"Service of Women"
Here is a sneak peek of the prologue and first three chapters of "In the Service of Women", the next full-length erotica novel I'm releasing on Kindle, Nook, and pdf June 2012.
I hope you enjoy it.
At the age of eighteen, I became a call girl for an escort service…run by women, for women. There have been many books on the market portraying call girls as ‘making it’ on their backs, taking their clients for everything they could get. Their customers meant nothing but cash to them, and they make no excuses for that. I applaud their detachment.
I was a totally different breed…more the ‘hooker with a heart’ type.
This isn’t a book about ‘clients’. It’s a book about people. I won’t say the money wasn’t great, but I originally went into the occupation for the adventure. I stayed in it because of the people. The money was gravy.
At the end of the day, if money is your main motivation, you’re going to end up feeling pretty fucking empty. I don’t live like that. I embrace every moment, every experience, for all it’s worth. I go through life with my eyes open and do the best I can to be a decent human being.
With that said, this story is about my journey from a young woman to a better woman, traveling a path of luxury and mind-blowing sex in a world I wasn’t really cut out for in the end. I’m not a lesbian, I guess most people would label me bi-sexual, if I was one for labels. I wasn’t ‘fooling anyone’ or ‘living the life’. At the time, I was living my life.
Courage in our youth conceals an ignorance of reality. Things can get dicey when you come to realize even small choices change your entire life. My life today is far removed from the one I used to lead. But I’m the person I am in part because of the time in my life I share here. I have no regrets.
I hope you like the journey…if you don’t, no worries. My story isn’t for everyone.
Ft. Lauderdale, April 1999
My entrance into the world of the call girl began on a quiet Friday afternoon at the unlikely location of a law office where I worked part-time. I clerked for a family attorney named Monica Carter, who was also my lawyer.
I was eighteen then but I’d already lived on my own for almost three years. I’d felt like an adult since I was six and not much could shock me.
My work with Monica was in addition to attending my senior year in high school. I was an insomniac, and had been since I was little. I accomplished a lot more in the course of my day than most people. I kept my grades up. I dated when the mood struck. I worked the rest of the time.
Boring. Average. Safe. Not much of a life.
The world was in a strange place socially, politically, and environmentally (isn’t it always?). They’d tried (and failed) to impeach President Bill Clinton for ‘indiscretions’ that none of our past presidents had been hauled in front of Congress for. I’m not saying its’ right, I’m saying its’ none of our damn business if they do the job they were hired to do. Louder and louder rumblings about global warming were being heard while we continued raping our planet and her resources one acre at a time. Dot commers were making a killing and believed their bubble would never burst as they bought up Star Wars memorabilia and lived the ‘good life’. The first waves of panic about the new millennium and possible apocalypse were crashing across the landscape. This had the end-of-the-world groupies foaming at the mouth.
I’d always done my best to stay under the radar. I’d had a rough childhood I was still hiding from. You won’t be getting my sob story here. It’s not only depressing but self-defeating.
The short version?
It was a long and sordid tale causing me to leave my home at fifteen and file for legal separation from my parents, which is how I originally met Monica. She was a customer at a grocery store I used to work in. She did the case pro-bono but I don’t take anything for free. I asked her what she would have charged me and worked it off by helping at her office. When my debt was paid, I kept working. It was a good arrangement for both of us and looked good on my college applications.
I worked, I studied, and vowed to make better choices than my family had. I was due to graduate in two months. I enjoyed my own company, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn down something interesting if it came knocking on my door.
The ‘knock’ I’d been subconsciously waiting for came one sunny afternoon in the form of a beautiful woman named Vivienne.
Vivienne was a former model frustrated with Father Time for sweeping her “past her prime” as I would hear many times over the years I knew her. When I met her, she was thirty-six. Almost twice my age, twice my body, and twice the balls of any man I’d ever met before.
She was 5’10”, long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She could be compared to someone like Uma Thurman in “Kill Bill”, only better looking. She’d been blessed with a body most women would happily commit a crime to possess. Breasts of the perfect size and shape. Legs that could make anyone (male or female) beg for mercy. I was certain she was begged for mercy on a regular basis.
She’d been alone with Monica in her office for about an hour when she joined me in the small courtyard area where I took my lunch breaks to read. From the corner of my eye, I sensed her watching me as she lit a long European cigarette. She was dressed in crème slacks and an electric blue silk tank top. Her heels were crème leather and added another 3” to her height. A Viking goddess come to life.
She didn’t approach me immediately, just openly stared. It didn’t take long to make me squirm. I had deep red hair to my waist and light hazel eyes. Tight body and narrow waist from running cross-country track. I was tanned and slightly freckled. A set of 36D breasts had been with me since fifth grade, when I was teased unendingly by my classmates. No one has teased me about my chest in a long time. I’ve had my share of staring and I’m never comfortable with it.
That day, I wore tight jeans, a soft Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, and running shoes. My hair was braided down my back and I wasn’t even wearing lipstick. Not my most glamorous, but I guessed she was glamorous enough for both of us.
I met my initial nervousness head-on by looking directly at her and flashing my friendliest Texas smile, guaranteed to win friends, influence teachers, and make most young men cream their shorts.
It seemed to do the trick and she came to sit beside me, her heels clicking lightly over the Mexican tile of the courtyard. She sat and leaned her back against the wrought iron table, crossing her long legs with a natural grace I envied.
“What’s your name?” She asked. Her voice sounded fresh from a New England prep school.
“Sarah…and yours?” I responded, automatically putting my hand out to shake in introduction. She gave me a smile and a slight nod, seeming to answer an unspoken question.
She shook my hand but didn’t let go of it right away. She examined my nails, which were short but neat; turned my hands palm up and ran a polished nail down the center of one, bringing her gaze back to my face. “My name is Vivienne, and I’d like very much to be your friend.”
After the life I’d led, I was able to sense bullshit real fast, but so far no alarms were going off. “Sure, who can’t use friends?” I replied.
“Today is going to be a good day, Sarah. I’d like to take you with me for the rest of the afternoon. Would you like that? I can speak to Monica.” She took a long drag of her French cigarette. The smell of that tobacco still reminds me of her.
Monica was cool to work for and gorgeous to look at, but I didn’t think she’d go for the idea of her clerk playing hooky. I said as much to Vivienne, and she responded with a laugh.
