Bad Girl


Some may find what I have to say sexy, perhaps not. The simple truth is that I don’t care. Some of you may even find what I have to say painful.

Some will find what I tell you here, disturbing.

I can lie to myself quite nicely, as easily as I can with my clients.

Read on to see why, or move on if you wish. I do not care about that, either.

I read your stories, I know about some of you. I know what you can do, what you are capable of.

Well, I am capable of a few things myself. I am a very bad girl now, yet I never let it show. I am very good at my job.

I tease men without mercy, giving hope where there is none. I have no desire at all for men, yet I need them desperately.

Am I perhaps messed up, maybe even insane?

Yes, probably. A man made me what I am inside, then men changed me to what I am outside.

I did read all of the possible places to post this, I first chose Mature because nearly all of my clients are older. Just like in my life, there is no place for me that completely fits.

But then at the final reading, I realized it is not erotic at all. So I changed my mind, thinking not erotic? Someone on staff here changed it when they rejected my story for errors, it seems I am not a writer. But then I know that.

Fetish, they decided? Me? Perhaps there is a truth to that?

Very well.

My name is Meridith, I am a sexual surrogate. My duties, once a client gets past the long battery of tests and medical checkups, is to try and find out if they can function normally in a sexual situation with their partner.

I assume you all know what that entails.

Most clients are sent to me in the very latter stages of their recovery, I seldom see any before that, as they have undergone the counseling, medical tests, all of the things leading up to me as perhaps a last resort, or just as a test.

The final test before their release? I am not completely sure on that point, and I don’t ask. I just do my job.

If you make it all the way to me, you will find me sweet, sensitive, gentle, kind and caring. I am vulnerable to you.

Not one of those words is truth. You see only the outside of me.

Let me say that there are a lot of males, usually older and more mature, with these concerns. It may come as a surprise, yet it is far more common for both husband and wife to attend at first, hoping for help. Often the wives themselves could do without sexuality in their lives, they just do not wish to lose their mate.

The wives are made to understand that in time their man could very well be having intercourse with me. Thus far I have had just one case where the wife was not understanding. While this is of course an intimate sexual situation, and one I even sometimes personally find satisfying, it is not in my own mind a cheating scenario against the men’s mate.

In fact, there are often instances where the client could perform yet chooses not to. In those cases, it is the response and not the act that matters. It seems that there really are good men out there, men who choose to be faithful and only need some guidance, some help.

And some will jump at the opportunity to be with me, or at least try.

I do not understand or even care that in the minds of others, they would consider me a whore, or perhaps a prostitute. My job does pay me very well, far more than some might imagine in fact.

The goal is to heal, primarily though building confidence and the methods are legitimate although in the background of the medical profession.

I do not work with medical conditions, I work with sexual dysfunctions from other causes mostly. Men with fear of intimacy, fear of failure, the causes are endless, and I can be the cure in about 15 to 20% of those.

I wish the success figure was higher, the simple truth is that some of you carry a torment inside you that I just cannot reach.

I understand that, since I carry my own torment.

I do not appear to attempt at all to cause an arousal, rather I do the opposite. By being there, creating a situation of trust and complete lack of need for my client to erect, they often simply do.

Teasing combined with complete vulnerability, the situation evolves where a male that has no need to be erect relaxes, this means it becomes easy to divert their attention because their simply being there with me is enough. I make sure they feel that, and that they have no need to be rigid to please me. This often is the key, a complete lack of pressure to perform often means performance.

For some, I fulfill the need for conquest. If I sense that is it, I allow it. There is no conquest with their own wives, often from the wife there is only expectation.

So many times the key to healing becomes training the wife. It has always amazed me to realize how few women understand the massive power they have, no matter their age or figure. Men are such visual creatures, a flash of breast, an innocent peek here and there, suddenly the same person that has been mated bingöl seks hikayeleri with thousands of times becomes new magic once again.

Some men somehow manage to find out about me or the few others here at the clinic like me. Those show up at the medical center faking issues, looking for gratification. This is a waste of their time and money, it does not work. The staff at the clinic nearly always know and just reject them, and even those tiny few that do get by to me I figure out without fail.

Except for my very first client, I learned well from that. He was easy, very easy. So easy I sensed something was not quite right. I suppose the clinic director had to know, suggesting it would be easy to allow such intimacy with someone that is really a stranger is one thing, doing it is quite another.

I have been to this website many times, I could say that the only reason I come here is as a part of my work.

You see, from the writings of some of you I can and do learn how you think here.

But do I come here, read just as a part of my work? That would not be truth, I have the very same thoughts and desires as some of you.

Those entailing exhibitionism, accidental exposure situations are by far the most appealing to me. I am an exhibitionist, of that there is no doubt at all.

One might think that in my profession, I would get enough of that, with daily nudity, daily sexual experiences. But the truth is, perhaps twice, perhaps only three times per month the actual act is completed. That part I care very little about although no one could ever tell.

Sex does make me feel good, but that is all now. No one since my husband has ever entered me, unless they were a client. Well, there was a man named Glenn, though even he could be called a client.

