Character Development

 I could tell he thought little of me.     It was the unsolicited advice and desire to pick apart my life that did it really, he was a moderately successful man in his fifties, well groomed, and I imagine in his head he thought himself an ideal client, probably thought I was stoked to be in the company of someone who could shower himself. I’ll give him my Petra best of course, but I don’t think I love this guy as much as I think he loves himself.

It’s standard stuff initially. We’re making out, I’m changing the subject away from him negging me and my tattoos, he’s tanned and recently holidayed, reeking of privilege and little too much Armani Code. He’s got a nice dick, though my pride would prevent me from saying such a thing, and once I’ve warmed him up with my special Petra blowjob show, he climbs on top of me, thankfully no whinging about the condom, and to my astonishment soon puts his hand around my throat to choke me.

I grab his wrist and scald ‘Absolutely not!’, to which he climbs off me embarrassed and surprised. But girls love that! He does it all the time and no-one complains. I explain to him the power imbalance and that many would be too scared in that circumstance to speak up, rather play along - and I feel maddened that he’s naturally assumed his position here as the man, even though smaller, to be dominant.

I explain to him he’s picked the wrong girl to assume as submissive, and I'm trying my best to keep the session chill for both of our benefit, so I say - let me show you why. His dick quickly recovers from the fright of an outspoken woman, a rare beast according to him, I grab it and throw my leg over him and sit on him with a degree of force. I raise my eyebrow to say, ok? and he nods. I grab both his hands and pull them above his head, able to hold them both down with one hand - being strong and statuesque has its advantages. With the other hand I hold his hipbone firmly and then I thrust up and down on his cock, holding him steadfast by the arms and his waist. I don’t lose eye contact, I say ‘you like that hey? Being fucked by a woman? Well there’s few words finding their way to the surface - he stutters a yes and I stop - I can feel he’s about to cum. He pants, exasperated as he misses out on the orgasm. I kiss his forehead, ‘good boy, don’t cum yet’. He nods, I think he’s still lost for words, and I start up again. I free his arms, using that hand instead to slide my fingers into his mouth, slowly fucking his quivering mouth with them, testing his gag reflex. I smile as he agreeably sucks at them ‘that’s it, you like having things in your mouth don’t you?’ And he nods, 'Yes Mistress'. I didn’t even ask him to say that. I can feel him close again, I scald him - don’t cum yet, I’m not finished. He's learning his place.

We go on like this for a while, he’s a sweaty writhing mess, so I finally make myself cum on him, and I let him cum promptly after, not stopping til I'm assured he's lost every last drop - then sit on his face so he can clean up the lube and the remnants of my enjoyment - which he does eagerly.  I'm certain that salted caramel lube and Petra have a very memorable aftertaste. Good boy.

That was a good time for me. There’s a stunned glow across the room, we’re silent and dewy. 

‘I’ve, never been fucked like that’. How is that, I ask - the way you fuck others? He’s embarrassed and apologises. I strongly dislike the notion that all women are inherently submissive and that it’s a mans role to be dominant or rough in bed - traditional industry terms like ‘PSE’ with inherent connotations don’t sit right with me for this reason. This is a reeducation for him.

His head is spinning, and he comes out of the shower looking a little sheepish. I check in with him, he’s happy - he gives me all the money in his wallet as a tip and leaves after I give him a little kiss on the forehead.

That was 3 months ago, and he’s become my new regular. I’m lining up on the credenza various different sexual embellishments, getting ready for today’s session and smiling to myself thinking about how far we’ve come. 3 months ago this man tried to choke me, all I did was remove his control for a hot minute and now he’s in my phone every week paying sizeable deposits to be my little plaything. This is the kind of character development I live for. 

**as is always true, I do not write about specific clients, all stories are a collection of truths or maybe just straight up fiction, who knows? 

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Tips/Beem: @petrafoxbne

The sugar is bitter

 I think there’s a pretty significant portion of escorts who tried their hand first at ‘sugaring’, before coming over to escorting. Dipping our toes in a little hoping not to get tainted with the label of a 'whore'. Bless.

My entry into sex work was a complicated and not very healthy one, and started in an illegal brothel with a man who subsequently went to prison for pimping underage girls. Sex work is decriminalised in NZ, so if you’re jailed for prostitution-related offences, you were probably a really bad person. He was.

That experience tarred my image of sex work, and there was a lot of internalised stigma there for me. But I was still in need of money - I got kicked out before finishing high school and there was a lot of financial stress happening. So, naturally I did what any young person who kinda wants to do sex work but thinks sex work is ‘yucky’ does - I tried getting a sugar daddy. 

Cue eye rolls, I know.

This is a traumatic period of time in my life, so the timeline is a bit confused, but there are some interesting stories in there that I do remember, and have strongly influenced my opinions about sugaring (spoiler: it’s bad).

