Creepy - I Am A Sex Worker. Sometimes I Get The Strangest Clients.

Episode Date: March 25, 2021

You meet all kinds...***Written by Mandahrk narrated by Megan McDuffee***Content Warning: Sexual content***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is the bloody disgusting podcast network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make. contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy Presents. I am a sex worker. Sometimes I get the strangest clients. Written by Mandark and narrated by Megan McDuffie. A couple of things before we start. You can call me Natasha. I am not American. I won't tell you exactly.

where I'm from, for safety reasons, yours and mine. I'm also not going to bother explaining how I got into this line of work. Needless to say, I am not a victim. I am not looking for your pity, and I am most definitely not in need of rescue. My sole purpose of making this post is to share some of my most extraordinary experiences with a community that I believe would be interested in them. And no, I will not be offering my services to any of you. So don't be a smart ass.

Thanks. I have been a sex worker for well over a decade now. And in those long years, I have come across many a curious client. A normal, well-adjusted adult would faint if they saw the kind of freaky shit I've been a witness to or participated in. I've had clients who paid me to piss on them, spit on them, stomp on their nuts. all while wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a white wig, and berating them like I was their disappointed grandma. I've farted in glass jars and sold said containers.

I've worn a collar and pranced around a motel room, parking like a dog and sipping water from a bowl for over an hour, earning a fat wad of cash for not even doing anything explicitly sexual. There was even a time I treated a 45-year-old man like a literal baby, changing his diapers after he shatten them, singing him a lullaby as he bawled like a baby, sucked on his thumb, and then on my tits. The point is, as sex workers, we get to see the true nature of humanity in all its pitiable and hideous glory, a reality that almost never reveals itself to civilized society.

But sometimes we end up encountering monsters who lie beyond even our understanding of human nature. creatures that lurk in the deep shadows that twist around the congested streets of our red light district ready to prey on anyone foolish enough to step too close to them a quick death would be preferable to falling into their clutches true evil i was in my early 20s when i first ran into one of them there had been news reports of missing young sex workers floating around these days news reports i casually brushed aside as being nothing too out of the ordinary. After all, it wasn't all that rare for prostitutes to get murdered by unstable Johns or exploitive pimps, was it? My youthful arrogance prevented me from understanding that there's a huge difference between knowing that evil exists out there and actually coming face to face with it.

I had been working for over three years by then, having just graduated from turning tricks on street corners under salacious neon signs, to having my own private room, in my then-Madam's establishment, doing specialized work for freaks, earning a lot more than most of my co-workers. I guess having the stomach to do things that would make most girls cry and fear and disgust really worked out in my favor, though I'm sure the others would disagree over who exactly had it better. My appointments those days, or nights, I should say, were handled directly by the Madam. The clients would come visit me in my private room, or I'd go to them, either at their place or at a hotel that charged by the hour. Regardless of where I went, I would always be accompanied

by one of madame's muscles. To protect the merchandise, of course. My most frequent chaperone at the time was this bald, broad-shouldered mountain of a man. He had a short beard, tattoos all over his arms and despised rap music. So I called him Lil Pimp. I met Lil Pimp just outside the establishment that night. The air was tingling with a pleasant chill and the enticing smell of cababs that wafted over from the new Lebanese restaurant across the street. Lil Pimp pulled up in his black SUV with tinted windows as I stood sucking on a cigarette, taking care not to smear my bright red lipstick. Pop in, he said, pushing open the passenger door. I tossed the cigarette aside, clutched my purse, and climbed into the car,

plastic sheets squishing as I eased back into the seat. You really need to take this shit off, I remarked. He chuckled. No way. Wouldn't want cum stains all over the expensive leather. I rolled my eyes. Oh yeah? How are you going to stop that from happening when your boyfriend's pounding your ass in the back seat? Fuck you, he growled. "'Go to have to pay me for that, little pimp,' I said, grinning, though I doubt the madam would let you fuck the merchandise. "'Malurious, aren't you? Bitch,' he muttered as he turned the key and made the car purr to life. Smiling, I turned my neck and looked out the window, out at the sidewalk where scantily-clad women stood waiting for customers, cigarettes jammed between rotting teeth. The world was truly harsh.

