Here's the thing: I'm hot as fuck. I know it, and—more importantly—so does everyone else. I've got an ass you can bounce quarters off, a tiny waist, and tits that make shopping for bras an absolute nightmare. My cock is thick, and my pelvic floor could juice a grapefruit. People want to fuck me, and honestly? I don't blame them. Wanting to fuck me is an objectively correct biological response. I scream, "Fantastic lay!" on the genetic level.

Of course, I've put a lot of work into being me, and I expect a return on that investment. It's an arrangement that people seem to naturally understand. After all, no one approaches a goddess without a proper offering. Usual tributes involve gifts, shopping, favors, lavish dinners, and generally kissing the ground on which I walk. I can't say that doesn't work for me, but this was the first time I'd ever considered an offer of more direct compensation.

I should probably back up a little bit. It was the last week of senior year, and I was looking forward to the expanded horizons (and lack of nagging parents) in my post-secondary education. Due to some... we'll say mild issues with my attendance, I was just turning 20 by this point. Luckily, I tested extremely well, so there wasn't much impact on my selection of schools. Understand that I'm a ho by choice, not because I lack skills elsewhere.

I was standing at my locker and answering a few texts while the rabble cleared out. As the hallway emptied, I grabbed my purse from my locker, and turned to leave, almost running into a girl standing behind me.

"Oh. Hi, Mildred," I said, with a polite smile.

"H—i," she stuttered back.

She was another senior named Mildred Cheese, and she was just—God, she was weird.

I didn't dislike her. I didn't even know her, really. She hardly ever talked, and she did weird shit sometimes, but she'd never been shitty or anything (at least not to me.)

She just looked, acted—and smelled—exactly like someone named Mildred Cheese would. She was kind of tall and wore like the same 5 hoodies in rotation every week. They were all way too big on her, and all of them were either white-girl-dreamcatcher affairs or some anime shit. Her hair was wiry and frizzy, probably due to her atrocious home dye jobs that always seemed to leave her hair a faded shade between blue and green. She wore nothing but ankle skirts that must've come out of a time capsule buried before women could vote. Oh, and she wore sandals. All the time. I saw her walk in the building with blue toes once because there was a foot of snow outside.

Like I said, she did weird shit—like quietly stand a few inches behind me, for example.

"H—hi... Mia," she said after what felt like an hour.


I tried to keep my smile polite, but she was starting to sketch me out. The weirdo didn't help things much, though. She just smiled back and kept staring at me, looking a little lost.

"What's up?" I finally asked.

"O—oh, I'm sorry... to bother you, um..."—she trailed off for a moment, adjusting her grip on the bag she held to her chest—"a-are you busy this weekend?"

"I've got a couple of things planned, but nothing set in stone. Why?"

This is pretty much my prepared response, and it was also a titanic lie. I had at least 4 dates planned before Monday, but the standard rule of ho-ing is that you never shoot someone down before you know what they're offering.

Going on a date with me is like an OBO situation; you're always subject to getting bumped if I get a better offer. Given, it was more of a reflex in this situation. The last thing that I expected from "Mildy Cheese" was an enticing offer.

"W-would you like to uh... m—movie? I-I have a place... and food!"

I sort of laughed, but I think I managed to mask it as a flirt. I'm not a total bitch; I didn't gain anything from hurting her feelings.

"Are you asking me on a date, Mildred?"

"If you want... y—y'know... I'd like to..." she paused for a moment, " can call me Millie."

"I'm flattered, Millie. I just"—I ran my fingers through my hair, and looked off to the side—"I'm going out of state for school soon, so I don—"

"Oh! Me too," she interrupted.

"Y-yeah, so... I'm not really looking for a relationship right now."

That one was true. I'm not looking for a relationship. It's not the reason I didn't want to go on a date with her, though. The reason for that should be obvious.

"O—oh... I understand," she said.

I was kind of surprised. She was taking it a lot better than I thought she would. Then again, you never know with the quiet, unfortunate-looking types. Maybe she had a Glock under that rank Yuri on Ice hoodie, I don't know. In the interest of being nice, and avoiding being doxxed, I thought to ask if she wanted to hang out sometime. I didn't intend to follow through, but it's the thought that counts, right?

"If you'd maybe want to—"

"Just fuck?"

