From Memoirs of a Wannabe Sex Addict SeXStoRY

My pimp called several times before I finally responded and paid him a visit. He welcomed me warmly and offered me a soda. For some reason I felt nervous, uncomfortable. I sat several feet away from him on the couch and c***dishly crossed my legs. I waited for him to make all the moves. We quickly opened up to each other, discussing where we were from and where we had been. We shared our fuck-ups, our break-ups, our toughen-ups. Maybe it was because he seemed so unique. Or maybe it was because he was so different from me. What ever it was, I immediately developed a dangerous school girl crush. After an hour or so of casual conversation, something strange came over me. Without thinking and without sugar-coating, I took hold of the discussion and abruptly changed the subject. “So, do you do anything else?” I asked. “Other than what?” He responded cautiously. “Other than deal d**gs.” “Such as?” “I don’t know. I mean, like, do you ever sell pussy?” There was a definite uncomfortable silence. The energy in the room slipped to below zero. He became uncomfortable, agitated, angry. “Now why the fuck would ask me something like that?” “I don’t know,” I desperately tried to cover the hole I had dug for myself. “Nobody asks a question like that without a reason.” “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Nevermind.” Another uncomfortable pause. He stood and began pacing around the room. He nervously rubbed his hand across his smoothly shaved head and took some deep breaths. I watched him contemplate my question. I watched him choose to calm down and come at me more gently. “I didn’t mean to bark at you,” he began again. “But I mean it when I say nobody would ask something like that just for no reason.” “I know, I’m sorry,” I remained submissive. “I mean, I guess, I really hate my job and I’m looking for something else right now, but I guess I’m also looking to make some extra cash on the side, you know, to help me pay the rent and all.” “Okay. So you’re lookin’ to sell pussy.” “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never done it before. I guess I’ve had sex to get d**gs before when the come down was just too much, but I’ve never actually, you know, like whored it out or anything.” “So why’d you ask me.” “I guess I just get good vibes off you. I mean, I feel like I can trust you and I feel safe in you company.” I was being perfectly honest. “Well, I’m not gonna lie,” he continued slowly. “I feel the same way about you. I mean, with the good vibes and shit.” He gave me nothing to respond to, so I kept quiet. His demeanor changed. He slowed his pacing, thinking intensely to himself, occasionally nodding. I could see the business man in him coming back out. “I don’t like pimps,” he finally expressed aloud. “So no, I don’t sell pussy. I never have before, but I’ve never really thought about it.” Silence. “But there’s good money there,” he continued. “There’s really good money. So, if we were to start somethin’ up together, we could get some dough. But I wouldn’t be your pimp. I could make arrangements and stick around in case any shit went down, but you’d keep most of the profits. I could just take a small percentage for my services and increase that percentage by selling your customers my d**gs.” He continued sharing ideas off the top of his head, almost talking to himself. I nodded in agreement to most of it, only throwing in a comment or question here and there. “So, are you good?” He asked. “I’m sorry?” I replied. “Are you good? Do you give good head. That’s what eighty percent of the business would be, you know? Blow jobs. So are you good?” “Yeah,” I almost sounded offended. Of course I’m good. “Of course I’m good. I mean, I get compliments all the time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever not gotten a really good review.” From there, we discussed the idea as if I had never offended him to begin with. We exchanged our individual thoughts on rates and services, locations and clients, rules and regulations. When we disagreed, we debated until we could come to a compromise. We cracked jokes about bad ideas and complimented each other on good ones. By the end of it, we had verbally created a blueprint for our new relationship as business partners. And so began my second new addiction. The first was him – my pimp. The second was getting fucked and sucking dick for money. Our business ideas grew thin after a while and we decided that the meeting should be adjourned. But he continued to pace nervously. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Nothin’. I’m just trying to keep myself professional here.” I laughed. I knew what he meant. He was trying not to fuck me. For a moment I believed that had been my plan all along. Perhaps it had been, on some unconscious level. The silence expanded. “So,” I interrupted, “What’s up?” He stopped pacing. He rubbed his head again and fumbled with the large wad of cash in his pocket. He opened his mouth but nothing came out at first. He stuttered. Finally he stated boldly, “I want you to suck my dick.” My nipples hardened. My pussy tingled. “Okay,” I agreed calmly. “I want to know for sure whether or not you’re any good,” he justified. “I’m down.” The pacing started up again. I was becoming impatient. He stopped. “How much would you charge me to fuck you?” he finally asked. “I don’t know, um, a hundred bucks?” “I won’t do that,” he argued. He retreated to the kitchen and I heard the refrigerator door open and close. He returned with a Ziploc bag containing round, purple pills. He reached inside the bag, grabbed a few, and placed them on the table in front of me. “I’ll give you four pills,” he continued, “Now how much would you charge me.” I did the math in my head. Each pill was worth fifteen bucks. That’s sixty. I bargained with, “Fine. I’ll take the four pills, plus twenty bucks for gas and cigarettes.” “Deal.” My pimp returned to the couch and unzipped his jeans. He opened the hole in his boxers and pulled out his dick. He stroked it a little first, but I could tell it was already a bit hard. I kneeled between his legs and dived right in. I teased him a little with my tongue first, then engulfed his cock in my mouth. I sucked hard and fast. I was determined to prove my skill. I was determined to make him come fast. My jaw became cramped. I let him bump into the back of my throat. I jerked him off with my hand, alternating when one began to stiffen up. My eyes began to water. I sucked even harder. Occasionally I’d slow down and give him some gentle, sensual motions, which he obviously liked. This also allowed me to catch my breath and readjust. I’d do both quickly so I could return to the hard, fast sucking. I could tell that was what he liked best. His heavy breathing transformed into low moans. His low moans became “Oh yeah’s” and “That’s good’s.” His pelvis gyrated with me. His legs began to twitch. His fists tightened. He was going to come. His seed filled my mouth and overflowed back onto him. I held the warm, salty liquid in my mouth, looked him in the eye, and swallowed. He liked that too. He only needed a minute or two before he was ready to go again. We fucked in several positions – me on top, me on the bottom, from behind, standing, upside-down. He was a good fuck. Of course, so was I. I made him come two more times. He got one hell of a good deal for four pills and twenty bucks.