Author's Note:
Hello everyone! This story is my welcome back into the world of writing. I have been absent a long time and have used some of this time to sharpen my skills I guess. This story is an introduction, so there is a bit of teasing here and there. Other parts and chapters will contain graphic content and scenes with BDSM. If you're looking for a quick story, I suggest something else. As always, be nice and leave some love or feedback. I adore hearing from you all.
Yuno.
*****
I watched the red run from the tips of my fingers and down into the water in the basin where it became a tinge of faint pink before washing away. I had always marveled at the way blood sat and clung to the skin, but melted away so quickly in water. Mesmerised as I was, I almost missed the movement over my shoulder. A slight smirk pulled at my painted lips- the dull red of the gloss more akin to ruby than the vibrant blood washing from my hands. I watched Jonathon groan and rise from the bed. Again, my aquamarine eyes sunk back to the basin but this time moved to the bloodied whip sitting in loose coils off to the side. With meticulous care, I gently polished the leather with a damp cloth and wound the length around the stiff handle. After tucking the stiff rod into the back of my garter belt, I turned from the bathroom to walk back into the main room of the hotel. My client had already started to rub soothing gel on the lower half of his back where the lashes had been the softest- the dying kiss of brute force from my whip. Sliding one leg onto the bed behind my battered client so I could take over. Perching on the edge I worked the gel with nimble fingers where his couldn't reach. As an escort, I had been loosely trained in first aid and applied that knowledge now. It was a trick of the trade I had learnt to always keep a kit by the bed. Not just for toys, of course, but for aftercare. Within moments I had the slim briefcase open on my lap and pawed through the supplies for what was needed. Luckily, the cuts weren't deep.
"How are you feeling, John?" my voice purred softly while swiftly applied bandages; winding around his muscled abdomen and each shoulder.
"Better than ever, Miss Kent," came the husky reply, his voice oaky from the recent cries of pleasure and release. I found my main attraction point with John was his voice, for there was not much else to like about him. The deep melancholy of his voice carried every emotion the young male had. John was cocky and arrogant, and had too much success under his belt to be anything other than nepotism from his famous father. As sure as I was that he could have any woman he wanted from money alone, I knew he wouldn't want just any... and that's where I came in. Because what John wanted in a partner couldn't be found with just anyone. And with money came discretion. He hired me rarely enough for me to be able to deal with his loud mouth and overwhelming persona for the amount that was deposited in my bank at the end of the night.
I looked over my work of bandages stretched across his wide, muscular back and smiled. Mostly because it meant I could leave. "I had a very enjoyable night with you tonight, John," I layered the affection deeply into my voice to make each word sound sultry. He looked back at me with the exaggerated smirk that showed me he ate up the tone of my voice and believed every moment. There was nothing overly remarkable about John's looks. With his typical brown hair, brown eyes and heavy jaw. He looked like the all American boyish man who relied on style and arrogance to be remarkable. My hands stayed planted on his shoulders as I leaned enough into his back to feel my breasts press against the bandages. My lips brushed from shoulder to neck before jumping to his cheek, where I applied more pressure. The kiss held on for a few seconds while my palms slowly slipped down his biceps while I whispered, "Call on me anytime, handsome. I always await your beckoning."
His resounding chuckle and nod assured me that I would surely see him again.
Minutes later and I was standing outside of the hotel room doing once last glance over myself. My almost trademark trench coat did the brilliant job of not only covering the lingerie worn beneath but also the light bumps and lumps of equipment stashed within. A pair of handcuffs in one pocket, bondage silk straps in another and of course... the whip that was still tucked into the belt of my garter. The dark black coat also managed to look sleek and professional, rather than whorish. It was very important to me that I never looked like a slut on the streets. You know that popular saying, 'business woman in the streets, whore in the sheets?' I strived to be the embodiment of that saying. I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile for a moment before turning sharply and heading for the carpark.
The Audi purred under my hands. It's Italian leather wheel stilled held that silty feel of expense. My car was my baby, the funnel for which I poured most my earnings and happiness into in a big burst. I rarely allowed myself to display how much I had earned. It would look a tad suspicious to the public eye if a young stock broker with no apparent family and no ring had such wealth. Ever seen American Gangster? Denzel Washington taught me that flaunting got you caught. People would craft rumours to fill in the logical answer; that I sold drugs, that I was a stripper on the side, a sugar daddy. But I could easily explain the car away as a gift, or well bargained loan. It wasn't that what I was doing was
illegal
, more just immoral. I was an escort, and have been since the tender age of 20. And yes, perhaps at that age it was illegal but now that I am older and wiser... it's just plain addictive.