“No worries. Monica and I go way back. We were sorority sisters in Boston. She’s one of the reasons I’m here talking to you, but we’ll discuss that later. I’ll go speak to her as long as you don’t mind.” She took a final puff and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table, meeting my gaze and waiting for my answer.
I knew this woman was different from anyone I’d ever met. I was subtly aware of an unspoken opportunity presenting itself to me and I wasn’t about to let a single chance slip by. She was beautiful and seemed sane.
There was also the familiar stirring in my low abdomen that I wasn’t going to ignore. “I’ll grab my stuff.” Her smile was predatory when she nodded.
Half an hour later, I climbed into Vivienne’s Mercedes convertible and we headed to her penthouse in Miami. I’d never been to Miami before and that first drive scared me to death. The roads are narrow and the drivers have a death wish.
Vivienne seemed unconcerned, driving 90mph all the way, swerving between cars like she was running the Indy. She had the a Bon Jovi CD playing and tapped the steering wheel in time with the music.
She made small talk, asking about my life, what I wanted to do, did I have a boyfriend.
I skipped over discussing my past since it would have been a downer and went straight to aspirations. My dream was to be a writer and I was banking my future on a full journalism scholarship opportunity with a couple of colleges who’d been courting me. In the meantime, I was editor and self-help columnist for my high school newspaper. I was in my third year with the paper. I was proud of my brain, prouder of my common sense. Even as a very young woman on the cusp of adulthood, I noted the lack of this trait in almost everyone around me.
As far as a boyfriend? No one at the moment, no one I had my eye on. I’d dated plenty, been through a couple of steady boyfriends, a couple of girlfriends. Vivienne smiled at that. I explained by saying I didn’t have a preference at the moment, but I’d choose a team if there was ever a real reason to. There are pros and cons to dating anyone, no matter what their gender but why limit your options by excluding half the population?
Vivienne maneuvered her car off I-95 and through narrow side streets, pulling into a parking garage beneath her building on South Beach. She parked and led me to a private elevator. At the top, the doors opened to the most gorgeous loft space I’d ever seen. The opposite wall was a solid window overlooking the ocean. The rest of the room was done in varying shades of white; a beautiful backdrop for the impact artwork and modern furniture done in every color scattered around the room. There were multiple seating areas, with thick rugs over crisp white tile. A huge fireplace adorned one half-wall, a built-in saltwater fish tank decorated another, both adding to the effect of openness.
Vivienne took my backpack, placing it in a small coat closet near the elevator. She paused in the living room to turn on the stereo, then took my hand casually to lead me to the kitchen. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.” She brought me a bottle from the fridge, making a small vodka-cranberry for herself. We sat side by side at the island bar while we drank.
“You run track?” She asked me politely. I nodded and told her a bit about cross-country running. I’d done fourteen miles that morning. “I would not have the stamina for that. I’d need a week to recover.” I seriously doubted she’d ever had trouble with stamina in her life but I let it go with a smile and without comment.
The kitchen was done in a shocking shade of plum purple, with matte finish steel appliances. The effect was beautiful. There was another spectacular view from this room and a small shaded balcony off the breakfast nook. I could tell she never cooked, but it was lovely.
Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” began playing in the background, one of my favorite old songs. She brought up the subject of music and was surprised that I leaned toward artists from the sixties and seventies more than current hip hop and pop.
The small talk got me to a point where the suspense was killing me.
I placed my water bottle on the counter, looked at her and asked, “I want you to know I’m not a child, either in age or mental capacity. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I think you may want to fuck me, and I’m cool with that. There’s no need for a game, no need to talk me into it.”
Vivienne’s eyes grew wide and her mouth was slightly parted. I thought for a moment I’d read the situation wrong, and she was really looking for a nice girl as a charity case or something. I was about to apologize when she leaned forward and wrapped her tongue around mine.
Thank god! I was worried my “fuck me” meter had gone on the fritz.
I let her explore my mouth for a few seconds while I learned her style, and then I gave as good as I got. I stood and turned her towards me on the stool, stepping between her legs. One arm going behind the small of her back, the other cupping the base of her skull to anchor her for my assault. I licked and sucked her lips until she was out of breath. Letting her get some air while I kissed a gentle trail along her jaw and down her neck. Her pulse was jumping. I loved that.
Vivienne rested one hand on my shoulder while the other traced the long braid down my back. She found the clasp, unsnapped and dropped it to the floor, unraveling my hair. She wrapped it around her fingers, watching it bounce into the natural curls I worked so hard to brush out. A handful went to her face and she breathed in the fresh smell of coconut.
For a moment, she was in her own world. Running her hands over my back and ass. I felt like one of my uncle’s horses at auction. Turned out later I wasn’t far off the mark, but I didn’t mind. She had a soft touch that caused very nice sensations up and down my spine.
I was doing my own exploration of her face, neck, and shoulders with my mouth. She was incredibly smooth, with a scent of peaches and expensive tobacco. I slipped my hands around her waist and shimmied her closer, then moved inside the silk top she wore. Up her back with massaging fingers. She was so warm. I didn’t hesitate to lift the blouse over her head, and never gave a second thought to removing her satin bra, dropping both on the ceramic tile of her kitchen. In sex, any surface was fair play. As long as it looked reasonably clean, everything and everyone was washable.
Her breasts were a perfect handful. Round and pert with beautiful pale pink nipples, hardening into small pearls under my gaze. Her skin was very light, it was obvious she protected herself from the sun.
When I dropped my head to take a nipple in my mouth, she sighed. It turned me on so much I clutched her hard against me, cupping the breast while I sucked. The female body is amazing. Breasts are soft and firm at the same time. No matter the size, they fit perfectly in the mouth of a person who appreciates them. I’ve always appreciated them very much.
She was pulling at my t-shirt and I was forced to step away so she could get it over my head. When I was free to return, I moved my attention to her other breast, licking around the nipple several times. She kissed and bit my neck as I sucked her, moaning softly and spurring me to greater lengths to please her.
When her legs wrapped around my waist and she began to grind herself against me, I realized it was time to move to a more comfortable spot. One thing which never failed to turn girlfriends on was the fact that, though I am not in the least masculine, I am very strong. I cupped Vivienne’s ass cheeks, picked her up, and carried her to a shimmering green chaise in the living room twenty steps away. She was shocked but didn’t protest.
