Chapter Text
I think everyone on the planet (yeah probably even your fucking grandma) knows that Amsterdam is the hub for sex tourism. But what about W4W? Is there anything here for us? And more importantly is it always either ethical or exploitative to pay for sex or something, somewhere in-between?
-
“What a load of fucking shit,” Toni mutters, closing her notes app and rolling her eyes at herself. “Fucking grandma… idiot.”
She walks casually down the cobblestoned streets of De Wallen, shoving her phone away to try and memorize it all quickly, as she takes the last hit of her roll-up. It’s already dark, the moon’s bright above her; reflecting on the canal to the right, the rest of the light coming from bars and clubs to the left, and the relentless bright flashes from the cameras of extremely punchable tourists. She landed in the Netherlands yesterday and was jet-lagged to fuck, but it was time to get busy, literally. She only had 5 nights to get this piece done, queer Berlin sex clubs were next, and then FFF threesomes in Barcelona.
Toni had kind of fallen into the ‘having and then writing about all the great, funny, and/or embarrassing gay sex I have’ career path when some queer big player found a blog post she’d been begrudgingly encouraged to write by her anger management program 6 years ago. Though that one was never published, just floating around somewhere on Reddit, and pretty controversial now too, because it was about fucking her professor and then dropping out of college. It was a bit shit as well, on reflection, but her claim to fame, nevertheless.
Anyway, Toni was pretty stoked that there was a market for it. People seemed to think she was relatable or maybe they just liked her swag, or lack thereof, as a pretty unremarkable 26-year-old from Minnesota with mommy issues. Sure, it had become kind of contrived now that she was under a big corporation, but she got to travel every now and then, earned good money, and got to meet and talk to cool, gay people about cool, gay things. And needless to say, there was the sex.
Toni was a little aloof. She did have roots but they were a bit rotten, mostly dug up and she thinks, to be honest, that they probably always will be. Her family started and ended with her best friend and chosen sister, Martha, who had always been her constant. She was the only one who remembered Toni’s birthday some years, the only person who she could be vulnerable enough to cry with, the only one who really knew Toni, the real Toni; and none of it was done out of some archaic ‘blood is thicker than water’ bullshit obligation either.
She’d had a string of semi-serious, largely toxic relationships over the years including: one actual and one almost U-Haul, a hasty key-cutting incident that turned sour, a still-not-completely-gone laser tattoo removal, and an adopted fish that Toni regrettably now had full custody of. She wrote about all of them too, after the fact. The goldfish was particularly well received— with full consent and anonymity of those involved, obviously. Toni did fear becoming one of those soulless content creators though, only really enjoying something, or even doing it in the first place because it was going out for public consumption, public approval. Like those cunts who take photos of everything without looking at any of it with their actual eyes. Speaking of which, Toni hadn’t had non-work related sex in over a year, yikes.
Her eyes widen as she looks into the almost blinding illuminated red windows beside her; it reminded her of going shopping at some mall and seeing all the Barbies lined up in boxes, but like, the X-rated, adult version. Every type of woman you could imagine in every type of clothing (or none at all): some bored scrolling on their phones or reading books, others chatting to each other through the gaps between the windows, a couple of them touching themselves for, or interacting with men that passed by.
They didn’t pay Toni any attention, which wasn’t surprising.
She’d done a bit of research already for this one; sex tourism is massively male-dominated and a lot of the time just the insinuation of W4W is laughed at, even in a Red Light District. Plus, she didn’t want to potentially risk ending up at some pimped-out dive with vulnerable, trafficked women who had been forced to work there. Anyway, she found this place where all the women are legally self-employed, set their own rates, their own terms, their own fucking everything. The venue was basically set up to provide a safe, sanitary space to do business in, and help the women with boring admin like scheduling clients and making sure they got paid properly.
Oh, and the cherry on top? The place is all W4W, so some old, gross dude called Larry or Barry isn’t going to be stepping out as she’s stepping in. And, it’s marketed that all the girls working there are attracted to women, so it’s not a ‘Gay for Pay’ situation, it’s just, you know… ‘Pay’.
Pricey, too.
Toni still had to find someone who would be willing to let her write about them though, which was usually the trickiest part, especially in these circumstances. Ideally, she wanted something a bit more focused for this: just one woman, who she could have sex with, but interview too, to learn about her life, over the course of 5 days. But if push came to shove she’d have to take it in a different direction.
She reaches De Fantasie, and stops with her arms folded across her chest to give it the once-over. Pretty non-discreet like everywhere else, pink and red neon lights, illuminated with words like GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS and PUSSY. Toni pops a mint and looks down at her glowing clothes from the luminosity. She always feels nervous when it’s something completely new— the most she’d done in this kind of ‘paid for’ context was received a lap dance at a strip club, and who fucking hasn’t?