I’m not sure if the famous sugaring sites were around yet at that point, if they were then I didn’t know about them. At that point I trawled dating websites instead, setting my preferences for an age group much older than I was, and reeling people in that way. Look, I wasn’t very good at it. I have tried my hand at all number of hustle jobs in my poor youth - door-knocking for Greenpeace, telemarketing hotel packages etc, and let me tell you that I’m terrible at hustling people. I have tried. I once got fired from a call centre for calling my partner repeatedly and reading the script, because I couldn’t bear to cold call one more Grandma. But I was definitely pretty desperate in those days, and my $11hr job was barely covering the rent on my overcrowded, mouldy student flat.

I met maybe a dozen men in this time, most of whom I don’t remember, before I eventually threw in the towel and went to a legal brothel.

I remember three of these men well, and most not for good reasons.

I think the most memorable is Anton. Anton had quite a lot of money, but he was also extremely cheap. I think this sums up most sugar daddies I’ve ever met or heard of, but Anton was an especially awful case. Anton lived out of town - and the first time I met him, I took the risk of driving myself and spending my own fuel money to go and meet him, hoping he was real. And he was. Anton was a much older man, whose children were at home when I’d go and meet him. Each time I came to see him, he gave me less and less money, and brought bigger and bigger toys I was expected to use on myself. But if I came, he got very jealous and angry. He kept a picture of me, and showed it to his ex wife, saying I was his new girlfriend. He once took me on a fancy day trip WITH his children, acting like I was his new girlfriend, lots of embarrassing PDA and everything. He promised me a lot of money all the time, constant carrot dangling. That day I wasn’t paid, and I cried for hours. I think why I remember him so negatively was because he played a lot of mind games. I was 18 and desperate, and he dangled his massive house and wealth at me, but would pay me at best a couple hundred for several hours of intense play with his kids in the next room. One time he wrote a cheque for a bond on a new place for me, and he cancelled the cheque because I didn't txt him back fast enough. He made me momentarily homeless because he was insecure. Ugh.

I also remember Todd, Todd was not a wealthy man. But he told me how he had sold his house and had a lot of money in the bank (lies, obviously). The reason I remember Todd so negatively was because he was the guy who promised me the money AFTER we had sex, and naïve me never got paid. I asked for fuel money home, and instead he gave me some petrol from his shed, and whatever it was destroyed my car - the only asset I had. I had to catch the bus and walk everywhere for 2 years after that. Asshole.

It isn’t all bad, I also remember Lee. Lee was a well dressed, polite Asian man in his late twenties who was too nervous to touch me. We would sit awkwardly in silence, he’d give me some money and basically run away. We met three times, and each time was the same. He confused me. Thankfully I have a lot more skills in my toolkit for dealing with nervous people these days!

Finally swallowing my pride, after yet another promise with no follow-through, I tried a legal brothel that I found online which saved me from more of these experiences. I had so many preconceived ideas about brothels from my fairly traumatic introduction and they had kept me away for a few years. I attached a lot of gross stereotypes to ‘prostitutes’ and somehow felt that I was different. But in the end, the women I met in the brothel were inspiring. They had so much more control in these transactions, they were fierce and sexy and weren’t being strung along by promises. Granted, there was the awful problematic brothel manager, there always is, and it was not exactly 'executive' like it's name - we did $60 quickies and the sheets were threadbare, but in spite of myself, I found myself actually liking it. The clients didn’t play games, we all knew the terms, and I made more money. I didn't have to text them all the time to keep them interested - hell they wanted my discretion, not an annoying sidepiece. I found myself wishing I’d tried a brothel again sooner, rather than letting sugardaddies play power games and ruin my car. I absolutely believe most sugar daddies pray on the vulnerable, because they don't want the price tag or boundaries of a more astute professional. It's still sex work though, and I was kidding myself to think differently. 

I enjoy the simplicity of the escorting dynamic. Sure, sometimes people get attached, but they know the terms. All of my eggs aren’t in one or two baskets, which gives me the power to wave goodbye if someone is treating me poorly. The clients know they’re going to get a professional, not a naive young thing making things up as they go along. I barely got paid but I’m also certain I wasn’t being as safe as I should’ve been and I probably was terrible and clumsy at everything too. 

Years on, I'm an astute professional with a variety of lovely clients who respect me, which keeps me content. I get joy from my work, which makes me better at it. I went independent shortly after trying brothel work and getting the hang of it, and have been a completely autonomous happy hooker ever since. There’s no tears, no games, no implications on people’s families or lives. It’s the beauty of it. And anyone who dangles ‘arrangements’ or sugaring at me is doing so to someone who knows the alternative and prefers to keep the power of her independence - more valuable than any one man's wallet and promises.

*no real names, obviously

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Tips/Beem: @petrafoxbne