At the chaise, I sat with her straddling my lap, her breasts in my hands. Her head dropped back on her shoulders and she grabbed a fistful of my hair, letting me know she wanted me as close as possible.
I lifted my head to lick her neck, a light bite to her jaw, and claimed her mouth again. She was tonguing me as I ran my hands over every inch of her back and ass. She was gasping for air. I was startled when she broke the connection and moved to stand.
She slipped off her heels and unbuttoned the slacks she wore, sliding them over her flared hips. When they hit the floor, she stepped out and kicked them aside. She’d hooked her thumbs in her panties to pull them down just as I grabbed her hands and dropped to my knees.
“Let me do that…please. This is my favorite part.” I said to her, lust clouding my vision.
Her hands dropped to her sides as I slowly licked along the panty line, across her flat stomach, along her hipbone, along the tops of both legs. Her fingers went into my hair as I pulled the satin panties down a bit on one side, then the other, leaving warm kisses on each section of skin as I lowered them slowly.
When the tiny patch of blonde curls became visible, I watched her face as I rubbed the backs of my knuckles across it. She sucked in a quick breath. “You’re not at all impatient…” she whispered. Her blue eyes were bright with desire.
I smiled and continued ruffling the trimmed curls as I replied, “Why rush it? You’re beautiful. You deserve to be worshiped before you’re fucked.”
The hands in my hair clenched hard and she bent to suck my lower lip between her teeth. Her look was almost feral when she quipped, “And what if I want to worship you?”
In answer, I went back to lowering her panties. “Isn’t there some saying about it being better to give than receive? I always liked that idea…the more you give, the greater” kissing the crease of soft skin that sloped towards her pussy “…the return.” She gently rubbed the back of my neck as I bared her completely to my view and slid the panties to the floor. “I’m a giver.” I ran my hands up her thighs to her abdomen and around to her ass. When I looked up, she was watching me with interest.
“Wondering if I’ll know what to do? If I’ll know how to please you?” I kissed her belly button and edged her towards the chaise. “If I’ll be able to make you come as badly as you want to?” I stroked over her ass and hips again and added, “I should warn you, I’m a top. I’ll submit when the mood is right but, by nature, I’m aggressive. I go after who and what I want.”
Vivienne’s look was hungry as I nudged her to sit and pushed her softly against copper throw pillows. Once she was settled, she said, “I want to see your body. Will you undress for me?”
“If you’d like that.” I stood and stepped away. I toed off my running shoes and removed my ankle socks. Moving my hands to unclasp my lacy white bra, I felt intense pleasure in her smile when my large, firm breasts were revealed. I slid my hands up my arms, along my collarbone, and down over my tits…lightly tweaking my nipples, before slipping down to the button fly of my jeans.
I undid each button slowly, using one hand to caress my lower abdomen as it was bared. When they were all open, I slid my jeans off and slowly rubbed the triangle of my panties. Simple white lace, as I usually preferred. When I slid them from me, Vivienne sat up and stared in disbelief.
“Your hair is really that color red?” She reached out with the tips of her fingers and stroked the fine red hair I kept trimmed. “Stunning. There are so few true red-heads anymore.” She was smiling widely. “Turn around once for me?”
I did so, pivoting slowly, showing her my back and ass. I had lean muscles from running and I liked my body. It was strong. It didn’t hurt that I just wasn’t a shy person…ever.
When I finished my circle, I returned to my knees in front of her. Vivienne grabbed both sides of my face in her hands and kissed me hard. I licked into her mouth, over her lips and teeth, wrapping my tongue around hers.
After a minute, I leaned back and let my eyes rove over her body lazily. I caressed her tits again, really loving the feel of her soft skin. Viv’s body was fit, but she wasn’t hard bodied. She returned the favor by cupping one of mine and licking back and forth across the nipple until she received a soft sigh from me.
I grabbed her chin and pulled her away, one hand between her breasts pushing her to the pillows. Lowering my body, I began kissing and licking the insides of her thighs. Her skin broke out in goose bumps and I added a few nibbles.
Draping one long, elegant leg over my shoulder, I separated the lips of her pussy and lowered my mouth to her. First gentle exploration, seeing where she wanted me to focus my attention. Long lick from her pussy to her clit. Nibbles along her outer lips. Softly circling the entrance of her with my fingers caused her to writhe against the cushions of the chaise.
Judging by her moans, I focused on the clit. Licking and sucking it while she gyrated her hips up into my face. She came quickly the first time, and settled back in relaxation, her eyes drifting shut. I used my fingertips to comb through the downy hair while her breathing slowed.
When she was composed again, I let her know I was far from done. Her eyes snapped open when I licked a path to her pussy opening, alternately tongue-fucking her there and finger-fucking her when I moved back to her clit with my mouth.
She opened her legs wide for me and was thrashing in her desire to get closer to me. Moving my other hand up her body I caressed her tits, loving it when they drew even tighter.
“Oh, yes…just like that…” she cried out. One hand was clutching the chaise arm and the other was in my hair, pulling me hard against her.
After a long while, when I felt Vivienne coming a second time, I pulled her tight to my mouth. She arched off the chaise and cried out. I wanted every drop she gave me, continuing to lick her until the trembling stopped. I left small kisses around her pussy, her inner thighs, her lower belly and finally rested my face there.
She was running her fingers through my hair, and tugging me to rise. She gave me a smile of pure satisfaction and leaned forward to kiss me, sampling her own essence from my lips. My tongue worked slowly against hers. I was ready when she pulled me to stand and we walked naked to the staircase leading to her second floor.
The sun was sinking low in the sky when we climbed onto her king-size bed and continued exploring one another. There was such pleasure in laying on soft satin sheets the color of a robin’s egg with a down comforter that whispered across my skin. Every sensation seemed heightened for me.
She took her time making me come. Attended to me with a demand for my pleasure. By the time the first explosion shot through me, I acknowledged Vivienne was the best oral sex I’d ever had. She would bring me to the point of coming and slow her ministrations. Back and forth to the brink, until I was begging her to let me come.
She was beautiful and she found me beautiful…there was no end to the pleasure she could wring from me. Not that day, or many others that would follow.