I looked back at her with genuine surprise. She looked at me like she wanted to be shot in the head. Her face turned so red that her blemishes blended in with the skin around them. I laughed, but I don't think I pulled off the flirty mask this time.

I think she meant to ask a little more tactfully, maybe start a little lower and work her way up, but the horny little troll just barfed her horny little guts out in the middle of the hallway. Truthfully, I wasn't even mad. It had been a long, long time since someone had been honest about wanting to ride one part of me or another from the start.

"I-I'll pay you..."

That certainly didn't make the situation any better for her. I steadied myself against the locker, my oxygen-deprived laughter progressing from a loud snicker into a wheeze. Millie looked like she was about to have a stroke. I felt bad, but how was I supposed to react? Ask me out, then ask to be fuck buddies, then move to straight-up solicitation? It was pathetic, but I almost admired her boldness.

"I—I have... u—um th—three th--th-thousand..."

Karma got the best of me, and I choked on my own spit when I heard that number. I briefly considered that she might be bluffing, but why would she dig herself deeper here?

"W-what?" I asked, still catching my breath.

"I—I have three thousand," she dug through her bag, and held out an envelope, "I can g-get more by F—Friday..."

I cautiously took the envelope, not entirely sure it wasn't going to give me anthrax or something. It was stuffed with hundred-dollar bills, almost beyond closing. I looked back up at her, utterly perplexed.

"H-how did you get this, like—" I started.

"I draw," she interrupted. "O—online. I—I draw."

Oh my god. This girl was trying to pay me for sex with yiff money. It was the most on-brand business transaction of her entire life.

Again, I had to admire her nerve. She had it in cash. Meaning that she knew I was going to shoot her down and had 30 Bennies on deck to change my mind. It was maybe the single ballsiest action I've ever seen out of another human being, and you know what? They don't say fortune favors the bold for nothing.

Let's be honest: this girl was one-thousand percent virgin. I figured I'd make her like cum twice, tell her she's pretty and her vagina isn't wrong, tastefully avoid the inevitable "I love you" conversation, snuggle up to her while she fell asleep, and bam! Easiest three grand in the history of ho-dom.

Then my brain kicked in.

"Wait... how old are you?"

Millie looked like she'd been hoping I wouldn't ask. I raised an eyebrow.

"I—I'm 18 ... today" she finally said.

"I.D.," I demanded, putting my hand out.

Millie stood there for a second like her brain was lagging or something. Then she dug around in her purse and pulled out her driver's license. I scanned it over a couple of times. I've used my share of fakes, and this one didn't have any of the telltale signs. Besides, if you were gonna spring for a fake I.D., you wouldn't go for one that you can't even buy beer with, right?

"Buying yourself a birthday present, dear Mildred?" I teased, turning the license over a few times, "Trying to shred the V-card before you get to college?"

Millie looked away and started to hide her face, but her eyes caught something that surprised her. Mr. Ivan, the vice-principal, had stepped out of the nearby classroom, apparently taking his time to leave for the day. He looked at both of us, then the envelope in my hand, then the license in the other. He opened his mouth to say something.

"If you don't want me to call your husband, you'll shut your mouth, forget you saw this, and get the fuck out of the building, Andrew," I pulled out my phone, and started flipping through some pictures. He was gone before I even got to anything saucy.

"Wh— what was that?" Millie asked.

"His husband has a little dick, and he's a fucking size queen," I answered, locking my phone and slipping it in my purse.

"W— why would you call—" her eyes widened in realization, "Oh."

"So, I'm not saying yes..." I began, flicking through the money again, "but if I did, what would be your plan?"

"W—well... my parents are out of town for the week. T—they leave on Friday morning. Y—you could come that evening, and um... you know..."

"I don't know, Mildred. You haven't told me,"

"We could have sex?"

"We could, yes. There are many types of sex. Which of the types are you requesting?"

"W—well, you could fuck me... wherever... and um..." With each passing second, her face turned redder, and her neck seemed to grow shorter. By the time she finally got the last part out, she was slumped so low that her head was almost level with mine, eyes locked on the ground in front of her. "I—I want to—I'd like to give you a blowjob."

"So, you're a bottom then?" I smirked.

Millie shifted uncomfortably.

"I—I'd like to try topping, but... I'm a little nervous. I've never before,"

"I gathered that," I giggled derisively, "Are you wanting to try toys, or just uh...?"

