The Things I (might) do for Money
There are a lot of things I can be persuaded to do for money. Like get up at four in the morning and drive 250 miles on mostly dirt roads for a stupid half hour meeting (lots of money, by my standards). Meet a deadline for a local newspaper editor who decides to cut my piece to make space for a supermarket ad (no money at all in that case).
When money is tight, I could clean house, mind kids, even scrub your toilet. If I was smart enough, I could dress your hair. A relaxing massage is not out of the question.
There are some things I definitely will not do, apart from tricky jobs like brain surgery or flying an airliner. I don’t do crime, so count me out of bank robbery, growing grass and international email scams. I don’t like stupid people and I am not good at lying, so politics is out.
What about sex for money? Of course not! Who do you think I am? Except... is that logical? I’ll scrub your toilet, but draw the line at finishing your massage with a happy ending? On what planet does that make sense?
Living where I do, and having a happy, sexy marriage, the question does not confront me every day. There was a time, many years ago as an impoverished student, when things might have looked at lot different. After all, play your cards right and a little sex can equal a lot of money. It never happened, of course. Not to me, anyway. I did wonder about how the money-sex thing worked. How come the richest students with the swankiest sports cars, always had well dressed girls with long blonde hair sitting beside them? I’m sure money had nothing to do with it, but I looked down on those girls - and envied them at the same time.
So I survived with my prejudices intact. To be fair, I do not recall ever being offered serious money for sex. None of my male friends could offer more than a cheap dinner, and sugar daddies were thin on the ground. If I had been propositioned, I am sure I would have felt too insecure to accept.
Nowadays, marriage excepted, I might feel different about it. What would you lose, provided you remained in control? Put it another way, an attractive stranger asks you to be his escort for the evening, so what is your sliding scale of charges? $100 to eat dinner with him? $200? Another $100 to go clubbing afterwards? If a cuddle in the taxi on the way home is free, how much is his ticket to come in and enjoy a coffee?
If the answer is, It depends how much I like him, you are already on the slippery slope. If you really like him, it’s free. How about if he is just OK, and he offers you a diamond pendant (in a tasteful, indirect way)? Or if he just OK and will help you trade your troublesome car for a new one?
Does the question really come down to - how much? Now I really don’t know where I stand!
An Excerpt from Working for Jeremy
Shirley has started work at a London office, where the attractive and enigmatic boss is prepared to pay handsomely for no-strings sex. He treats his chosen girls well, with elegant dinners and expensive gifts, and pays them according to how well they have performed. Shirley swallows her pride and strives to give him the best love-making she can...
“Time to get naked, Jeremy.” There would be no question of who was in charge tonight. She had insisted on being called Miss Shirley all evening, and Jeremy knew his place in the game. Now he was in his living room, undressing and hanging his clothes on the back of an armchair. When he was completely naked, she called him over to stand in front of her.
“Stand still, Jeremy!” His cock stared straight at her, but she ignored it. He had a handsome body, slim and sinewy. Completely hairless. She tapped the insides of his knees to make him open his legs, and ran a hand up the inside of his thigh to his balls. No hair, and she wondered exactly how he depilated his balls.
She grabbed his cock and pulled it to one side so she could examine it. It pulsed in her hand, but she ignored his excitement. “You know what I would like to see here, Jeremy? I think you should get this tattooed. Write ‘Yes Mistress’ on it. No, that’s too crass. I know, tattoo rose petals around the foreskin. That would look pretty, and a flower is just about right for you.
“Now, let’s have you in the bedroom. On your back.”
Obediently, Jeremy climbed onto his bed, lay back and spread his arms and legs. Now she had some experience, Shirley had him stretched out and secured very quickly. She tucked a pillow behind his head, so he could easily see his pinioned body and what she would do to it.
“Now then, Jeremy. What shall we do now? What would you like me to do? Speak up!”
For the first time since she had known him, Jeremy looked uncertain of himself. “Please, Miss Shirley, if you don’t mind, I would love you to undress.”
“What? Take my clothes off? So you can stare at my body and think dirty things? Don’t imagine I don’t know what goes on in your mind. Well, tough, Jeremy. Do you take me for one of your little girls? As if I’d let you crawl all over me and stick your filthy cock into me whenever you wanted. Not a chance. Tonight, you’re going to suffer. Look at these- ” She slowly unbuttoned her blouse.
Part of her felt a complete idiot, prancing around like Mistress Strictly and pretending to be threatening. After all, she had been tied to the same bed last week, with Jeremy’s cock jammed up her bum and her enjoying every inch of it.
But tonight was different. She was in charge, and Jeremy would enjoy what she allowed him, and no more. Her blouse slipped from her shoulders and she took off her bra. “Do you like these, Jeremy? What do you think?”
Link to Working for Jeremy
Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com