Let me tell you about the time I fucked my way through December 2023 for rent money. I was twenty-three, nearly twenty-four, and completely broke. Sixty-three quid to my name, seven days until rent was due, and a job advert on Facebook that promised “immediate start, excellent tips” for bar work at a private members club. I knew exactly what that meant. I texted anyway.
Jeff’s fifty-one, married, broad across the shoulders and soft through the middle, with thinning grey hair and a wedding ring he never bothers hiding. He runs the Velvet Rooms, a basement bar in Stevenage Old Town where the clientele is mature, established, and very clear about what they want from a petite blonde barmaid in a schoolgirl outfit. The interview took place in a store room. I was on my knees within ten minutes, his cock down my throat, his hand in my hair, and the job offer came the moment I swallowed.
The uniform’s obscene. Cropped white shirt that barely contains my 34DD tits, tiny pleated skirt that rides up if I bend even slightly, white knee socks, low heels. I’m twenty-three but I look nineteen in that get-up, which is absolutely the point. The regulars like young. They like the illusion of corrupting something innocent. And I’m very, very good at pretending I don’t know exactly what I’m doing.
First shift, I served whisky and smiled and leaned on the bar so they could get a proper look. Jeff’s hands wandered constantly, under my skirt, between my legs, his fingers working my clit through soaked knickers whilst I poured drinks and chatted to men three times my age. They watched. They knew. Nobody said a word. That’s the kind of bar it is.
Derek’s the first one Jeff offers me to. Fifty-four, divorced, hasn’t been with a woman since his wife left him nine months ago. He’s sweet, grateful, desperately lonely. I take him to the staff toilet, drop to my knees, and suck him until he comes down my throat saying my name like a prayer. He tips two hundred quid. I walk back to the bar tasting him, my jaw aching, my cunt absolutely soaked.
After closing, the real work begins. The regulars who are leaving leave. The ones who are staying stay. Jeff locks the door, turns off the music, and the Velvet Rooms becomes exactly what it’s always been underneath the brass plaques and the respectable veneer. Jeff fucks me first, bent over the bar, hard and fast, his married cock filling me whilst the brass rail rattles and Ray watches from his stool with a Scotch in hand.
Ray’s fifty-eight, ex-military or ex-copper, the kind of man who sees everything and says nothing. When Jeff finishes and pulls out, cum leaking down my thighs, Ray finally moves. He goes down on me first, licks Jeff’s load out of my cunt like it’s exactly what he wanted, patient and thorough and absolutely fucking incredible. Then he fucks me on that same sticky bar, slow and deep, and adds his cum to Jeff’s whilst I come so hard I nearly black out.
I worked six Saturdays. Earned four hundred and fifty quid on that first night alone, more than I’d make in a week anywhere else. Got fucked in store rooms, toilets, after hours on floors and bars and wherever they wanted me. Wore that ridiculous uniform, played the sweet young thing, let fifty-something married men feel like they were getting away with something forbidden.
By Christmas, Jeff was looking at me like I belonged to him. That’s when I left. Texted him between Christmas and New Year saying I’d got a writing contract, couldn’t do Saturdays anymore. Partially true, but mostly I just don’t do ownership. The sex was good, the money was better, but I’m nobody’s possession.
This is the story of those six weeks. Every filthy detail. The married boss who fucked me in his store room before he’d even given me the job. The sad divorcee I sucked off in a toilet corridor because he needed kindness as much as he needed to cum. The quiet regular who ate another man’s load out of my cunt and made me come harder than I’d come in months. No apologies. No regrets. Just the truth about what I did, how I did it, and why I’d probably do it again if the money was right and the cock was good enough.
Book 3 in Lily Corbett’s “Lily’s Naughty Adventures” brand new series of confessional hardcore and taboo erotica. 21k words
Published 3rd April on Amazon eBook, and free to read on Kindle Unlimited. UK AMAZON | USA AMAZON | CANADA AMAZON | AUSTRALIA AMAZON