"I-I'm actually X2Y... you know... intersex?" she said.

"I know what X2Y means, Mildred." I scoffed, slipped the money into my purse, and looked back up at her. "Alright, here's the deal. Three grand gets you one night."

"Only one...?" She hesitated.

I reached up to stroke her cheek.

"I promise it'll be money well spent~"

She let out a sigh, and her cheek sort of... fell against my hand. I felt a little sorry for her. My girl was touch-starved in a very big way. Feeling generous, I gently guided her back to the locker and pushed my body up against hers. Her eyes started to droop a little when I put my ear to her chest, and she cautiously wrapped an arm around my back.

"I have some rules though...okay?" I asked sweetly.

She nodded slowly. It was sort of cheating because she probably would've agreed to anything, at that point.

"You pay for the night... so condoms, lube, food, whatever we need. Okay?"

She nodded.

"You get clean and shower up before I get there. I don't play with stinky bits, so make yourself presentable, yeah? "

She nodded. I abruptly stopped touching her face and neck, and she opened her eyes to investigate.

"Also, I'm not your fuck-slave. I'll do the job you're paying for, but if you start treating me like you own me? I'm out. Understand?"

"O—Of course," she answered.

I nodded in approval and leaned in a little harder. I put my hand to her head, and gently guided her down, pushing myself up on my tiptoes. I could feel her heartbeat in her face, but I stopped a few inches away from her lips.

"One last thing?"


Why me? hmm?~"

I knew the answer, of course. Read the first paragraph again. I'm god's gift to sex drives. But I wanted to hear her say it out loud. Her flustered stuttering and crimson cheeks were becoming an acquired taste of mine.

"I think about you all the time...I can't stop," she replied.

"Eveeeer~?♪" I teased, inching closer.

A sound not unlike a tea kettle whistling in the distance came out of her dry lips. I passed them, bringing my lips closer to her ear. My other hand meandered down towards her thigh.

"Already practiced saying my name~?" I whispered enticingly.

Flustered, she opened her mouth to speak, and that's when I pounced. God, she was so sweaty. I was disappointed that she didn't cream herself. That's kind of what I was going for. I think she nearly fainted when I rubbed the tip of my tongue around hers, though.

After a few seconds, I pulled back and gave her another pat on the cheek. "See you Friday, Mildy,"

Millie didn't respond, still slumped against the locker. I have that effect on people.


I stepped out of my uber, scrolling through my phone and ignoring the driver's flirty goodbye. I slipped my overnight ho-ing bag over my shoulder and texted Millie while I walked to the door. She opened it just as I started typing.

God, she was such a simp.

She waved excitedly. I nodded, looking back at my phone. Once I got inside, she shut and locked the door.

"Thank you for coming," she began, "can I get you anything to eat? O—or drink?"

I ignored her for a bit, taking my sunglasses off to look around the house. Her place was pretty nice. Tiled entryway, huge living room, huge kitchen, a pretty intricate spiral staircase—it wasn't a mansion, by any means, but her family obviously wasn't hurting for money.

"Water would be nice, thanks." I slipped my sunglasses back on and pushed my sable tresses over the frames. Dismissively, I held my bag out. "Can you put this somewhere?"

"O—of course. I'll be right back," she said, taking the bag and hurrying off somewhere.

As I meandered into the living room, I took in a bit more of the scenery. Black leather sofa, white fluffy carpet, bookshelf, TV, family pictures—I stopped at some of those, confused and laughing quietly to myself.

Millie's dad could've been Captain America's stunt double. Big green eyes, clear skin, excellent grooming, gorgeous smile, biceps that could pop my head off like a champagne cork—let's just say he was wearing cargo shorts, a popped collar, and socks with sandals in one of the pictures, and I'd probably still hit it. If I'm a 10, he would be like a 7½—maybe even an 8.

In contrast, Millie's mom... let's just say that Millie suddenly made perfect sense. The gaudy glasses, the frizzy hair, the terrible dye jobs— if you took every mean thing I said about Mildred so far and tripled it, you would get an accurate approximation of her mom.

I seated myself on the couch, still giggling a bit. Fishing through my purse, I pulled out a little tin and dumped a few pieces of gum into my hand. I tossed them into my mouth and chewed until my cheeks had a pleasant, minty tingle. You always want to make sure your breath is fresh before the ho-ing commences.

