But I would be careful. An elaborate golden and black masquerade mask would cover my face. Then I would wear heavy makeup and be completely naked. It's what I did. Using a professional camera, I took some daring pictures of myself. The camera had a timer and was supported by a tripod. Three...two...one... Smile and pose! I looked at my pictures. With the titillating magazine I had just stolen, I had studied the models in it. Assuming I got their poses correctly, I smiled in satisfaction and pride. I created an account for SeductiveVixen1125; that's a character I made for myself. It's a NightOwl account for an alluring and insatiable female creature who was half-human and half-fox. She gobbled men after she copulated with them. Hmm. Tasty!
Posting on that platform became my nightly habit. Since that was the time when people were allowed to post erotic pictures and videos of themselves on NightOwl. At day, regular people who worked regular jobs and went to regular schools would post their rants and raves and just anything under the sun on that website. It could be about the news, political opinions, pop culture, underground bands and singers, and books. Anything that was normal and within the guidelines, they could post it. At night, it was a den of sin. Sexual content, whether it was normal intercourse or BDSM, could be posted from around 11:00 pm to 6:00 am.
This was the perfect place for me to express my hidden carnal desires and to generate money from it. Numerous customers asked for my most sensual and lewd photos. I gave them what they wanted in exchange for money. An enormous amount of cash I received was good enough to pay for my daily expenses. Spreading my legs, showing my privates, and exposing my firm and glistening backside was what I did this for several months. But in the sixth month during my first year at the university, a group of professors saw my content and reported me to my parents. They recognized my pink butterfly tattoo since I wore a sleeveless shirt during a field trip. The tattoo was exposed, so they knew it was mine. My case was worsened since, in the nude photos, I had forgotten to hide my body with a makeup concealer. My silhouette was also familiar. Not only that, but my classmates and schoolmates called me a whore when I passed them by. Evidently, they already saw my explicit pictures. The university expelled me. Now my college education was overdue due to the grave mistake I committed.
But I saw a bit of hypocrisy in this situation. How come it was okay for my professors to view my content and I was not allowed to do it? The world perplexed me most of the time.
My dad yelled at me and gripped my chin with his whole heavy fist. "How dare you destroy our family name and our reputation?" His eyes grew.
"And you use your bedroom too?" My mom shouted. "The one painted by our carpenter, and we paid when you were young? How could you do this to us?!" She slapped my cheeks until they turned red.
"Get out of the house! We don't want to see your face!" Dad barked and pointed at the door.
My family evicted me from the house. I reluctantly left the house on that dark, rainy, and ruthless night. A bag of clothes, a cellphone, makeup, and wads of cash were all I carried. A black hooded jacket protected me from the rain and cold. For miles, I walked and walked looking for a place to stay. At last, a four-star hotel appeared in front of me. I guess that would do. For three nights and three days, I stayed there.
Since living in the hotel was expensive and not ideal for an indefinitely long time, I rented a studio apartment. This space was small, but it would do for all my personal belongings. As I was still recovering from the backlash I received online, I temporarily lay low from producing new content in NightOwl. Ever since I left the university, I had gotten several hate comments and death threats. Those were from the people I never met in person, I supposed. I had friends. They knew about my plans and ambitions. They all disagreed with my decisions, but they would never do those spiteful things.
For several months, I was unemployed. I applied for regular jobs, but no one would hire me because of my reputation, aka what they saw online. They already assumed that I was a bad person corrupting the minds of good people. So, I had no choice but to "hold on to a knife," as the saying goes. It's the last thing I would do, but I had no other choice but to work as a prostitute.
At 8:00 pm, I waited for my first customer. I stood by a dark street corner. A blue designer car was driven in front of me. The window was opened. "How much?"
The man asked me straightforwardly. He was evidently rich, and it was my first night. So, I easily replied, "20,000 dollars."
He accepted my offer and opened the door of his car. I entered his luxurious car. In awe of its elegance and modernity, I stared at it for ten minutes. Then, I looked at the guy in front of me who seemed the same age as me. Was he?
A charming chuckle came out from him. "Don't worry, I am eighteen." Immediately, he showed me his ID. For about five minutes, I examined it from front to back and side to side. Let me tell you, I was by no means an expert, but when I was younger, I used to fake my ID to buy liquor. So, I could tell whether or not an ID was fake or real. It was real.
In return, he asked my age. To which I answered honestly, "I am eighteen, as well."
He was handsome, tall, and had a complexion that was neither white nor dark. His skin reminded me of honey. Dark and narrow, his eyes stared at mine as if he was staring into my soul. Slim and straight, his nose was sculpted finely. Arched and thick, his eyebrows brought out his exquisite eyes. The curtain hairstyle complemented his square-shaped face. A gentle face he possessed, and his wide and bright smile could win the affection of any girl.
Aside from his good looks, his boy-next-door aura could capture the hearts of thousands of girls. What was he doing with me? It occurred to me that he didn't look like he was the type to pick up girls like me. At the age of eighteen, I used to think that only ugly and/or rich old men were interested in hookers like me. Apparently, I was wrong. My first customer's name was Asher Preston.
We indulged in each other in the hotel room. His body gave intense heat to mine. With his hungry dominance, he pressed against me on the wall. The room was immersed in darkness. His hand gently cupped my chin, and his eager lips brushed against mine. My mouth surrendered to his as he explored it. I mirrored his action and savored his wet and possessive tongue as it tangled with mine. His mouth tasted of breath freshener. He undressed me, and after yielding to each other in kisses, he guided me to the bed. I did the same, too, slowly, to awaken his excitement. His defined body and considerable manhood thrilled my desperate eyes and my lustful loins. I stared in awe at them. With his deft tongue and hands, he overwhelmed my breasts with pleasure. We submitted to each other's desires. He put his hand under me. His fingers ignited my fire.
In a dance of intimacy, our bodies intertwined. We embraced in sultry ecstasy until the night ended in sheer heaven. We slept together in one bed. Not only was he my first customer, but he was also my first.