The Scorpion's Sweet Venom (12 page)

One day I went upstairs with an absolutely normal-looking client. In the bedroom, I'm not sure if I was able to hide my surprise
when he said, 'Stick your fist in me.' He wasn't at all embarrassed about asking me to do it. He'd even come prepared. Jesus!
I didn't think it would fit. I have a doctor friend who tells stories about the strange things thathappen in the emergency
ward, like when guys turn up with all manner of things up their rears ends that they can't get out. Bottles, which create
a vacuum and refuse to come out, are the most common.

Well, I worked out that it wasn't impossible. If a long-neck beer bottle could make it in, a hand wasn't that much bigger.
I realised the guy was very experienced at this. He took a surgical glove out of his briefcase and asked me to put it on.
While he opened the package he said, without batting an eyelid, 'I bet you've never done this before.' Before I could say
anything (that the expression on my face wasn't already saying) he went on, 'And I doubt you'll ever do it again. I want you
to stick your fist in me.'

'OK, but you'll have to teach me how.'

'Put your fingers in one at a time until they're all in and keep pushing.'

I used a heap of KY . . . It won't go in all at once. I followed his instructions, and everything went in, quite easily, actually.

When my hand was inside him, up to the middle of my wrist, I remembered my doctor friend and was scared the client's anus
might swell up until I couldn't get my hand out. Imagine me arriving at the hospital with my hand up the guy's arse! I confess,
I was afraid we might make a mess or something. Not my cup of tea. 'Don't worry, I had acolonic lavage before coming here.
There won't be any "accidents".' It didn't seem to be hurting him. By the way he was talking, the ease with which I stuck
my whole hand in, and his obvious pleasure, I could tell this wasn't his first time.

I spent ages inside him, following his orders. 'A little more to the right, move it around.' I think I was there for more
than half an hour, with my whole hand inside him, while he was on all fours on the ground, wanking himself off until he came-which
took a long time. We didn't have sex.

In my work, I respect (and indulge) everyone's desires and fantasies, even if I don't accept some of them personally. So if
a boyfriend of mine says he has this or that fantasy, I'm going to think he's lost the plot. And it's not going to happen!
In my bed, outside of work, sex is liberal, but not that much!

I love a bit of a party. Not at swingers' clubs, but here at my place or a client's place. I've already participated in lots
. . . One was unforgettable. Guess how many there were. Four? No. Five? No . . . EIGHT. And I was the only girl. It wasn't
supposed to be just me. The guys, who were very young, had invited three other girls. It was going to be two dicks each. I
was going to be the 'main course', since all of them wanted to spend some time with me. But when the other three arrived,
theydidn't like any of them and made me a proposal. 'What if we just have you? You up for it?' I agreed there and then.

I had to use a lot of creativity to handle them all, but luckily I've got a lot of that. It was going to be a first-class
gangbang. They decided to go four at a time because lots of guys together would be too gay. It was the first four's turn.
Those who know how to count will work out that I managed OK. First, musical cocks: with the four standing around me, I blew
one on one side and another on the other, while I gave the other two hand jobs. Each one got a blow and hand job, in this
order. But in gangbangs there's no such thing as organisation, queues, turn-taking.

Since the four of them were raring to go, the first one lay on his back and I rode him without letting go of the other three:
one in each hand and the other in my mouth. Then the real merry-go-round began. We tried a variety of DPs, then as each one
came he'd leave the room and call in the next one, who'd enter the fray, always starting with a blow and a hand job. Lucky
for those who took a long time to come - or recovered quickly enough to go for another round. I came several times without
much 'inner effort'. I took them down one at a time, all those stiff dicks. I don't even know how many rounds we did in the
end. But the best part of allwas that this was my most lucrative shag ever-eight at a time, and the money all to myself.

Then one day he called me from a different number and gave me another name. As I didn't recognise his voice, I scheduled him
in. I got a fright when I opened the door, and didn't know what to do. He came in, grabbed me and shoved me on to the sofa.
At the time, I thought about everything except the money I'd be making. We went up to the bedroom, where he pushed me roughly
on to the bed and started taking my clothes off . . . His sweaty hands on my body made me sick. He didn't even look like a
man, but an animal. If I weren't a working girl, I'd have felt like a rape victim. But since I was, I just felt like shit.

I told him that if he kept being rough I'd have to stop. But he didn't even hear me. Either that or he pretended not to. I
knew he'd be even more of apain if I told him to leave, so I decided to keep going. I got on all fours and he rammed himself
into me. It hurt a lot because I was drier than the Sahara desert and he was really hammering me as if I was an inflatable
doll. Then he took his dick out of my pussy and stuck it in my arsehole. This hurt even more because it was also dry. I managed
to reach the KY Jelly on the bedside table and wiped some on myself. He didn't like the fact that I was using KY, as if he
was actually capable of getting a woman wet.

I stayed on all fours and he just didn't come. Each second felt like an eternity . . . I tried to keep it together, but I
wasn't able to and started to cry. I'm not sure if I was crying with rage, hatred, pain or disgust. I think it was everything
. . . Then I decided to stop, because I knew it wouldn't make any difference and might even make the situation worse. I tried
to be strong and keep my anger under control.

I didn't make the slightest effort to pretend I was enjoying it. Why waste my breath on fake moans? I wanted him to know the
truth - that I hated being there with him. Then he turned me over for the missionary position. My body was so limp I really
did feel like a plastic doll . . . He stayed there on top of me for ages. At this stage in the game, knowing his time was
almost up, all Icould think about was the money. 'It's almost over,' I repeated mentally.

I don't know what went through his head. All I know is that my eyes were closed and he was still on top of me, when I felt
him slap me across the face. I got a fright. I was even more frightened because I'd been caught by surprise. When he hit me
the second time, I asked him to stop . . . Just as well he stopped after that, because I don't know what I might have done
. . .

He kept going, and I couldn't stand it any longer - I was about to explode and do God knows what. I don't know, I'd have done
whatever occurred to me at that moment. I didn't close my eyes again, so he couldn't catch me off guard. But I kept my face
turned away . . . and it passed through my mind that, my father was the only man I'd let slap me across the face. But at that
moment I saw that any man was capable of hitting me in the face . . .

Finally the hour was up. I got up and said it wasn't my fault he hadn't come. But what I could do was give him a hand job.
And that's what we did. He got dressed, paid and left. I sat on the sofa and stared at the money for ages. All the anger I'd
been feeling passed and was replaced with pity. Yes, because we should pity men like that, not be angry with them. He was
a man who'd never been loved-he himself told me, the first time, that he'd nevereven been engaged. I know why. He doesn't
need to say a thing because you can see in his eyes how sad and alone he is. And his aggressiveness in bed is just a reflection
of the fact that he's never been loved.

A client came from out of town just to visit me. OK, so the town is close to Sao Paulo . . . But even though it's not very
far, it was a big gesture, because there are pros in his town. But he came here for me. He belonged to some Oriental religion
- I didn't catch the name properly. He even blessed me. We sat in front of one another holding our hands out and he said some
things that I couldn't understand either . . . He told me he'd said a prayer for me to purify my spirit. And would you believe,
it worked? It's true . . . I felt really relaxed afterwards. It's true.

Out of the blue, he asked, 'Would you like to meet Zequinha?' It took a minute for the penny to drop, but I said yes anyway.
When he took off his pants, I understood that he called his dick Zequinha . . . Each to his own, right?

The best thing that happened at the swingers' club was meeting up again with a couple I'd met there three months before. The
woman and I hadn't done anything; we'd just swapped partners. He's a really sexy guy in his forties - the sort I'm attracted
to and would like for myself. A few grey hairs, a naughtylook in his eye, great body - and good in bed. When I saw him, he
was sitting down and I was on the dance floor. He smiled at me. Later, when she wasn't near by, he pulled me close and gave
my neck and earlobe a lick and a few little nibbles, the sort that can't not turn you on. Discreetly, he handed me a card
with his phone number on it and asked me to call him so we could meet up alone. But my client got jealous and didn't let me
go with him.

I started something with a blonde, who was actually not bad . . . I was dying for some cunt, so I asked straight out if I
could go down on her and she said yes. She sat down and I went down on her for quite a while, but she didn't come. While I
was doing it, her husband kept caressing me - and I started to feel sick. I don't like it when men keep touching me while
I'm with a woman.

But, on my other side, there was another woman who was touching me even more. It was a gentle touch, even though it was through
my clothes. I could feel her softness.

She whispered in my ear, 'You're really sexy. Can I kiss you?'

My God! Why did she do that? I didn't think twice. I abandoned the blonde and leapt into the arms of the brunette, who was
much sexier. We kissed a lot, I sucked her nipples a lot (she hadsilicone implants too), and she sucked mine. She talked dirty
with me and I could tell she was turned on and acting naturally.

'I love young girls like you,' she said.

She must have been about thirty. I think we were together for more than half an hour . . . First, she went down on me until
I came. Then I did the same to her.

We were really affectionate with each other, so much so that I made a point of saying goodbye to her. When I hugged her, I
said, 'I really enjoyed being with you.'

Ah, how I'd like to meet her again somewhere else, without any men around. Just the two of us. I should have asked for her
phone number. I don't know why but that woman fascinated me. So much so that I lost the desire for others.

My boyfriend and I were on our way home one night and we passed through an area where several transvestites turn tricks. I
was a bit tipsy, and wanted to find out what kind of person picks up trannies. Nothing against transvestites. I think people
can do whatever they want with their own body and it's no one else's business. I hung around a quiet street corner for about
forty minutes. Pedro parked the car near by and kept out of sight so no one would realise he was keeping an eye on me.

It was pure adrenalin, because I was switched on to everything. I stayed on the lookout for transvestites who might want to
ask me what I was doing there (after all, I might have been on someone else's corner), kept an eye on Pedro's car because
it stands out, and checked out the people inside the cars that stopped . . .

I was really cold, because, even though I was wearing jeans, I only had a singlet T-shirt on . . . which brings me to the
first thing I want to mention, because I've noticed that all transvestites work semi-naked, even when it's cold.

During the time I was there, more than ten cars stopped. I don't know exactly how many because I lost count after ten. Of
the ones that stopped, only three really thought I was a transvestite; the others realised I was a woman.

It was funny because one stopped and said, 'You're a woman, aren't you?' I said yes, and he replied, 'Thank God . . . at last
I've found one round here, but you're working the wrong corner, you know . . .'

There's one that I can't leave out. He thought I was a transvestite and even asked me how well-hung I was. We chatted a bit
and I quickly noticed a ring on his left hand. I couldn't let this fact slip and asked if he was married. He said he was.
So I asked if his wife knew he was in the habit of picking uptransvestites and he answered, 'She has no idea I do this, nor
must she ever find out!'