Copyright 2017, 2020 Lisa Summers
All characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters in this work were 18 years of age or older, at the time of any sexual activity.
Chapter 1
I was feeling a little out of sorts, my time of the month leaving me uncomfortable and a little messy. Not to mention, I was still uncertain about any future with Melissa Holloway, the unexpected love of my life. Immersed in a copy of the latest Jack Reacher novel, my ears perked up at the knock on my door. I quickly mentally reviewed any expected visitors, finding none and tried to recall anything that I might have ordered - nothing there either.
"Is it time for Girl Scout cookies?" I wondered, hoping that it was. I love S'Mores and Thin Mints together. No one else that I know has thought of that combination, and I'm always fearful that someday I'll be rich and balloon up to 310 pounds from my youthful slim shape just from overdoing them. Of course, as a 21 year old part-time college student and full time escort to sapphically inclined housewives and executives, "slim" is still easy to do, and definitely the way I'd prefer to stay.
My name is Laura Hendricks, and my occupation isn't listed in any of the executive search files that Wall Street firms use, but unexpectedly, it's a vitally important business these days.
There is a very large percentage of the global female population that is either bored or dissatisfied with the sexual talents of the male population, but for whatever reason must maintain a pose as "heterosexual" or straight, as the term goes. Sometimes these women fear social criticism and sometimes they fear physical or mental abuse, but whatever the reason that prevents them from allowing their bi or lesbian natures full flower, they prefer their sapphic sex on the "down low," with girlfriends or escorts who can please them in private.
I'm one of those escorts, and we happen to be a rare commodity, and so I can choose my clients and charge them a great deal of money for the opportunity to enjoy a real orgasm - or more likely, several real orgasms - instead of the waste of time waiting for some man to come across with satisfying sex. And as a lesbian - no men for me, thank you - I enjoy every single one of these clients to the fullest myself. It's pretty much the perfect business for me, and I'd hate to have to stop doing it for any reason. It's incumbent that I keep myself looking good, and in great condition for these sex-starved women.
As a courtesan, a lesbian courtesan, too much weight would be harmful of course. Oh, a fat lesbian prostitute could do very well, since women respond to so many other things in a bed mate than looks, but I believed that kind of weight would be physically and mentally unhealthy for me.
So anyway, if it were some sweet little Girl Scout, I'd keep my order under $20...well, $30, tops. And if it happened to be some Brownie troop leader, say a bored mom looking to fill her time, well, I could fill both her time and any openings itching for attention.
It's what I do, after all.
I opened the door, a little surprised to see Melissa Holloway there, looking uncomfortable.
To say that seeing her there opened up an ocean of emotions would be to minimize my instant stress. The beautiful 18 year old brushed back her medium length brown hair behind her right ear, and avoided my eyes as best she could while speaking.
Melissa had been my client, one who I was supposed to teach how to maximize her own pleasure on her honeymoon with some jerk - her fiancΓ© - named Jason Grundy. I had been contracted for this service by her mother, Susan, of all people. I wasn't supposed to fall in love with Melissa, and I sure as hell wasn't supposed to turn her into a lesbian. The first I knew had happened - I was head over heels for her. The second part I wasn't sure about.
We had ended up making love as women do the last time we were together, my lessons in seductive and sensual touch having gotten away from us both, and I think at some point we'd both said "I love you," but it was kind of confused in my head.
"Oh...Melissa," I greeted her, hesitantly to be sure.
"Um, can I come in?" she asked, her eyes still avoiding mine. Her beautiful, warm brown eyes, so soft and full of love. It had been so easy to swim in those eyes, so easy that I didn't realize that I was in over my head there.
"Yeah, of course," I responded, stepping aside to let her enter my apartment. It wasn't too much of a mess, but I almost never let clients visit me there - in fact, only one patron had ever been there before Melissa. Due to her circumstances, living at home, I had decided to use it as the most comfortable site for introducing Melissa to the pleasures of sex. So she was pretty familiar with it by that point, after several weeks worth of intermittent lessons.
