OK... I get paid a lot for letting guys fuck me. "Easy work," you say. "You're just a prostitute... a hooker... a call girl... a cunt for hire...". I can't argue with that, though I prefer to think of myself as an Escort or a Companion, available for 'extras', but strictly on my terms.
I had a 'date' last night and I have another tonight. Different guys in a different part of town, wanting different things.
Last night - I'll call him Jim - wanted company at dinner. He's a rich guy, over here on business, hasn't seen his wife for a month, and he needs to socialise with someone who won't talk about work. He wants a bit of glamour... a bit of fun... someone interesting, but from a different world... to get to know... and, if the chemistry is right, a night in bed with an attractive woman; and a few fucks! Nothing wrong with that... he even says his wife is ok with it. She knows he's human and she might do the same. They're strong together and strong apart.
Jim was great... very interesting and, thank heaven, not just wanting to talk about himself. Highly intelligent, a good sense of humour, and well informed on all manner of subjects. Fortunately I can keep my end up with politics, art, books, and a whole lot more so it wasn't difficult for me; but not everyone can do that. Jim asked lots of searching questions, and we got on really well. I think we both knew within minutes of meeting that it would work. Knowing that early on makes things a lot easier.
We had a great evening, filled with intelligent conversation, and a delicious three-course meal, washed down by a moderate quantity of good wine. Jim was courteous and polite to a fault. That's another thing, an escort or companion has to know how to behave impeccably, never to embarrass their host or draw attention to herself. No one should ever know she's anything other than a good friend.
By the time we were finishing dinner I said what I usually do at that stage. "I can stay over or we can just sit in the bar and carry on chatting before I leave. It's your call." I was never in any doubt he'd want me to stay over, and he did.
He ordered a couple of Martini's and we resumed chatting. He was expecting a call so it was too early to retire and risk being interrupted. The call came and immediately afterwards he invited me to his suite. It was sumptuous; one of the most luxurious I'd ever seen. I've seen a lot; The Dorchester, The Hilton and countless others.
Jim showed me to a washroom and said I'd find everything I needed. "I'll be waiting on the balcony that leads off from the master bedroom."
I stayed all night. He was a considerate lover, who took things slowly until he sensed my inevitable urgency, which he dealt with skilfully and with gusto. I never count. Four, or maybe just three. He was satisfied and so was I. We ate breakfast, and said our goodbyes; with politeness and a little affection, on both sides.
I left for home, his seed inside me. I was used to that. "So what?" if I left a little dampness on the back seat of the taxi.
Two clients, on successive evenings, isn't ideal, but sometimes, if they're good ones, I won't risk losing one. Jim was one such client, and George another. I was to meet him at 7.30 pm, in Knightsbridge; I had eight hours to get ready and make my way there. It sounds a lot but I needed to eat and do a lot of other things. The first was to check Jim had paid me. Sure enough my bank balance was much healthier. There would be enough to buy the ridiculously expensive cocktail dress I had my eye on.
I peeled off my clothes and checked the dresses I'd worn to see if they'd need laundering. The one I wore the previous evening was crumpled, so I put it aside for my maid, Dina, to deal with. The one I'd put on that morning was fine. Panties, bras, and everything else went in the laundry basket. Taking a gold coloured day gown from my wardrobe, I slipped it on and went downstairs to prepare some lunch; just a light salad, and some vinaigrette. I have to watch my figure and I'd be eating out again later.
In my line of work there are expenses if I'm going to look my best. My hair needed a tidy but I could manage that myself today. Most days it needs professional attention. I pride myself on never wearing the same clothing or underwear twice for the same client. After each assignment I make notes of what I wore, what we talked about and so on. To be honest I don't expect any of them would notice, or think less of me, if I did wear something twice; but I wouldn't feel right about it. My monthly clothing bill is astronomic. Make-up isn't cheap either; fortunately I don't need a lot.
My next engagement is in the bathroom to clean myself up from top to toe, inside and out. Sometimes Dina helps, but she isn't there today. Dina used to be in the sex trade and knows a thing or two. She maintains my wardrobe brilliantly. Sex can be a messy business; all those body fluids can get out of hand! Satin and silk don't improve for being saturated with semen. Dina has a recipe she uses. She says she won't tell me what it is until I retire from active sex work, or I might let her go. At any rate, she gets everything back looking as good as new, no matter how badly it's been treated.
My cunny is still wet and slippery from Jim's ardent love-making this morning, just before we parted. He wanted it one last time after breakfast, as I was packing to leave, and I'd had no opportunity to clean up afterwards. It feels good to be under the shower and be able to freshen up.
These days, working girls like me are expected to submit to the most intimate oral attention. It would never do for tonight's client to find traces of last night's. That's another area where Dina is worth her salt. She wouldn't tell me her trick with semen stains, but she has taught me techniques to expel semen residue from my vagina. They involve muscular contractions and the use of a small syringe filled with a solution that she says that with several applications is guaranteed to flush everything out. When Dina was working, she had clients one after the other, so she needed to clean herself up quickly.
Out of the shower I begin to dry myself. I notice that my labia are little red from the sex I had with Jim. I have some cream that will help with that, but first I need that syringe.
With the towel placed strategically to soak up seepage, I take the syringe and draw up a quantity of Dina's special solution. I insert the applicator as high as it can comfortably reach into my vagina, and depress the plunger. Rinse and repeat a few times and I'm confident I'll pass muster. The towel goes into the laundry bin - more work for Dina - and I'm ready for that cream. The redness is worse than I thought, but by tonight I should be fine. It's an occupational hazard I suppose. Many cocks make sore pussy; and I get a lot of cocks!
Working girls these days are expected to wax or shave. Pubic hair is generally regarded as less hygienic, though if I didn't earn my living the way I do I wouldn't worry about it. My last boyfriend used to prefer me with a little hair down there.
Which reminds me to explain, I don't have a boyfriend any longer. It gets too complicated. Generally speaking no man wants his woman to be fucking other men, unless he's part of it. There are men into having their wife or girlfriend go on dates, have sex, and come home to offer them what they call "sloppy seconds". That really doesn't appeal to me; besides, by the time I've finished with a client - or rather he with me - I'm done... there's no way I'm up for any more cock. The idea of a boyfriend wanting to fuck me as soon as I got home after last night with Jim, and then having to do it all over again the next morning, after George, is out of the question. So nowadays, I just have the odd one night stand, when I have the space in my schedule. My last was Glyn, a night manager at one of the hotels.
George is a regular. He once pressured me for anal sex but that's not my thing. Apart from that, what George likes, is to give me a massage. And he's really quite good at it. He fucks me of course, and I do all the other things he likes, oral, 69 and so on, but he always begins with the massage.
Anyway, that's getting ahead of myself. It'll be a while still before I'm ready for my night with George. We're meeting in an Hotel we haven't used before. We're to have an early dinner, go and see a show, and then head back to the hotel for a drink or two before heading up to his room. George encourages me to look sexy. He doesn't mind if people guess, and he wants them to know he gets lots of... 'tail' he calls it. I certainly give him that when he books me.
So once I've used the cream on my cunny, and dealt with any stubble down there, I start assembling the clothes I'll wear, and what I need to take with me. I don't put any clothes on till the last moment. Being naked, trying things on and taking them off again, looking at myself in the mirror, helps get me in the mood.
I try the blue, white, red, and black underwear, but still can't decide. Black is always safe though.