"I put your bag in my bedroom," Millie began, then seemed to second guess herself, "but I can move it to the guest room if you like."

"Whatever. As long as you don't wet the bed or anything," I coldly droned back.

Millie laughed nervously, shaking her head. "Nope... I also laundered the bedding this morning, so..."

"Good girl," I complimented, still not looking up, "sleeping in virgin fap sweat doesn't agree with my skin."

"Y—you look beautiful..." She didn't say it, so much as the words just fell out of her mouth. She didn't even acknowledge the previous jab at her expense.

A suppressed, cocky smile spread across my face when I looked up. She was right, but I also put the bare minimum of effort into getting ready that morning. I hadn't even shaved downstairs in a few days. My hair was still a bit damp at the roots, and I hadn't done my makeup beyond a little foundation, mascara, and powder. I just had a white T-shirt, and a bluish, plaid skirt, plus my sneakers and stockings. It was a cute outfit, sure, but not one you'd get complimented in unless you were hot already.

To her credit, she looked like a solid 4½ now, which was about as much improvement as you could expect in a week. Her skin had cleared up a bit, her hair had a little more volume (and less frizz), and she'd swapped out one of those giant, gross hoodies for a giant, gross T-shirt. I figured I'd take what I could get.

"I know, but thanks. You're looking more human yourself, good job." I put my shoe on the coffee table and pushed it away from the couch. With a disinterested look, I gestured to Millie, and then to the space that I'd cleared in front of me.

Millie hesitated for just a second, then quickly moved into position, and kneeled as directed.

"Just keep your teeth off it, okay?" I scoffed, uncrossing my legs.


"Lost your nerve, spode?" I asked, looking back at my phone.

"N—no, I want to, um... c—could I... kiss you... first?"

"Ugh, no. I don't want your weird funyun breath in my face again." I grimaced, with a mocking gag.

I didn't look up, but I could see her shoulders slump a little.

"I—I'm sorry if I had bad breath on Monday, but um...that was after a whole day... and I wasn't expecting... you know..." she stammered around my refusal for a moment, "...I brushed right before you got here..."

I rolled my eyes and laid my phone at my side. She smiled, both nervous and expecting.

"Open your mouth," I ordered, "Tongue out."

The look in her eyes showed hesitation that her body did not, as she immediately complied. I leaned forward, pinched her tongue between my finger and thumb, and spit my gum into her mouth.

"Chew that for a minute, and I'll think about it," I smirked, picking my phone up and leaning back.

When I heard her start chewing, I couldn't resist. I turned my back camera on to sneak a look but didn't get what I expected. She wasn't just chewing it—she was savoring it. Packing it into both cheeks, swishing it around her gumline, smashing it under her tongue and against the roof of her mouth—either she and spearmint had a history, or Millie was a bit more of a freak than I expected.

I hit record as I felt the warmth of blood rushing south, and the accompanying symptoms start to surface: a squishy, moist feeling down low, and the steadily increasing tightness of fabric just above. I quickly crossed my legs again, and luckily she didn't open her eyes. It was like she was in a trance, sucking my spit out of a chewed up wad of gum. She looked almost euphoric.

I felt blood rush north to my face soon after, once I realized I'd been watching her chew gum for almost five minutes. I had gotten a little lost in it myself, squeezing my crossed thighs to get some stimulation.

Look, I'm kind of a whore, but I'm definitely a slut. I like people telling me that I'm hot and great at sex. I take it further than a lot of people, but that's because I'm hotter and better at sex than most people. You do what you can get away with, and I can get away with quite a lot. If you don't like that, you either have the opposite kink, or you're lying.

I knew I could get away with spitting in her mouth, because she's a desperate virgin, and I'm... well, I'm me. I got off on that. Does it make me a bad person? Yeah, and I've accepted that because I have better orgasms than you. Cumming hard enough will really change your perspective on a whole lot of things, actually.

To see her swish a minty spit-sponge around her mouth like it was soaked in fine wine? That hit a button for me; one I didn't really know I had before. I almost came just watching and humping my own thighs. If it wasn't for the embarrassment of having to explain to Millie why I had a spontaneous orgasm not watching her chew gum, I probably would have.