She entered without a further word, walked to the center of the living room, turned and stared into my eyes. "Laura...I, I...love you," she said.
I gaped at her, and then gulped wordlessly for at least a minute. If you don't think a minute's a long, long time, try standing staring at someone for a full 60 seconds, and let me know how that goes. It felt as though whole empires rose and fell as we looked at each other, reaching for something more to say.
"I love you, too," I responded, finally, trying to exhale after realizing that I'd held my breath the whole time. "I really, really love you," I added.
"And you love me?" I asked, trying to pin this down, wanting to be sure that I hadn't misheard her because I wanted to hear it and mishearing her say "I don't love you" because sometimes we do that, wanting to hear what we want to hear and-
"Yeah," she said, grinning and crying at the same time. "I really, really love you, too," she said, coming to me, her arms opening up to take me in them and hold me. She was warm and soft and smelled really good and making little soft noises in her throat and breathing kind of funny - a little hiccuppy thing - and whispered in my ear.
"I was so afraid that you were going to brush me off, or laugh at me or something and I love you so much," she exhaled into my ear, her breath warm and lovely and sweet across my cheek and on my ear.
"Never, never, never," I responded. "I could never hurt you, I love you, love you," I answered, and then we kissed. Softly, tentatively at first, then passionately and fiercely, our bodies twining together as our tongues danced. She was warm and so feminine, and she smelled so sweet - I'd have to ask her what her new scent was - and I never wanted that moment to end.
But of course it did. We sort of both broke our kiss, reluctantly, but it was time for something else to happen. I responded in the only way I know. I took her hand and led her to the bedroom, and then we kissed again, standing by the bed on a tan throw rug. I thought that I was going to lead her into her new life, but it didn't work out that way at all.
"Here, you're really much too overdressed for the occasion," Melissa said, her tongue caught between her teeth, a little pink bit between her perfect white teeth. "Let me help you get those uncomfortable clothes off," she continued.
"Um, are you sure?" I said, cursing the timing of my period. Just when being perfect would have been well, perfect, I was just...not.
She began by grabbing the hem of my University of Illinois tee shirt and lifting it up, my naked skin more and more exposed. She made a "tsking" sound when she saw that I wasn't wearing a bra, and pulled the shirt away, my long hair flowing through the neck opening as she did. She held the shirt to her nose.
"Mmm, it smells like you...wonderful," she murmured, her eyes shining. Her eyes focused on my breasts.
"Oh god, your tits are so perfect," she whispered, looking quickly into my eyes for permission to touch them. The slight, reflexive jerk of my upper body toward her was all the permission that she needed, and her cool hands were on me, caressing and massaging both breasts at once, squeezing warm, soft flesh in her gentle, small hands, then taking nipples between thumb and forefinger and lightly squeezing, assessing how hard they were and how much I might enjoy her rough handling there.
I threw my head back and moaned. A soft "yesss," slipped out of me.
She bent down and brought her mouth to my left breast, kissing my aroused globe, her lips wet and pink on me, then taking my long, hard nipple into her mouth, gently sucking on it, the slight pain going straight to my clit, a sharp jolt of pleasure that made my hips wriggle with desire.
Meanwhile, her hands went to my hips, inexorably pushing down the elastic waist of my red sweat pants, the cloth reluctant at first, then, once over the width of my hips and the prominence of my full, round ass, slipped swiftly to the floor. My panties were partially pulled down, with my smooth vulva partially exposed and one hip bare.
"Oh, here, let me fix that," she said, pulling the errant cloth back into place, then, like a magician removing a table cloth, whipped it down off my hips, down to my knees and let the panties continue on to the floor. I stepped out of the sweat pants and panties, my hand on her shoulder to maintain balance, her strong, warm hand on my hip.
I looked into her eyes and saw an immense hunger there.