A Girl's Diary of Escort Dating (Part 1)

[Nana's Diary: June 16, 2018] Back at my rented apartment, I threw my clothes, underwear, and socks into the laundry tub, slept for a while, and then, having nothing to do after waking up, I ate a simple meal and decided to write.

I dressed myself up in only a light gray lace panty, letting myself radiate the afterglow of last night's lewdness. Right now, I lack nothing except a man, and I lack nothing down there except a penis; actually, last night, I had all of that.

These days have been quite boring, and I don't even know what I want to do. Before I fully wake up, I think about my past and my future.

I remember the past, though it's all hazy. As for

the future, I plan to go abroad to study after graduation, to a different environment where nobody knows me, to continue being a happy sugarbaby, then a sugarlady, and then a sugarmilf.

I didn't go online yesterday, not because I was lazy, but because my body was too busy, and my hands didn't have enough time to type. When making love, there's no time for writing.

I went out yesterday evening and came back at noon today. Everything felt so bland.

When I got back, I found a quiet street corner to smoke, and noticed some guys passing by glancing at me. Why do you have the courage to look at me but not the courage to talk to me?

A few days ago, I found a deposit in my account, and then my Line notification popped up. He wanted me to come out, saying I'd get moldy if I stayed indoors any longer.

So I went out, and at the same street corner, I saw him. I got into his car, and the air conditioning made me rub my arms.

"How have you been lately?" "Fine.

" "Why have you been locking yourself in your room all this time?"

"I'm writing." "Some weird paper? Is it due for the start of the semester? Or are you rushing to finish your assignments?" "I'm writing a novel.

" "A novel? Is it your romance novel?" "No, an erotic novel.

" "Wow, an erotic novel! You're getting better and better! Can I take a look?" "You'll see it today.

" "Will you write me in it?" "Not necessarily.

" He smiled at me, then drove me to dinner—it was a routine.

He's almost 30 years older than me; strangers think he's my uncle or my father, but he's actually my sugar daddy.

He's known me for a long time; he found me before graduating high school. Back then, the airport subway hadn't opened yet, so getting to the airport was a bit slow.

You might ask me why I'd choose such an older man? I have a personal preference for mature men, but he's a bit too mature, though. But it's okay; he gives me the sense of security and reliance I need.

I don't want to go into too much detail about how we met, as it involves many aspects that are inconvenient to discuss. In short, he found me, and we've been together ever since. He understands me very well and knows everything that's happened to me.

I remember he drove me around for a long time without finding a suitable restaurant, but I finally told him I wanted Japanese food and just wanted to find one close to his home. So he drove me to my favorite restaurant.

I knew he wanted to put his arm around me, but he also knew me well; I didn't want him to hold me in public, in front of everyone, so he didn't touch me, only secretly touching my hand.

I tried my best to act like his daughter or something in front of others; I haven't reached that level of indifference.

During dinner, we talked a lot about our recent lives. I kept encouraging him to find another wife, but he always told me, "Isn't it good enough now?"

Although his answer disappointed me, I knew his words were very honest, because I had never considered being his wife.

After dinner, he rushed off, but I pulled him aside to a quiet street corner where we wouldn't disturb anyone. I love having a cigarette after a meal; it makes me feel really good. So I asked him to smoke with me.

He took a few puffs and said, "Girls should smoke less.

" "Yeah, cigarettes are expensive now. A whole pack of cigarettes isn't even enough, plus a few coins. I smoke much less than I used to.

" "Are you telling me you're poor?

" He chuckled and poked me with his finger.

I smiled and looked at him, whispering, "Thank you for the money you sent me.

" "Don't spend it recklessly. Save some. I don't want you doing this anymore.

" "I'm still studying, okay? Don't joke around.

" "I want you to belong only to me.

" "Yes, I belong to you alone now.

" He took advantage of the fact that no one was around and hugged me, trying to get closer. Afraid someone might walk by, I moved away and slipped out of his arms.

I remember him looking down at me with a smile, and I looked up and smiled back shyly.

He always smoked Seven Stars Mild, a cigarette that made me feel like I was getting carbon monoxide poisoning.

He always mentioned seeing me smoke Caster, but he didn't scold me for it; instead, he said it was better for girls to smoke milder cigarettes.

I liked to look at the distant horizon and the large planes about to land at Songshan when I smoked. I've loved watching planes fly by since I was little because they come from faraway places and go to faraway places.

Suddenly, he brought his mouth close to my ear and whispered, "How about I buy you a cigar later?

" I nudged him with my elbow; I knew what he meant. He hugged me again, and this time I just smiled, neither looking up at him nor pulling away.