When I came three times, I considered it a personal challenge to better the score. Both of us were slick with sweat when I hovered above her, my legs positioned to bring our pussies in direct contact. I began with a slow grind, loving the warmth and wetness of her against me. She clutched at my thigh, digging her nails in, as I quickened my pace. Every muscle in my body was tight and focused as I worked my clit against hers. When she came, her lower body became so hard her pussy sucked against mine. I joined her climax as beads of sweat slid between my breasts.
Over the rest of the night, she taught me about her extensive toy collection and complimented my technique and attention to detail.
We bathed together before dawn in her huge whirlpool tub filled with warm water and peach scented bubbles. She could work magic with her feet and toes, and I was a fast learner. When I began gently working her clit with the tips of my toes, I thought she was going to scream. I pulled her on top of me and slid my thigh between her legs. She humped against it as I sucked her breasts. She shouted my name when she came again.
After drying one another, we climbed back into bed. She fell quickly into a deep sleep. I slept for about an hour and then spent the rest of the night trying to figure out how this normal day had ended up so far from where it had begun.
Vivienne slept hard, and I drifted off for another half hour before my body told me I wouldn’t be sleeping anymore. I wandered into her library downstairs to see what she had to offer. I could tell her books were display only; all of them had perfect bindings. My own collection was ragged with constant use. I made coffee and was relaxing in her kitchen with a copy of Sense and Sensibility when she came down to join me several hours later.
Vivienne looked soft and warm from sleep. It was incredibly sexual to watch her move around in her hip length silk robe knowing she wore nothing beneath it. Her glances at me were warm and sensual, “I can’t believe you’re up already.” She looked at the book in my hands and asked, “Did you read all that this morning?”
I nodded. “I’m a fast reader.” I was anxious to hear what this was. Scenarios straight out of a Henry Miller novel just didn’t happen to normal people. I set the book aside. “Vivienne, I think you’re amazing. Last night was fantastic, no doubt about it. But I can’t help feeling it was leading up to something else. Am I right?” I drank some of my coffee and spread marmalade on toast she’d placed in front of me. I was still completely naked and not the least bit ashamed.
We sat at the small breakfast table overlooking the ocean. She brought her vibrant blue gaze to rest on my face. Her coffee steamed from the mug and she blew softly over it to cool it. I became aroused instantly remembering the hot oil massage I’d received around 3am. Vivienne seemed to pick up on my thoughts. I’d stopped mid-chew and smiled seductively.
“Don’t let those naughty thoughts get away, Sarah.” She ran her hand across my bare thigh. “First, let’s talk. Let me say no matter how you take what I’m going to tell you, I thought last night was incredible. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“That sounds ominous,” I told her with a chuckle.
She set down the mug and sat up straight. “I’m a business woman; quite a successful one actually.” Another sip of coffee as if to gather courage. “I’m what you’d call a Madame, and most of my clients are professional women looking for discreet ‘appointments’ with the small group of young women I employ.”
She leaned forward a bit. “I was testing you last night. Seeing what you knew. How open you were to new situations, and I wanted to know how confident you were. Bottom line, I’d love to hire you.” She waited for my answer and looked as though she’d gotten mixed responses in the past. Practically holding her breath for my reply.
I didn’t pause for more than a moment before saying, “That sounds great, exciting…no problem.” I put down my toast, picked up the jar of marmalade, and asked, “Now can I find out what your pussy tastes like with marmalade on it?”
I had to get my ride, so Vivienne drove me back to the law office much later that day and attempted to go through her standard procedures on the way.
My first appointment would be in a week. Since I went to school Monday through Friday, all of my clients would schedule between Friday evening and Sunday afternoon. Vivienne’s first rule was that I continue with my normal routine. I would keep my job at the law office, so no one would wonder where the hell I was getting my money, but had to adjust my schedule to accommodate my clients.
The following day, I would have a complete physical with a physician Vivienne kept on retainer, which explained why he would see me on Sunday. I would also be consulting with a personal shopper, and have my hair and nails done.
It was very exciting but I was more interested in the short skirt she was wearing, showing fabulous glimpses of upper thigh. I was not listening to her at all.
Vivienne sighed. She said she couldn’t concentrate with me visually fucking her and we’d finish the conversation at my place. We stopped at the law office, and when my new boss saw me straddle the beautiful motorcycle I rode, she nearly had a heart attack. “That is what you consider transportation? Are you kidding?”
“This is a Honda Nighthawk 650…beautiful, fast, and almost zero maintenance. I always wear a helmet…” I lamely assured her. It did nothing to take the fearful look off her face. It took all my powers of persuasion to get her on the back for a quick ride around the block to prove how safe it was. I gave her my helmet and her hands shook as she pulled it over her head. At first, she was gripping me so hard I could barely breathe…then she felt the vibrations between her thighs and fell in love. I turned the trip into a quick jaunt over to the beach and back.
When we got back to her car, she was wind-blown and laughing. Her face was flushed and her hair was tousled, reminding me of how she’d looked that morning after a long night of pleasure.
She followed me in her Mercedes to my one bedroom apartment in Lighthouse Point. I could tell she’d been expecting a shitty dive and found herself pleasantly surprised.
I worked hard for everything. My front door was framed by two palms on either side and there was a cheerful welcome mat. Along the railing sat a tiny table and two chairs I used when I wanted some fresh air. It overlooked the apartment parking lot, but I liked sitting out there when I was restless in the small hours of the morning. I could get a beautiful breeze from the ocean two miles away and read by my porch light.
A lot of my artwork was knockoff, but it was well chosen and put together with nice pieces of furniture, many I’d refinished personally. I’ve always taken great pride in doing for myself.
My living room contained oak tables and a plush camel colored sleeper sofa, which doubled as a guest room. Above it was a framed print of van Gogh’s “Starry Night”. I had two large bookcases that barely cleared the 8’ ceiling filled to the brim with books of every kind. Reading was my passion. I kept my desk and computer in my bedroom so I wouldn’t be tempted to read when I should be writing or studying.
I didn’t have a lot of clutter, other than a few pictures of a select group of friends, the family I claimed, and candles. More crap was more crap to dust and completely unnecessary in my mind.
