Whore Diaries II: Adventures in Independent Escorting Read Online Free
Author: Tara Burns
privilege he wishes he didn't have to lecture me about my superiority and his inferiority.
“What you have to understand, Goddess...” he would start out. I have, at least, broken him of that habit.
This time in town I was going to take long ritual baths and meditate before each client. I've been instructing my slave in sex magick and he has gone and read a bunch of Crowley, and now I'm worried that he might have picked up terminology and ideas I don't know. Last week, in response to his emails, I told him that although Crowley had many good things to say, he was also a racist and sexist who sold out to the zillionaires, and I didn't want him reading things that might confuse him. Of course, Goddess, he'd responded. He's a programmer who spends his time at work on Google Books reading books I allow him to put into his brain.
My slave has a funny-looking face. He looks like Goofy, a caricature of hope and dejection. That's what I always remember when I open the door to him, his face. He stoops, nods, bows, and leaves the money on the table.
“Take your clothes off,” I tell him, and he does, hunching over to pull his pants off. He has long, stringy muscles.
He sits at my feet and I tell him to tell me what he's learned. He uses big concept words -- sex magick, energy, and massage.
“What did you learn about sex magick?” I asked him.
“I didn't really understand it, Goddess. I think I'm too simpleminded.”
Last month, I told him to study massage books or videos so he could worship me better, and now I tell him to show me what he learned. It's rather impressive. I want it to go on forever, so I don't tell him to stop, and then when I finally do order him to stop, there are only 15 minutes left.
“May I worship your ass now, Goddess?”
“You'll do what I say now, silly. Stop thinking about what you want and focus on what I want.”
“Yes, Goddess.”
I tell him to sit and pay attention to the way the energy moves in his body while I go pee and answer the phone to tell a friend about the pathetic man in my room. Then I stand him up and test to see if he's polarized. This is something I learned in college, a bastardization of Chinese meridians and psychology. Of course he isn't polarized. The simple breathing doesn't work for him – it's not just his body that's unpolarized, but his brain, too. We do a complicated sequence of tapping and breathing and then he's polarized. I don't tell him what I'm doing next, but it's a test of general mental health. I want to be happy or I want to be miserable, which is true? It makes a difference.
“I want to be happy.” Test. False.
“I want to be miserable.” True. I kind of thought so. What now? I know you can think instead of talking for the test, but you're supposed to talk for the remedy. I try it with me thinking instead of him talking, though. There is a sore spot in your armpit near your heart, and I rub his and think, “I love myself, I love all of me, with all of my problems and limitations.”
Retest. I want to be happy. True. I want to be miserable. False. Good.
“Sit,” I tell him. “Do you feel the difference?”
“Yes,” he says. “Colors look different.”
“Feel the way the energy is moving through you that makes it different.”
“Yes, Goddess.”
“It's very important that when you project any energy to me, your own energy is correct. Like this. Do you understand?”
“Yes Goddess.”
Good. I tell him to masturbate the way he does at home when he thinks of me. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, I tell him, and I watch his energy build. There is a sort of flutter as something comes to life in his sternum, and I put my hand there. “Feel the energy building right here.”
“Oh my Goddess,” he gasps. “Oh my
“What you have to understand, Goddess...” he would start out. I have, at least, broken him of that habit.
This time in town I was going to take long ritual baths and meditate before each client. I've been instructing my slave in sex magick and he has gone and read a bunch of Crowley, and now I'm worried that he might have picked up terminology and ideas I don't know. Last week, in response to his emails, I told him that although Crowley had many good things to say, he was also a racist and sexist who sold out to the zillionaires, and I didn't want him reading things that might confuse him. Of course, Goddess, he'd responded. He's a programmer who spends his time at work on Google Books reading books I allow him to put into his brain.
My slave has a funny-looking face. He looks like Goofy, a caricature of hope and dejection. That's what I always remember when I open the door to him, his face. He stoops, nods, bows, and leaves the money on the table.
“Take your clothes off,” I tell him, and he does, hunching over to pull his pants off. He has long, stringy muscles.
He sits at my feet and I tell him to tell me what he's learned. He uses big concept words -- sex magick, energy, and massage.
“What did you learn about sex magick?” I asked him.
“I didn't really understand it, Goddess. I think I'm too simpleminded.”
Last month, I told him to study massage books or videos so he could worship me better, and now I tell him to show me what he learned. It's rather impressive. I want it to go on forever, so I don't tell him to stop, and then when I finally do order him to stop, there are only 15 minutes left.
“May I worship your ass now, Goddess?”
“You'll do what I say now, silly. Stop thinking about what you want and focus on what I want.”
“Yes, Goddess.”
I tell him to sit and pay attention to the way the energy moves in his body while I go pee and answer the phone to tell a friend about the pathetic man in my room. Then I stand him up and test to see if he's polarized. This is something I learned in college, a bastardization of Chinese meridians and psychology. Of course he isn't polarized. The simple breathing doesn't work for him – it's not just his body that's unpolarized, but his brain, too. We do a complicated sequence of tapping and breathing and then he's polarized. I don't tell him what I'm doing next, but it's a test of general mental health. I want to be happy or I want to be miserable, which is true? It makes a difference.
“I want to be happy.” Test. False.
“I want to be miserable.” True. I kind of thought so. What now? I know you can think instead of talking for the test, but you're supposed to talk for the remedy. I try it with me thinking instead of him talking, though. There is a sore spot in your armpit near your heart, and I rub his and think, “I love myself, I love all of me, with all of my problems and limitations.”
Retest. I want to be happy. True. I want to be miserable. False. Good.
“Sit,” I tell him. “Do you feel the difference?”
“Yes,” he says. “Colors look different.”
“Feel the way the energy is moving through you that makes it different.”
“Yes, Goddess.”
“It's very important that when you project any energy to me, your own energy is correct. Like this. Do you understand?”
“Yes Goddess.”
Good. I tell him to masturbate the way he does at home when he thinks of me. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, I tell him, and I watch his energy build. There is a sort of flutter as something comes to life in his sternum, and I put my hand there. “Feel the energy building right here.”
“Oh my Goddess,” he gasps. “Oh my
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