But the nerves were all part of it, the real experience, so she tries to just lean into it, hoping to get another dope story.
“Hi, short stuff!” A teasing voice calls out from the front desk. “Here to get your mind blown?”
Toni cranes her neck to try and see who’s behind it, unable to, but surprised to hear an American voice off the bat. She’d been mindfully shuffling around near the door, trying to get a feel for the place since she walked in a few minutes ago. It’s a trippy mix of super campy and super grungy in a late 90s, early 00s, Euro kind of way. Toni only knows the couple of big ones, but it turns out that t.A.T.u. actually do have a whole discography. She runs her fingertips down the pink leather padding covering the walls, as her eyes hover over framed, graphic photographs of women fucking each other.
She has to narrow her eyes to focus on anything really, it’s all completely disorientating and dimly lit, mainly by different hues of neon— her white t-shirt and the laces of her Vans make her look like a walking fucking glow stick inside. It’s not far off feeling like the entrance of a sleazy club but there’s definitely a calmer vibe, and Toni hopes to God that all the women aren’t fucked up on Molly. When she looks at the long, red shag under her feet as she walks over to the desk, she wonders how the fuck they manage to keep it clean.
“Hey,” Toni says casually with a smile, eyes up from the rug, to get a good look at the woman behind the front desk.
It’s a bit of a trip, just like the rest of the place. She’s covered by a glass screen, with all the crazy lights bouncing off of it, and Toni can see her own reflection somewhere in it, too. She’s tall, unless she’s standing on something behind there, with dark eyes, long black hair, and a lazy smirk on her face that seems to be growing by the second. She taps her long, sharp nails on the counter along to the beat of the already mind-numbing Euro-Pop.
“A-ha, a sexy fellow Yank!” The woman’s eyes brighten, and she wiggles her eyebrows. “Welcome to De Fantasie, my friend.”
Toni gives her another short smile, before eyeing up the array of goodies sitting along the front desk: packaged dental dams, different flavored lubes, and small bullet vibes for sale, juxtaposed with flyers for sexual health clinics in the area. She grimaces when she spots the one she got swabbed at last night— either the Dutch are heavy-handed or Toni has shit luck. She narrows her eyes on the glare from a retro, pink tube TV with a built-in VHS behind the front desk, and chuckles when she notices the musical episode of Buffy playing.
Fucking dope.
“So, what are we looking for today, babycakes?” She begins, with a thespian-style wink, puffing on her vape, thick smoke filling the air around her. “An hour, two, dare I say three? Big tits? Small ones? Any kinks I should know about? Do we like blondes? Tattoos? Role-play? Are you here to fuck, or to be fucked? Do piercings get you going, cowboy?”
Toni laughs and leans her elbow on the counter, she thinks she could probably write 3 articles about this woman alone. “Why don’t you surprise me?” Toni tries with a smirk of her own, she wants this to be as free-form as possible. “And half hour is cool.”
She didn’t have the time or budget to potentially waste more than that on a woman who wouldn’t let her write about the experience. It was only 8 pm, so the worst-case scenario for tonight was that Toni would get to come a few times with a pretty girl who knows exactly what she’s doing, and then hope for better luck with the next one.
The woman grins, her eyes twinkling as she scans Toni’s face. She swiftly reaches for a card machine, punches at the buttons, and holds it up towards Toni behind the screen. Toni squints her eyes and then raises her eyebrows.
Clearly ‘surprise me’ means pick the woman with the highest rate.
€400
“Ready to meet the girl of your dreams?”
If the entrance of this place was anything to go by, then Toni really shouldn’t have been surprised by the interior of the room, but she was. To start, long pink fur covered the walls. Pink fur and mirrors… mirrors everywhere. Smells nice though; sweet but not too sweet, and the music was chill— sexy RnB, nostalgic again like everything seemed to be in this place. She perches on the edge of the bed, which did look clean at least, running her fingers along the satin pink sheets, before looking up, trying to determine the sturdiness of the heart-shaped headboard.
Toni gives herself a last jittery once-over in the mirror closest to her, starting at the top, humming along to the music, wondering if the girl she’s going to be with chose it. She ruffles and runs her hands through her hair; still a little damp from the shower, picks a crust out the end of her nose-ring and quickly applies some chapstick (yeah, it’s cherry— fuck off). She lifts the chain out from under the collar of her t-shirt, tucking and pulling the hem, so it sits just above the waistband of her dark jeans. She brushes her pants off, wetting her fingertip to reach down and spit-polish a stain off her sneaker, before yanking her Pokémon socks up.
