Rules Are Made to Be Broen

I wake the next morning from a deliciously deviant dream. I was bent over a silver serving trolley with Sam Byron spanking my ass hard and then smoothing cold vanilla ice cream over my pinkened cheeks to soothe them.

I shake my head sleepily, scolding myself and stretch out against my white linen sheets, ignoring the wetness between my legs.

The sunlight is streaming through my bay window in spite of the vintage floral curtains hanging top to bottom. It's one of the reasons I love this flat -- it's part of a converted Victorian townhouse & the light is fantastic. I stretch again before forcing myself up and heading to the shower.

As the water gushes down on me, visions of Sam Byron and that infectious grin enter my head again and I'm tempted to relieve myself right there, but I resist the urge. I've got work to do.

I sit down at my desk with my hair damp around my shoulders. Fresh pot of coffee, check. Laptop fired up, check. I'm all set to tidy up my chapter on Dr Hutchinson and his love of latex. The same Dr Hutchinson whose regular appointment is tonight as it happens. I need to swing by the agency later to pick up my freshly laundered red dress.

I'm very grateful that Crystal is so organised like that -- I'm not sure how I'd explain some of my 'work clothes' at the local dry cleaners.

Before I can even read a sentence, there's a knock at the door. Sighing, I get up and tighten my satin dressing gown.

'Miss Amber?' the delivery driver asks cheerfully with an armful of flowers -- smiling a little too widely at the sight of me in my short flimsy gown. I'm momentarily thrown.

'Um yeah, that's me.' I reply.

'Sign here please.'

Shit. I've never signed as Amber before. As I make up a signature, I mentally rack my brains for anyone who knows Amber and my address. Crystal has never sent flowers before and Ruby definitely wouldn't -- she's got a weird thing about "paying money for dead things".

I send the delivery man on his way and close the door, quickly finding a small white envelope attached to the stunning bouquet.

There's a brief handwritten message in an elegant, looping script:

'Thank you for last night, it was delicious.

As are you.

S x'

Byron.

I scold myself for being so sloppy -- clearly Harvey is very dedicated to his boss's orders.

Still, the flowers are beautiful -- a massive hand-tied posy of various exotic looking blooms that I don't recognise. They smell incredible too. I smile as it dawns on me. They smell of vanilla. My smile widens as I picture the sender with a smug grin on his face as he thought of his clever joke-come thoughtful gesture.

Just when I had managed to get that impossibly handsome man out of my head, he's right back in there.

I put the flowers in water and get back to work.

* * * * *

Later that day, as I walk into the office, Crystal is on the phone, as ever.

'I'm so glad to hear that Mr Stevens, here at Precious Gems, we do always aim to exceed your expectations.' She gives me a wink and motions for me to sit down.

I flop into the chair in front of her desk and smile as I listen to her finishing with Mr Stevens -- she really does love to lay the charm on thick. As she hangs up, she lights a cigarette and inhales deeply.

'Amber, darling. How are you? How was your big spender last night?' she gushes.

'I'm good thanks Crystal, and he was fine.' I smile, handing her the envelope of cash.

'Fine? That's it?' she quizzes. I look at her, confused.

'Amber, sweetheart, did you even look in here?' she holds up the envelope.

I shake my head, shrugging. After three years of working for her, I trust this woman implicitly, she deals with the cash & I always get my cut. She rips open the envelope and quickly counts out a pile of notes.

'Four thousand.' She says matter of factly, pushing the pile towards me.

'He paid double?' I ask, shocked. She nods.

'And you're telling me he was "fine"?'

'What can I say Crystal, some men have more cash than sense!' I'm aiming for nonchalant, but even I'm struggling to figure out why a man would pay eight thousand pounds for two hours of my time; regardless of how much cash he has to throw around.

'True, but they're rarely devastatingly handsome too! What's his story?' she presses on.

'Well, his parents died and left him a fortune, other than that I don't know much.'

It's the truth, but I also feel strangely reluctant to go into detail anyway. I remember the way Sam opened up to me at dinner and somewhere inside me, I feel very strongly that I don't want to betray that trust.

I decide against telling her about the flowers too. She'd only give me grief for letting him find out my address.

