I have a client who likes me to walk on him—in heels. John has been into BDSM long before the Fifty Shades trilogy made it into the hands of every secretly horny woman. And because of that trend, John has been able to get this service…for free.
John has been coming to see me for the past two years, after answering a foot fetish ad. He showed up for his appointment and asked if I could walk on his back. John is thirty-something, very fit, single and witty, with no outward signs of his kink.
I’ve been asked to walk on guys before. I’m barely100 pounds with 5.5 shoe size, not exactly a bone-crushing weight and some men prefer a deep massage. However, when a guy asks you to put on stilettos and walk on his penis, that’s something different than deep-tissue.
In our first session, after I had walked on John with bare feet, he asked if there was any way I would consider slipping on some heels. I agreed as I always keep a pair of heels in my studio for those clients who like a topless, yet well-heeled, body rub.
John is always on the floor when I walk on him in heels. I usually start at his chest and lean back so that my heels leave dark half-moons on his pecs. He’ll run his hands up my calves and thighs. Potential internal organ damage notwithstanding, he likes me to walk on his stomach as well, though this area requires more balance, somewhat akin to walking on a waterbed. From the stomach, I branch out to the thighs, calves and arms. And eventually, when John has given me the green light, I go for the wiener, toe first then heel, and eventually with my full weight. This is not for the faint of heart, nor is it something that I promote to clients, but it’s what John likes, has been doing long before he came to me, so I’m happy to oblige. He’s also not alone in his love of BDSM.
Interestingly, at our last appointment John mentioned that he had a female friend who offered to walk on him. I’m not privy to the entire conversation, though I was curious as to how this subject came up. I call it the Fifty Shades Effect; women are opening up their minds and vaginas to some kink and from what I’ve observed, this trend can boost your mood better than any antidepressant. I’m happy for John, although I’ll miss seeing him as much.
I spend the majority of my working day in panties, as do most erotic masseuses with makeup done, hair flat-ironed, pedicured nails, and any unwanted hair lasered and plucked to perfection. I’m so accustomed to this uniform, if you will, that I don’t possess an inkling of embarrassment when I strip down. New customers, however, are often quaking in their tasseled loafers when they step inside my massage room. The idea that me, nearly naked, not weighing much more than 100 pounds, and with less bodily hair than a newborn, is a somewhat laughable notion. Getting arrested, however, is not so funny. I am, after all, a criminal, albeit a miniature one, but a criminal nonetheless.
Most clients hide their anxiety well and I have no idea that they are about ready to wet their Dickies out of terror. Occasionally I will see a shaking hand or a quibbling lip, but normally I have no idea that the client was almost ready to bolt pre-game until after the session. Martin’s pre-emptive attempt to prevent arrest was the most creative: a three-page, single-spaced contract. Yes, that’s right. A contract where there were all sorts of parts using roman numerals and statutes referenced.
“I was going to give you this contract before we started,” he said, opening his briefcase. “I’ll leave a hard copy for you.”
Honestly, I think he was chagrined at his own silliness.
The contract begins by stating that money is being exchanged for massage and not for other services defined. If I do any of these defined acts, the session will be terminated without payment. Section 2 (a) defined “Fellatio” as means any act of oral stimulation of the penis. Are there other definitions? It goes on and on regarding all the sexual acts not to be performed. Honestly I learned a couple things; apparently if I fuck someone for money knowing that I have HIV, versus simply fucking someone for money, I have committed a class 5 felony, versus just a class 5 misdemeanor for the latter. Shit, this guy did his homework.
This contract begs this question: Had I been a puny vice cop, would the contract have protected him? I kinda think not. His contract did not forbid a hand job, which he did receive, and is illegal.
For those who are nervous about taking the body rub plunge, here are my recommendations:
1) Pick a woman who is well-reviewed on a local escort site. Reviews will generally provide contact information. If she has happy, un-arrested customers, then she is not a cop (or a fraud). Reviews are always the best way to go, however, many guys fly by the crotch of their pants when picking providers and have gotten burned.
2) Trim or shave your junk. Okay, this has nothing to do with getting arrested, but seriously, I don’t know any provider who doesn’t prefer tidier genitals. It also facilitates post-release cleanup.
3) Don’t have incriminating conversations via phone/e-mail/text. Asking someone over the phone, “Does this massage include a happy ending?” is just pure stupidity. (Happy ending has entered the vernacular to the extent that I don’t think you could claim you meant a massage with story time.) I understand; you want to be sure you’re getting your money’s worth….so go to the reviews to get this question answered, don’t ask it over the phone. If you must, say, “Will I leave with a smile on my face?”
