Araceli's Deal

I knocked on the suite door, my go-bag over my shoulder, my uniform crisp and clean. The man who answered was tall and handsome, with dark hair and eyes. He couldn't be 30 yet. He was muscular and lean, wearing a loose, light grey, button-down shirt untucked over nice jeans. I found myself inexplicably drawn to him.

"Hello," I said. "I'm Araceli. I'll be your personal attendant during your stay."

He smiled. "Please come in. I like the sound of that. Personal attendant."

I entered his room. Guests were given information about us when we were hired, but not everyone actually read it. I wondered if I'd have to do my run-down for him. "Yes, sir. Would you like me to explain my role, or are you familiar with our services?"

"I have read the pamphlet," he said. "I wouldn't mind a little more detail, though."

"Certainly." I put my bag on the floor beside the door. "I will stay with you, here in your room, for the entirety of your visit. I am available to you at any time to run errands, pick up after you and help you stay organized, attend social events with you, and so forth. For example, if you find you have run out of toothpaste, I can easily obtain more for you. If you are hungry at 2:00a.m., you can send me to get a snack for you. If you'd like something from town, I can purchase it for you."

"You stay here? Where?"

That was in the pamphlet. Maybe he'd skipped it. "I have a small room over there." I pointed to a side door.

"I see. Well, Araceli, it is very nice to meet you, and I look forward to working with you."

He did not give me a name to call him. His paperwork had said he wished to be anonymous, but even an anonymous person could use a fake name. "If you don't mind, I'll put my things away. Is there anything I can do for you immediately?"

His eyes flicked from the top of my head all the way down to my shoes. "I can think of a few things," he said, "but they aren't on the list they gave me."

Ah, one of those. This could be lucrative. "Well, if you tell me what you have in mind, maybe we can work something out." Without waiting for a response, and partly to hide my embarrassed smile, I ducked past him and took my bag to my room. When I turned around, he was sitting on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching me.

I wasn't supposed to sit until invited to do so. It was a stupid rule, but they said it showed respect. So I stood, hands folded at my waist, and let his gaze sweep over me again. He didn't speak for a long moment. I waited, letting him take the lead.

It never even occurred to some guests to ask for anything off the list. Others would play word games and make innuendos but never actually make the offer. And then there were the guests who came here knowing there were "off-books" services, as it were. Some even came here because of those services.

"I'm told," he said finally, as if trying to find a delicate way to approach the subject, "that you offer some personal services, off-books."

I couldn't make the suggestion. He had to bring it up. "It's possible, sir. I have filled some unusual requests at times." I enjoyed being coy. If he really wanted it, he'd eventually come right out and say it.

"Like what?" He sat up straighter.

I had a few examples ready. He would be disappointed. "One guest lost his dentures in the swimming pool, and I was able to find them in the filter. Another decided on a whim to propose to his girlfriend here and asked me to help him set the stage and procure a ring."

He chuckled. "That's not exactly what I had in mind."

"They are rather specific." Come on, you can do it, I thought. With some guests, I made more money performing off-books services than I was paid for my usual duties. I smiled.

He held out his hand to me. There we go. "You are very pretty," he said.

"Thank you, sir. That's very flattering."

"Will you come sit next to me?"

"Certainly. Thank you." Now we were getting somewhere. I made myself comfortable, sitting back and crossing my legs at the knee. The hem of my skirt slid up to mid-thigh. I didn't fix it.

He turned sideways and leaned against the armrest so he could look at me. "I want to make sure I'm reading you correctly. I'm interested in sexual services. If you can't provide those, will you point me to someone who can? I don't want to get either of us in any trouble."

Finally. "You are reading me correctly, sir."

"So how does this work?" He moved closer to me and put his hand on my knee.

"What types of sexual services are you looking for?"

"All types. So, how much for, say, a blow job?"

Now I could be specific, too. "750."

"$750! I can go into town and get one for 50 bucks. A good one."

"True." I waited. I could set my own prices and make my own rules, and the guest couldn't complain because it wasn't an official item in the contract.

"So why would I pay you 15 times that for the same thing?" His hand inched up toward my skirt. I ignored it for the moment. He'd have to be stopped if he went much higher, but I didn't want to put him off before we'd agreed on something.

"Well, I deep-throat and I swallow. And the police won't bother us."

"Police. Excellent argument."

"And I'm clean, guaranteed. And we can do it right here in your room, and no one else will know. I understand you are staying here anonymously. That suggests you require privacy." I'd win this. Easily. I should have asked for more.

"You deep-throat?"

"Yes, sir." A skill I'd taught myself so I could raise my prices. The guests went crazy for it, too.

His eyes went to my chest.

"I keep my clothes on, and you don't touch," I said.

He nodded. "For $750, I'd think I'd at least get to see your tits. A $50 whore gets naked."

