His Nasty Little Pussy

DADDY’S HIGH-CLASS CALL GIRL

I stitch on a smile, the one I practiced in the mirror, the one I know guys like. Kind of innocent, kind of seductive, but mostly fuckable. A fuckable smile. That’s all that matters in my job.

If I can hook them with a curl of my lips, then I’ve won the game.

They’re going to pay-I’m already walking to them, they’ve already called-but maybe I can get an upsell working for me as well. Whatever they want. Whatever they’ll pay for.

I can’t get a buyer if I’m not for sale.

I breathe deeply. Practice. This is practice, don’t forget. I haven’t done this yet. It’s my first time, but I feel like I have it all under control.

How hard can it be? They’ve already invited me in, and once a man

starts thinking with his dick, nothing is stopping me from getting him to order off the menu.

At least, that’s what my handler wants.

More food for more clients. How else am I going to pay for college? My handler says you can’t make money without quite a bit of sacrifice. The name handler sounds funny, but I have to remember to keep it as professional as possible. We want this to seem like a legitimate business for anyone who might be curious.

High-class, that’s the image we want to present.

I look down at my dress, flattening the curves with my palms. My dress looks kind of fancy, but it’s a cheap knock-off. What do you expect? I haven’t made a dime yet, so a dime-store, clearance-rack item makes sense.

But I love it anyway. It’s this bluish-gray, yarn-like mess. Simulating something fancy, but nearly falling apart at the seams. I don’t think a guy is going to pay much attention to the fabric anyway. What he’ll see is the threads unraveling at the ends, and the strings stretching across my chest, barely holding me together and revealing the curves of my cleavage. The tiny strings, the loose strands, make it seem like my dress just

wants to come undone with the simplest tug. It makes me feel vulnerable to the desires of men, which makes me feel a whole lot sexier. And if I feel sexy, then I’m projecting sexy, which is all I need.

I knocked on the hotel door, the one I was given over email. The hotel’s nice, of course. I’m not trying to be a dollar hooker on the corner. I want the prestige of being a ‘call girl’, which means a higher-class, richer type of clientele. Hopefully, fewer problems are the goal.

It takes a moment for a voice to resound from deep in the room.

“Come in,” the man calls out.

The door beeps and I turn the handle, entering the low-lit room. It’s like every step I take is another dose of adrenaline. I’m nervous as hell. Like I said, never done this before. My first client could be a prince or a drugged-up frat boy.

The door swinging shut behind me, it takes a moment to adjust my eyes

to the room. The shades are drawn and the man is sitting in the corner of the

sofa chair.

As I approach, I’m caught by surprise.

What the hell? What’s he doing here?

“Don’t give me that look. I’m not throwing you to the wolves yet. You need some practice first.”

“Practice?” I thought I practiced enough.

He nods, patting his navy blue slacks. “Come, sit on my lap.”

I scoff. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” my stepfather says, “I need to make sure you can do this right.”

“But Daddy-”

Daddy raises a finger. “Ah, I’m your handler.”

“No, not now. It’s just you and me. There’s no one to be professional for.” I both slink my shoulders and breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know which one I prefer: the relief that I don’t have to go through with this-just yet-or the defeat that Daddy tricked me into thinking I was about to have my first client.

“True, just you and me. But I want you to pretend with me. Like roleplaying. Your first time shouldn’t be with a stranger.”Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

“But, Daddy, this is weird.”

He chuckles, “Not as weird as letting you be a call girl in the first place.” He pats his lap again, motioning me over.

“Yeah, but you didn’t force me, Daddy. I wanted to be one.” “I know, Babygirl, I just want to look out for you.” There’s a hint of sadness in his eyes, and I’m left feeling sort of bad for him.

I twist my lips but eventually make my way to Daddy’s seat, turning and sitting on his lap. The warmth of his body is refreshing against the draft constantly running up my dress.

I never said the dress was comfortable.

Daddy’s hand goes around my lower back, which makes me stretch out as a soothing sensation flows through me. It’s not what you’d expect trying to make money off of horny guys, but then again, this isn’t just any guy.

This is the man who went against his wishes to make me happy.

The man who said it was okay to pursue my dreams.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod, placing my hands on my crossed knees. “What’s there to practice,

Daddy?”

“Your pitch,” he says.

I laugh. “What’s there to pitch? It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“It’s all a craft, Babygirl. You need to know what to say to men to get them to spend their money. You might be here, but not everyone’s willing to let their bills go.”

“What should I do?” I ask.

“Guide the conversation. I’m not a thug, not some bum off the streets. I’m a wealthy man, let’s say, and I can be both dominant and curious at a woman’s resistance.” “Resistance?”

“Playfulness, let’s say.”

“So let me start.” Daddy clears his throat before continuing, “You are one beautiful woman,” he says, his tone taking on a more masculine edge.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He chuckles, but then his eyes look past me. “I like that,” he says.

“Maybe you should call your clients Daddy.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, furrowing my brow. I don’t know if I can do that. Daddy’s Daddy, but other guys? Have they earned it?

“Oh, the things I want to do to you.”

I turn away, biting my lip and blushing. I don’t think it’s because any

man could say these things to me; I think it’s because Daddy’s the one saying

them. It’s so strange and oddly erotic. But if he wants to play this game, then

we can. I’ll show him I know what it takes to sell. “Ah, ah,” I warn. “Things done to me cost money.”

“What about things done to me?” he asks.

“Like what?” I play, innocently.

“Like sucking my dick.”

“Daddy!” I laugh, while a burst of energy flows down my stomach to

the mound above my pussy. The suggestion is so sexy it throws me off guard.

“No laughing, girl. How do you respond to a man being aggressive? It’s important.”

I lick my lips. “Things like that… they also cost money. Do you want me to suck your dick?”

Daddy smirks, his pupils dilating. “What’ll it cost me?”

“Only two hundred dollars, Daddy. Something I know you can afford.” “Good,” he says, “play to their insecurities. What else will sell it? Why’s it worth it to the client?”

I lower my voice as I lean closer to Daddy, swinging my arm around his neck. “Because my lips are so soft, Daddy, and when they get around your cock, you’re going to wish you saved your money for something else, because

I’ll make you explode before we get to the good parts.”

That came out way better than I intended. It even surprised me at how sexy it sounded.

Daddy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a large wad of money. He unfurls it, counting through a few fifty-dollar bills.

“Daddy, why are you carrying that?”

“Well,” he says, removing two hundred dollars from his stack before placing it back into his pocket, “only a stupid man would come penniless to a date with a call girl.”

He sticks his hand out. The money stares me in the face as I look down at it. I unconsciously take it.

“Where’s that go?” he asks me.

I didn’t bring a purse, but I said. “The end of some surface, where I can grab it if I need to leave quickly.”

He nods, and I stand up, placing it on the dresser by the door. It’s good Daddy helped me think out some of the logistics first. I had my mind stuck on more… sexual things. I come back to sit on Daddy’s lap, smoothing out the creases of my dress.

“So?” he says.

“… what?”

“I paid you money…”

“Daddy, you don’t mean…”

“I’m not here to see just how you’re going to talk about it. I need to see you’re good to go, ready for action.”

I blush, my face heating as my heart skips a beat. I shake my head. “We can’t do that!”

“Why not?” he asks, shrugging. “If you’re going to need a first, it might as well be me. I’ll be a lot easier on you than some of the guys you’ll meet.”

I swallow. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he says, “is it going to be harder with me than with a stranger? That’s almost insulting if you ask me.”