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My Kinky Client Harold

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It was very hot out, so I ducked into a bar for a while to beat the heat. I wasn’t really working – men at the nearby businesses didn’t get off until after 4 o’clock or so – but I was always on the prowl for business. As luck would have it there was a stray man at the end of the bar looking like he could use some company.

I didn’t sit in the empty chair next to his, but did sit close enough that I could strike up a conversation, and soon enough we were chatting about nothing while I pretended to watch the same baseball game he was watching on the small tv behind the bar.

The bartender didn’t know me, but he knew girls like me, and I could tell he was debating the notion of whether he would let me stay or ask me to go. I made it tough for him. I never dressed like most women in my chosen profession, preferring instead to dress less provocatively though I always made sure that my best features were highlighted. Today those features were well presented in a sleeveless top that might have been a bit revealing but could have been worn by a mom at her son’s little league game. To make it even seem more innocent, I wore a simple pair of tan pants and comfortable flats.

My new drinking buddy was a bit quiet at first, but after his second drink the conversation had moved along well enough that I slid onto that open barstool next to him. We spoke about nothing again for a little while. Long enough that we bored the bartender enough that he tuned out of the conversation and started restocking the refrigerator.

That’s when I asked if I could borrow my new buddies pen for just a moment. When he handed it over, I peeled just a single part of the bar napkin off – a piece as thin as a tissue – and wrote the note quickly on a bar napkin.

It said “I live a block from here. $100. Join me.”

I showed him the note, then just in case he was a cop I dropped it into the bottom of a half-filled glass of water where it promptly disintegrated into nothing. I smiled, winked, and then pulled down my top just a bit with a finger. It wasn’t enough to really show him anything too titillating, but if he had been concerned that he hadn’t read the note right, it was all he needed to see to confirm it.

The next move was his, and I could tell he was interested. He whispered back to me, “My hotel room is just across the street. Does that work?”

With a nod from me he pulled out a few bills and tossed them onto the bar. As we left together the bartender glanced up and the look on his face said “Yep, knew it.” I smiled and waved a ta-ta and we were back on the street.

The momentary blast of heat was matched by an equal blast of air conditioning as we entered the lobby of his hotel and made our way to the elevator. I’d never been in this one – it was a little bit outside of my regular hunting grounds – but inside it was just like the hotels I worked all over.

My John hadn’t said a word since we’d left the bar and didn’t in the elevator though he did take a moment to put his hand on my ass. I knew the hotel probably had a camera in the elevators but if anyone was really watching them, there was nothing there that would set off any alarms.

Once we were in the room with the door closed, he smiled to himself like he’d really gotten away with something – and in truth he had. It was a small hotel and back then the management of these places were usually pretty aware of who was staying in their rooms. I’d been stopped with other men on the way to their rooms and tossed out. (This was in the Midwest a long time ago. Thing were more innocent then.)

I sat down on the bed and started taking off my shoes, a sign of sorts that I didn’t intend to be there all night and we should get started. He turned to me and gave me the elevator eyes that showed he was evaluating his purchase, so I stopped and pulled up my skirt enough to give him a good view of my legs.

“$100 is for the regular.” He said it without looking for confirmation. “I’m not a regular guy. If I said $200 would you be open to some other options?” As he said it, he pulled two bills out of his wallet – both $100 bills – to let me know he was serious. There were more where those came from, I could tell.

I was interested and in fact there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for that $200 at that point in my life, but I had learned over my time in the ataşehir ucuz escort trade to be careful about going off the standard menu. I placed my flats at the foot of the bed and waited for the other shoe to drop. I wasn’t saying no, but the devil is in the details. He waited for an answer so finally, I simply asked “What?”

He smiled and delivered the line like he was asking me if I wanted coffee.

“I’d like to take a shower with you, but before we turn on the water, I’d like to wet you down. I’d like to do your tits, but I’ll throw in another $50 if you’ll let me do it on your face as well.”

So he was a freak with a fetish. I had learned that freaks could be very profitable, but you had to play them right. So, the negotiation game began.

I acted shocked of course. He wanted me to. If I hadn’t been it wouldn’t have been fun for him. I didn’t say anything, just gave him the look. I acted like I was going to turn him down, then hesitated and finally stood up and took the two bills.

“Make it another $100 and you can pee on my face. Please don’t get it in my eye’s or nose or anything.” I acted resigned to it. Like I needed the business, and in fact I did.

As he pulled out the other bill, I continued stripping and was down to my bra and panties when he sat the hundred on the bed next to me. I put the bill with the others in my pocket and pulled off my bra. This was usually the time that my customer would start at least unbuttoning his shirt, but he just sat and admired my body. When I was completely nude, he nodded towards the bathroom door and waited until I was moving before he fell in behind me.