Now that was just insulting. A $50 whore indeed! "$750 for a blow job, clothed, no touching. That's my offer." I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Okay. Then how much for you to get naked?" His hand continued its upward journey. I put my hand over his and moved it back toward my knee. He chuckled. He wouldn't push his luck. I could leave if I felt threatened. That was in the contract.

"I don't offer that service, sir. If you like, I know of some other attendants who might be willing. You'd still have to pay for my time, though."

"No. I don't want another attendant. How much?"

"I keep my clothes on, sir."

"$3000," he said. "Just to take your clothes off while you give me a blow job. I won't even touch, just look."

Persistent little bugger. Most gave up by now and took what was offered. "No, sir."

"$5000."

I shook my head. "No, sir. I don't provide that service." My resolve was wavering. I wondered just how high he'd go.

"Come on. You can use the money, I'm sure. Everyone can. That new TV you've been coveting? A brand new computer? Travel? School? How long could you feed your family on $5000?"

A long time. "I - I don't..." $5000. Come on, Araceli. It's just taking your clothes off, just this once, for this one man.

He knew he had me. He smiled.

"$5000, for the blow job. I'll take my clothes off, but you don't touch, and I put my clothes back on when we're finished," I said.

He didn't nod. His expression was calculating. Oh no. "And if I want to touch?" he asked.

"This is making me very uncomfortable. I'm going to have to ask you to end this conversation. I've made my offer." Firm, confident.

"Offer accepted," he said.

I stifled a sigh of relief. "Would you like to do it now?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"I'd like the money up front."

"Of course." He went to the bedroom, presumably to the safe, and returned after a moment carrying a wad of cash. He'd planned this ahead of time, or he wouldn't have that much cash that easily accessible. He was one to watch out for.

He counted out the $5000 and handed it to me. I took it to my room and hid it under the mattress.

"So? Get started," he said. He opened his fly and pulled his jeans down far enough to free his cock, already erect just at the thought of what he'd purchased.

I'd agreed to this. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks. That was the easy part. I turned my back to him and unbuttoned my shirt. I closed my eyes and took it off. I never did this. I never took off my clothes for guests. It would make the rest of the job too uncomfortable, knowing he'd seen me naked. It would put him at an unfair advantage. He wouldn't respect me.

There was something about this man that pulled me in, confused me. I had to keep going before I could think about it too much.

I could refuse, return his money. No. Keep going. My skirt fell to the floor, followed by my bra and then my panties. There. Clothes off. I turned around.

He grinned. "Thank you. Lovely." He looked at me, openly, unashamed.

I felt a tightening between my legs when his eyes fell on my crotch. Even without touching me, he was having an effect. How?

I knelt in front of him and he leaned back with a happy sigh. Time to work my magic. I was good at this, and I knew it. And for $5000, he'd expect excellence. The faster I could make him come, the sooner I could put my clothes back on.

I put my lips around him and slid down, down, letting my tongue trail along the underside. He tasted good. Not all of them did. Then up, slowly, adding suction. He groaned. The next time, I went down faster and touched his balls with my fingers. He was waiting for the deep-throat. The anticipation would make it all the more exciting.

Back up, then down all the way. He slipped down my throat easily.

"Wow," he said. "That's amazing."

Again, twice more, then shorter strokes, but faster.

"Stop," he said.

Dammit! I stopped, sat back.

"I want to touch. How much?"

"We made our agreement," I said. "I'm keeping up my end. Should I continue?"

"No. Another thousand to touch your tits."

What difference did it make, really? He could already see them. His penis was in my mouth. A little touch, another $1000? I was afraid he was going to keep pushing me. I didn't have sex with guests. I couldn't! But I nodded. "I trust you'll pay. Shall I continue?"

"Oh yes." He sat up.

I resumed my work, tense, waiting for him to violate me.

But his touch was light, gentle, both hands, one on each breast, stroking the sides, palming my nipples.

Another tug between my legs. No, no, no. Oh, but it did feel good.

I took him down my throat again, to distract myself. I had to finish him off, and soon.

His thumbs brushed over the nipples, and then he pinched, not hard enough to hurt.

"Another thousand to touch your pussy?" His voice was strained. He was holding back his orgasm. I redoubled my efforts and pretended I hadn't heard.

"Two," he said.

He was still manipulating my nipples. I couldn't concentrate. I wanted him to stop, but he was paying for it. But I also didn't want him to stop.

"Can I suck them, then?" he asked.

I took my mouth off of him long enough to speak. "No."

He let go of my breasts. I was relieved and disappointed. Why was he so confusing?! I moved faster, up and down, into my throat again, cupped his balls, and he groaned. Spurts of cum shot into my mouth. I swallowed it, then sat back on my heels.

"That was amazing," he said. He pulled his pants back on. "I'll get your thousand."

While he was in the bedroom, I put my clothes back on as quickly as I could. My head was spinning, nipples tingling still.

He came back out, handed me the money with a rueful smile. "Now what?" he asked.

Back to normal. "Would you like me to order some lunch?"

