This is my attempt at trying to do things a bit more "direct to the customer" than my giant, unwieldy PDFs. Part 2 coming soon once I've done a bit of recovering from the collapse of my nation's democracy. Enjoy!
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As a male escort, you've seen some wild things, been to some wild places. Your job is simple: provide companionship to women (and sometimes men) in dire need of it. Your profession skirts the finer edges of the law, sure, but you have a passion for it. After all, everybody deserves a little love. Even the more... unusual types out there.
Your thorough, exacting workout routine and precise, nutritional diet ensure you're quite capable of giving that love, too. You've made love to your clients in the woods, in rainstorms, in the backs of a hundred cars, and you pride yourself on always giving a satisfactory experience. You're willing to cater the dates you provide with a variety of boyfriend options: sportsy outdoorsy guy, brooding bad boy, glistening well-oiled himbo, and so on. Your reviews have never faltered, and you've never seen a challenge that has ever made you question your unusual choice of career.
Until now.
Staring up at the modest three-level suburban home with its expansive front yard and backyard pool, a white picket fence circling around the edge of the property, you feel a prickle of unease. This doesn't look like the home of the woman who reached out to you: a late-twenties customer named Beatrice, her profile picture cast in just enough shadow and creative angles to give you the impression of long bangs and a soft, round, pale face.
The request she sent was also very specific--even now, you're carrying a bag full of cosplay materials to dress up just the way she wants you to. Apparently Beatrice has a bit of a fondness for the Final Fantasy franchise... And you're happy to help her make her twisted fantasies come true. For a price, of course.
Curious, you walk up and ring the doorbell. The woman who answers the door isn't Beatrice--but there's definitely a family resemblance.
She's in her late forties, a short brunette with crow's feet and a vape in her hands, dressed in an old Motley Crue T-shirt and jeans. You're forced to drag your gaze up away from her hips: the woman has some of the largest hips you've seen, enormous babymaker pelvis and thighs flaring out in an aggressively appealing, breedable set of curves. You feel a stirring in your pants as she looks you up and down, smiling a little.
"Oh, you must be Beatrice's date. Right this way, hon..."
She turns and shimmies down the front hall, and you struggle not to stare as her overloaded, overstuffed jeans fight to contain all the booty quaking and wobbling inside them.
Damn, this woman is thick. Is she Beatrice's roommate, maybe? Her older sister?
As you pass through the humble suburban home, family photos on the walls, you make a somewhat concerning connection: there's a very plump young woman beside your host in most of the photos, her hips even larger than her mother's, looking awkward, bespectacled and with the visible body language of an introvert.
This isn't Beatrice's older sister in front of you--it's her mom. Beatrice, as it turns out, lives with her mother.
Well... That's not so weird. This is a tough economy, after all, and you've seen stranger ways of dealing with it. Hell, Beatrice is probably rolling in dough, compared to you. She could afford your rates, after all, and those aren't cheap.
Beatrice's mom brings you to the kitchen, where she bends over--Lord have mercy, but those denim seams are ready to explode!--and retrieves a large tray of muffins from the oven. The warm, welcoming smell is very homey, and you relax a little; the vibes here are certainly more chill than you've seen on a lot of your shifts. Beatrice's mom offers you a muffin, and you politely take one, nibbling at it.
"Is, uh... Is Beatrice home?" you say, around a mouthful of delicious blueberry muffin, warm and fluffy. Damn, but the woman can cook.
"Oh yeah, she's right down the hall there," says Mom, nodding at a nearby hallway. "I'll be out working a nonprofit event, just make sure Beatrice eats her dinner, will you? I left her some leftovers from last night."
"Uh... Sure."
"I'm Carol, by the way."
She extends a plump hand and you shake it, noticing as you do how her eyes run up and down your toned form, clad in a simple white T-shirt and track pants. She smirks a little, and seems reluctant to release your hand, her nails grazing your palm.