I had worked some bachelor parties in my time and when you do that, you pretty much learn how to check your self-esteem at the door. Humiliating women was what it was all about, and if you were willing to play along, it could be very lucrative. For a stack of cash, I’d drunk more than a few shot glasses of bodily fluid of various kinds. It didn’t matter if it was white or yellow, as long as I could wash it down with a beer or a shot of liquor.

So, I was no stranger to what he was asking for, though this was a variation on a theme. Before it was over, I might swallow some bodily fluids again this afternoon, but at least it wasn’t going to be in front of a crowd of howling drunks.

It was a shower/tub combo and he pulled aside the curtain so I could step inside. Only once I was in did he move to open his zipper. I anticipated his demand and dropped down to my knees. He was pleased by that – especially because I acted like it was all I could do not to cry. As I looked up to face him, he pulled his semi-erect cock out of his pants and quickly we were doing business.

He hit my nose before I’d prepared myself, and I could tell that he liked that he had caught me by surprise. He pinched the tip of his dick and stopped the stream for a second, then resumed with a well-placed stream across my forehead and into my hair.

This was where I was supposed to look up at him with a face full of hatred or humiliation, and he had paid good money, so I gave him the show. While I winced like the hot piss was poison, he got a bit more liberal with his output and I put up a hand to let him know I needed a moment. He laughed and aimed around it. A direct shot at high speed and he bit got in my mouth exactly as he hoped. I chocked and spit and closed my mouth tight. (But not my eyes, as I didn’t trust him.) All the things I knew he wanted and I was ready to give them to him.

After he had thoroughly wet down my hair and forehead, he settled down a bit. In no time it was all over – and I sat in a pool of the stuff that had collected in the tub. He had been close when he let loose and there was some backsplash onto the front of his pants, but he didn’t seem to care.

I was still kneeling in front of him, and he was completely hard now. I knew the script and took him in my mouth gingerly. I made a point of drinking down a little drip that came out before his cock was ready to change gears, which put a smile on his face immediately. At this point I was thinking there might be a tip later, and I was already wet anyway so I just let myself go with it. I’d had worse things in my mouth.

The John liked that everything was going as planned, I could tell, ataşehir yabancı escort but he wasn’t ready to give up a mouthful of cum and be done with it just yet. He pushed me back a bit and while I waded in the rapidly cooling puddle he finally took of his clothes, which took a few minutes because he hung them up like the gentleman he wasn’t.

When he was naked and his clothing stored, he stepped into the shower, pulled me up to his level by my hair and took a minute to lick my face and my boobs before finally attempting to kiss me.

It was a move I rebuffed. I’d take his dick and his piss but not his lips. He laughed at that and spun me around so that I suddenly had my back to him.

It was a quick move. He didn’t attempt to put his cock anywhere he hadn’t paid for in advance, and there was just enough going on in the way of natural lubrication that he didn’t hurt at all when he went in, but it was a sneak attack. He pumped roughly into me, but it was about his need rather than anger or violence. That scared me a bit though – it’s always a bit scary whenever your John is behind you and you can’t see what he’s up to.

He held hard to my waist to stay in position and laid into me good, and then he pushed me back down again so that he could finish up on my face. That hurt me too a bit as there was no bathmat at the bottom of the tub. He came a lot and his aim was as good as it had been when he was shooting the other ammunition. My nose was clogged, my eyes glued shut and I’m sure I looked like exactly the mess he wanted me to look. I sat for a moment while he admired his handiwork, then he reached over to flip on the shower spray.

I was so glad of that. In that small amount of time since it had happened, in that small amount of space, the smell of the urine had gotten rank. The cold water rinsed us and sent the fluids down the drain. I washed my mouth out with the spray and grimaced. I know that pleased him.

I hoped for a return to normalcy. As soon as my face was free of his goo and I could see again, I started looking for a way to exit gracefully.

The man grabbed the soap as soon as the spraying water formed and began to scrub himself rigorously. I’ve been in showers with many men, I and I recognized the act for what it was. He was washing off the sin. He was washing off me as if he’d been the one who needed to be clean.

I rinsed and waited just long enough make it look like I was seeing if he was done with me but exited the shower as soon as I could. As I toweled off, I watched him scrub until he seemed too tired to continue. Then and only then did he turn off the shower.

By the time he emerged from behind the shower curtain, I was in my panties and pants. Tits still out – I figured he’d like that. I had learned a long time ago that tips flow better when you aren’t dressed and ready to go quickly. Most men wanted to be rid of me when the act was done, and that final exchange of money might be enough to push me on my way. Others might decide they wanted another go and were willing to pay for it. Either one meant money, which was what I wanted then.

