Hanna Cox has been on fire on Reddit which leaves us with a dilemma. Do we release The Erotic Diary of Daniele Early or do we stick with the plan and release Scarlett's book next?
While we mull over that, here's another members-only exclusive from The Erotic Diary of Daniele.
January 5, 2020
Money often costs too much
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
This quote isn’t super inspirational or anything, but it’s a warning to all the wannabe hustlers out there and some recent events have made me think about this quote more and more. One of Martina’s connections, a dude who went by the name Boss Mack, got busted and his home got raided. I didn’t go down to see it because I didn’t want to be questioned but from what I heard it was pretty crazy. You see, Mack was notorious for getting his hands into some seriously dirty business. The games he played made my schemes look like child’s play. He was also a pretty secretive guy, which is why I say he went by the name Boss Mack, I never actually found out his real name. But apparently, Mack had some potential clients over and was trying to sell them stolen guns. One of his clients was an undercover fed that had been talking with him for months. It seems to me like the feds were carefully planning this ambush because all of a sudden, the house is surrounded by cop cars and SWAT trucks and ATF, FBI, and homeland security people swarmed the place. I was told there were two or three helicopters with bright beams shining down on his house and at all times. One of Mack’s goons thought he could take on the feds, though, and ended up getting killed in a firefight. Mack and everybody else in that house was arrested and the cops ransacked the place, looking for as much contraband as possible. And believe me when I say they found enough evidence to lock up Mack for at least a few lifetimes. The problem with this is that I did business with Mack. A lot of people did. He was so prevalent in the crime scene, it was hard to not do business with him or someone connected to him.
So yeah, I think I gotta keep a low profile for now and there are many others who will probably do the same. On Friday the bar was packed. I was busy dividing my attention between three or four tables at a time. Issy was working that day as well and as soon as I clocked in, she started asking me how my journaling was going. I reminded her that the deal was that if I promised to write in my journal, she would promise to quit bothering me. She looked embarrassed and sheepishly hurried off. I managed to snag a new client as well, which was good because, well, it meant more money was coming in. The first was this old guy who was wearing a lavish satin suit. I swear to you, this man must have been in his eighties or something but he was checking me out from across the room like some sort of young college kid trying to fuck anything that moves. He was seated at the bar, downing some shots. The boss tells us not to take any orders from patrons at the bar unless they flag down the staff themselves. This is because they’re more likely to keep ordering drinks if no server walks up to them and takes their order. About twenty minutes into his one-man drinking party, he waved his hand at me and beckoned to come over. When I walked up to him to take his order, he said: “Sorry, sweetie, I can’t really hear that well anymore on account of my old age, can you stand a little closer?” I obliged him and asked if he would like anything to eat or if we would like to hear about today’s specials. Out of nowhere, I felt his hands go up my skirt and feel around for my vagina. When we found it, he began stroking and massaging my clit over my underwear. This is exactly why I wear dresses and skirts to work: It makes it so much easier to pick up new clients. He was looking at me in the eyes while his fingers played with my cunt.
He said, “Actually, I would like to hear about your specials.”
I had worked in the escort industry long enough to know that he was asking me to tell him my hourly rate. I leaned in close to him and whispered my prices in his ear. I didn’t want any other customer to hear what I was talking about and report me to the law or anything. He told me he wanted to have me for one night. We agreed on a price, location, and time. Just to make the interaction seem normal, he then ordered some appetizers off the menu.
It was nearing the end of the dinner service and I didn’t have any tables to wait on. Only a handful of customers remained. I was standing in the kitchen with a glass of wine that I wasn’t supposed to be drinking while on the clock. Then a new customer walked in and my heart sank. It was Adam. What the fuck is he doing here? And why did he come so late into dinner service? We were nearly ready to close! I ducked below the counter of the kitchen and watched him by peeking my eyes over the ledge. And of course, as soon as Adam took his seat, Issy was chatting with him. What the hell was she saying to him? Whatever it was, it seemed to grab Adam’s attention. Was she telling him secrets about me? No other customer walked in after Adam, though, which meant I stayed in the kitchen just watching their interactions. When it came time to close up shop, Issy seemed especially hasty to leave. This was unusual behavior for sure, but I didn’t snoop around. I know I wouldn’t be too pleased if one of my coworkers was snooping around in my business.
January 9, 2020
Hustle in silence. Let your success make the noise
That’s another motto I live by. If you have to constantly yammer on about how successful you are, you’re not successful. If I notice that someone is the talkative type, I usually don’t keep them too close because chances are, they’re gonna blow the cover on my whole operation. It’s like they said during World War 2: Loose Lips Sink Ships.
Speaking of making noise, it’s hard to believe there’s still fallout from the arrest of Boss Mack, and he was arrested a week ago today. You would think that the local news station would find something else to talk about but the only thing I’ve heard since the raid is “Mack this, Mack that”. His face has been plastered on every television screen in the city. Through the news, though, I learned so much about the elusive gang boss that I never knew before. Like that his name was Henry Mackenzie. When I heard them say his real name, I finally understood the nickname. If what the news people are saying is to be believed, then Mack is holding up strong in the cage. Apparently he hasn’t told police a damn thing. On one hand, I admire his strength to hold up under interrogation but on the other hand, I feel sort of bad for him because I know the prosecutor is gonna throw the book at him.