"My, my, but my Bea sure know how to pick 'em... You're an escort, yeah? House calls? Now that's a cushy gig. Might take advantage of your services myself, sometime..."
You cough, awkwardly trying not to appear too eager for such an opportunity. The amusement on her face, and the visible lust shining in her eyes, suggests to you that maybe Beatrice isn't the only one with a high libido around this house.
"Uh, yes... That's me. Services on demand."
She chuckles, taking a drag on her vape, and winks at you.
"Honestly, I'm just glad to see Bea getting a little action for once, I can't lie. She's so dead set on playing her little video games all the time, and playing with her toys--sorry, her collectibles. Good to see her getting a nice roll in the hay for once. You're tested, right? Using protection and all that?"
You blink, surprised, but nod.
"Yes, of course. It's all in the agreement she signed. I can, uh... I can make sure she prints a copy, if you want..."
"Oh, don't be silly, I trust her to make the right decisions. Besides, she's an adult., she makes her own choices." Her mom sighs. "Though lately, those choices have been mostly takeout and her little computer games. I think you'll really brighten her day, hot stuff. Alright, I'm out--remember, food's in the fridge if she wants it."
"Okay! Have a nice evening."
Bea's mother departs, leaving you in her home to, presumably, ravish her daughter with her consent. You're taken aback by their dynamic so far, but hey, you're just here for a paycheck, not to comment on their lifestyle--or the laissez-faire approach Mom has to her daughter's sexuality. You take a second to appreciate your surroundings--the chintzy decorations on the windowsill behind the sink, the plants on every surface. And then you turn to Beatrice's room.
Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness and gloom as the smell of cheap deodorant, stale pizza, energy drinks and sweaty musk all roll over you in the same instant. Bea's room is a cavern of creature comforts, secured against the light outside by heavy black-out curtains. As if this wasn't enough proof that you're dealing with a shut-in, you can also see a bed covered in a Honshin Star-Rail-themed duvet, with a neon sign over the bed reading "FIVE-STAR PULLS ONLY." There's a huge glass case in one corner of the room, with carefully articulated lights showcasing dozens of Gundams and figmas, not to mention figurines from a dozen different anime.
A large PC gaming rig sits across the room from you, it's light-up keyboard pulsing, three-monitor mega-display coursing with the late-game flashes and explosions of Diablo. On the computer table, a dozen empty plates and pizza boxes sit scattered, empty soda and energy drink cans everywhere, a large bong with dirty bong-water in it tilted against a stack of Domino's containers.
And in an extra-large gaming chair in front of the computer... sits Bea herself.
"Oh good... Huff, huff... You're finally here..."
She turns around to reveal a body so bloated and swollen with fat that first you think this must be a prank, she must be wearing some kind of fat-suit. Bea was... Well, the only word that came to your mind was "massive." Huge, wobbling bingo-wing arms jiggled and quivered, framing the sides of a roly-poly, bloated, wobbling body, and her titanic belly nearly burst out of her Genshin Impact-themed nerd-wear, cascading in fat folds over her enormous thighs. Her face was pale, round and a little shiny with greasiness, a hint of acne around her mouth and double-chin suggesting maybe her diet was... Well. Not the healthiest...
Bea is practically salivating, looking at you, an eerie fixation to her slightly sunken, glassy eyes, grown dull from gorging and staring at screens... but lighting with a new fire, inside her, on seeing your toned body and thick biceps. She spoke with a lisp, giggling slightly as she stood, her bloated rolls wobbling. Even from here you can smell her B.O., a powerful feminine musk that smelled faintly of cinnamon and half-assed deodorant application.
She licks her lips, panting heavily, as she waddles towards you. In a sudden panic, you realize this is what you're making love to, tonight. And from the looks of her... She's been needing it.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Put your Cloud costume on... And then we can do some... Role-playing together. Nyeh-heh-heh..."