I’d repainted my kitchen a sparkling white with bold green vines stenciled on the backsplash and as a border along the ceiling. There were eight small pictures of Italian café scenes on the walls. A green drop leaf table and two matching chairs sat in the corner, with a vase of fresh flowers in the center. I’d gotten the three-piece set at a yard sale for ten dollars and sanded it smooth before adding the forest green paint. The change was pretty amazing.
When Vivienne caught sight of the mahogany four-poster bed that dominated my bedroom, her jaw dropped. “Sex” seemed to scream from it. It was draped with deep burgundy swatches of faux velvet and was matched by a burgundy jacquard comforter set. The look was something straight out of a medieval romance novel.
It was my favorite piece of furniture and most expensive thing I owned, purchased for two hundred dollars in a dumpy local thrift store and refinished by me. Once she saw it, she stripped out of her clothes, climbed up on it, spread her legs and said, “That ride left me aching…would you mind?”
I was happy to oblige, and was out of my clothes in less than thirty seconds. As I climbed up beside her, I thought of the four long silk scarves I kept in my nightstand. I posed the question to her and she hesitated, as I may have in her position. She’d known me less than thirty-six hours, after all. But being the woman she was, she seized the moment and enjoyed it to its’ maximum potential.
Once Viv’s hands and feet were tied securely to the posts, I removed a small but effective vibrator from the drawer. It purred quietly when I turned it on. Even more quietly as she was fucked with it while I sucked her beautiful tits to my satisfaction. I moved down the bed and followed the vibrator with my mouth, sliding the dildo carefully into her ass while I licked her senseless.
I made her wait a very long time to come and when she did, she was literally dripping onto my sheets. Moving to lie on top of her, I caressed her face with my hands, not moving as she licked her fluids from my skin. Her hips were humping up into me, wanting more. Being a generous lover, I like to make sure my partners are thoroughly satisfied.
Viv’s eyes were half closed when she asked me to climb over her face so she could eat me. Smiling, I moved to position myself, gripping the headboard as she worked her mouth and tongue over me. I watched her from above as she greedily devoured me, adding to my intense pleasure. I’d pull away and smile at her frustration when she couldn’t reach me. Dipping down to let her lick me, pulling away…again and again until she begged me to let her finish eating me, begged me to let her make me come. I consented and settled over her, my eyes on hers as she licked, sucked, and nibbled my clit and pussy. I held on as long as I could, finally coming with a groan in the quiet apartment.
When my legs stopped shaking, I untied Vivienne and she took her turn using the vibrator on me…it was a long afternoon.
We showered, enjoying the simple feel of our bodies being soaped up and washed clean of all the mingled sweat and come accumulated during our marathon sex session. Having company during the grooming process is incredibly intimate. I felt comfortable enough to ask the “just to satisfy my curiosity” question on my mind.
“Do you like men, Vivienne?” I asked as we stepped from the shower onto fluffy bath mats and I toweled her dry with a pale purple bath sheet. I watched the soft terry as it absorbed the droplets of water from her skin, and thought seriously about ditching the towel altogether. She was drying me as well and my nipples hardened. My sex drive was being revved again and I hated to deny it.
“Of course. I love being with both men and women. There are such lovely things to enjoy with either.” She began drying her long blonde hair, standing naked and glorious against my sink. “Some of my clients are lesbians and they want nothing to do with a dick. But there are straight women who use my services also.” She laughed. “I guess ‘straight’ can be widely interpreted. I started this business to cater to women, who until recently, were sorely underrepresented. Lesbians have just as many issues finding normal people as straight women do. What about fantasy? What about seeing what it’s like to have a woman’s mouth on you? The truth is, most women know they want more of something, but they’re too shy, repressed, or whatever to get it. That, darling, is where you and the others come in…so to speak.”
She reached out to towel the fine hair between my legs and I nearly buckled. She laughed softly, “To be your age and have your energy…you could fuck all day!” She ran one end of the towel over my ass, and returned the other end between my legs, rubbing a little more lazily. “But we have a lot to go over and I need to rest for a bit…I’m much older than you.” I started to pout before she added, “However, no reason you shouldn’t come again.”
Vivienne slammed me against the vanity and sank two fingers into my pussy, rubbing her thumb over my clit while sucking hard on my nipple. My leg instinctively came up and ground against the palm of her hand as my head dropped back. It took me so by surprise I came within moments.
She laughed and kissed me again. “Now, I’m going to get dressed and you’re going to take another shower. Do not come out to the living room without clothes and distract me again, okay?” I stood a little shakily and leaned to turn on the shower, getting a smart smack on the ass for bearing it.
When she left the room, I stepped beneath the pulsing hot water and stayed there for a while, contemplating the last twenty-four hours of my life. It was a thrill to be taking a new direction. I was excited and anxious to get started. It was a long time before I realized my naiveté about my new job. Those first couple of days, the only thing on my mind was the experience. Imagining the material I could write one day.
I began replaying some of the moments recently spent with Viv through my mind and found my hand sliding down my torso to play with my clit. Every moment and every orgasm with her was vivid. I worked my hips against my hand as I masturbated, and when I came again, I felt like I could go out and hold an intelligent conversation.
I needed to be able to concentrate or I’d seem like some sex-crazed freak. I always had a healthy appetite for the carnal pleasures, but I never let it rule me. I couldn’t start now or I’d find myself on a slippery slope. I recognized the fact that I had a mildly addictive personality, which was why I avoided excess in any area. I didn’t drink or smoke, do recreational drugs, or date dangerous people because I didn’t always trust myself to stay in control. But I was strong. I knew I could handle this as I’d handled every obstacle in my life…I’d take what I needed from it and leave the rest.
I suppose morals should have reared their puritanical head at some point over that first weekend, but I’m not wired like most people. I believe in the right of every person to make their own decisions – good or bad. I had no intention of hurting anyone, and I hoped the people I crossed paths with would have similar methods of conducting their lives, so I wouldn’t get hurt either.
When I joined Vivienne in the living room fifteen minutes later, she was perusing my bookshelves and had turned on some music. She held a copy of one of my favorite books, “Erotica – An Illustrated Anthology of Art and Literature” and smiled when she heard my footsteps. I was in jeans and a tank top, barefoot and toweling my hair. She watched me turban the towel and I noticed a distinct sparkle in her eyes. She’d asked me to be prepared to discuss business and I planned to exhibit my most mature behavior.