I smoked quickly, then threw the cigarette into the drain, letting it become a comfort to the cockroaches that made their home in the sewers.

I lit another one, still looking into the distance.

He asked me, "One cigarette after another, are you nervous about being fucked?" I pouted and glanced at him, then turned my head away, unsure how to answer. Actually, I was a little nervous, but not really nervous. I couldn't describe my feelings; they were just complicated and conflicted.

After I finished my cigarette, I threw it in the roadside ditch. He hadn't finished his and threw his away, then accompanied me to his car to take me to his house.

Because we'd known each other for a long time, I was familiar with his house. He lived alone; the house was large, and it felt empty with just him. He said that with me there, his house wouldn't feel so empty.

Before I could even stand or sit properly, he hugged me tightly in the house and then lowered his head to kiss me forcefully. I wanted to resist, but I didn't want to, so I closed my eyes and surrendered completely.

He held me and touched my body from head to toe, making me increasingly aroused. Perhaps I was a little nervous, or maybe not. Even after so long, I still felt a slight discomfort having sex with a man who wasn't my husband. He whispered

to me that I was a slut.

I listened to his vulgar language with my eyes closed.

I don't know why, but I really enjoyed hearing men talk to me like that; maybe I have masochistic tendencies. I don't know if other girls are like me.

Then he pushed me to the bedside. I glimpsed 003, lubricant, and some toys on his bedside table, and I felt a little shy.

He sat on the bed and, without my consent, lifted my skirt and began to take it off. I whispered "no," but the skirt wouldn't listen, and he skillfully removed it.

I was wearing a spaghetti strap dress. I stood quietly in front of him, head down, eyes closed, hugging myself.

He was playing with my pantyhose through my still-on pantyhose, touching between my legs and below my abdomen.

I remember I really liked this shy feeling, being completely still and being manipulated by a man.

He said he liked me because I was like a little bitch. Actually, many men say the same thing, and I know myself well, so it wasn't too surprising.

I don't know when, but he had taken off all his clothes—it was while I was standing there. My mind was blank; I wanted to sleep, but I wasn't too tired.

He told me to kneel on the floor, and then he held his penis in front of me and swung it around. I looked up at him and smiled, then turned my head away again.

"Want a cigar?" "It smells.

" I pouted and whispered to him.

"Don't you like smelly things?" "No.

" Actually, I really don't like sucking a man's penis. It's disgusting. I remember the first time was forced. A man kept hitting my head with a pillow, and I had no choice but to open my mouth.

He pressed my head down with his hand and rubbed his penis against my face. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and wanted it all to end quickly.

Although I felt disgusted, I also enjoyed the process.

He took a vibrator from the bedside table and tried to slip it into my panties along the edge of my pantyhose. I looked up at him and told him no.

But I never keep my word. He still shoved the vibrator into my panties. I thought to myself, this is going to be terrible.

"You little slut, you want a cigar now that you've had some excitement.

" I pouted and looked at him. After he finished speaking, he turned on the remote. I really couldn't control myself and started moaning.

He pressed my head down, held his penis in his hand, and then pressed it against my tightly closed lips before shoving it into my mouth.

Actually, I was willing; otherwise, why would my mouth be open?

He pressed my head down repeatedly, making me suck his salty, pungent penis, while a vibrating egg vibrated between my labia. He called me a slut, a little bitch, and all of this made me feel incredibly aroused.

The reason I haven't been able to quit being a sugarbaby after all this time is because of these feelings. I think if I were married, my husband probably wouldn't treat me like this.

If I wanted him to do this, would he look at me with a strange expression?

Although they all like to play this game with me in bed, we've always agreed that it's only in bed. Outside of bed, I hope we can respect each other; it's just a game in bed.

They understand me because I can really get angry, and outside of bed I need care and comfort, which they can provide.

All of this is why I've been a sugarbaby since high school.

He turned off the vibrator and then told me to service his penis with my mouth, and to raise my head and say I was a lowly little bitch.

I licked his large testicles with the tip of my tongue, then his thick penis, and gently took his large, swollen glans into my mouth. I was intoxicated by the feeling of being a little bitch in his eyes. I raised my head, looking at him with hazy eyes, and gently said, "I am your little bitch, a lowly little bitch.

" I remember he slapped me and then ordered me to continue serving his penis with my mouth.

I knelt on the ground and licked his penis and testicles for a long time. I felt so horny, wanting to be raped by many men. I am a woman with a strong sex drive, and I don't need to avoid this reality. I know myself very well.

