Author's Note: This is a sequel of sorts to my story "Serving Jessica". The premise is that after CaCeeleaves Jessica, she has a new plan to make money for both of us -- selling my services to rich and famous women. This may be the first of a series, so if anyone has any requests for "clients", let me know.
Milene
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As I wander through the garage at the Hyatt I check my watch for the third time in ten minutes - five after eight. Damn! I'm already late and I haven't even found a parking place yet. My latest little adventure is not off to a good start. This is only the third "client" that CaCee has hooked me up with, and I really wanted it to go well. I know that these famous people are used to getting what they want and getting it when they want it. If someone is upset about me being late, it could taint any future prospects, and I definitely don't want that. I was hesitant at first to start this new "profession", but so far I am loving it.
At first CaCee wouldn't even tell me who this client was, saying that she seemed very,
very hesitant and that discretion was a must. All she would tell me was that the client was in town for a promotion during the "off-season", so I assumed it was someone in sports. But in the end I insisted, arguing that I had to know in case I showed up at the wrong place or something. CaCee finally relented and told me, and while I was surprised, I was also pretty excited to discover whom I'd be pleasuring. Danica Patrick is young and very pretty. Of course that was also why I was surprised, along with the fact that she was fairly recently married. But as Cacee said, you never know what people secretly want or can't get normally. I also understood the need for discretion -. Danica had fought an uphill battle to succeed in a man's sport, so the last thing she needed was to be labeled a "dyke".
I finally find a parking spot and get into the hotel. I walk across the atrium and find the elevators, step in and punch the button for the top floor. As the doors start to close, a middle aged couple stops them and hop on, and we share the ride up to the seventh floor, where they get off. They probably think I am someone's daughter, a little rich girl staying in the penthouse. If they only knew why I'm really here, they'd be so shocked. I laugh a little at my own naughtiness.
Getting off the elevator, I quickly find the President's Suite and knock quietly on the door. I am about to knock again, louder, when I hear the lock starting to turn. The door opens and there stands Danica, looking very "normal" and oddly nonchalant, with a kind of distant, blank look on her face. Her hair is pulled back in the simple ponytail she often wears for racing, and she is dressed just as simply, in jeans and an old Letterman t-shirt. From what I can tell, there is no bra under the shirt.
"You Milene?" she asks, that blank look still masking her face.
"Yeah," I say. I feel like I should say more, but I'm caught off guard by her seeming lack of interest. I quickly add "Sorry I'm late," and feel even more self-conscious once I say it.
My initial impression is that she is just tiny, even smaller than me. In fact, we are similar in a number of ways - petite, dark haired, small on top, and more "cute" than "pretty" (though I have to admit, she's rather pretty). But I know our personalities are different. Danica exudes a presence, a mental strength that is undeniable even at first glance. She looks just as pretty as she does on television, and at the same time as cold and business-like as if she were about to start a big race. That icy, powerful look is something that I find very attractive in a woman, and it has the same effect on me this time.
She steps aside to let me into the doorway. "Come on in," she says, an polite smile now just barely crossing her face. I can sense the tension in her body, and I wonder if there is a problem. Maybe I'm not what she expected, not pretty enough. Or worse yet, maybe this was a big misunderstanding, even a horrible practical joke played on her by one of her fellow drivers. My fears are allayed a bit when she finally asks "You know why you're here, right?"
I answer cautiously, still hoping this isn't all a big mistake. "I'm from CaCee. You wanted a girl, right?"
My heart pounds with dread as Danica just stands there for long seconds. Her eyes slowly close and she appears to be deep in thought. Is she upset? Is she seething in anger at some creep who set her up to be humiliated? I am about to start an apology when her eyes open. I can see then what is going through her mind. She's having second thoughts, feeling guilty maybe, about this rather lewd little encounter she has paid for. Or maybe just worried that someone will find out, that this will become the latest celebrity sex scandal, with her as the very unwilling subject. But at last she makes up her mind. She looks briefly at me, then down at the floor, apparently thinking one last time about what she is going to do, and then looks back to me. "Yeah," she says flatly, "I definitely want a girl. Two hours, right?"
I confirm that she has me for two hours, adding, "But I can stay longer if you want me to." She nods in understanding, a barely noticeable smirk crossing her lips as she perceives my offer as a come on for more money.
There is another long, painful pause as we just stare at each other, and then Danica takes the initiative. "So you ready for this?" she asks. As she speaks, her hands are already undoing her belt. Wow, I say to myself, once this girl decides, she gets right down to business. I watch, enthralled, as Danica calmly unbuttons her jeans, lowers the zipper, and wriggles the blue denim pants down her legs. She obviously expects no preliminaries here, just direct sex and satisfaction. She steps out of her jeans, standing there unashamed in her black bikini panties and asks, "Where do you want me?", as if she were doing a common photo shoot or an interview.
