"So, Princess, what do ya know about Vienna?" Sly asked. We were having dinner at a nice local restaurant, on one of our occasional "dates", as I call them. Sly still thinks the idea is silly, but he's getting accustomed to it.
Sly's my agent. He'd never ever been on a real date before he partnered up with me. Big and tough as he is, raised mostly by himself on the city streets, he'd never been exposed to the social niceties. I have to say, though, that he's adapted pretty quickly. Oh sure, he does it just to keep me happy, but that's one of the nice things about our relationship. He really does care about me, and not only because of the fact that surprisingly, despite my reserved upper class Connecticut background, I'm quite good at this sex business, and as a consequence we've done quite well financially. So, he is willing to meet me half-way, at least. I get a kick out of the fact that just as I was so surprised to find out that I was good at sex and liked doing it professionally, so he has been surprised to find out that he's pretty good at social situations. He even (grudgingly) admits enjoying our dates, even without sex (well, most of the time, anyway. I like to keep our relationship professional.)
"Vienna?" I asked wonderingly. "Well, it's a beautiful old city in Europe, if that's the one you mean. Great cafes. Setting for Orson Welles' 'The Third Man'. Big old opera house. Good coffee. Wonderful pastries. What else?"
"Yeah, yeah. Forget the coffee. What about some guy named Strauss?"
"Oh yeah, sure. Strauss waltzes. Viennese balls. The Belle Époque. In his time Vienna was the most beautiful cultural capital of Europe, fancier and more opulent even than Paris. It all ended in World War I."
"Christ. You're a walkin' history book. Okay Professor. What about sex?"
"Sex?? Hmm. Y'know, I had a feeling we were going to get there eventually," I said with a smile. "So, what about sex?"
"Well, did they have sex back then?"
"Oh yeah. Sure they did. Just more elegantly. So?"
"Princess, I just know you're gonna love what I got lined up for you. It's right up your alley. You've always been mooning about that fancy ball date a while back. Well, Babe, you're gonna owe me. I got you another one. You're gonna go to a Viennese ball in 1880. And have sex, too.
"Here's the best part: there's a back story to it."
"Whoa. A back story? Do you mean I get to play a role, too? I love it!"
"I knew you would. Do I know my Princess or what?"
"Yeah. Sometimes all too well. Anyway, what's the story line?"
"You'll be the beautiful young naïve daughter of a successful merchant in Vienna. Your client will be a baron. He's invited you to a ball. There are dark rumors about his appetite for young women, but your old man really wants you to go with the baron 'cause he wants an in to the nobility. Good for business, y'know. You're not sure, but you're a good daughter, so you'll go along and hope for the best."
"Fascinating. Sounds like fun. Oh, you said naïve. Am I supposed to be a virgin? I mean, that'd spice things up a bit, wouldn't it."
"He didn't say. Play it anyway you want."
"Okay, I like it. I'm in. Jesus, though, Sly. Where do you find these guys?"
"I didn't find this one," he said. "He came to me. Seems like we're gettin' a reputation. When a guy wants a gorgeous escort for a big shindig, apparently we pop up on the radar."
Compliment aside, I was a bit taken aback. I didn't really like the idea of publicity. Sly's always found enough interesting clients to keep me happy, but I do have my day job at the law firm, which wouldn't last two seconds if someone there got wind of my evening profession. And, much as I enjoy the sex and the adventures, I realize it can't go on forever. Not really a lifelong career, y'know.
"Sly, I'll make you a deal. I'll do this one, but you need to promise me that the next guy that asks for me by name, you'll tell him you never heard of me, and you don't know what he's talking about."
"Princess, I'll never understand you. You're gonna throw away some good deals."
"You'll do it, though?"
"Okay, if that's what you want. Sure."
I was pleasantly surprised at his easy acquiescence, although I should have known by now that Sly really does value our relationship and respects me as a person even if he thinks I'm wrong. But I knew I could trust him to do as I asked.
Sly arranged for the client to pick me up at a mid-town hotel, where I'd booked a room to change into my costume. Needless to say, I keep my real address secret. I'd done some serious shopping for this one. You can get anything in this city, at least if you're willing to pay for it, and I was. After all, it wasn't my money. The client had staked us ahead of time. Think of it like an expense account. One of the really nice perks of my profession is that money is not an object. Guys are willing to shell out remarkable amounts to live out their fantasies, be it on sportscars or, in my case, women. I'm always happy to indulge them.
For this client's fantasy I wore a red silk Victorian gown that was off-the-shoulders and daringly low-cut, at least by Belle Époque Viennese standards. The bodice was trimmed in red lace, and the neckline started down between my breasts and continued up and out onto my arms to form short little lacy sleeves. The tight bodice pushed my breasts up to form a creamy smooth expanse with a strong hint of cleavage. A little black pearl pendant hung from the lowest point in the dip between my breasts, further emphasizing the fullness on either side of it. The waist was so tiny I had to wear a corset to get into it, but it really emphasized my bosom and my hips. No wonder Victorian men loved that hourglass shape!!
