"Fuck off mate."
The lad looked dejected but he complied. I watched him go, back to his mates at the bar. Was there anything wrong with him? No. He was fit. And roughly the same age as me. A few months ago I'd have accepted his offer of a drink. I'd probably been bouncing on his cock in a week. An hour, the way I felt at the moment.
However, I'd changed. My dalliance with being paid to supply sex had awakened a need to push boundaries in me. It'd quelled the desire for a boyfriend, even as it'd supercharged my need to fuck.
I couldn't see how dating someone or sleeping with a man who professed to love me and wanted to swap numbers could equal the excitement of doing something so basic as emotionless fucking for the sheer sake of it.
It was that feeling I needed to experience more often. I couldn't wait for Lawrence. He might not come back to me for months. Or not at all. I had to find another way to reach my goals.
I drank up and feeling sorry for the lad I went over to him where he was being ribbed by his mates.
"Sorry. Just bad timing." I said as I put my arm around him.
He brightened. I saw his eyes flick over my face.
"Better luck next time."
I patted his bum as I turned away. His mates cheered him this time.
He might just have been what I'd needed before Lawrence had corrupted me. Not any more. It would be a disappointment. It was Lawrence's world of commercial sex which drove my fantasies now. Ones of selling myself. Giving my body for cash and being treated as if I was worthless. I didn't need the money from Lawrence. But I did need the thrill of what it meant.
I went home to another night of masturbating with my pillow pulled tight between my thighs. Not satisfying for me, although it probably was for my creepy brother listening from the next room. But it was still preferable to the pretence needed with someone like the lad at the bar.
Another month had passed by and the craving to experience that thrill again hadn't eased. I still expected Lawrence would book me a third time. But he was getting his cock serviced by other, professional sluts in the meanwhile. I wanted it to be me. It wasn't, so I was left high and dry.
I sank deep into a fantasy world of imaginary escapades and frantic masturbation. It was relief, not true satisfaction. Daniel was probably getting a bigger kick from listening in than I was. And slowly, my thoughts turned to making fantasy a reality.
What if I advertised? Escort for hire. There were loads of contacts online. It was as simple as typing 'prostitutes in my area' into Google to find them. Girls of all ages and types offering sex through thinly disguised blurbs about companionship and deep massages.
Some were even more brazen, listing what they offered. Missionary, cowgirl, anal, breast fuck. I wouldn't be doing that. I didn't have enough to wrap around a micro penis let alone a big cock like Lawrence's.
They all looked normal. Clean girls who could dress just like me and pass me in the street without my knowing what they did. Certainly, they didn't fit the image of prostitution I had of druggies standing on corners in high boots and leopard-skin skirts.
I wondered how many of these girls Lawrence had been with. It became a game to guess which ones were his type. But all the while, I was slowly sinking into an acceptance that I wanted to be listed amongst these girls.
Again and again, I went back to these sites, conditioning myself to the idea that it might be the answer to my desire for unattached sex. I wrote out pretend profiles in Word on my laptop. Nothing outrageous. Just subtle suggestions. I tested my wording, working out what said fuck me without saying fuck me.
I would need photos. Nothing too spicy. I wouldn't do nudity. Just sexy underwear. I found something lacy and red. I stripped.
How to do this? Photos in the mirror didn't work. Seeing the phone hiding my face was useless. So it was arms-length shots, hoping to get one where I fitted in the frame. My first attempts were all naff so I started again.
This time I knelt on the bed rather than the floor. I held my phone up, posing, pouting at the lens. Then a hand snatched it away.
"What the fuck."
I spun around, coving myself, to find Daniel looking at my phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Get out of my room you fucking nonce."
"Are you taking dirty pictures?"
"Give me my phone back. You're not looking at pictures of me in my underwear."
"You shouldn't pout. It looks amateurish."
"What do you know?"
I snatched for my phone, missing as he stepped away. I'd dropped the quilt at the same time and scrambled to cover myself up again.
"Daniel."
He was scrolling through the photos as I fumed, turning redder by the second.
"Give it back or I'll tell Mum."
He laughed.
"I don't think you will.
Why are you taking these?
Are you posting them?"
"No.
I just wanted ... some nice pictures. That's all. It isn't weird. What's weird is my brother getting a stiffy looking at them."
He wasn't fazed.
"These are shit."
"Oh, and you're a photography expert are you?"
"Danica. I study art."
That was true.
"Want me to take some proper ones?"
"You're not taking pictures of me in my knickers for your wank bank."
"They'll only be on your phone. And I've seen you in your underwear loads of times."
"Only coz you won't stay out of my room."
"Up to you. Shit photos or decent ones. You choose."
He wasn't wrong. Selfies taken at arm's length were pretty unprofessional. And I didn't know how to pose. Perhaps letting Daniel take some wouldn't be such a terrible idea. There was no one else I could ask.
I stared at him, assessing whether or not to trust him.
"For fucks sake.
If I let you. You won't get a hard-on or anything weird will you?"
"You're my sister. What do you think?"
My virgin little brother? Yeah. I thought he would. But he was also capable of taking the pics I needed. I couldn't deny that. But did I want him leering at my tits and legs?
"Okay. Fine.
But you can go and jerk off in your own room after."
He walked past me toward the window as if he owned the room. A moment later it flooded with bright sunlight that made me wince.
"What are you doing?"
I pulled the quilt tighter around me.
"Natural light. No one can see you, so why are you trying to take pictures in lamplight? It's a harsh light and ages you.
Now straighten your bed. At least make it look less like a teenager's smelly pit."
"That's big coming from you. I've seen your room. It stinks of cum."
I did do as he said though. Very self-consciously now I had ventured from under the covers. Yeah, he'd seen me in my underwear before. But not in skimpy lace that was almost see-through. And certainly not with me posing sexily while he took time to study details. Jesus fuck. What would Mum think if she put her head in the door now?
To be fair to him, Daniel wasn't weird at all. Perhaps he could be mature when he wanted. It still felt strange posing in barely there underwear as he focused the camera on me. I was fully aware he could see my nipples. The lace was sheer and they poked out far too much. I was even more conscious of how thin and clingy my panties were when I sat with my legs parted.