and it became all the more clear as the car left the red light area and pulled up on respectable markets and nicer neighborhoods. Gone were the neon signs and the small, crumbling buildings with damp walls and cramped rooms. I heaved a sigh of longing as I gazed out at places people can actually live decent, peaceful lives in, where you can go to bed without worrying about straight gunshots or the police bursting into your home without any warning. And about ten minutes later, it got even better. The car rolled past a wide-open wrought iron gate and descended a sloping road onto a luscious valley dotted with spacious mansions, and their sprawling, carefully maintained the lawns.

Even the ornate Victorian street lamps screamed wealth. Not what you were expecting? Lil Pimp asked as he made a lepturn. I shook my head. I certainly hadn't expected to come to a place like this. But then again, I really shouldn't have been surprised. After all, the richer they are, the freier they tend to be. I was still lost in thought when Lil Pimp brought the car to a halt.

The road went on ahead of us in a gentle slope upwards before twisting to the right. On the turn sat a big two-storied house with red brick walls. It was dark, suspiciously so. Even the lights at the gate were switched off, which itself was locked shut. It seemed like someone tried a bit too hard to give the impression that nothing suspicious was happening in the house. That's the place, little pimp said, checking the address on his phone. Thought so. He nodded.

You have your phone on you? Yes. Give me a call if something goes wrong. Okay. Got the pepper spray in your purse? Yep. Good. Tell him I'm waiting for you outside.

Sure. I opened the door and swung my legs out. Hey, Natasha. I paused. Little pimp looked at me with a frown on his face. You've heard the rumors going around recently, right? About the disappearing girls. I raised my brow.

Yes, a couple of horrors disappearing off the streets? Not exactly breaking news, is it? He closed his eyes and shook his head in irritation. Just be careful, is all I'm saying. I'll be right here if you need me. He patted his gun holster. Thanks. I flashed him a genuinely grateful smile and climbed out of the car.

Knowing that he was there did make me feel comfortable, even though at the time I foolishly thought he was being a little too paranoid. Hindsight, am I right? Pulling my purse back up on my shoulder, I started walking towards the house, my heels clicking on the cobblestone pavement. Crickets, hidden in damp grass, erupted in a furious chatter around me as I approached the house. Somewhere in the distance, a dog let out a mournful howl. This short walk, just before a session, always made me feel queasy, like the contents of my

stomach were sloshing around. My head buzzed with a million questions. Who was my client? What was he like? What will I have to do? I couldn't wait to get in sight. and find out, and get it over with. Just then, almost as my thoughts had been heard, the gate of the house swung open with a rusted groan. It wasn't the whole gate, exactly, just a small door set into the

larger structure off to the left side. Shadows pooled at the rectangular gap that opened up, but I could make out a figure standing there, shuffling on his feet impatiently. I brushed a stray strand dark hair behind my earlobe and continued walking. Natasha, right? Came the deep voice of the man at the gate. I could see him a bit better from this distance. He was wearing a black hoodie and a pair of faded jeans. Seemed to be in his late 30s, had short black hair that peaked from behind the hood,

exhausted brown eyes, set in sockets that were beginning to turn doughy, and a pink birthmark on his left cheekbone that made him look like someone had slapped him. Hard. Well, come on in. I smiled, ducked my head, and entered the property. You showed up right on time. I really do appreciate that. The man said as he shut the gate behind me,

then stepped his hands in his pockets, and marched off toward the house. Come. I followed, letting my eyes wander over the lawn. Walled in by a tall and thick hedge, it held a certain beauty that's hard to achieve without both wealth and time, two luxuries that seemed far out of my reach. Colorful flowers shone under the gentle moonlight, swayed mesmerizingly with the cool breeze

that made my skin feel soft. My ears tingled with the sound of the babbling of a garden waterfall. Envy reddened my cheeks. Well, the man asked, pulling me out of my own head. Are you coming? He was holding the front door open, looking at me, questioningly. I nodded and climbed the short flight of stairs leading to the door. He entered first, strode off to the right, and flipped the light switch on before gesturing at me to come in. Opulence that bordered on the obscene greeted me as I walked into the house.