She returned the book to the shelf and joined me on the couch. We sat at opposite ends with glasses of fresh iced tea. At first I found it hard to concentrate. She was curled up in the corner with her long legs tucked beneath her, oblivious of her affect.
She talked for a couple of hours about the business end of my new job while Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles played softly on the stereo. My ‘appointments’ would begin and end at her penthouse every weekend. I would never drive myself; Katie or Max would take me in either the Town Car or the limo. Some of my appointments would be overnights in which case a bag packed with my essentials would be in the trunk and left at the appointment location.
I was never to discuss money with a client, or accept money from a client…they paid cash via courier to Vivienne’s business office, which doubled as a photo studio. I was to keep my cell phone on me at all times, in case there was ever an emergency.
As far as etiquette, Vivienne thought I should go with what I knew. She felt I was good about sensing the needs of my lover, and would be able to determine if the client was looking to maintain control or relinquish it to me. She explained many customers enjoyed role-play, some relied on toys, most just wanted to have their world rocked. My new boss had no doubt I could make this happen.
If there was to be a man involved, as I learned was sometimes the case, Vivienne would know before the date and find out if it was fine with me. When I raised an eyebrow at this, she explained. “Some of the girls I employ are lesbians, through and through. Rolande and Ezbeth, specifically. I make sure they get appointments with ‘women only’ so there are no awkward situations.” She paused before continuing, “But there are situations where wives want to fulfill their husbands’ ultimate fantasy.”
I laughed, “Ah, that one…yes, popular among all straight members of the species. The holy grail of men’s jack-off material. Two women going at it and worshipping his ‘throbbing member’ like the second coming.”
She laughed with me. “They are predictable, aren’t they?”
All clients and their significant others were checked out thoroughly and asked to submit a physical exam before she entrusted her girls to them.
If I chose to sleep with people outside those on the job, I should be selective and let her know, for everyone’s protection. I gave her a very short list of two current bed-partners and said I’d asked both to get checked out before I started fucking them. People who don’t ask their partners to get checked out are idiots…if you want to tap something bad enough, a little physical should be no problem. I did not play when it came to my health.
If I ever canceled an appointment, I was expected to service the client free of charge and degrade myself until forgiven, which really meant availing yourself as a love slave for the evening. This never happened to me in all the time I worked for Vivienne. My work ethic was above reproach. I would come to notice over time that several of the girls had their favorite clients and would sometimes be encouraged by Vivienne to give the client a love-slave bonus for continued use of their services. Customers loved it and the escort usually ended up with a nice bonus anyway for the thought.
The money? Better than clerking at the law office, without a doubt. Hell, better than most jobs. For a typical overnight, I would take home seven hundred and fifty dollars after Vivienne took sixty-five percent off the top. Her cut could seem excessive until you consider her overhead.
She clothed and groomed us perfectly. She arranged all details for an evening, including hotel accommodations when a woman was moving outside her significant other’s orbit. We were chauffer-driven in beautiful cars and often crashed at Vivienne’s condo until we were rested enough to drive ourselves home the morning after. She covered medical expenses and even provided financial advice to those of us who needed it.
She would deposit money directly into my account before each appointment, since she was paid before as well. I was listed as a model for her photo studio, where pictures of me, and every other escort, would hang on display. Clients were billed, on the books, as regular customers for the studio. Since most of them commissioned portfolios for their private collections, everything remained above-board and the IRS stayed in their ivory tower.
Review of an evening appointment the morning after might sometimes incur a bonus. If a client requested something unusual, they went by the honor system and sent Vivienne a little extra the next day, meaning my initial fee could, and often did, jump anywhere from eight hundred to a thousand dollars.
Going the extra mile for a client sometimes meant anonymous gifts would arrive care of Vivienne. Items like clothing, with a request to wear it for the following appointment, jewelry, and in some cases stock options. It was a strange and wonderful world.
Vivienne had been a madam for eight years and wasn’t hurting for money. After two years in the business I saved more than eighty-five grand and upgraded almost every area of my life. A lot of money to a young woman with no dependents who’d been raised in a poor Texas town working on a cattle ranch.
Vivienne stayed with me our second night together until almost three in the morning, having brought a nice bag of tricks for my pleasure. She finally left so I could get some rest, admitting she was the one in need of it after noticing I required very little. Sunday was going to be a busy day and she said there could be no bags under her eyes.
I walked her to her car and kissed her passionately before closing the driver door. My neighbors must have wondered about me over the years I lived in that apartment.
I returned to the second floor and sat on one of my balcony chairs, propping my feet in the other one. I was wearing small cotton boxers and my tank top from earlier. It smelled like Vivienne. When I’d had enough talk about business and pulled her over to my side of the couch she’d resisted laughingly, but gave in quickly when I began stroking her bare skin.
I was glad I’d taken this chance and looked forward to the work…I loved sex, it loved me, and I was young enough to blame it all on my age later in life.
Besides, who would believe this shit was true anyway?
I rode my motorcycle to Vivienne’s the next morning. I thought I’d take Vivienne for a ride along the beach after the busy day she’d scheduled. Work the vibrations on her again and see where it got me. I’d definitely benefited from her reaction to the first ride.
I wore my standard outfit: jeans, jersey, and running shoes. No makeup, no styling shit in my hair, no jewelry. I believed in the minimalist way of thinking…less is more. That one characteristic separated me from most of the American population. If I didn’t need it, or didn’t have cash to pay for it, I didn’t buy it. Period.
I played “tag” on the way down to Miami. It was one of my favorite games, though looking back, it probably could’ve gotten me killed. I’d sit at a light and begin slowly humping the tank between my legs, once in a while throwing in a quick titty grope for good measure. I’d glance around through the visor of my dark helmet to catch anyone watching, and someone was always watching.
I’d see how many numbers were called to me as I skirted between the cars and the light turned green. Then I’d haul ass before one of the cars caught up with me. I know, I told you it was dangerous. It was the exhibitionist in me. Thankfully, I grew out of it when an SUV full of yuppies on Spring Break tailed me through the streets of Ft. Lauderdale. They were very persistent, and I couldn’t lose them until I made it over a drawbridge about to go up, leaving them stuck on the other side. Honestly, men are so easy. Show them a free plum and they’re going to try like hell to get it, even if there isn’t a chance in hell they will.