I remember when I first found out about the raid. It felt like my world was coming apart. It was the same day that Issy was acting all weird with Adam. Walking home that night, I kept checking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I got back to my apartment. This place is a real dump, let me tell you. In theory, I could move somewhere much nicer but people would raise eyebrows if the girl who works at a gay bar moved into a lavish house. Anyway, I got home and went to my nightstand. In the bottom drawer, there’s a secret compartment that has multiple burner phones in order to conduct illicit business as well as a wad of money I can take if I need to bug out in a pinch. I picked up the phone and turned it on to find that it was being blown up with messages. Almost all of them were from Martina. It took me a minute to scroll through all the text messages and listen to all the voicemails she left but by the end of it, I understood the seriousness of what went down.
Martina said that the only reason she knew what was going on was that she was going to see Boss Mack to drop off some packages. She was across the street from his house when the feds came in from nowhere. She hid in a fast food place nearby and that’s when she sent me a sea of texts and calls explaining the situation and what she should do. I called her back and the raid was still going on. She said that a few minutes before I called, shots were fired from somebody. That turned out to be Mack’s goon who was too tough for his own good. I was being all nice with Martina and comforting her to calm her down. I didn’t do this because I cared about her, but because I was worried about what she would do. When Martina gets upset, she can get violent and unpredictable. I didn’t want her to get any ideas of avenging in her head and go into Mack’s compound guns blazing at officers.
I advised Martina to leave the fast-food place and walk as far away from the crime scene as possible. She had some pretty serious product on her and if she got busted and it got confiscated, that would be a whole lot of money down the drain. I told her to walk towards my place and I would meet her halfway there. I picked her up and she was really a pathetic sight. Her makeup was all runny and messy, she was constantly sniveling and wiping her tears, and she was clutching onto her backpack like a safety blanket. I let her carry on like that but in my head, I was like “Grow up already! You hang around drug dealers and gang members, you can’t cry every time they get arrested!”. I guess this instance was different though because from what I understand, Mack and Martina were pretty close. I asked her where she wanted to be dropped off and she said her house so I dropped her off. She squeaked out a troubled “Goodnight” before slamming the door and stumbling into her house.
I drove back to my house and that was that. Ever since then I, as well as every other criminal in the city, have been glued to the news. Everybody’s got links to Mack so we were all worried. I was a bit relieved when I heard that Mack wasn’t cooperating but I knew that there was always the possibility that his goons would break under pressure.
Since Mack’s bust, I haven’t gotten up to much illegal business because of the heavy police presence in the area. The only thing I did was blackmail that businessman who throat fucked me in the hotel. I called the number on his business card. Fortunately, it was his number and not his secretary.
“Thank you for calling Fields’ analytics, this is Peter Fields speaking. How may I help you?” He answered courteously.
“On January 1, 2020, you paid an escort for sex,” I said cryptically.
“Hey, who is this?” He demanded to know.
“Deposit five thousand pounds, secured in a plastic grocery bag, at the following address” I continued, before reading him the address. It was the address of a supermarket near me.
“If you don’t want video footage of your affair to be given to the press, you will deposit this sum underneath a dumpster within twenty-four hours.”
He was stammering and furious. He demanded to know where I was from, what my name was, and who I worked for. He even vowed to track my number and have me arrested by the police. Unfortunately for him, I called using a number spoofer so my caller ID was a false one. That was another nifty trick Megan taught me. I did that yesterday so sometime today I have to go down to the dumpster to check if the cash is there. I’m also going to go see Megan today to talk to her about Issy. I want Megan to use her insane hacking powers to find out everything she can about Issy.
It’s so strange having to keep a low profile. I can’t sell drugs, or stolen goods, or anything. I just have to sit at home and watch the news and find other ways to scheme. I still managed to make it work, though, even from the confines of my dingy apartment. One pretty easy way to make money is through sugar daddies. If you don’t know, sugar daddies are old men with a lot of money who basically hire young, hot chicks like me to either have sex with them or just spend time with them. It really wasn’t too far away from being an escort. In fact, I think sugar daddies were easier to get money from because they want to give away their money and because old people tend to cum quick. I have a couple of sugar daddies that pay me to fuck them. On top of this, another way to make money from home is by selling nude photos and videos of myself online. You won’t believe how many horny, pathetic men are out there who throw their paychecks at me to get some nude photos or videos of me playing with myself or something similar. It boggled my mind why they would do this when there was so much free porn available but I wasn’t going to question them to their face. As long as they paid, that’s all I care about. So while I was idling around my apartment not doing anything, I took a ton of nude photos and videos and started selling them online to make a quick pound. I also started chatting up my sugar daddies again and trying to schedule a hookup with them.