According to the costumer I was supposed to wear a chemise under the corset, but she found one with silk lining instead. The corset was confining, yes, but it did wonders for my figure. I mean, I don't have a lot (any) excess avoirdupois around my waist, but whatever it found there it pushed north. What that did for my bust just has to be illegal in some quarters. Plus, with all its lace trimmings that corset all by itself was sexy as hell.
The full skirt cascaded down from my hips with folds upon folds of carefully draped smooth scarlet silk with insets of red lace. It swept along the floor and imbued my every step with grace. The bodice ended at my tiny waist, flowing into the skirt with a downward pointing front that subtly directed the imagination to what lay beneath.
Speaking of which, I drew the line at authentic drawers. I left on my black nylon panties so that a nice stretch of skin could be seen (and touched) between the lacy tops of my dark stockings and the panties.
My dark hair was piled high in an off-the-neck updo, with a couple of strategic 'stray' curls that framed my face. To accentuate the whiteness of my bosom and shoulders and add grace to my long neck I wore a black lace choker with a couple of obsidian pendants in front. A pair of dangling crystal earrings added a touch of sophistication. I wore a matching red bracelet on my right wrist which sparkled with every gesture.
All in all, my gown embodied the elegance of the Belle Époque while subtly radiating sex. With my nylons, full red lipstick and dark eye shadow, I was a nice blend of modern and Victorian. Strangely, in spite of all the coverage the clothes provided, I felt sexy. Not the short-skirt-high-heels-just-ask-me-nicely kind of sexy. More of an I'm-attainable-but-you're-going-to-have-to-work-for-it kind of sexy. I hoped the client appreciated the work.
I could have stood for hours in front of the mirror. Sadly, the phone rang to tell me my date had arrived and was waiting in the lobby.
Judging from the look he gave me when I swept into the lobby to meet him, he did indeed appreciate my efforts. His eyes got really wide, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he recovered his poise.
He was an older man, in his late fifties. He looked every inch the Victorian baron, though. Quite elegant, tall and good-looking. He wore a period tuxedo, although frankly, men's fashions haven't changed all that much, certainly compared to ours. He had on a starched white shirt, a white cravat with a diamond stick pin. Under the jacket he wore a blue sash with a medal or two adorning it. He had muttonchop sideburns, but was not, however, sporting a full Victorian moustache, for which I was grateful. Several people in the lobby looked up at us, although this being the city, they soon lost interest.
He greeted me warmly and escorted me out into the street where a limo waited for us. Okay, it wasn't a horse and carriage or a hansom cab, but still it was a lot better than a taxi.
Whatever club or organization the "baron" belonged to, they had plenty of money. They had rented a large ballroom in midtown. It was fully decorated in Belle Époque fashion. A small orchestra was playing Strauss waltzes. There were dozens of couples there already, dancing or reclining on plush couches around the sides of the dance floor. All the men were dressed in tuxes, and the women were a bouquet of colors in satin, with flowing gowns. It took my breath away.
The "baron", his name, at least for tonight, was Otto Von Abensperg, introduced me to several acquaintances as Maria, the daughter of his good friend, my father. Then we danced a few waltzes, which was heavenly. The music was beautiful, and "Otto" was a very good dancer, and held me close as we swayed around the dance floor with twirling other couples. I was really enjoying myself, almost forgetting who I was and why I was there.
Occasionally we'd take a break and sip champagne or have a few oysters and caviar. "Otto" was quite solicitous, ensuring that I had plenty of champagne and oysters. Yeah, I knew what he was doing, but I willingly went along with it. I am, after all, a professional, and hell, it was fun.
After an hour or so, Otto guided me to a small anteroom off the main floor. Once inside, he closed the door. I saw him set the latch. Obviously, we were about to get down to business. I had no objections. With the romantic setting, the oysters and the champagne, I was feeling pretty amorous myself. I kept reminding myself, though, that I was naïve and inexperienced, and supposedly had no idea what Otto had in mind. Not too easy, but I'm a good actress, and part of that is inhabiting my roles.
The room was sumptuous. Scads and scads of red velvet and gleaming brass. A beautiful chandelier and several brass wall sconces cast a warm light on the plush overstuffed furniture.
Otto sat himself on one of the couches. I was standing in front of him.
"Do you know why you are here?" he asked.
"Why because you asked my father," I answered, keeping to the story.
"Yes, that's true. But why do you suppose I asked him for you?"
"I, I don't know, baron."
"Look at your body," he said. "Look at your sweet young breasts, your plush hips, your long legs. Look at your warm mouth and its soft, full red lips. My dear, your body was made for only one purpose: to give men pleasure."