When I pulled into her parking garage, an attendant keyed me into her elevator while imagining me without clothes. The poor thing talked to my chest, and only my chest, until the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside. I was sure to be wank material later…which gave me a private giggle. Whatever got his rocks off.
Several people stared at me when I entered, likely estimating what it would take to work me over. I’d never been a glamour puss, and I guess the pros in the room could sense it. Everyone seemed nice as they approached and introduced themselves. I doubt all of them were genuine, but that’s how people tend to be. They cater to anyone they think can give them what they want, whether they think you’re an asshole or not.
The entire penthouse was buzzing with activity. A photography area was set up in the living room, complete with lights and backdrops. One of Vivienne’s rooms on the first floor had been converted into a full beauty salon used every weekend to pamper the escorts. Another large storage room housed a masseuse table and walk-in steam room.
I found Vivienne in her den, consulting with a personal shopper about me. The man must have brought the whole damn store with him. Everything from lingerie to formal gowns, each with accessories, spread out on the furniture and hanging from mobile clothing racks around the room. I drank the bottle of water I’d grabbed from the fridge and watched as she coordinated my new “look”.
Her hair was swept up and small reading glasses sat perched on the end of her nose. A short suede skirt, iridescent pearl blouse, and matching suede heels made her the hottest librarian I’d ever seen…hmm, I decided to remember that for later.
She turned when she heard me cap the water and smiled. She was glad to see me and I felt the familiar flutter throughout my lower body. She pecked me demurely on the cheek and introduced me to Decklan, my new wardrobe consultant. He was gorgeous and I immediately suspected he must be gay. He looked like he should be modeling for nude sculptures instead of dressing strangers in pretty clothes and fretting about the right shoes.
Luckily, I adore gay men because he approached me and immediately hefted each of my breasts in his hands. Not even a “how ya doing?” first.
“They’re very heavy, Vivienne. You don’t want to go with those damn spaghetti strap bras and dresses or these will hang to her belly button. You also want to avoid anything completely strapless or she’ll look like she’s falling out, and not in a good way.”
I absolutely hate when someone talks as if you aren’t there. He continued on, discussing what colors to never put me in, seeming to forget he still had possession of my boobs. I coughed quietly. He looked at me as if I’d interrupted the Pope’s Mass.
“Yeah, that’s real interesting, Decklan. I agree that yellow is just not me…so right. Do you think you could release my tits now? Not that it doesn’t feel nice, but I suspect it won’t lead anywhere, if you know what I’m saying?” It was a little shocking when he gave them a slight squeeze before letting go. He was gay, right?
“Where are you from, er, Sarah, is it?” Oh, the condescending tone was going to earn him a smack. Vivienne thoughtfully interjected I was from Texas and for him to stop his little snit. One last jab from Decklan, “Thought so, she sounds like Daisy Duke.”
Vivienne snickered, “You hate it when women assume you’re gay, don’t you Decklan? Straight men with your sense of style simply don’t look like you!”
Decklan and I locked gazes, his with a “Take that…trailer trash” attitude, mine more “Really? Do you really want to tangle?” We practically growled at one another but did what had to be done. Still, I wasn’t about to be the bigger person. My sarcastic remarks continued to make him cringe and that gave me warm happy tingles all over.
For the next hour, I was measured and critiqued. Notes were made to ensure my clothes would be altered where necessary. I refused to speak civilly to the fashion snob and he seemed of the same mind. I grudgingly admitted, to myself only, that his sense of color and texture was extraordinary. He put the right touches to every outfit without seeming like he was trying. I might not like him, but his skills commanded respect.
I moved on to being plucked, filed, painted, and virtually reassembled from scratch. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed my first pedicure. I’d always been careful with my grooming, but I’d never treated myself to things like this.
When the hair stylist got me in her chair, Vivienne left firm instructions to “neaten it…do not fuck with it” before glaring hysterically and returning to her office.
The girl looked about my age and laughed at me in the mirror. Lucia was Puerto Rican and absolutely adorable. “She is afraid I will give you a straight bob, no? As if I would destroy such a head of hair…tsk, tsk!” She kept up a steady stream of accented chatter throughout the cut, and I learned about her entire life in a matter of forty minutes. She kissed me on the cheek when I got up to leave.
Waxing was my next stop…waxing? I laid down on the table in the robe I’d been given earlier, interested in how they planned to make me completely hairless without a razor. When the robe was moved aside and warm wax was smoothed along my bikini line, it felt really nice. She smoothed some soft cotton pads over the wax and that was fine, too. However, removal of the wax must have been perfected by some Nazi bastard, because I actually threw myself off the table when the first of two strips came away with a horrible ripping sound. Damn!
“Miss Sarah, you must return to table!” the Hitler impersonator said urgently. This was the woman I’d thought moments before would have been a perfect love match for Mr. Miagi from Karate Kid. ‘Wax on…wax off’, indeed.
“What? Oh, no, I’m sorry! I’m really not into the pain thing.” I was backing towards the screen when Decklan poked his head around it. She was flustered and I wasn’t sure she’d understood what I’d said. That had been like the worst bandaid-pull in my life, in the most sensitive area of my body. No, thanks.
“Problem, Daisy?” He took in my open robe with utter indifference.
“Everything is fine…goodbye…you’re not needed here.” I responded. He came around the screen and with absolute monstrous glee, slipped his hand around the robe, grabbed the corner of the wax strip, and yanked it off, all in less than five seconds. When I could see past my tears, I happily kneed him in the crotch.
All the piss and vinegar went right out of Mr. Fantastic. He did the “oof” thing and leaned against the table to catch his breath. He eyed me warily and called for Vivienne. She appeared around the screen and summed up the situation without much effort.
“Decklan! You didn’t!” Obviously Decklan had since he was still holding the little white strip with fine red hairs all over it. “Sarah, please tell me you didn’t.” I obviously had, as well. Bad behavior all around. What naughty brats we were.
He stood, took a deep breath and stretched his upper body. “You were right…she is a natural red-head.” He handed the wax strip to Little Hitler (who I came to know as Ma-Ying) and made a hasty retreat. Vivienne patted me on the shoulder, reminded me that the doctor was arriving in twenty minutes, and followed Decklan.
Ma-Ying still intended to do my armpits, my legs, and my eyebrows…I accepted I would not escape and definitely did not want Decklan returning. I returned to the table and submitted myself to the sheer torture. She even did the tops of my feet and toes. People paid money for this? What was the world coming to? I did manage to thank her at the end and had to admit the new silkiness of my legs was hard to match with a razor.
Dr. Reynolds was in his fifties with no intention of pretending I was just a patient of non-gender. He looked me over, checked all the vitals, took my blood, reveled in the breast exam, and damn near popped a nut when he did my vaginal. He declared me beautifully fit and in need of an older man, which I politely declined to his exaggerated sigh.
As I left the screened area, he patted my ass, which caused a fit of giggles I barely contained until I reached the kitchen. I was doubled over with hysterics when Vivienne and Decklan entered with lingerie. I stopped laughing. I couldn’t believe Decklan was going to stand there while I tried on bras and panties. I wasn’t shy, I just didn’t like him.
I took a different view when Vivienne came to me, gathered me in her arms and kissed me. “Decklan is the best, Sarah. Let him work with you – he’s promised me to be civil. I have to meet a new admin for the office…will you be good?”
I nodded and watched her long legs as she left the room. Decklan saw me watching and asked flat out if I only went for women. I told him that would definitely be the case if he was the man in question and to hurry the hell up and dress me already.
We gritted our teeth and got to work in the wardrobe room near the library. I blatantly dropped my robe and held out my hand for the first bra and panty set. I was heartened when he did a thorough once-over and looked a little less cocky. It turned out Vivienne was right, he’d chosen the perfect items to compliment and accentuate my positives.
I prepared for my photo shoot once Decklan finished putting together what I’d wear in them. Vincent ran the actual photo studio and it did a damn fine business in its’ own right from what I saw over the years. Italian, eloquent, beautiful, and talented, Vincent was the perfect gentleman. He told me what we’d be doing, and to let him know if anything made me uncomfortable. I assured him few things made me uncomfortable and he smiled happily.
First the formal was shot on the massive marble staircase. I was dressed in a boned sequined gown of shimmering gold and my hair was done in an elegant chignon. I looked much older and sophisticated, a look I didn’t usually pull off convincingly. Decklan watched me from below. Between shots I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed.
We did a casual series on Viv’s balcony and I wore my own well worn jeans, a soft tank top with a button down shirt over it, a lovely pair of worn Ariat boots, and a straw cowboy hat set snugly over my loose curly hair. After all those were done and I was changing, I told Decklan, “Really surprised at the choice of attire for that set after your Daisy Duke comment.”
“Are you kidding? Daisy Duke was hot.” I laughed, Decklan didn’t.
Then a spread of incredibly sexual shots in a tiny teddy of bronze silk with no shoes and my hair draped perfectly. Just me - stretched out on my favorite chaise from the afternoon spent with Vivienne - looking lonely. Vincent guided me through several poses, saying he was going to have a hard time choosing which one would be the best. I thanked him with a blush then stuck my tongue out at Decklan again. He didn’t laugh this time, just wiggled his own tongue at me suggestively. Hmm, okay, that just made me wet.
Later, Viv would add one of me on my motorcycle at the beach, my helmet resting between my legs, in leather pants and matching bustier with motorcycle boots on my feet. It was so windy that day, we didn’t need a fan to make my hair blow out behind me.
By the end of the afternoon, I was amazed at how exhausted and sore I was. All the running I did didn’t wipe me out like this, and I developed a new respect for models and actresses.
Just as we finished the photo shoot, a couple of the other girls came in to prepare for their evening appointments. They smiled warmly and welcomed me to the company, so sincere I actually believed them. They were in a rush and said we’d be seeing a lot of one another, disappearing into hair and makeup.
I changed out of the teddy and slipped on the robe. I padded down the hall and the masseuse sent me into the steam room for ten minutes where I almost fell asleep. Finally, it was time for my first massage. It was glorious. I could have stayed on that table all day. Georgette’s fingers pulled every ache and pain from each area of the body…replacing it with pure warmth. She removed stiffness I didn’t even know I’d had until I stood up and felt about as substantial as a toasted marshmallow.
Afterwards, I took a quick shower and was about to put my daily wear back on, when Decklan asked me to try one last dress, chosen for my first client. I grumbled and whined about it the whole time I was in the wardrobe room.
I returned to the living room, in a pair of heels that made me almost 6’ tall. The photographer and his equipment were gone, leaving no trace he’d been there. In the long mirror at the elevator, I studied my appearance. The emerald green dress came mid-thigh on me, with an empire waist and cap sleeves, flowing loosely along the bottom. The neck scooped low enough to be seductive, without looking cheap. There was even matching jewelry. Very nice.
“I have to admit Vivienne was right about you, Decklan. This outfit is perfect.”
He came to stand behind me, gathering my hair in an upswept style. “This is how you need to wear this mane of hair when you wear this dress, or it will appear bigger than the dress and overwhelm it.” His smile was warm over my shoulder and I saw the look in his eyes I’d seen a thousand times.
He was still a bit taller than me, even in the heels. He was a dark god. Dark brown eyes, hair, and skin. Muscular in all the right places…the dress wasn’t the only thing that was perfect.
Decklan’s problem was conceit. He knew his affect on women and exploited it. He figured he’d have a little sample of the newbie. Expected me to fall all over myself to get to him…willing to do anything to turn him on. That just wasn’t me.
I never did the begging. I was begged.
Decklan was working his charm on me, but honestly, I liked men who weren’t completely wrapped up in themselves.
“Decklan, Daisy Duke is going to change and take a nap until Vivienne gets back. Then I’m going to take her for a ride on my bike, maybe get something to eat, and very likely, get seriously fucked later tonight. You just don’t figure in my plans right now. Maybe another time when you aren’t expecting me to drop to my knees and worship the ground you walk on…among other things.”
I winked at him and walked to one of the guest rooms to change, shutting the door with a snap. When I emerged a few minutes later, he was gone and the only sounds in the condo came from the salon as women talked and laughed.
My predictions for the evening proved accurate, and fucking on the bike was well worth it if you have good balance…I happily have excellent balance.