Warning! This story contains material of an adult nature and is intended for mature readers and for personal use only. No copyright infringement is intended.
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CHAPTER 1
Alicia dropped her purse on top of the highly polished surface of the counter, and eased her pert bottom onto the high bar stool. She crossed one shapely leg over the other, deliberately allowing the hem of her cream-colored miniskirt to ride up her shapely thigh, almost to the lacy top of her stocking. She then glanced in the direction of the goggle-eyed barman, and smiled at him.
The fat bartender hurried over, anxious to get a closer look at this vision of delight, who had just glided into the lounge. His dark, beady eyes roved over her shapely figure, giving her a prolonged scrutiny. "Hmm, I bet I know what a good-looking female like you is doing, out on your own," he told himself, smugly.
"Yes Miss, what can I get you?" he enquired, putting an oily smile onto his podgy features.
The girl stared at the row of upturned bottles attached to the optics behind him and, pursing her full, red lips, pressed a well-manicured fingernail against them. The small frown of concentration, that wrinkled her high forehead, disappeared, as she quickly made up her mind. "A dry Martini, with lots of ice, I think," she announced in a husky voice, turning her gaze back to him, and flashing a set of perfect, even white teeth, in a friendly smile.
"Certainly Miss!" he responded, automatically, impressed, never-the-less. He managed to drag his eyes away from her, and turned to prepare her drink. "Wow, what a little raver," he thought, as he half-filled a glass with crushed ice, "I wouldn't mind getting my leg over that!"
While she was waiting for her drink, Alicia casually glanced around the room. This was her first visit to the lounge bar of the Excelsior Hotel.
It was an opulent place, as befitted one of the most expensive hotels in central London. The spacious lounge was filled with comfortable-looking well-upholstered easy chairs, clustered around low, round, glass-topped tables. Thick, lush beige-colored carpet covered the floor. With the exception of two large, glass chandeliers, that hung from the ceiling, the subdued illumination was provided by indirect wall lighting. Music was quietly playing in the background, from hidden speakers. A fair sprinkling of customers sat, or lounged, at the tables.
The girl concentrated her attention on the unaccompanied males, mildly amused, but not in the least bit surprised, by the fact that she appeared to be the main focus of attention, for the majority of the room's occupants. The men all seemed to be wearing smart jackets and ties. "Probably one of these places that impose a strict code of dress?" she correctly surmised.
She wriggled her posterior into a more comfortable position on the leather-covered stool, and as she swiveled around, to get a better view, a handsome young fellow in a dark-blue suit, caught her eye. He was seated at a table, just a few yards away, and seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He stared back at her, an insolent smirk on his clean-shaven features.
Alicia batted her eyelashes and turned away, just as the barman arrived with her drink. "That will be three-pounds eighty, please Miss," he said, placing the glass of wine down, in front of her, his eyes flitting over her shapely contours.
She fumbled in her black, leather purse, and handed over the exact amount in loose change. "Thank you, darling," she purred, with a grateful smile. "I was dying for a drink. You're a real life-saver!"
A flustered expression appeared on his face, and she watched, with some amusement, as he beat a hasty retreat back to the cash register. She took a healthy slug of her Martini and glanced over toward her nearby admirer. He was still boldly eyeing her up! "Looks like you could be in there, girl," she told herself, pretending to ignore him, and glancing around the lounge, nonchalantly. She took another sip of her Martini.
Alicia Rossetti was a prostitute by profession, a very expensive and high-class one but, never-the-less, a prostitute. She was a loner, who did the rounds of all the better-class hotels in central London, allowing herself to be picked up by rich business types, or wealthy overseas visitors, who were lonely and looking for some female company! She knew the risks that she was taking but, financially, it proved very rewarding!
Alicia was just twenty-six years of age, going on forty, and five-feet nine-inches tall. She had dark, smoldering, Latin looks, inherited from her Italian parents, who had lived in England since before she was born. Her figure was firm and shapely, and her legs long and lithe. She kept in trim with regular sessions at a gymnasium, supplemented by early-morning jogging sessions, and the occasional aerobics class.
Alicia had been on the game since she was sixteen, having run away from her family home in Mansfield, and arrived in London in search of fame and fortune. She hadn't yet achieved the fame, well notoriety perhaps, but she was well on her way to earning her fortune!
She raised her knee slightly, allowing the hem of her skirt to slide even further up her smooth thigh, revealing the black garter straps clipped to her stocking-tops. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed her admirer's eyes widen, with undisguised pleasure. She turned her head and smiled directly at him, seeing his eyes light up with renewed interest.
Alicia was wearing a short, cream-colored, summer frock, with a high front, plunging back and slightly flared miniskirt. It must've been obvious to everyone in the room, that she wasn't wearing a bra. The stretch Lycra of the high, lightly wired bodice clung to her small breasts. Beneath the dress, she was wearing a minimum of underwear, a tiny pair of lacy white panties, sheer stockings and garter belt. A pair of white, court shoes, with four-inch high stiletto heels completed her ensemble.
The 'mark' rose to his feet and sauntered over, clutching his empty glass. He sat down on the stool next to her and waved his glass at the barman. "Another G and T please Jerry," he called, in a deep, accent-free voice.
"Coming up Mr. Smith!" the waiter called, as he finished serving another customer. Taking a fresh glass, he partially filled it from an optic labeled 'Booth's Dry Gin' and added half a bottle of Britvic tonic, and a slice of lemon. He rushed over and placed the glass down on the counter. "One double-gin and slimline tonic with a slice, no ice," he announced, with a smug grin. He prided himself in remembering a customer's preferences.
"Thanks Jerry!" the man replied, turning to stare at Alicia. "Can I get you anything, darling?" he enquired, with a confident smirk on his clean-cut features.
Alicia smiled back at him. "Same old chat-up line," she thought. "That's very sweet of you," she murmured. "I'll have another dry Martini, please!" She drained her glass and held it out to the barman, who took it wordlessly from her hand, and went to refill it.
While Jerry was getting her drink, they exchanged introductions. "My name's Stephen, Stephen Smith," he said, holding out a limp hand.
"Alicia, Alicia Rossetti! Nice to meet you," she responded, taking his hand in hers. His palm was a little clammy, she observed. He was wearing a well-cut dark-blue suit that looked very expensive, but he didn't strike her as the usual city business type?