I was supposed to meet up with Megan in a little bit and the supermarket was close by so I decided to go to the supermarket first to see if the businessman had dropped off the cash or if I needed to put more pressure on him. I drove around to the back of the store and parked in one of the parking spaces. Usually, only employees parked in the back so there were some cars already there to blend in with. I turned off the car so that it looked just like the others. I had a clear view of the dumpster and I could see that there was no bag of cash underneath it. I checked my phone. The twenty-four-hour deadline was approaching. Then, there he was. Fifteen minutes before his deadline expired, he was headed towards the dumpster at a swift pace with a plastic bag in his hand. He had his head on a swivel the entire time and he seemed to be a nervous wreck. He shoved the bag underneath the dumpster and walked away from the scene just as quickly as he had entered. I waited another half an hour before going to retrieve the bag. I didn’t know if he was going to be camped out like I was, waiting to see who would pick up the ransom. Fortunately, I grabbed the cash without an issue and got in my car to count it. Five thousand pounds, just like I asked for. I chuckled to myself as I felt the bills run between my fingers. It was almost too easy. Now it was time to go see Megan.
Megan lived in an apartment like me except hers was much nicer than mine. I knocked on her door and when she opened I squealed with fake excitement “Oh my God, girl! How are you? You’re looking as gorgeous as ever!” I congratulated her, but it was all fake. It was all an act to put her in a good mood so she would do whatever I asked. She took the bait. Her eyes lit up and we hugged like schoolchildren. Internally I hated every minute of it. It felt weird and childish but it was a means to an end so I had to do it. She invited me inside and she insisted that we have chocolate and wine and catch up. I didn’t really want to do any of that but I figured if I wanted her to help me out with this Issy problem, I should suffer through the wine and chocolate. Megan was a cybercriminal but most of my crimes took place in the streets, so we didn’t really hang amongst the same circles, but she seemed to be doing well for herself. I didn’t even mention Boss Mack to her. Cybercriminals are pretty soft people. They crack pretty easily under police pressure so I didn’t want the police to interrogate Megan only for her to tell them that I knew about the Boss Mack story. Besides, she knew I was in the streets, so she could infer that I knew Mack somehow. Instead of talking about Mack, I brought up Issy. She asked me how I had been doing and then I pretended to get all sad and stressed out. I said “Things could be going better if I’m being completely honest. That’s partly why I came to you today, to see if you could make it any better.”
A look of deep concern stretched across her face and she asked: “Oh no, what’s going on?”
“Well, you know my coworker, Issy?” I asked innocently.
She nodded her head and I continued with “Well, recently she told me she has some incriminating pictures and videos of me and that unless I give her money, she’s gonna leak it”. That whole story was obviously a lie, in fact, that’s basically what I just did to the politician, but regardless, Megan believed it. “Oh my God, that’s horrible!” She said, biting off a piece of chocolate. I pretended to be on the verge of tears, fanning my eyes like I was trying not to cry. “So you can see now why I would need your expertise, right?” I asked, to which she responded “Yes of course. Whatever you need, I’ll help you do it.”. “I need you to hack into her social media accounts, her email, her text messages, everything. I need to find as much dirt on her as possible”. Megan thought about it for a while. Finally, she nodded her head and said: “I’m in”. Before I could ask her what her plan was, she was already telling it to me.
“Ok, here’s what you do:” She started “Get her email. Once you have that, send it to me. I will send her an email from a new email address that asks her to click a link to fill out a survey or something. When she clicks the link, a keylogger will be installed on her computer and she’ll automatically be signed out of her email. When she signs in, her username and password will be sent to me. Once I have her email, I can find out her passwords to pretty much any other social media account she owns”
I was speechless. Not many people could come up with such a concise, well-thought-out plan so quickly. I thanked her graciously for her help, assured her I would get Issy’s email soon, and left before she could offer me any more chocolate or shitty, cheap wine.
I drove by Mack’s place on the way home, just to see what it looked like now. Police tape was everywhere, like bright yellow spider webs but other than that the place looked completely abandoned. Windows were smashed from the firefight and any glimpse at the interior seemed to indicate that every piece of furniture had been smashed or tossed around. On the front year was a sign that read: “CAUTION: Crime Scene Under Active Investigation/ Do Not Cross Tape Barrier or Risk Prosecution!”
I walked into my apartment and into my bedroom. I wanted to shake my shoes off and place them at the foot of the bed but I couldn’t see anything in the darkness. I turned on the light and saw something really strange: A pair of underwear. Sitting atop my bed was a neatly placed pair of panties. They were black and lacy and most importantly they were not mine. I looked all around the apartment for signs of entry but I could find nothing. It was such an odd and miscellaneous piece of clothing, I didn’t know what to do with it. I grabbed it to throw it away and yelped when I felt that it was still soaking wet. Cautiously, I craned over the drenched piece of fabric and sniffed. Immediately, I knew what the source of the moisture was. I had masturbated enough times to know that that smell comes from an aroused cunt leaking and dripping its juices, which would also explain the wetness. So I was just getting a horny woman’s panties? I didn’t quite see the point of it, or if there was one at all. Was this some sort of dumb prank? Did I have a secret admirer who was sending me her soaking panties? I didn’t know and frankly, I didn’t really care either. I threw the panties in the trash and went back to whatever was occupying my time before.