"Yes. Would you go to the best little hole in the wall restaurant you know and bring back your favorite dish, one for each of us? I bet you know just the place."

Those eyes. I couldn't look away from him. "Yes, sir, I do." My brother and his wife owned a restaurant. I could help them out with this man's money. "$20 should be enough."

He handed me a $20 from his pocket. After the six thousand he'd already paid me, it felt like pennies.

I escaped the room, then paused, leaning against the wall in the corridor, catching my breath. Had I really just done that? But $6000, Araceli!

"You okay, Celi?"

"Huh?" Monica had stopped in front of me, a sack of laundry in her arms. "Oh, hey Monica. Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Am I sure? No, not at all. "My new guest." I gestured toward his door. "He's, um, he's..."

Monica put her hand on my shoulder. "Got it." She moved closer, lowered her voice. "Just think of the money," she said with a wink and continued on down the hall.

The money. I put my confusion aside and started thinking about everything I could do with $6000. More than I usually made in 15 minutes! A lot more.

I made my way out to my rusty old car and begged it to sputter to life. Now there's something I could do with $6000! I could do it again, have enough to buy a newer car, not have to clunk around in this piece of crap.

Again? Could I do it again?

The thought made me breathe faster, my heart start pounding again. Get a grip, Araceli!

The car obeyed this time, and I wended my way out of the resort and off to the poor little town I hailed from. I pulled up in front of Benny's. My brother came out, waving. "Hey, Celi! Thought you were working!"

I dropped my formal, educated American façade and switched to Spanish. I wrestled the door open and got out. "Hey Tony. I'm working. Getting lunch for my client."

"Here? Don't those rich Americans want fancy French food?"

"This one wants my favorite dish from the best little 'hole in the wall' I know. What better hole in the wall is there than Benny's?" I grinned.

Tony laughed. "Sure, Celi. What can I get you?"

"Tacos, man. As many as I can get for $20." I gave him the money. "You know Americans. They only ever want tacos."

"How would I know? They never come here." He was still laughing. I followed him inside. His wife, Sandra, was in the kitchen.

"What's so funny, Tony?" she asked.

"Celi's American wants $20 worth of tacos."

Sandra giggled. "You got it."

"Tony, you know if anyone's selling a car?" I asked.

"No, but I can keep an ear out. You thinking about a new one?"

"I'm always thinking about a new one. I might finally have enough, after this assignment."

"That's great, Celi. I'll let you know if I hear anything."

Tony brought me some juice, and we sat in companionable silence. "Sandra's pregnant," he said suddenly.

"That's great, Tony! So exciting!"

He seemed troubled. "Yeah."

"What's wrong?"

"I guess I was hoping the restaurant would be more successful before we had a baby."

"You'll figure it out. You're gonna be a father, Tony! And I'm gonna be a aunt!"

Sandra brought out a bag of food for me. "Here you go. Hope it impresses your American."

I jumped up and gave her a hug. "Maybe I can help you," I said. "I, um, I have some savings." Not exactly.

"No, Celi, you don't have to do that," Tony protested. "We're fine."

I looked around at the empty restaurant. One taco order wasn't going to save them. "I want to. It's why I came back, isn't it? To help the family. So let me help." I shrugged. Maybe I could get a car and help my brother. It was just one guest. One time. I took the bag from Sandra.

Just how much could I milk from this handsome, rich, anonymous American?

* * *

He liked the tacos and asked where I'd gotten them. I told him it was my brother's restaurant and he laughed and said he appreciated that I was loyal to my family. I cleared away the empty wrappers and bags when we were finished.

He watched me work, his eyes lingering on my breasts and butt. I felt very exposed, even though I was fully clothed. "I'm still thinking about that blow job," he said. "It was the best one I've ever had."

I know. "Thank you, sir. Is there anything you need my help with at the moment?" I was careful with my words, not wanting to invite another offer. Shame was overtaking excitement, that I'd let him talk me into that, even for that much money.

He shook his head. "Not right now. If you'd like to take some time for yourself, that's okay with me. But, would you think about something?"

"Yes, sir." Maybe.

"Tonight, I have to attend a dinner with some business partners. It won't be exciting, and it will likely be stressful. You won't be coming with me. But when I get back, I'd like it if you were available to..." He waved his hand in the air, as though searching for a word. "...cheer me up."

Cheer you up. Right. I knew it. I knew he would ask for more. Stick to your guns, Araceli. You have self-respect. I thought about my brother and the empty restaurant and the baby on the way. "Yes, sir. What do you want me to think about?"

"Your price."

The tacos suddenly weren't sitting well with me. I decided to feign ignorance. "My price?"

"I know you understand. Just think about it."

I nodded. I would think about it. How could I think about anything else, now? "Is there anything, uh, specific I should consider?"

He smiled, those eyes boring into me. He handed me an envelope, resort stationary. "Yes there is."

I took it from him and swallowed hard. "Okay."

"I have a tee time in 20 minutes. I'll be back long enough to get ready for dinner. