Designer Pussy

Designer Pussy

Apparently I have one. I always though I just had a pussy, well it seems due to the bits all being neatly tucked in, mine is the go to for those seeking designer lips. Somebody shoot me!

Seriously, gentlemen! If you are looking at a woman when her legs are spread in front of you and all you can think about is the labia minora is longer that the labia majora, you my friend are not focusing on the right thing. Or you are getting way too much pussy! Trust me when my man is down there, he had better be attending to the task at hand, not bloody comparing a catalogue of cuntflaps! And if he is, I had better not find out!

You fools need to be more appreciative when you are at the altar. Designer pussy my ass!

Domination by Numbers

Domination by Numbers

There seems to be some confusion. Let me explain. I am a professional Dominatrix, surprise! And as such, I do take gleeful delight in doing the most horrific things to clients for extortionate amounts of money. All with their consent of course. At the end of the day it is a game for them, and free therapy for me. Fuck anger management courses, kicking the holy shit out of some snivelling cretin works wonders for me. I do have to say I delight in inflicting unspeakable punishments on my subs. I have a dark side and I am good with it.

But of late there seems to be some confusion developing; along the lines of which, I have subs expecting to have sex with me! WTF! Am I to understand, I am to whip you, spit on you, pee on you, tie you up and basically trample all over you like a mattress, and then have sex with you? Only in fucking Ireland can you get this maggoty amalgamation of co-joined services.

I mean sweet Jesus, at the best of times, I need to mentally pull of some serious acrobatics to muster up the fake delight I need to get through a normal booking, then to have to switch mind sets mid lash is more mental acrobatics than I am willing to muster. That and the fuckers are all expecting this for the same rate as a GFE! Or my favourite is can they have half hour GFE, and half hour DOM! Do I look stupid the you?

This stupidness is a result of the recession. And the bargain hunting mindset, as in they want as much for the paltry pittance they can just afford. So, people who normally wouldn’t even give a Dom session a though are now wanting the whole singing and dancing light show, to feel they have gotten their money’s worth! Wrong female! What have I done, I have packed away my dom equipment and can’t be asked! Seriously, please! My advice now when some idiot has the nerve to broach the subject is this: Go home and get humiliated for free, I am sure you wife takes equally as much delight as I do in telling you what a useless cunt you are.

How the fuck?

How the fuck?

How the f*** did he sneak in under my defences? I mean seriously, was it those big, brown, fluttery eyelashes accenting lovely, warm, sweet, green eyes? No, not those.

Was it those arms like pythons that so masterfully wrapped themselves around me, or was it the excellent oral technique? Hole in murther fucking one! Leaving me panting on the bed in a puddle of my own juices, wondering who the hell was making all that damn racket, oh yeah that was me!

He is absolutely adorably cute, a lovely little bonbon. Kinda of like a delicious naughty stolen treat. Yummy, sex, sweet kisses, and touches. How the hell do I account for the f***ing withdrawals I am going through? Jesus, it has been a long time, since I have been properly loved up.

I am like a junkie needing a hit. Bad! It is messing with my head in a majorly bad way. I am wearing out my playlist of sad and soppy songs. How the hell did I, me, yes moi end up here? Need to get a grip on self and snap to hell out of this silliness. No more texts, and I will just have to endure. Horrible. I hate feeling like this. Aaaaarrrrrggggggg!

Hooker Etiquette

Hooker Etiquette

Where do I start?
One of the things I learned in the posh private school I attended as a child, was how to hold a phone conversation. Seriously, we were taught how to hold a phone conversation. And that is where I think it stopped. People now a days don’t seem to know how to hold a phone much less a conversation. Or maybe it is just the cretins I encounter? Whatever it is, there is something I have noticed is sorely lacking these days when it comes to making an enquiry about something, people just don’t seem to know how to go about doing it. Or maybe I notice it more in my line of work. Whatever the cause, it drives me batty when someone is calling an escort, and goes about the most curvilineous fashion to get to the point. Sweet Jesus, I want to scream at them sometimes, “GET TO THE FUCKING POINT! There isn’t anything you can say to me that I haven’t heard before!” Hemming and hawing on the phone will likely result in my hanging up on you.

The other group of annoying phone miscreants are the ones who call and can’t seem to formulate a question and expect me to carry the conversation. Or the ones who are plainly not listening with their ears and keep asking the same question over and over, or demanding more and more in depth details. Seriously? Do I sound that daft?

But the ones that really chap my cunt, are the ones who seem to think I have all the time in the world to stay on the phone and chat to them. If they are not calling to get clarification on a detail, confirm a booking, get directions, or generally check to see if my number is working, there really is no reason for me to be on the phone chatting to a client for longer than a 30 secs. They are not a friend, or a treasured client whom I have known for years and will engage in conversations beyond the prerequisites. I wouldn’t expect my nail technician, masseuse, personal trainer, or housekeeper to stay on the phone with me, so why does a man with a hard dick think it is his inalienable right to drag a phone conversation out with an escort? Part of this problem, is there is this sense of entitlement some men seem to suffer from. And they wonder why they have to pay for sex?

How Ireland turned me into a whore.

How Ireland turned me into a whore.

Yup, you read it right. Ireland turned me into a whore. The concept of escorting is so lost on these Neanderthals, as to be a higher form of thought from another planet. When you have emotionally stunted men, who’s concept of sex, is a fumbled poke in the dark, and who’s biggest concern is getting you pregnant, have no clue as to what or how you catch an STI. Is it any wonder, that when faced with a sexy woman, their dicks shrivel and die?

I have worked for some high class escort agencies in my time, and every girl who is worth her false lashes, knows the best bookings are the longer ones. More money, and actually less work, a man by virtue of biology, can only shag so much over a 12 hour period of time. Even with the aid of little blue pills. Then of course throw in some alcohol and general fitness, and well you can get the shagging part down to 2 strategic shags, and everyone is happy. Now of course if the client is a fine specimen of manhood, and hung like a horse. I am quite happy to stay up all night and shag for country and glory. I might even spend a few extra hours for personal reasons. Good dick is indeed hard to find.

Not in Ireland! For one thing the fuckers turn a lovely shade of green when I tell them my overnight rates. Higher than normal, why because I really don’t want to spend that much time with one client in Ireland. They form attachments too quickly, and before I know it I would have 1) a stalker or worse yet 2) some idiot baying at my front door about being in love with me. Jesus and his angels, save me from shit like this. Mind you it isn’t that I am all that warm and fuzzy, you may have gathered that from my previous posts. It is the full on attention being paid to them. They are not used to that, and it can mess with both heads. Also, not coming from a culture of sexual exploration or openness, the rules of The Game are completely lost on them. They interpreted the angel in knickers to be the real me, not realising that it is a character I have created to play the part of the escort in this little pastiche.

So it became expedient to just see clients on a short time basis. It still didn’t prevent some from forming attachment, but you could nip things in the bud and still get paid for the privilege.

But now that I have returned to a market where the clientele are more the norm, and can actually enjoy the time with a woman without becoming a pest, I have discovered I am ruined! I had gotten so used to dealing with clients on a short term basis, that now I have to reprogram myself to being able to deal with them for longer periods of time. Oh God Help Me! Where I am now, an hour is an hour, not 33 1/2 minutes, including shower time! I have to suppress the 25 minute itch. Meaning I start to get irritated at about the 25 minute mark, and have to keep telling myself, it is ok, he isn’t over staying or becoming a nuisance. It will take some getting used to, but I have a feeling where I am right now I will adjust in no time.

To All The Ladies

To All The Ladies

This goes out to the hardworking independent escorts out there whom through no fault of theirs had the lights scared out of them over the last few days. Apparently there were a series of early morning welfare checks conducted by the garda, with little mention before hand of the impending visits! Which of course left some shaken! Understandbly so. These visits were being conducted, not because of any wrong doing, but more as an excerise to determine the level of trafficked men and women working in Ireland. And if the arrests that were made were are anything to go by, Ruhama will have to do some creative statistical analysis to secure next years funding.

In general 4 or 5 Garda knocking on ones door isn’t, believe it or not, an everyday occurrence in most escorts lives. We aren’t criminals. But as always, the ladies rallied, supported each other and did their best to pass on information as quickly as possible to others, check up on each other and generally tried to keep calm and carry on. A valiant effort on all sides. If I ever had a problem, I know to whom I would turn.

Also to the supportive gents out there, who called and checked in on friends working in the business to make sure all was well, a heartfelt thank you for being decent human beings, and genuine people with compassion and consideration.

And last but not least, to the whining, snivelling, cowardly little fucks who in the mists of hard-working people’s lives being traumatized could only think of the non-existent effect this could maybe, possibly, in all likelihood not have on their lives, also a heartfelt thank you to you too, for showing the rest of us what a bunch of spineless cunts you really are. Well done!

But in the end it is good to know consistency was upheld, I was a bit surprised to see the amount of spineless ones who appeared out of the woodwork to voice their concern. An escort attacked, not a peep, but a mere hint of an idea that maybe by a long shot their phone number might have been saved in a phone could get into the hands of the Garda, and well the the beating of chests, and gnashing of teeth was indeed a cacophony heard from the rooftops.

Thankfully business will return to normal, and the ladies can resume the task of bringing joy to the thousands of men out there, whom for whatever reason use the services of escorts.

Standard

The Girl Friend Experience

Dear god how this term is bandied about. I have clients calling up saying things like, “I am looking for the GFE.” I sometimes feel like telling them, “I have my period, my back aches, how about you rub it for me and fix us a cup-pa whilst you are at it, oh and don’t forget to leave the money on the night stand on your way out. I am going to have a nap. How is that for your fucking Girl Friend Experience?! ”

What they really mean is they don’t want to feel like they have just paid for it. They want me to coo over their less than impressive manhoods, and pretend I have climaxed numerous times in great succession, because I am a wanton, brazen whore, who can’t get enough of mens cocks. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Their delicate egos can’t deal with the fact that I would much prefer that they dropped the money through the letter box and pissed off. I mean it isn’t like they aren’t used to this treatment already, it is how their wives behaves towards them now, isn’t it? She has the children, she has the name, the house(s), the car(s) the husband is really superfluous, pointless even. I think most married women would be quite happy if their husbands moved to the nearest leper colony on another planet. I mean seriously, less laundry to do, less cleaning up, and certainly less micro management and social engineering, oh and lets not forget his mother! That alone should put them off having him around. It is a total win-win situation all around.

When it comes to sex in my personal life I can take it or leave it. If I don’t have it I won’t start to break out in hives, nor will I pick fights for the hell of it. I will just grab one of my trusty pink turbo vibrators and have at it. Done, dusted, sorted. No fuss no muss, no messy clothes to clean up in the morning, no awkward conversations to have, no breakfast to make, no funky smells but my own. Brilliant!

This may or may not come as a surprise, but I really don’t like having men around me unless there is a specific need for them to be there. I find they clutter up my well organized space, and continually get underfoot in a way like nothing else.

That, and I generally find most men to be far too needy for my taste. They need feeding, clothing, cared for, sex, toiletries arranged, things mislaid found, and a host of other things I find tedious and time consuming. Who is going to do these things for me? So although I love my significant others, I prefer it that they live in other towns, cities and even countries if the truth be told. It makes for a bit more effort on my part, but when I see them finally I a genuinely happy to spend a limited amount of my precious time with them. Then I hop on a train, or plane, and disappear from their lives.

I will probably end up raising prized pure breed dogs. Crufts here I come.