I tell the audience how proud I am of being a hooker and entertaining people. Of living out people’s fantasies with them night after night.
The bottle of fake blood makes it so easy to act out my proposals with Mr Monthly – fucking my bleeding cunt on my period. I let the fake blood drip all over my bare tits, and giggle at an imaginary client licking it clean, eating out my pussy that I spread for him.
Next comes my terror at running and hiding from a client as he chases me through the darkness. It gets my breaths hitching in my throat.
Don’t hurt me, please, no!
I display the true reality of how that kind of fear turns to pleasure. How much my wet cunt reveals the truth behind the words as my adrenaline spikes.
And finally, at the climax to the performance, I change into my evening dress, striding tall on my stilettos as I grin like the proud slut I am today.
I hitch up my skirt and show my stocking clad legs to the viewer in the front row. I tease him with a wink, and tell him I’m now an expensive woman who will fulfil any dream he’s ever had.
Because I’m top of the Naughty List.
Just like I was destined to be.
I’ve made myself a name, and I’m living the high life, with a stretched pussy, and a used asshole, happy to drink golden piss like champagne.
My name is Ella, I say, repeating the line from the beginning.And now, instead of scrabbling for pennies, my life is filled with gold.
I’m beyond nervous when I take my final bow, my heart pounding to a different kind of tune now I’m waiting for the verdict. At least I can say I’ve given it my all, like I have done for every single proposal since the day I started.
The seconds are some of the longest of my life as I await the verdict. A panicked part of me thinks I’ve goofed up and should have gone for a horny Alice in Wonderland or something, but when the first clap of the applause sounds out, it’s like I’ve won the fucking lottery.
I bow again with a huge fucking smile on my face as the shadow of the man in the front row rises to his feet.
“Encore!” he shouts. “Bravo, Ella! Encore!”
He wants the encore!
Holy shit, I hope he’s ready for it…
I saved the most extreme until last.
It takes me a few minutes to prepare for this one while the applause continues. I’m naked when I reappear from the side of the stage, having torn my evening dress off from over my head.
I’m carrying a glass cooking bowl, full of chopped up nettles, a pair of blue latex gloves and my torture implements laid on top.
I drop to my knees, and my breaths are hitched like crazy when I bind my tits, and strike myself with a flogger, begging formore, more, morefrom an imaginary crowd.
I hurt myself like I mean it. I clamp myself so tight it will feel sore for days.
I submit to imaginary, faceless forces, as I have so many times before. I give myself over to their will.
And then, finally, I snap on the latex gloves, shuffle my ass to the edge of the stage, and make a show of picking up a whole bunch of nettles before I rub them all over my pink bound tits.
Damn it fucking stings like a bastard. But that’s ok because I can clearly hear that my voyeur client is jerking off again.
I rove them over my body, leaving a trail of slicing stings that I hope my client sees from the front row, and then I play with my slit, spreading my pussy lips so he can see the nettles working their venomous magic on my clit.
I question myself, but only for a moment before I decide to go all in.
Shall I really do this? Shall I?
There is only one answer to that question.
I’m a quaking bag of nerves as I succumb to the moment and push some of those stinging leaves into my battered pussy. My wail is all real as I pick up a dildo and fuck myself through the pain.