She pushes her shoulders back and taps her hands faster on her knees, when she sees the door handle start to twist, and hears muffled noises outside. The door opens a fraction, and Toni still can’t see anyone, but she does hear a voice, and it’s another American— Jesus Christ she could’ve just gone to fucking Nevada. Her accent is different though, sweet and kind of hot, but Bible Belt style.
Toni’s heart rate picks up from the anticipation, as she leans over on her hand to try and see through the tiny gap—
“Hi, there,” the voice announces, equal parts slow and soft, as she suddenly appears through the opening in the door.
Damn.
Toni’s body shoots upright, and then she somehow embarrassingly finds herself on her feet like she’s in the fucking military, staring at the back of the woman’s body, as she shuts and locks the door behind her. She’s got blonde hair, which is like perfectly messy with lighter streaks and shorter strands running through parts, tied up in a loose, high ponytail. She’s wearing a black, short, belted lace and satin robe, super tight around the waist, super see-through, and fuck, her body; the way she dips back out just right at her hips and ass. Toni’s jaw drops open, her tongue rolling along the floor— Looney Tunes style, her eyes running slowly down the middle of the woman’s long, toned legs, all the way to her pretty feet, wearing pink fluffy slides.
Sure, she hasn’t seen her face yet, but Toni rapidly shoves an arm behind her back and crosses her fingers up tight as fuck, hoping that she gets to spend 5 days with her.
The woman slowly releases her hair, letting it cascade heavily down her back, and that’s when Toni realizes her mouth is wide open; mind consumed with awkward misplaced fantasies about how it would actually be pretty dope to just spend the whole 30 minutes delicately brushing it for her. Toni eventually manages to pick her jaw up off the questionable-looking floor, her heart beating out of her chest, her sweaty hands wiping firmly at the back of her pants now, preparing herself for the face reveal— convincing herself she’s on a blind date, and not just a seedy fucking sex tourist.
She turns, their eyes locking in the dimly lit room, her shoulder pressing heavily against the door, before lazily, sexily, running a hand through the front of her hair, like this is no big deal, like she hasn’t got a care in the fucking world. Toni’s throat tightens, and she quickly forgets how to swallow when a smile starts to form on the woman’s face, and yeah, yeah, she knows it’s a tired, worn-out cliché…
But she totally just got lost in it.
She is literally THE fantasy. She’d never pull a girl like this in real life, not in a million years. But that’s what this is all about, right? Paying to spend time with women that are out of your league.
Toni’s eyes travel down the front of her body as she slowly approaches her, marveling at her silhouette from every angle she can in the mirrors surrounding them. Seriously, it’s impossible to explain how hot she is. The fullness of her breasts, the outline of her lingerie, her hard nipples through the front of her thin robe, the way her light hair compliments the dark material it falls over, how the tight rope tied at the side accentuates her shape, her curves, her thighs, and shit—
“Why don’t you take a seat, hm?” She asks softly, but it doesn’t really sound like a question, as she perches herself down gently on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other, her beautiful body turned towards Toni.
Pull yourself together you fucking simp.
“Yeah, sure. Hey,” Toni manages, her eyes looking everywhere but into hers, “I’m Toni,” she says, as she sits down beside her on the bed.
God, you wouldn’t believe it— her bone structure, the shape of her jaw, her perfect fucking lips, those deep green eyes wandering slowly down Toni’s frame, lingering in places of their own. Toni lets herself shamelessly stare at her, even though she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to hold eye contact if she looked back up, her mind racing now about how many hoops she’d have to jump through to get a Dutch residence permit.
“Hi, Toni,” she says, breaking the silence, reaching out and placing a hand softly on her thigh, and Toni can feel her eyes on her, just as much as her hand.
The track’s changed, and she quietly hums along, running her fingers slowly from just above the inside of Toni’s knee, all the way to where her pants drop at the crotch, and back again, in fucking beat to the music.
Passion, instant
Sweat beads, feel me
Cupid's shot me
My heartbeat's racing
Tempt me, tempt me, try me, try me
Feels so exciting
Thought of highly
It's yours entirely
Everything about this is wildly erotic, and Toni already feels so fucking horny that she can barely think straight (no pun). She also seems to have lost all concept of time; she hopes to God there’s more than 2 minutes left, but, to be honest, she’d only need about 2 seconds to come in this state anyway. Toni needs to open her mouth and find out if she’s game to be in the article, but either way, she’s beyond stoked that she gets to fuck the prettiest girl she’s ever seen.