Fuck, but I would have to work non-stop for half a year before I could afford just the rug in this place. "'All right,' the man said, rubbing his hands together. "'Let's get started, shall we?' "'Sure,' I replied. "'Just point me to the bathroom and I'll quickly freshen up.' "'Oh, no, no, no, don't bother. This will be over quick.' He chuckled as he pointed at the bulge in his pants.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and shrugged. Maybe he wanted me to pee on his dick. Maybe that was his kink. I'd seen worse. A smile flashed across his face, making his birthmark ripple. Okay, great. Let's head to the basement, shall we? I froze. Um, excuse me? He looked at me blankly. The basement? That's where we'll have our session.

I could feel my heart sink in my chest. Is something wrong? He asked, confused. Like he couldn't tell what was wrong here. No, motherfucker, there's no chance I'm going down into your soundproof kill room. I don't do basements. You frowned. But I spoke to your madam on the phone.

She said you would be open to anything. That wasn't a lie, was it? Trapped by my own reputation. No, it wasn't. Listen, it's just that basements at this hour... Oh. His eyes widened. You're worried.

going to kill you, right? You don't have to be scared of that. It's not why I called you here. I tried to think of a suitable reply to give to this nut. Listen, he said, giving me a wide grin, I'm not going to hurt you. I can't, really. I spoke to your madam, and she told me she sent one of her thugs with you, not to mention that she has my address. There's no way I could get away with it, right? You could, if you are a squatter, you could kill me and escape before a little pimp could get here. No one would even know who killed me. Listen, I'm not even going to touch you. I'm just going to touch myself while watching you. That's it? That's all I want.

He could sense the indecision in me. How about I double the money? Would that make you feel better? Maybe I was overthinking it. Okay, 15 minutes. That's all I'll give you. I'm going to text my friend outside that if I'm not out in that time, he can come fetch me himself. He clapped his hands. Perfect. I really should have asked why we needed to go down to the basement for him to masturbate while watching me. I really should have. I was already regretting my decision a couple of minutes later when we began descending the rickety stairs, a single overhead, incandescent light.

bulb lighting our way. The basement was in stark contrast to the rest of the house. The roof was too low. The stairs too old. The damp wall stank of rotting water and dead critters. The contrast between the basement and the rest of the house was too jarring. Set my nerves on edge. We reached the landing at the bottom. Wait here, the man said. Let me switch on the lights. I waited as he disappeared into the darkness. My ears soon picked up the sound of something scraping against the floor, wooden chairs being shifted, cardboard boxes being kicked around, and the rattling of chains? A click and the basement was blasted with the sharp yellow glow of another light bulb. A scream died in my throat. In a corner of the basement, a girl was chained to the walls. A dirty rag was stuffed into her mouth as heavy shackles

bound her wrists and ankles. She moaned and shifted ever so slightly. I gasped, oh my God. This girl, she must have been one of them, those who disappeared off the streets. Sweat beaded on my forehead as my hands began trembling. Good God, how the fuck did I get into this mess? Hey! The man shouted, holding a pistol in his left hand and a claw hammer in his right. He was naked. from the waist down. Don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you, remember? I raised my head, stared at him.

Stay right there now, he said, as he tossed the hammer and snatched it out of the air. Whistling, he began walking towards the girl, who finally saw what was happening and began struggling with her shackles. It was useless. The chains were too strong. She shook them once again and sobbed into the rack. The man kept whistling as he strolled towards her. Move, I told myself, stop this monster.