'Well, he's very taken with you my dear. But of course, we must take care of our long faithful clientele too' she continues, 'I presume you've come to pick up the good doctor's favourite?' I nod. She smiles and fetches the hanging bag from a rail behind her.

'There you are darling. Have a good night!'

'Will do, see you later Crystal!'

I roll my eyes at the irony of her sentiments -- like I'm her daughter and she's just handed me a beautiful gown for prom, rather than a madam handing her best call girl the tools of her trade.

Truth be told though; she is a bit like a mother, in her own unusual way. She takes very good care of her 'precious jewels.' Clients are always carefully vetted, security is tight, and she charges top dollar so that even after she takes her 50%, we all do very nicely too.

Back at home, I pour myself into the good doctor's favourite red rubber dress. As I check myself out in the mirror, I smile at my pert cheeks peeking out beneath the hem. The six-inch heels he always insists on make me teeter with my rubber clad breasts thrust forward. It's no wonder he loves this look so much really, it's very brazen, but I do look hot. I apply matching red lipstick, slide on my trench coat and I'm good to go.

* * * * *

I'm always glad that Dr Hutchinson likes me to leave in costume as well as arrive in it -- getting out of that PVC dress is anything but sexy and I'm much happier doing it at home and getting straight in the shower afterwards.

Once I've dried off, I start to apply my body lotion and notice a small graze underneath my left nipple. The peephole zip must have rubbed against it. It doesn't hurt, but I smooth a little extra lotion on all the same. I smile as the white liquid melts into my skin, remembering the ice cream from last night.

I lay back on my bed, stroking my nipples gently and glance at the clock. I still have plenty of time. I open the drawer of my bedside cabinet and retrieve two jewelled nipple clips and my favourite glass vibrator.

I pinch my nipples to make them stand to attention, quickly applying the jewelled clips, revelling in their delicious pinching. Adjusting my position, I rub my clit gently, moaning softly to myself as I get comfortable.

Grabbing the dildo, I run the cool hard tip up and down my slit, lubricating it with my own creamy juices, picturing how my lips must have looked last night, smeared with melting vanilla ice cream.

Gently, I start pushing my toy into myself, it stretches me wide and it feels so good. It's about eight inches long in all, the first six always slip in easily and do a great job, but tonight, I want it all. I breathe deeply and relax, slowly pushing my toy deeper, letting my pussy expand to take it right to the base.

Fuck that's deep; as deep as Sam last night. I picture the look of sheer carnal appreciation on his face as he fucked me against the tiled bathroom wall. I slide out all but the tip, and then ease it back in, slowly. I repeat the process again, then again, increasing my speed until I'm furiously fucking myself with all eight inches, trying to emulate the way he took me as his own. I come breathlessly and clench my thighs together, wanting it to last as long as possible. I've never made myself come thinking about a client before, but that was one of the most intense solo orgasms I've had in my life.

As my breathing steadies, reluctantly, I remove my toy and start thinking about getting dressed.

I pull on black satin panties, a short floral dress, and vintage cowboy boots; accessorising simply with oversized hoop earrings and a stack of bohemian style bangles. My curls have dried naturally, so I leave them loose, tumbling over my shoulders in a tousled cloud. I rarely have the patience for a lot of make up when I'm not working, so I opt for just mascara and lip gloss. A liberal spritz of perfume and I'm done.

Which is just as well because a few moments later there's a knock at my front door.

'Hi Ruby!' I smile, kissing her on the cheek.

'Amber, you look completely gorgeous as always!' she gushes, kissing me back.

'Thank you, sweetness, you look stunning yourself.' She really does too -- tiny sequinned hot pants and a black shoestring vest show off her petite but curvy figure perfectly.

Her choppy blonde bob is as glossy as ever and she's taller than usual in strappy black wedges. She looks adorable. We both do.

Two girlfriends headed to their favourite club to dance the night away as they do every Friday night.

Nobody would ever guess we also both work for the most exclusive escort agency around, or that the reason we go clubbing every Friday is to blow off steam after time spent with regular clients.

'Come on then Missie!' she chimes, 'I've got a cab waiting and I want to hear ALL about this hot new client of yours!' Clearly, she's been chatting to Crystal. Resigning myself to a grilling, I grab my bag and follow her down the path.