Toni’s eyes move slowly over her delicate, manicured fingers on her thigh, nails exactly how Toni likes them; the tip about an inch long, fake, and almond-shaped, a preference she discovered during her riveting piece titled, ‘Yeah, gays, you can get safely finger-fucked with acrylics and it’s fucking awesome.’ But get this, it’s SO insanely hot— a queer dream come true if you will— just the middle and ring fingernails on her right hand are the same color but short, round and buffed.
Sjansndidiekenenejdkriwowkwneebebdio…
“How you doin’, Toni?” She asks in a cocky tone that Toni immediately loves, and she doesn’t seem to have a choice when her eyes quickly shoot up to the woman’s amused quirked lips before settling on her equally amused eyes.
Toni can’t be sure if she’s replied but decides to just smile and nod instead of running the risk of saying, yeah amazing!!!, too enthusiastically for the second time.
Now they’re just looking at each other, and Toni feels like there’s an inflatable in her chest, slowly filling up with air. She hopes it doesn’t burst. Her eye contact is intense, it feels intimate which probably means she’s really fucking good at her job. Toni finds herself rapidly filing away the details of her face, like the way her mascara has dripped a little; small black smudges sitting beneath her eyes, looking so good anyone would think it was meant to be there.
“Couple things before we start,” she begins softly, her hand continuing to trail up and down Toni’s thigh. “I don’t kiss on the mouth, so please respect that, anywhere else is fine,” she licks her lips as she says it, and Toni nods, her eyes now transfixed on them.
Like in Pretty Woman…
“No choking, anal, spitting, leavin’ any marks on me, and for anything beneath our underwear, we’re gonna shower first,” she smiles and gestures to another door behind the bed. “There are alarms all over this room that I can, and will press at any time. Just so you know, okay?”
Okay, a little different to Pretty Woman…
Toni blinks dumbly and nods, as she tries to wrap her head around the idea of being naked, under running water with this woman. She wonders too if her rules against kissing and the rougher stuff is a personal boundary or the same for all the girls here, hopefully she can find out.
What the fuck turns her on.
“Yeah, cool. You’re gorgeous. Like, really fucking gorgeous. What’s your name?” Toni asks with rehearsed confidence, as she tries to distract herself from the soft ache building at her center.
“Whatever you want it to be,” is her response, as she moves her eyes slowly around Toni’s face, squeezing more firmly at her thigh, nails lightly digging in. “You’re kinda cute, you know,” she adds, and Toni’s lips slowly tug up into a smile, until she’s full-on cheesing. Super embarrassing. She must tell different women that every fucking hour.
While she is very much into where this is going she does actually want to know her name— if she’s allowed to know it, that is.
“Can you tell me your name?” Toni begins carefully, not wanting to push it or make her feel uncomfortable. “Or are you all Hannah Montana and shit up in here?”
She laughs playfully, it feels teasing, as she tucks her hair that falls around her face behind her ear, and God, her ears—
“You can know my name. But I’m not givin’ you my social security number, Buster.”
This girl’s so fucking cute.
“So…?” Toni chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”
She lifts her other hand and cups Toni’s jaw with it, running her thumb across her cheek, her fingertips threading into her hair, and shit, her hand is so fucking soft. She leans Toni’s face to the side and moves in to kiss her neck, softly dragging her warm lips up and down, so gentle, and so slow, that Toni doesn’t know if she’s working her up or down.
“Shelby,” she sighs into Toni’s neck, as she continues to work her other hand up her thigh. “Call me Shelby.”
Okay, she’s definitely working her up. Toni releases a soft moan and grips the satin sheets, as her jeans give her a little contact on Shelby’s last graze up her leg, her mouth and tongue still working hotly against her neck. Toni needs to slow this down so she can ask her about the stupid fucking article but her hand’s getting closer: rubbing and pressing, her lips feel so nice: soft and wet, and her hair smells insanely good: like peaches and cream.
“Can I, oh—” Toni’s words die in her throat when Shelby slowly, expertly moves to straddle her on the edge of the bed, her thighs firmly hugging either side of Toni’s hips.
Shelby adjusts herself; pressing her own hips firmly to Toni’s, slotting against her just fucking right, as she settles her weight down in her lap. She hangs her arms loosely from Toni’s neck and looks into her eyes with an arched eyebrow and parted lips. Toni hasn’t even touched her yet and it’s literally all she can think about as she explores her outrageously beautiful body on top of her. It’s seriously taking everything she’s got in her to not do a fucking fist pump.
But she needs consent one way or another.
“I need to—” Toni manages, forcing herself to look up from Shelby’s perfect breasts, all pressed together, and pushed up beneath the silk and lace, begging for Toni’s tongue on them.
Shit, they drop down once more and then she settles them back firmly on her eyes. But she can’t stop thinking about the heat she can feel against her stomach coming from between Shelby’s legs.
“I need to— to talk to you about something…”