He was not a client really, it turned out that he was just a test that I passed with flying colors.

The teasing, the nearly accidental exhibitionism, the feeling of power, control, even joy when my current client forgets that he cannot respond and simply does is beyond describing.

My personal pain and suffering that I so carefully hide from the world lifts, just for a moment, like it does when I am successful at my other goal of climax without being touched.

Did I just confuse you? If so, then read on.

So very often the simple need to have an erection during intimacy is the real blocking factor. Remove the need, the requirement and concentrate on just the intimacy and normalcy returns.

Then of course there is the expectant wife, allowing sex rather than sharing sex. It is always completely amazing to me how easy it is once a wife knows and understands that simple touching, petting, displays of sexuality are the key to getting a response.

If these wives would just come to bed with little or no clothes on, fondle their man, open their legs, display their pussy, tease and lick and touch? Become that blatant whore in the bedroom the man thinks and reads about, wishes for?

If your man has the inclination to respond to different things, do them! What is wrong with the lower cut top, the glances of other males from across a room would be for you. Your husband just might enjoy your excitement at being noticed.

Perhaps letting him know for sure that underneath the demure dress you are wearing…is nothing. His mind will be filled with that thought.

You say you are old, or fat? Do you really think that matters? I can state for a fact that if your vagina peeks out for just an instant, every single man’s eyes will drop right to it without fail. Some may blush, some may look away, some will jostle for a better look.

Some once home will remember and visualize the way it looked, while taking themselves in hand. Even the man who suggests that something like that is terrible, takes himself in hand during the quiet moments.

A woman’s body is power, that power never leaves them. A beautiful woman may have an edge, but they do not have the entire game. All women hold that power, so few actually know it. They think the airbrushed young blonde has all of that.

Let me say I know for a fact that they do not.

Sexuality is something everyone has in common in one form or another, the idea is simply to find the key.

I would be looking for a different line of work if every wife did sexy things that for their partner.

Sexual surrogacy is a very long and slow process before we ever get to that point of actual intercourse. I do not care about the intercourse, I care about the process.

I know why I am writing this now. I think I knew before I started. The vision, the feeling of a naked man, completely in my power, in my control is overwhelming. My hands stroke the silky skin of the penis, with the ones that have not been circumcised it is like an unveiling as the outer skin is slid back, revealing the head. Firm yet soft, the veins bulging, the involuntary thrusting at my hands creates sensations that tear through me.

I very often orgasm at that point, in fact, I just did at the thought of it. I do that quite often. It is not a crashing, mind bending type of orgasm, it is small convulsions, like tiny electric shocks. I can climax extremely easily through touch, and I nearly always do during intercourse. Oddly I do not care about that, the ones I desire most of all are when I orgasm without being touched! Sometimes those are so intense I lose track of where I am and what I am doing for several moments.

That is the sensation I seek, the sensation I crave. The orgasm that comes from the pure power of the moment, I seek that nearly every waking moment of every waking day. If you can understand that, you could own me. But even I cannot understand it completely.

I cannot understand why or how my body can orgasm while fully dressed on a city street, just from letting someone, anyone see a part of me they are not supposed to?

Naked, lying back blatantly exposed creates nothing in me at all. Yet walking down a stairs, my bare pussy flashing exposure as someone comes up towards me excites me. I see them look, I see the expressions of surprise. The feeling grasps me causing my head to swim. If their eyes do not dart away, my step increases, it slows, I let my legs part to allow a better look. I may pause, looking at something else in interest.

I may need to lean down to check my shoes.

I sometimes must hold the railing to keep my knees from failing me as sensation floods my body.

One man came very close, he was watching with a sly smile. Then he approached, with perfect timing. Had he simply said hello, that just might have done it, I could have went with him had he held out his hand.

Instead he asked me if I was doing it deliberately. I turned and walked away, he did not understand the need inside me for it to be an accident. When it is just an accidental exposure, it is not my fault.

Every minute of every waking day I seek that. I may one day relate here some of the things I have done, maybe.

I look very much like a taller and younger Sally Fields, I have been told this many times. The hair style is similar, the look close enough that some have asked me if I am she. Since I work out three times each week, I stay in good physical condition. My bust is a solid “C” cup, my waist is barely 24 inches. My nipples are round, they are like caps on the tips of my breasts. The nipples are inverted unless I find myself excited, then they pop outwards. I can make them do that, just by watching them in the mirror and thinking of some of the situations I have been involved in. Some have suggested that perhaps I have implants in my fanny, I do not. That is all me.

I do have implants, though, as I will explain.

At this point most would ask how did I ever end up in this kind of work? Some will call me a prostitute, but nothing could be further from the truth.

I was married when I was much younger, the man, who I will not name was abusive. I cannot name him because he might find me, find about about me.

He was not abusive at first. He was loving and kind, I wallowed in him, he was my complete and total world. I saw us as one day old, holding hands, children and grandchildren to enjoy.

Over time he changed, he wanted to share me with his friends, expose me, it was like I was some kind of toy.