Having this secret side of me that I shed into every night was just
thrilling
. And each face provided me something that the other couldn't, or didn't. Monogamy had never pleased me in the way it did every other person. For some reason the more I spent around certain people the more I wanted to get away from them. Sometimes interactions just felt like a program I had to run through. Step 1) Smile, pleasant greeting. Step 2) Small talk or optional enquiry into home life. Step 3) Light joke? Make a playful note of their situation? etc. I ran my hand through my hair while stepping out of the car into the brisk evening and hurried up the stairs of my apartment block and to the door. After a light fumble with keys I was inside my home. My haven. I kicked off my heeled shoes by the door and sighed as my stockinged toes sunk into the carpet. Without a pause I scooped up the heels and followed through into my bedroom to begin the process of removing 'Miss Kent'. First the striking stiletto heels were tucked away into the left side of my walk-in closet. The right side was dominated by business and streetwear, my day clothes as I called them. My shoes were a big part of keeping my two lives separate. They were the thing that constantly reminded me to wear a mask; the professional stoke broker who lived a boring, mediocre life, and the whore that paid her bills by appearing on the arm of a famous man at a cocktail party. Technically, I was just an expensive prostitute. But to me most of it was about acting and playing a role. Some days it became exhausting to control my life so carefully that everything seemed effortless.
But for most part, everything was effortless. I rose in the morning and went to work in my uniformed blouse and at night I put on my lipstick, changed my shoes and clothes and went out on a date. I kept few clients at a time and made sure each had a routine that they stuck to with the illusion of giving them control. The most I had at any one time were four over the course of a month, one a week but that was truly rare and hadn't happened since my young days. Now, I prefer two clients a month for however many months I need/want to have them. If I keep a client for too long I find that the thrill is soon lost or they develop an attachment that I can't afford. That was the best part after all. So many faces, so many desires, so many different ideas and cravings that I got to experience with every new person. Each one was a new first date and first kiss. My hidden life never got boring and repetitive like my daily life did.
As I closed my eyes that night and hunkered down into the silky sheets, I stretched out my arms through the cool bedding and smiled. Unlike most I loved the feel of an empty bed with so much space.
I sat at my desk, twirling my strawberry blonde hair around a finger and staring at the strands while muttering. It always helped if I spoke to myself while figuring out a problem. I didn't realise how bizarre I must have looked- speaking to my hair while mumbling- until the familiar giggle of my co-worker broke my reverie. "What are you doing?" the intern called while holding out a coffee.
"Just trying to work through the stock predictions. Thank god for coffee..." I said with a slightly desperate voice that garnered another soft chuckle from the dazzling blonde.
Emma was one of the people that I found myself struggling to be around. When she had first started working, three weeks ago, it took me every ounce of willpower not to throttle her. The nineteen-year-old had such a bizarre attitude that most people in the office just chose to ignore her and ask her for odd jobs. She had a sharp wit that cut back in the most unexpected ways and she always seemed to be dancing on the edge of flirting. But that's not why I struggled with the gorgeous blonde. In fact, it was the complete opposite. I wanted to fuck her. My hands yearned to bury into the golden blonde tresses and grip it in a fist. To hear her gasping moans as I played with her spots until her knees grew weak. I wanted to wipe that smug, rousing smirk off her lips and teach her who truly was on top. It helped that she was very nice to look at. Where my hair was tinted with the faint reddish/pink to it's natural blonde, Emma's was a striking gold with bright highlights. Emma layered on thickly to bring out her baby blue eyes to an extreme. Most girls had to point to get preying eyes away from their chests long enough to notice eye colour; with Emma this wasn't necessary. So clear was the blue that many of our co-workers suspected contacts.
I made my assessment over the rim of my coffee take-away lid while watching the athletically toned body of the tender intern delivering to each cubicle. After the last latte was dealt her eyes stealthily slid back to me. A slight smirk pulled at her lips at catching me staring, as if she had caught me with my hand in my pants. But nine times out of ten when people felt my eyes upon them and returned the gaze it was only a matter of moments before they were reeled in. I logically put this entire behavioural instinct down to intrigue and curiosity; lest I allow my ego to be bloated more than it already was. Being an escort, I was very aware of the way people saw me... and the way my beauty could subtly manipulate susceptible people. And like a fly to honey I found Emma once again in my cubicle and buzzing from my files to my desk idly. By now I had returned to my computer and was typing away until I saw her hand enter my peripherals. She had positioned behind my chair, bent over with a look of fixated fascination at my screen and was close enough for her hair to scrape my cheek. The hand that had captured my attention was positioned beside my keyboard as a support while she "scrutinized" my numbers.