This man instead took a few minutes admiring me naked, not saying a word at all. Finally, he slipped another $100 from his wallet and gave it to me. He said he was in town monthly and could he see me again. Given the money involved for what had amounted to less than an hour of my time, I provided contact information as requested before I took my leave.

Back then, cell phones were rare and useless outside of major cities and I lived in a smaller one. He had a pager number and nothing else. As I exited the hotel, feeling the stern gaze of the desk clerk burning into my back as I passed by, I vowed that I’d ignore his call when it came.

Of course, I didn’t ignore the call – it was just too lucrative – and over the next several months, I got to know Harold (his name). I let him continue to play his game and in fact let him expand on it in ways. It was big money, but I was also interested at some level to learn about what kind of man would pay hundreds of dollars to pee on a woman. (I understood men who wanted to fuck me or get their cock sucked. The kinkier ones were a professional curiosity.)

Harold seemed to like me, and would often pay for me for an evening, during ataşehir escort bayan which he would take me to dinner. I discovered that part of his kink was talking about what he’d done, speaking well above a whisper in the taxi so the cabbie could hear as he praised me as his “thirsty little piss whore.” Once offering me $500 to accompany him to the bathroom so that I might “help him drain it all out.” (It was the fastest $500 I ever made.) I let him do it – I was making good money – and sometimes you don’t mind having a reputation as the one that will take on the freaky ones.

I asked him straight out one night why he enjoyed peeing on me. (I did it while the waitress was delivering our salad – which Harold praised me for later by the way.) He shared with me a story about how his wife had been sitting on his face once and when she came, she went, and he had enjoyed it immensely.

It didn’t sound like the true story (I never say Harold as a man who would give a woman an orgasm). Calling his bluff a bit, I asked him if that was the case why I wasn’t paid to pee on him instead. He paused to take a drink of his wine then and smiled, saying perhaps someday. (Never happened though.)

We met a few nights a month while he was in town, and he found reasons to come more often. Sometimes he would want to pee on me while I wore clothing. (I brought extra.) He seemed to prefer more conservative clothing and was very exacting about what he wanted. Other times he would pee on my ass or pussy. It was never the same twice.

Once he begged for the right to pee on my leg while we were in a dark side-street waiting for a cab to arrive. I was wearing a dress – which I hiked up – and other than a little on my shoe I was almost dry before the car he’d ordered turned up.

Finally, one night we had a lot to drink, and he made it clear that tonight to please him he wanted me to open my mouth for him, and that he would pay a lot extra for the privilege.

I wasn’t wild about that – a few drops here and there wasn’t a problem but the idea of what he was proposing sounded like it would be enough to get me sick. He demurred or seemed to, but that night in his room when the time came, he very roughly tried to pry my mouth open with his thumb and it got out of hand.

Though he didn’t get his wish he did hurt my jaw and my eye, and I fought him with everything I had including screaming for help. Management busted in within minutes, leaving us exposed and though we both claimed I had fallen into the bathtub, they checked the reservation and found that I wasn’t registered to the room. I was asked to leave.

I don’t know if my saviors who busted in really knew what had been going on that night, but they did highly suspect that Harold was paying me for my time. As they led me away from the room, my hair still wet, my jaw bruised and smelling less than fresh while dripping on the hall carpet, they let me know that I was banned from the hotel and that if I was seen there again they would call the law.

Harold, on the other hand, was allowed to continue his stay, though when he called after me the next day he let me know he had moved to another place out on the interstate.

Harold pleaded for me to see him again, but I never did as I was scared of him. I was never paid for that evening’s entertainment, and in fact couldn’t work for a week as my face was bruised in a way that make-up could not hide. It wasn’t quite the end of my hooking career but it was a turning point.

I had made a lot of money off, of Harold during the time I was seeing him and in fact on a whim decided to pick up an old drug habit for a while with my ill-gotten funds. This put me back into the orbit of an old friend and lover who I soon moved in with and left my hooking days behind.

It was out of the frying pan and into the fire in some ways. I was no longer a prostitute, but instead started working again in the sale and distribution of illegal drugs. I worked as the partner and lover of a man who treated me right after a fashion. It was complicated. He eventually went to prison and I never saw him again.

I saw Harold once though. He did not see me. He was with a young woman who looked like she was stoned out of her mind. It was very late at night and I could tell they were headed back to his hotel.

I wondered if Harold was till indulging in his ugly little fantasies and decided that he probably was and wondered if the young stoned girl was perhaps letting him do things I never did. For some reason I felt a bit superior for a minute, and then I thought back to what I had done during our time together. I decided I really had no right to be smug.

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