I refused at first, then went along with some of it. But when he suggested I have actual sex with some of his choosing there were fights, arguments. One day that degenerated into violence, his excuse of being drunk was not good enough for me. He ended up in jail, I ended up in a hospital for a long time. The beating I took was very violent. I did fight back, but he was far too strong. Probably my fighting back made it worse.

I never understood the why of it, but in that same situation I would fight back again. I will die before being forced.

There were months, then years of operations that made me look like I do today. My former husband would not recognize me, I know this for a fact having walked right by him several years ago on a downtown street. He even whistled at me but I did not respond, feeling a brief flash of fear at seeing him. He saw me clearly, yet he did not see the woman he held in his arms and made love to, the woman he told so many times that he loved.

The woman he came very close to killing with his hands.

I had changed my name, my appearance, my mannerisms.

I became the woman I am today. I became Meridith Anders. It is not the name I use in life, obviously. Michelle Wilson, the woman I was before, died the day that she was beaten into unconsciousness.

I will always look young, I will always look like I do now.

Only a portion of my face is flesh. The doctors were magic, no one can tell by looking. I have dimples on each cheek, I see those in the mirror. My expression has a natural smile. All of that is a creation.

This story is not about my work, what I do for a living. Not really.

It is about me, and some of the things I have done. You see, I am a bad girl. I also happen to know that I am beautiful by any of the terms of society.

I am a creation of a team of experts.

I remember the very first time I realized that something was different about me. My husband and I had only been married for about two months. He drank quite a bit even then but I took that in stride.

Those around him did the same, I disliked the taste and almost never touched alcohol myself. But the others did, and some of them were around quite often.

I was sitting on the couch, one of his friends came over and sat beside me. At first I didn’t realize, then I saw he kept looking at my breasts. The top I had on was light and lower cut than the ones I normally wore. It hit me that the way he was sitting and the way I was sitting that he very likely could see my entire right breast clearly.

I glanced up at my husband, he was watching me intently. By then there had been conversations about my manner of dress, he wanted me to wear less. He claimed he liked looking at me, was pleased that others looked at me, but that it was for him.

I was very young, I believed him. So I simply sat like that and let his friend see me, and I sat like that for quite a long time. Several others noticed also, one man even came up behind me and reached out and touched my shoulder as he leaned over and made a comment.

His hand actually gently pushed my shoulder forward, I was well aware that he was looking down my front, my bare breasts nestled in a lacy bra, my nipples exposed clearly from that angle.

I just let him. My orgasm flooded over me right there on the couch, untouched. It was intense, far more so than when having sex with my husband. The man sitting next to me got a very odd look on his face, then grinned.

Later that night my husband was extremely excited, telling me that now I was getting the idea. He even went so far as to have me sit on the couch like that after everyone had gone, he wanted to see how much of me they could see.

There really was nothing hidden at all, I was already sure of it and now he was also.

My husband became much more virile than he normally was, I certainly noticed that. Doing that, actually sitting there pretending to be unaware yet being fully and completely aware of my exposure excited me, too.

I felt so happy to have pleased him. I remember lying there basking in the afterglow of intense lovemaking, it was the most wonderful feeling I had ever known up to that point.

It wasn’t very long before he had me do things like go up stairs in very short outfits, at first it was with frilly panties and bare legs.

I got looked at a lot in those situations, and I enjoyed it myself. Then he asked me to do it without anything under the skirt at all. I resisted at first but he became insistent, so finally I relented and did that as he stood below and watched.

The first time I was blushing, and I looked over my shoulder. There was an older man a few steps behind me, his eyes were wide and I knew the man could see right up between my legs.

That was the second time I had an orgasm without being touched. It was a very small one, and it surprised me again.

Then I had to turn around at the top of the stairs and come back down. My husband stood there and watched me, he was the only one watching at that moment yet I was trembling by the time I got to the bottom, my body involved in an extremely powerful climax. He actually caught me as I started to fall.

After that, my will to resist was mostly gone. I found myself confused between what I was not supposed to do and what I wanted desperately to do.

So many saw me, I knew but it was not my fault.

Next he wanted me to shave my pubic hair, he told me that it was all anyone could really see. It took him several days to talk me into doing that, finally I did.

It was the first time I ever saw myself like that, my lips looked monstrous, huge. I had never realized it really, the bushy pubic hair I wore in it’s natural style hid me fairly well.

Suddenly I was totally and completely naked down there, and I was completely aware of it with every single step I took.

My husband loved it, he tugged at my lips until they were swollen up even more, they expanded and actually hung down, so puffy and sensitive I almost could not stand it when he fingered me with his hands.

I had changed by then, I wanted to go out that way, I wanted people to see me, look at me. I wanted them to stare at my naked pussy. By this time that is what I called it, my pussy.

It was no longer my vagina. My vagina was a personal thing to me, a secret place. My pussy was something entirely different, I wanted everyone in the entire world to see it.

There, just the thought, just saying that and writing it down, I climaxed again.

We sat on park benches, my legs carelessly open as people walked by. We tired soon of the stairs episodes. A few times I sat there in the car with the seat reclined at the gas station, intently pretending to read a book as the attendant did their job. Some of them were women, I didn’t care.

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