However, I live very authentically. I pursue what I want and get it. I hate being hypocritical. So in the end, I really became the kind of slut these men call a slut.

However, the reality of society is still hypocritical. I don't know how I should express myself to my husband if I want to get married someday.

Should I pretend to be a perpetually dignified lady? Or what? But even my husband wouldn't like a frigid wife, would he?

After all, we'll have children eventually. I haven't figured these things out yet. I'll think about them when the time comes. I don't have time to think about these things now, because even if I did, I wouldn't be able to figure it out.

His penis is so big, his testicles are so big, my small mouth can't even cover it all at once. I can only slowly lick, kiss, and suck, little by little. My whole body is itchy, especially down there. I feel like a promiscuous college girl. I like this wanton feeling mixed with shyness.

People who don't know me might think I'm a pure, introverted, and demure college girl. Actually, my heart is full of passion. Writing this, I laugh at myself for being so "shameless."

Whenever I walk down the street, I don't know how many men have fantasized about me, but they are all cowardly. Because if even one of them is brave, they will receive the reward they've always dreamed of from me.

I knelt on the ground and used my mouth to service his penis and testicles for a long time. His penis and testicles were huge, and my mouth was tired from serving them.

He lifted my face and slapped me lightly. I couldn't take it anymore; my breathing became rapid.

I told him I liked it, and he called me a slut.

Our conversation had very few lines, like a very simple duet, but the meaning was very profound.

He unhooked my bra and took it off my upper body. Then he reached out and slowly and forcefully rubbed my breasts, pinching my nipples. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the ravaging. It felt so good. I felt incredibly lucky to have found such a good lifestyle. I could solve my own problems, enjoy the exciting sex life that girls my age wanted but couldn't have, and gain a lot of life experience from interacting with these men, making myself more mature.

I remember him pulling me up and telling me to stand in front of him. Then he told me to pull my pantyhose and underwear down to my knees, saying it would make me feel ashamed.

In fact, I had long forgotten what shame was, but this feeling was fun and made me feel good, so I tried to recall what shame was and make myself feel ashamed, like when I was 17.

I thought my genitals were perfectly shaped, capable of attracting so many men, which gave me a great sense of accomplishment. I knew many boys in school wanted to pursue me, and many men in society wanted to have me. Ultimately, they just wanted to see me take off my pants and expose my genitals. They could shamelessly play with my genitals with their fingers and then insert their penises into my vagina, and I would enjoy it immensely and not resist.

I felt like I was standing in front of strange men, and to them, I was like a riddle for them to guess. If they guessed correctly, they could have sex with me; if they guessed wrong, all that would be left for them was their fantasies.

So, any man who's timid in front of me is pathetic. Some men might criticize me for not being more proactive. As a girl, I've already been very proactive. Am I supposed to hold up a sign on the street begging men to do what I want? Social ethics don't allow that. If I did, men would think I'm mentally ill.

He took the vibrator out of my underwear, then put his large, rough hand on my genitals and touched them, saying,

"So wet.

" Then he took a dildo, placed it flat on my genitals, and vibrated it back and forth and side to side, tormenting me so much I could barely stand. But he said he liked seeing me like this, like I was performing a nude dance on stage.

I enjoyed every second of sexual pleasure. Men need it, women need it too, just in different ways. There's nothing surprising about it.

Then he told me to take off my pantyhose and underwear, and I stood naked in front of him. I kept my head down, not wanting to look at him. Actually, I still felt some shame, but it was intermittent; the long period of indulgence had short-circuited my sense of shame.

He told me to kneel on the floor, my upper body on the bed, and then inserted a vibrator into my soaking wet vagina. I moaned incessantly, but the vibrator quickly fell to the floor. So he switched to a vibrating egg and inserted it into my vagina, but without turning it on.

He took a whip from the table, stood behind me, turned on the vibrating egg, and whipped my buttocks repeatedly. I felt like I was going crazy, and could only express my pleasure with lewd moans.

I remember he was whipping me while cursing me. I told him I was about to climax, but he said I wasn't allowed to.

Actually, I've always thought some men are idiots. Can I really control when I climax? Unless you stop, the vibrating egg keeps vibrating and relentlessly tormenting me. Unless I'm in a vegetative state and can't orgasm, I'll eventually orgasm.

I slump to the floor, leaning against the bed, seemingly unconscious.

I stare at him, but he's strong; he grabs my arms and drags me into the bathroom, making me sit against the toilet on the cold floor.

He stands beside me, holding his penis, and then urine sprays from his glans, landing on me. He deliberately sprays urine in my face; I scream and turn my head away, but his urine covers me completely. I lower my head and spit a few times on the floor.

