Author's note:
This will be a two or possibly three-part story about a consensual and unorthodox relationship between adult women. Comments and emails are welcome and gratefully accepted. There's a light but unmistakable "domination/submission" angle at play here so if that's not your cup of tea you might want to find a story more to your taste. Thank you very much for your time and I hope you find it an entertaining read!
*****
Trish sat in her client's driveway and checked her look in a compact mirror before tucking it away in her handbag. She took out her phone and enjoyed a leisurely browse through a few emails, then responded to a few texts from her friends. She was already ten minutes late for her appointment and she knew Nathalie was watching her from inside the house, eager for her company, feeling the passage of each moment acutely as it dragged by. Trish was in no hurry, content to allow her client's anticipation to build.
The Princess would arrive when she pleased, and not a moment before.
Nathalie would accept that. In fact, the forty year-old craved it. Trish had been visiting Nathalie every few weeks for almost half a year and collecting five hundred dollars a visit for her trouble via email transfer. They both knew what was expected, and they both knew The Princess would deliver.
In her own sweet time, of course.
Despite their long history, it had come as a shock to Trish when Nathalie had texted a couple of days ago to book the appointment. Nathalie's daughter had been killed in a car accident the previous week - Trish had stumbled upon the newspaper column by accident while waiting for a hair appointment and the distinctive last name had been unmistakable.
Trish had considered calling to express her condolences, but refrained - she and Nathalie weren't friends. Trish was a 'fantasy escort' and Nathalie was a client. The relationship was entirely transactional - when the transaction was concluded, so was the relationship. Condolence calls weren't expected or required. Trish preferred to maintain an emotional distance with her clients.
She had plenty of friends already and was working her way through a post-grad Theatre Studies degree. Time was a rare commodity, and escorting suited her needs perfectly - a modest time commitment, yet still highly profitable. The fact that all five of her clients were women provided a certain amount of safety, too.
Still, how weird was it for a client to book time with an escort a week after losing her child? She'd figured Nathalie would still be in mourning, or grieving.
Maybe Nathalie would find The Princess' visit to be therapeutic somehow. Of all her clients, Nathalie was the most deeply-immersed in each scene they did, losing herself in the fantasy the two of them created. She didn't just play her part, she BECAME her part. Maybe that mental diversion was what she needed after what must have been a truly hellish week? Trish didn't know for sure - acting was her passion, not psychology.
Ultimately, Nathalie's reasons were irrelevant. The client had called, so The Princess would come.
At last Trish got out of her car, smoothed down her knee-length skirt, gazed at her own reflection in the car window and took a couple of seconds to brush a few strands of hair away from her face. Her four-inch heels clacked on the cement flagstone path as she walked to the front door of the small townhouse Nathalie was renting. Her face was an aloof mask, chin held high.
Nathalie opened the front door before Trish could knock, and Trish stepped into the house without a word.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," the older woman said. Princess could feel the excitement, the nervous energy from the other woman.
She didn't respond immediately, instead taking time to examine her fingernails. After a couple of moments she looked over at her client. Nathalie was dressed the way The Princess had told her - an ankle-length brown skirt; a long-sleeved, plain, white blouse buttoned to the neck; brown hair neatly gathered in a bun on top of her head. Boring and conservative, especially for a woman of only forty.
By contrast The Princess wore a jet black skirt and a bright, crimson, sleeveless silk blouse that showed just enough cleavage to be interesting. Her red hair fell in loose curls to mid-chest.
"Back straight, Nattie. You've been told not to slouch," Princess said in a crisp voice that suggested her patience was already beginning to wear thin.
"I'm sorry," Nattie said, adjusting her posture.
"Better," Princess said with a condescending pat to Nattie's cheek that ended in a gentle fingertip caress.
A moment went by in silence before Princess gave an exasperated sigh.
"Did you plan to remove my heels or shall I stand in the doorway all afternoon?"
"Oh! I'm sorry, ma'am." Nattie quickly dropped to her knees and released the straps, then carefully removed the heels and placed them together at the side of the doorway. She remained on her knees in front of Princess.
"You're going to be troublesome today. I can just tell," Princess said.
"I'm sorry."
Princess grabbed her hand bag and walked past the kneeling woman, through the kitchen and into the living room. Nattie followed along behind.
"Stand at 'inspect', Nattie. Let's have a look at you." Her tone made it clear that Princess had better things to do with her time.
The older woman stood up straight, eyes forward and feet apart. Princess walked a slow circle around her subject.
Nathalie wasn't in peak physical condition but it was clear she attended to her diet and did the minimum as far as exercise. She was a little shorter than Trish, a little more rounded and certainly not unattractive. Her brown eyes were different than last time - sunken and rimmed by dark circles. She hadn't been sleeping.
"Well I see you've managed to dress yourself properly. That's something, I suppose."
"Thank you."
"Panties." Princess held out her hand, palm up.
Nattie blushed but quickly hiked the hem of her skirt up to her waist and drew down her plain, white panties, then stepped out of them and set them in Trish's hand.
"They're clean this time, I hope? And dry?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am. Very clean and dry." Nattie's face turned a darker red.
Princess made a show of inspecting the gusset of the panties for any sign of discolouration or moisture. Finding they were, in fact, clean and dry, she tossed them on the floor at Nattie's feet.
"Acceptable. Put them back on."
Nattie quickly bent and pulled the panties on again, then let her skirt settle back into place and returned to her rigid posture. Princess settled into the middle of the couch, crossing her legs at the knee, and regarded her subject.
"Did you hand-wash the delicates I left here?"
"Yes ma'am."
There was a brief silence.
"Well? Where are they?"
Nattie turned and hurried from the room. Trish remained on the couch, bouncing one foot in the air impatiently, never breaking character. She loved having a job where she could pursue her love of drama and theatre, even if it was only part-time.
The other woman returned with a small bundle wrapped in white tissue paper and handed it to Princess, then returned to her 'inspect' position in the middle of the room.
Princess opened the bundle to find five pair of her own panties neatly folded and carefully arranged in the paper. She set the bundle next to her on the couch.
"You did a thorough job of it?"
"Yes ma'am."
