In my line of work, you're used to unusual requests, and you're very much conscious of the need for discretion. Still, my time working for His Lordship and Her Ladyship, who I won't name for obvious reasons, still rates as one of the strangest... I guess, relationships, I've ever had with any clients.
For one, my contract stipulated, quite clearly, that I was never to make any advances to His Lordship. I presumed that was a clause inserted by Her Ladyship to "stay away from my husband"; which seemed odd, since I was being payed to provide escort services to them both together.
I had been meeting them for some months and the question of sex, of any kind, had never even been hinted at. With most clients, the question of "how much for..." which trailed off in embarrassment, was usually broached on the first meeting, or the second at the latest. Of course, if I was always free to refuse, depending on whether I wanted to keep that client or not.
But with this strange aristocratic couple, our meetings consisted entirely of dinners, parties, nights at the theatre or the opera, and no physical contact whatsoever. I presumed that I was being hired because I was young, pretty, and could hold my own in sophisticated conversation. My parents had both come from good backgrounds, but inherited wealth could only trickle down so far, and by the time it had reached my generation the well had run dry.
It was unspoken, but the feeling grew on me that my role, the reason I was being hired, was to start the engine, as it were, and that the couple would continue what I'd started once I was gone for the day. Certainly, in the way that they both looked at me, I could see the lust in their eyes, and the passion rose within them over the course of the days or evenings that we were together. I hoped they put it to good use once I was out of the way; I felt as if I was doing them a good service, and I was being paid well for it.
Today's appointment was much like many of the others. I was to arrive at their country house around eleven in the morning and we would take a walk out into the estate for a picnic. It was a beautiful summer's day and a picnic was a perfect way to spend it. If I wasn't working, I might have gotten some friends together and done the same thing. Today was one of those days when I really loved my work.
His Lordship had long since told the staff that I was a niece. Aristocratic families are so large and their interconnections so numerous that the term could mean anything, and the fact that my exotic looks and the hint of olive in the colour of my skin different from their own was easily dismissed: many a foreign gene had entered the family tree from the family's colonial past.
I parked at the end of their long driveway and stepped out of my car, picking up my hold-all carrying a change of clothes. It had become clear that the sexier I dressed, the happier His Lordship and Her Ladyship were. So, although I generally travelled in something simple such as trousers and a blouse, I always had something else to change into.
I was greeted by Her Ladyship at the door. I generally addressed her as Mrs--, both in front of the servants and privately. Formality within families was also nothing to remark on and, even if it weren't, the staff would not raise it openly.
Her Ladyship was a beautiful woman, around ten years older than me, probably nearly thirty-five, and had a delightful smile and a wonderful figure. I often wondered why His Lordship required my presence in order to get his juices flowing and, if truth were told, I had a feeling that it was Her Ladyship who benefitted more from my addition to their fantasy ménage à trois than he did. I suspected that, if she were born into anything but the highest social circles, she would not have chosen to marry a man at all, but that such a thing was expected of her. She may have the liberation of seemingly unlimited wealth and privilege, but the social chains that bound her behaviour were stronger than any that had ever bound me (either for business or for pleasure).
While the couple readied the hamper, I found a guest room and changed. I had something special planned for them today, not in terms of what I would wear, but what I wouldn't. I slipped out of my blouse and trousers and my rather attractive underwear, because one never knows where work will take one, and pulled a short patterned sundress over my head. It had a few buttons around the collar, which I fastened tight up to my neck for the benefit of the staff.
I slipped my feet into a pair of strappy sandals with low heels and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My long legs were perfect, even if I do say so myself, and the short dress covered just enough. I bounced a little on the spot and the dress bobbed around my narrow hips, showing just a little more of what lay beneath, but not quite too much. Perhaps, if one looked closely, one could see that I was wearing nothing under the dress, and I knew that they would both be looking very closely. And it was obvious from the narrow shoulder straps that couldn't be wearing a bra. Walking with a spring in my step I would be sure to put a smile on both of their faces.
I greeted His Lordship out in the garden and we exchange a peck on the cheek. It was the closest we ever came to physical contact, and I could see his pupils dilate as I stood in front of him, more bare skin on show than the amount that was covered.
"You're looking lovely today, Camilla," he said to me. I smiled, pleased at the compliment, as any well-behaved niece would be.
"Your Ladyship is looking wonderful too," I said, turning to her. She wore a long dress and it revealed much of her figure whilst covering most of her skin. A long slit down one side hinted at hidden passion, but otherwise her pale colouring, covered body and long, blonde hair was a stark contrast to my bare legs and shoulders, dark hair and olive-toned skin. We were around the same height but, let's face it, nobody would ever take us for relatives.
We set off into the grounds. The staff had been given instructions not to disturb us so we had the place to ourselves. His Lordship carried the hamper over his shoulder and I walked, bouncing with all the exuberance of youth that I could muster. I tell you: maintaining this level of energy was often more exhausting than simply hopping into bed with a client.
As I walked, dancing from flower bed to flower bed as if to inspect them, I would spin around to converse with the couple who walked hand-in-hand. But really, I was checking for their reaction, and each time I spun I saw where their eyes were drawn, probing up the length of my thigh, hoping that the dress would lift just another fraction of an inch higher, because, was she?...
I smiled: it was what they were paying for, after all, and they were apparently content.