Without even thinking about it, I reached for the pepper spray in my purse. Nuh, the man said, turning around and pointing the gun at me. Keep your hands to your sides and just watch. That's all you have to do. My hand shot away from the purse like it had been zapped. Good girl. He sang as he turned his back to me. You too!

I saw that she was looking at me. Sad, pathetic little eyes, pleading, begging me to save her. The light bulb overhead was reflected in those shimmering blue pools like a tiny flame of hope. Tears of shame singed my eyelashes. The man lifted the hammer high, brought it down on the girl's head. Once. twice thrice

the metal connected with her head with a wet crunch crushing the bone deforming the skull tearing through the flesh in the way blood and brain matter sprayed the wall floor and lashed the man

swinging the hammer my heart pounded so hard in my chest I was afraid it was going to explode I was frozen with fear I know I should have done something to save of her, or at least tried to run, but it all happened so fast. I didn't even get the chance to wrap

my head around what was happening, and the poor girl was already dead. Next thing I knew, he was looking at me. Cold, brown eyes burning holes through me. His hand was slathered with blood, and he was using it to pleasure himself. That's it. He moaned. That's exactly what I wanted. I shuddered, creepy fucker. This is what he called me here for. He wanted to get off on my fear and helplessness. No, fuck that. I might have been too scared to stop him,

but I wasn't giving him what he wanted. I gritted my teeth, hardened my eyes. It was the least I could do. So, I said, deliberately killing all the emotion in my voice, "'What is it that you want me here for?' "'He stopped.' "'What?' "'You killed the girl.'

"'I continued in a deadpan manner. "'I didn't need to be here for that. "'So why did you call me? "'What do you want me to do?' "'Anoiance flashed in his eyes. "'I already told you. "'Just stand there and let me watch you.' "'Whatever,' I said, trying to sound bored.

"'Just get it over with.' I could see the confusion on his face. He was angry and frustrated and horny. Didn't know whether to ask me what I was thinking or to finish himself off. He chose the latter. Dealing emboldened, I shook my head and started observing my fingernails. He tried to keep going, but it wasn't working for him anymore. Of course it wasn't.

He grew soft. You, he said. What are you doing? Nothing. What are you doing? I don't understand what you're saying. Are you not scared? No, I was fucking terrified. You're lying. You're trying to hide your fear. Why? I'm not, I lied. Not scared, that is. Why would I be? Not like you can hurt me. We've already established that, haven't we? I was provoking him. It was reckless.

I know. He snorted. Are you stupid? Do you understand the position you're in? I just killed someone in front of you. I smirked. That pathetic shit weasel like you can only hurt someone who can't protect herself. I know you don't have the balls to do shit to me.

He gaped at me. What did you just say to me? Only that you're a fucking loser with a tiny dick. "'You bitch!' He charged at me, forgetting about his pistol and his rage. When he was two steps away from me, I pulled out the pepper spray from my purse and blasted him in the face. He screamed, smashed his hands on his eyes,

and dropped down to his knees. I didn't waste a second. I was already running up the stairs when he began fumbling for his gun. By the time a gunshot echoed in the basement, I was already out of the house. My whole body was shivering as I ran back to the car. My muscles felt like jelly, thought I was going to dissolve right then and there, melt like ice cream and slide off into a drain. Little pimp jumped out of the car and dashed towards me when I was about halfway back.

He made me sit in the car, helped me calm down, then wrapped his jacket around me before running towards the house, gun drawn. Now, here's where it gets really terrifying. This is the reason why I made this post. See, little pimp didn't find the man there. Instead, he encountered a family of seven who'd been in that house all night long. At first, I'd reckon he'd gone to the wrong house. He hadn't. Then I thought maybe the family had, by some odd miracle, slept through the whole thing,

even the gunshot. I was wrong on that, too. Because when I went in to speak to them, I saw that the inside of their home looked. absolutely nothing like the house that I had just been in. That's when I understood how that man had been able to get away with all those murders. Because when I walked into that house, I'd gone somewhere else entirely. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com.

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