4) Get a referral from a friend. This is perhaps the best way to get the low-down. Most men want to keep this arena of their life private, but for those of you balls-out, then asking a buddy if he knows where to get a complete massage will surely keep you from getting arrested.
I learn a lot from my clients. One such nugget is how to find people online to have kinky sex with — for free! I don’t care what the politicians say, the economy is still in the crapper and it’s time to get creative. For some, this means heavy-duty coupon clipping. For others, it means posting an ad on adultfriendfinder.com and taking your chances. I’m not necessarily advocating this practice, merely passing along the experiences of another. Because, well, you can’t make this shit up.
Fifty-something Jerry the client didn’t just like it often, he liked to be dominated, having a particular thing for older women. WAY older women. Jerry shared a thing or two about his upbringing, which he happened to think was “neato,” and yet caused me to subsequently block his number from my phone. Those who think that Jerry needed a therapist wouldn’t be wrong, but hey, I’m just a sex worker and don’t offer on-the-spot counselling.
Jerry wanted to be dominated by women say, oh, EXACTLY the current age of his mother. Apparently there were no shortage of women who were happy to dominate a man twenty or thirty years their junior, call him “son,” and give him a cookie at the end of the tryst.
“I once had a 70-year-old woman take me to a nudist camp for a week,” he told me as he lay on the massage table with a huge grin on his face. “She was insatiable.” And here I thought nudist camps were mere folklore.
There were also less fond memories such as a BDSM romp turned terrifying ordeal.
“Seriously, at one point, I thought I was going to die,” he confessed. The near-death experience had something to do with being bound a little too tightly and having a burning device light one’s genitals. (Ahem, don’t forget those hard limits and code words, kinksters.)
I give Jerry credit for getting these services for free, because to pay a sex worker to perform these types of things would be pricey.
“So how do you find these people?” I asked.
Jerry claimed that some sites were simply made for people like him such as Adultfriendfinder, Lava life, and iMatchup. The later two sites have a mainstream element but also allow people to post “intimate encounters.”
So there you have it: a free way to satiate those kinky sexual crevices. Though I will say, you get what you pay for. A bona fide sex worker would never push a customer beyond his limits. That would just be bad customer service. And we sex workers take our service seriously.
After two years of being an erotic masseuse, I have learned that some men like to be fucked in the ass. By a women. You might wonder how a woman can really fuck a man. I wondered too. And perhaps my choice of words isn’t really appropriate because women don’t have dicks, but that’s just a technicality. I use the word “fucking” because that’s what my clients call it. They scream out, “Fuck me in the ass,” as they buck on my table, eyes squinted shut with their head thrown back.
Jamming a finger or two up the ass is a way to satisfy the desire, but I have those clients who like to take it a step further, if you will. Robert was one such client.
After responding to my Backpage ad, Robert booked a lunchtime appointment. He looked like every other well-dressed, neatly groomed business man. He just happened to have an unconventional desire. After I led him from the waiting room to the inside of my massage studio, he quickly and unabashedly disrobed. The non-shy clients are always more fun.
“Are there any areas you’d like me to focus on?” I asked, as I began massaging his muscular and tanned back.
“I like my ass played with,” he said, lifting his butt as I pressed hard into his ass, allowing my hands to slide down his inner thigh and gently brush his hairless hole. Robert groaned in pleasure and I could tell he was the kind of guy who liked full insertion. With a gloved hand, I gently inserted one finger, then two, pressing on his prostate as I entered.
“That was amazing,” Robert said afterwards. After our session, Robert sent playful texts and let me know he had a special request: He wanted me to fuck him in the ass with a strap-on, specifically one with a very large dick. And with that request, he assured me generous compensation. Robert had a juicy ass; one that was molded through perfection from hours of bicycling the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Being pressed up against his luscious rear was titillating and so I obliged.
The deal was that Robert would bring his own strap-on, that way he could pick the size dick he wanted. He presented it to me with a smirk at our next session. Robert was Caucasian and preferred a black one up the ass. At first it seemed a bit odd to attach a cock, one that would be more fitting for a 6’6” black porn star, to my genitalia but once I saw the look of glee on Robert’s face I got into my role.
Robert and I started as we always did — him face down on the massage table as I kneaded his muscles and I slithered on top of him. This time I had both tits and a dick to rub against his back; he loved both my female and fake male parts. After thirty minutes of teasing, Robert begged me to stick it in, to “fuck him in ass.” I generously lubed up my enormous dildo and slowly entered Robert — just a tiny bit at first, and quickly pulled out.
“Go deeper,” he said.
I squirted more lube on both of us. “Are you ready?” I asked as I plunged deeper. It was a curiously empowering maneuver—one in which I was taking the more aggressive stance in sex. Deeper and deeper I pumped away inside him until Robert couldn’t stand it any longer. I withdrew, flipped him over and used both hands to stroke his rock-hard cock, causing him to spurt in an arc. His body shook a bit afterwards like the after shocks from an earthquake and then he sunk back into the massage table.
“I’ll be back,” he said. Yet another satisfied customer. And another service to add to my menu.
As an erotic masseuse, I get a lot of unusual requests. I do the things that wives won’t do. And I’ve come to learn that many significant others are unwilling to fondle their lover’s prostate. Sure, it’s like a lover black hole, but for those willing to go where others won’t, you’ll be a sexual superstar and for the erotic masseuse, you’ll make bank.
Reese was the first client I had who showed me how prostate massage could drive a guy crazy. I had a boyfriend once who liked a finger in the ass when he came during a blow job, but a digit way up there during a hand job was a new area for me.
During our first session, my client twisted around, grabbed my finger, and then inserted it. I was hesitant at first, thinking perhaps he just wanted me to tickle the outside, but oh no, he confided later FULL insertion was his thing. He was a big tipper and promised more if I was willing to accommodate him.
The next time Reese booked, I was prepared, with latex glove in hand and a full Internet search of the best prostate massage techniques. While Reese lay face down, I began my massage, digging deeply into his muscles and sliding my hands between his legs, while letting my fingertips press into the space between the ass and balls. He lifted his butt and groaned in pleasure. With a fully lubricated glove, I inserted my middle finger fully into his ass, finding the walnut-sized prostate behind the penis. Reese bucked and groaned on the table as I moved my finger gently around, continuing to massage his thighs with my free hand.
I withdrew my finger and asked Reese if he was ready to flip. He did and as I began to stroke his cock with one oiled hand while re-inserting my finger back into his anus. I have read that the massaging of the prostate can feel like a constant orgasm and the look of intense pleasure—to the point of intolerance—on Reese’s face indicated this was true. I was completely in control of him.
“I’m going to come,” he said breathlessly as I increased my stroking, which concluded with a heavy exhale from Reese. After his body stopped convulsing, he opened his eyes, and looked around almost as if he had been in another place and he was surprised to find himself in my massage studio. “That was fucking amazing,” he said.
Another satisfied customer. And a well-compensated masseuse.
Sixty-something, joke-cracking John had booked an early afternoon body rub. It was clear from the get-go that he was a purveyor of kinky shit, pulling out an absurd roll of cash and putting down my required $120 fee, then quickly asking how much more for the completely nude option. With $150 on the massage table I began to work on John, who told me the ins and outs of his sexual desires.
As a successful entrepreneur, John had the means to spend $5,000 a week on girls like me, and keep it from his wife. Being in the skin trade, I’m accustomed to men bragging about their income. Whether it’s true or not, I don’t care; but if a guy talks a big game, my price for extras goes up.
John said his biggest turn-on was having a girl push out the beginnings of a small turd and then licking her asshole. He said he pays $500 for this maneuver and then asked if I could oblige.
“I can’t shit on demand,” I said. Believe it or not, this is not the first time I’ve uttered this statement. As a former webcam girl, shit and pee requests are nothing new to me. Faking shit maneuvers is tricky, but faking pee is cake, and many girls do it. You’d have to be freakin’ Houdini to pull a fake one over on an in-the-flesh client. Hmm… $500, think of the bills that could be paid…. But seriously, I didn’t have to go.
“Will you pee on me?”
“Maybe. How much?”
John’s eyes brightened and he propped himself up on his elbows. “How much do you want?”
“A hundred more.”
“How much for in my mouth?”
“In your mouth?”
“Three hundred more.” John scrambled off the massage table to get three more Benjamins and tossed them on the counter.
John got back on the table and opened his mouth like a baby bird waiting for his regurgitated food. I straddled his head, and thanks to years of camping, I had near perfect aim.
Let’s hope he used mouthwash before he kissed his wife.