ASIS, CIA, G2, MI6, MOSSAD

ASIS, CIA, G2, MI6, MOSSAD

Security services. Intelligence gathering. Acquiring assets. Spying. Phone tapping. All this and more, our various security services engage in to obtain information. Why don’t they just ask their local neighbourhood hos for info?

Collectively, was chatting to the cartel the other day, yes we hos talk, in fact we talk a lot. We compare notes, news flash, share information on clients, you think we all live in isolation, but the smart ones don’t. We are global and mobile, and social media and red bull can transcend time zones. We will keep tabs on our friends going for an outcall in another country, we take info and in the event she doesn’t contact one of us by a certain time, we will call the police in her country to alert them to something not kosher.

We run our small business like tiny blue chip corporations, we market, we tweak, we package/repackage, we re brand our product, and if necessary we will change name and shut up shop; pull down websites and reemerge like the Phoenix from the fire new and shiny, with new boobies, hair extensions, or a few pounds lighter. Sorry to burst the bubble. We are anything but stupid. At the end of the day, many of us started this journey to survive and we are excellent at adapting and evolving as situations dictate.

So, as I was talking to the cartel, we happened to discuss a certain client, and it became apparent he had seen several of us, told us different stories, and we started to compare them. We are excellent listeners. Well, it became apparent something wasn’t all together. Mind you we are all on different continents, and in some cases different hemispheres of the world. All happily chatting away. Facebook is our friend.

Then it hit us! He has got to be a spy! No kidding! This was rather exciting when we all realised this. His story when told to us was extremely plausible, until we compared them, and a glaring thing, which I will not mention became apparent. And the funny thing is I know what country he is actually doing the deed for and it is humorous, cause they are allies. Politics and bedfellows.

1. Broke Ass Bitches

1. Broke Ass Bitches

Lord in his heavens save me from the creature known as a Broke As Bitch-BAB! You will find these in all walks of life, and in both sexes. But the one that particularly chaps my cunt is the one who manages to find the one iota of ambition she has to get off her ass and then decides to sell it. This one is the worst, why? Because this lazy bitch is too insouciant to realise that the rest of use hos are doing this as a business and not to feed a boyfriend, pay a late bill, get a new Guess bag, or a weeks supply of weed!

So, she couldn’t careless if she is selling below market value, and offering the sun, the moon, and her ass for a few quid! Nope, it is more than she gets sitting on her ass collecting the dole, or the wage slave job she works, so it is all gravy to this female. This shit makes me want to scream in frustration!

And don’t make the mistake of pointing out to this vile little guttersnipe she is giving the farm away! No, the insults hurled at you will vary from, being too old to attract clients, to thinking this is a business and how hard and business like we are. God save me! I really want to slap some sense into the little bitches head! But I don’t bother!

Why, I simply rely on the law of averages. Which states, she is going to attract the wrong sort of clientele and that unfortunately is when she quietly disappears from the scene. Never to be heard from again. I say unfortunately, because usually it takes a nasty incident happening to her to realise all the hardened old bitches were right! No one, even a BAB should have to learn a lesson this way.

I will not for a minute pretend to like this type, I don’t, but I don’t wish them harm, I wish them success, why? Because the sooner she reaches her goal the better off it is for the rest of us who do this for a living.

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.

The not so joys of working in Ireland-winter edition

The not so joys of working in Ireland-winter edition

What the very fuck has happened? I am still on tour, and am starting to notice that the wonderful inhabitants of the places I visited in England in the summer have somehow changed. I mean seriously, are people saving that much for Christmas that in the middle of October business is down by that much? Fucking hell! Or is it the influx of new and desperate hos, needing money for their presents as well?

Well whatever the problem is, I hate winter time. I am grouchier than normal, and that is saying something, I want to sleep more, and I have caught the bloody flu! I need a holiday! All in all I hate England, I hate Ireland in equal measure.

When the sun, if it shines, is shinning in this part of the world the clientele are lovely, when the weather changes, they all become bears.

Seriously men are dogs in the summer and bears with sore heads in the winter.

Hoing for fun

Hoing for fun

Yes you heard me correctly, one of my hobbies in addition loads of stuff civvie people do, is hoing for fun.

What I mean by hoing for fun, is this: When I am sequestered to any part of the world where I am not making a significant 4 figure sum a day, I am hoing for fun. I mean I cant really take it too seriously, due to the fact I am having to work for money far below what I would get as a tip in some countries. And the best part about hoing for fun, is when clients tell me I have an attitude, and should be grateful for the pittance they can barely afford. It gives me great pleasure to tell them, I am not working because I need this money, I’m doing this so as not to have to spend any money from my savings. This is pocket money for me, and not even decent pocket money at that! You should see the faces!

The UK mid range market is totally ruined! There was a time you could get some decent gents in the mid range sector, not anymore. They have either moved, died off, or become incredibly demanding cretins with entitlement issues. None of which I want any part of.

So you may ask, why bother returning to the UK at all? Well, due the fact I have family there, whom I really am rather attached to, and I actually enjoy spending my summers there. The Middle East is blistering hot, Oceania is cold-ish, so Europe is about the only place on the place on the planet worth spending time in at this time of the year. Thus, why I am on hiatus in the UK.

I am a hardcore ho, I am not doing this to get by! I am doing this to earn silly amounts of money, make no mistake, this isn’t some damn vocation or calling! I am not some sacrificial lamb sucking cock for the betterment of mankind! I am simply doing this because it pays bloody well. And if I am not getting a certain amount per day when I am working, time to move. Simples. I am not loyal to any place unless I am making money there. At the minute certain Middle Eastern countries are my favourite.

The day is coming soon when the UK client will start to appreciate a quality escort again, when those damn flood gates open and Eastern Europe dumps en mass the hordes of people seeking the land of milk and honey, the difference will soon emerge. And it will be something so simple, as when they hear that I speak perfect English. But until that day, I will be hoing for fun elsewhere.

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?

The Business Model

The Business Model

I am back on the road again. Bags packed, condoms sorted according to size, lube by flavour, and lingerie by cost.

Yes I sort my lingerie by how expensive they are. Why? Because depending on what the client is paying will be a great determining factor to what I will wear. I take the airline business model to hoing now. The more you pay they more I am willing to fluff the ego, with champagne, nibbles and a blow job.

My Gulfstream and Lear clientele are those who are spending 1xxxx, and above. 5 figures in a first world currency, GBP, USD, EUR, AUD, AED, NOK, CHF, SGD, HKD. My base price is set in GBP, when a client calls an asks for a quote, I ask them what currency would they like the quote in. It facilities an easier understanding for the client to register what he is dealing with. If I am honest, I am still shocked that anyone these days is mono-currency. I can do quick calculations in my head as to what things cost in different currencies, but that is just me.

Now these gents get AP, La Perle, real silk stockings and a designer shoe collection that just thinking about it makes me wet. They get Christian, Jimmy, and Guiesspi. Manolo’s, though lovely to look at, but are designed for alien feet. They offer the best champagne, cavier, smoked salmon, nibbles. In other words, I have to be kitted out to kill. I make one hell of an effort. Even the fragrances are rare and expensive. Not the commercial shit available in department stores. It is expected, considering when you are flown in half way around the world for someone’s entertainment, usually on said Gulf Stream or Lear. Luggage is designer, as is every piece of clothing I am wearing. But well worth it, as these gents keep me in the little luxuries of life, well the big luxuries.

The next level of service offered is for my first class, premium, and platinum members. These are paying my premium hourly rates. The lingerie drops a level, not too far, but instead of thousands on lingerie, they get hundreds spend on the stuff. Mylar, Pleasure State, Simon Perle, Chantal Thomas. They still get designer, but from a season or two ago. To be honest, most gents don’t notice the difference. Red soles are still red soles.
They are invited into the lounge, chatted with, treated like royalty. They get sucked and fucked with genuine interest to their comfort and I pay attention to desires needing to be met. I become a geisha in a matter of speaking.

Here we come to the unfortunate reality of the business now, premium economy and economy class rule. Now, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it is just that there are more clients in this category and it means a girl has to work a bit harder. And for some strange reason more and more desperate hos are donning knickers and going on the game and aiming their wares, as it were, at this over saturated segment of the market. I tend to find this particular demographic annoying in that they are spoiled for choice and come with an over inflated sense of entitlement, which just baffles me. It is amazing how a man paying for sex seems to think he is entitled to everything and anything. This particular group tends to spend the most time researching. This is bordering on obsession. I find the list of demands far too long for my patience level, and will usually ignore them. Any man that spends that much time mulling over the idea of sex, is either going to be a total pain in the ass, a complete disappointment, or require far too much of my energy to fluff the ego, that the ratio of compensation isn’t worth me bothering. I will fluff egos with the best of them, but there had better be a serious pay check at the end.

All the flashy trimmings are gone. Designer lingerie is packed away in the silk box, and locked up. Why, I am not having someone coming in for a quick shag
manhandling my expensive lingerie, that cost more than they earn in a week! This also prevents me for being done for justifiable manslaughter. Believe me it is better I wear the cheap and cheerful stuff. Purchased in bulk, with 2 or three matching knickers at a time. Thrown in the washing machine along with the other clothes and discarded after a few weeks of wear and tear. No drinks offered, no nibbles, and straight down to business. And I dare the cretin to expect ego fluffing at the price level. Seriously, they should just be glad I am keeping my mouth shut.

And I love when a budget class makes the mistake of calling me, and complains my rates are too high. I spare none. I don’t want these clients at all. The hardest work of any. It shocks me still, men who willingly spend thousands expect nothing and are usually grateful for whatever happens, whereas men who have to scrimp and save, are expecting the world for 50 pence. I guess the poor man knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.