 

Ally* is known to Mamamia but has decided to remain anonymous for privacy reasons.

She entered the world of escorting in her mid-twenties. In November 2014, Ally developed a close connection with a regular married client, Peter. Here is an excerpt from her diary.

March

I was leaving for Sydney at the end of the month. Seeing as though I only had one year here in Australia, it was time for me to move on and explore. Plus it gave me a fresh opportunity to live like a more regular human and maybe even establish some kind of friendships.

I was excited when I eventually made my decision, excited to start a new chapter and experience more of typical Australian life. I had decided that to save my sanity, I was going to get a part-time job alongside my sex work. Not only to keep up appearances but to relinquish some of the burden that was put on me from these men I was servicing.

Holly (one of the working girls) had told me about a brothel she used to work at in the Eastern suburbs of Sydney, and that I should try it out. Having never worked in a brothel before I was unsure as to what to expect, but Holly said that not only is it financially a better choice as you don’t have to pay for drivers to take you to your clients, but it’s also a nicer environment.

With between 10 to 20 girls working a typical day shift and up to thirty girls working the nights, you spend your shifts congregating in the TV room, sitting around chatting until a client walks in.

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It sounded like much more of a social setup, as opposed to agency work in which you only say ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ to the girls when you’re coming and going. She gave me the name of the place and told me to go in during the day for an interview and to ask for Diane.

I saw Peter again. Our meetings had been less frequent, he had been busy with a new project at work. The intensity and the chemistry was still there each time we met, I just wished it could be more often.

I rocked up to Crown and he was there waiting for me with a bottle of Veuve and a semi. The more we met the more I fantasised about having him all to myself.

Imagine, just going for dinner out in the open, taking a drive up north to a winery.

Anything other than being confined in the secrecy of the f*cking Crown hotel. He was not one to oblige these fantasies though, I could tell. He loved his wife and his family, our little hookups were just an enabler for him to be happier and more present at home. He never said this but I knew deep down. And it hurt a little.

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I lay across his lap in the big armchair in the corner of the room, facing the bed. We chat about what’s new with us since we last met; his project at work is close to launching but the technical team are finding new issues with each test.

He’s promised to take the family away for Easter next month although it’s the worst time for it with what’s happening at work. I tell him about my upcoming move to Sydney. He’s surprised I’m leaving, especially for “pretentious, wanky Sydney.”

I have my hand up his shirt, stroking his chest hair when he stands up and leads me to the bed. I’m wearing a new Honey Birdette three-piece set today, black with diamante crystals. As he slides my dress off my shoulders, he stands back and takes a better look at my new lingerie.

He’s appreciative, I can see his cock swell. He comes back to me, an inch or so from my face. He smells so good; musky and dark. Like a mysterious smell.

I can feel my heart pounding and I come over all hot. He lifts my chin with his forefinger, stares at me for a moment and leans in to kiss me. His beard is scratching at my chin, his face so connected to mine that my eyebrow pencil is smudging.

He pulls me to him as he falls backwards on the bed. I undo his trousers and yank them down to reveal a throbbing dick. It’s always so clean and pink, I can’t wait to have it in me. He switches me around so I’m on my back, his full weight on me.

He makes his way down my chest, pulling down my new bra to expose my nipples. He alternates sucking them, moving them around in his mouth with his tongue as he unclasps my bra. He pulls down my underwear so that I’m only wearing my garter belt.

I grab his dick and rub it against me, it’s so hard. All I want is to push it in me as it is, without a condom, so he can feel my wetness and I can feel him pulsing. He pulls back, grabbing his condoms by the bedside table (he always brings his own). He hurriedly rolls it on and thrusts himself into me. There’s no time for foreplay.

That first push is always the best, to feel a big hard dick enter you is one of the best feelings anyone can ever experience. We both let out an animalistic groan.

He grinds into me, at first slowly, still kissing me hard. His hands are on the top of my head, using me as leverage to push deeper. I can’t move under him, his weight is fully on me and I hold my arms on his back, encouraging him to push harder. His broad back and deep chest is comforting to have on me, I feel safe.

We stick to missionary, his face on mine. He kisses me hard, resting his face on my forehead. He quickens and as he does, his left hand comes down to my throat. I love it when he takes charge.

He squeezes as he picks up the pace, his face scrunching as he gets ready to blow. His hand comes up from my throat to my cheek with his thumb resting on my lips. I suck it and he cums. My own pleasure comes from making him happy. He rolls off me and lays flat on the bed, his chest heaving and condom full.

Unbeknown to me, that would be the last time I ever saw Peter.

Please note: The feature image used is a stock photo.

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