I found what I was looking for on the Internet. It took some time, but I knew exactly what I wanted.
"Lady Patricia" her web site was called. The home page picture showed an attractive woman, perhaps thirties, neat dark hair to her shoulders. She was standing in a long black halter top evening dress that clung to the curves of what was obviously a man's dream of a figure. Her dress was slit high up her bare leg provocatively thrust as if to invite men to run their hands along its full length from her high heeled sandal to the delights at the top. The cleavage was cut in a deep V, held barely closed by a bow between large breasts that were all but bursting out. The look on her face proclaimed confidence, sensuality, sophistication, experience, mischief - everything a whore should be!
Underneath her picture the caption read "High class private modelling and sensual massage. See me in and out of the outfit of your choice." An icon below her picture read "Enter - if you dare!"
I dared, and I could hardly believe the pictures I saw! Patricia displayed her luscious body in penis straining nude poses, in hardcore sex action with men, having lesbian sex with naked women, all as kinky and erotic as anything I'd ever ogled in porn. Patricia's price for her services was high, but if those pictures were anything to go by I'd be getting my money's worth. "Your place or mine" her site had read, and minutes later we'd arranged it: at my place - here!
Patricia arrived precisely on time, dressed exactly how I'd asked. A smart jacket, a thin boob-clinging white blouse, a grey business skirt ending just above the knee, tight over the curves of her bottom and showing the outline of her panties beneath. Her shapely legs were in sheer seamed black nylons and black high heels. She wore understated pearls at her ears and throat. She looked just like my manager at work I'd wanted to shag for years but had only ever had in my masturbation fantasies. I guessed she'd met many men with fantasies like mine.
For a moment I wondered if the neighbours had noticed Patricia's arrival. I guessed not. In our quiet suburban street of big set back detached houses with expensive cars in our drives we barely even notice each other's existence.
I made sure I put her at ease, welcoming her, speaking to her like a man should to a sophisticated professional lady. I took her jacket, like a gentleman should, and saw the shadow of a dark bra through her well filled blouse. I complimented her on her outfit and with a smile she thanked me.
She noticed the picture on the wall of my wife and kids. She looked worried for a moment, and asked if my wife was away. Seeing my pretty blonde wife beside me Patricia must have wondered why the hell I wanted sex with a prostitute. But she was a professional. She knew better than to ask. I reassured her my wife was out of the way and there wouldn't be a problem. Guessing I was just another otherwise decent middle class guy wanting some extra marital hanky panky I saw her visibly relax.
I offered her a drink, observing the traditional English rite. But with a demure smile she declined. She said she wanted to get straight down to business: she was a professional.
I suggested we went up to the bedroom, and I led the way up the stairs. Our main bedroom's large, pastel decorated, with net curtains at the windows like all the houses in our quiet suburban street, letting the sun stream through but not letting anyone see what naughty things go on inside! There's a king size bed and I'd thrown off the bed covers ready for Patricia to perform. On the chest of drawers was a vase of fresh cut flowers left that morning by my wife, a lovely touch. I told Patricia what I wanted.
"I'll get naked so you can see my cock sticking up for you. Then you'll strip for me. I'll take some pictures."
"Take whatever pictures you want," she replied, then with a playful grin "just send the hottest to me."
"Then," I continued, "I want you to do something for me I've never asked my wife to do."
She didn't reply, but the look on her face told me there weren't many things men hadn't dared to ask her to do. She'd seen everything. She was a prostitute, after all. But even she would never have guessed what I had in mind for her!
She knelt on the bed watching me as I stripped. I'm forties and I've got nothing to be ashamed of, I guess unlike some of her other flabby, half impotent clients. I'm the weight I should be, muscular from the gym, and tanned. I saw her smile when I was just in my white speedo style designer briefs showing the outline of my shaft, knob and balls through the thin taut cloth, and pushed out in a huge cone by my straining hard erection. They're my wife's favourite. I'd taken a Viagra an hour or so before Patricia arrived and my cock felt like a steel bar, ready for anything Patricia could do for me, and more! I stepped forward and let Patricia slip my briefs down my thighs. My boner sprang out, arching up from my hairy balls as far as my belly button.
"Ready for this, Patricia?" I said standing wide legged thrusting my hard up seven inches toward her and running my fingers along my shaft to emphasise its length.
"Mmmmmmmm! I see I'm going to have a good time!" Patricia purred. I guessed she said that to every man showing off his cock, but it sounded good just the same.
"Now strip for me," I said. "Real slow, and make it hot."
She started by showing me a raunchy upskirt, squatting wide legged on her heels, the way my manager does in my masturbation fantasies. I saw she was wearing the stockings, suspenders and black see through lace panties I'd asked for. She posed squatting like that both for my camera and for my hand to explore her thighs above her stocking tops and to slide down inside the front of her panties to ruffle her cunt hair.