After I rest for a while, he goes back and gets the vibrator again, inserting it into my vagina.

I lean against the toilet, staring at him, and see the thick vibrator inserted between my legs. I close my eyes and continue to enjoy his torment.

I feel like I have no autonomy; I do whatever he wants. I don't like being proactive; I like this passive feeling.

He squatted beside me and said that even after all this time, I was still as slutty as when he first met me, back when I was just an innocent high school student. He said he could tell at a glance that I was actually more wanton than a whore.

I didn't want him to say anything more; it all seemed like polite words. He said them every time, as if it gave him more pleasure, so I didn't stop him from saying them.

He showered me, then lifted me up, dried me with a towel, and pushed me back into his room, telling me to kneel on the bed with my ass up, waiting for him to fuck me.

Every time I knelt on the bed like that, I felt really ashamed. My vagina was facing him, completely exposed, along with my anus. Some men like to make me squat on the dining table to watch me defecate, which is the most unacceptable thing for me. Every time, I would cover my face and perform this act.

He whipped my ass many times, then told me to say I was a slut and a whore while he whipped me. I guessed he would find it exciting, so I satisfied him to the fullest. But I also found it very exciting.

I like men who are versatile, not the dull, clueless type who just comes in, takes off their pants, and goes straight to sex—like an animal. I despise and look down on them. So, whenever I interview potential partners, I always ask them what they want me to do in bed. If I'm not satisfied, I'll pass on them.

Finally, he was about to start inserting his penis into my vagina. I told him to bring his condom; I didn't want to be an unmarried mother yet, and I told him to bring two.

But I was still worried. I took the condom he was going to bring and gently blew it up like a balloon, making sure it didn't leak air. Okay, that put my mind at ease. Otherwise, I really wouldn't be able to sleep well for over a month.

I closed my eyes and felt his penis entering my vagina. It felt so good I almost fell asleep. But after a long time, he pulled out and used his penis to slap my buttocks. Then he turned me over. I knew the moment of his ejaculation on my face was approaching.

I closed my eyes and quietly waited for the warm fluid to hit my face. As expected, he ejaculated on my face.

I wiped myself with a tissue and asked him, "Is it comfortable?" "Mmm, it's comfortable,

" he said, lying on his side next to me, looking at me.

I looked at him with hazy eyes and whispered, "As long as you're comfortable, I've succeeded.

I'm comfortable too.

" He pinched my cheek, rested for a while, and then started kissing me passionately again.

After a few more rounds, I was too tired, so I turned off the light and fell asleep in his arms.

The next morning, I planned to get dressed and go home, but every time he told me he didn't want me to leave.

I knew he really wanted me to move in, but I worried that if I really moved in, it might not be so easy to move out again.

Also, if we were too close, we'd get tired of each other and start arguing, so it was better to keep things a little distant.

However, I didn't tell him my thoughts; I felt that saying so would hurt him.

"You're busy too, and I'm busy too. Ask me out next time.

I don't want you to focus all your energy on me; you need to focus all your energy on your career,

" I said to him, lying in his arms, really just being polite. But he felt that my concern for him was enough.

"Have breakfast before you leave.

" "Okay.

" I remember he got up and made breakfast for me, then watched me eat it bite by bite.

He's a pretty good cook, and I really enjoy his food.

Breakfast was actually quite simple; he made me bacon and egg toast, milk, and sausage, but I didn't eat much.

He told me he was really annoyed lately.

I asked him why, and he told me about some business matters.

I asked him a lot of questions, things I'd learned from books, I don't know if they'd be useful, but I said them, and he felt I cared about him, that was my job.

After breakfast, he hugged me and continued kissing me, then put his hand between my legs.

I told him that doing it too much wasn't good for his health.

Actually, I admired him a lot; he was almost fifty, and his penis was still so hard, it felt so good every time he penetrated me.

He walked me to the gate of his building, and I hailed a taxi to my rented apartment. The smell was still the same, as if I'd walked for ages. I took off all my clothes and threw them into the laundry tub, then lay naked on the bed, checking if any friends had texted me.

Feeling tired, I fell asleep.

After sleeping, I woke up and wanted to write something to vent. But what should I write? What's the point of writing anything else? It's disgusting nonsense; I'd laugh at myself while writing it. So, I'll write about myself; that's the most authentic writing.

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/146688.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=146688&aspx=1

Previous Page : 【The Journey of Depravity】(0-2)

Next Page : Black Star Warrior (Part 1)

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

A Girl's Diary of Escort Dating (Part 1)

comment Open a new window to view comments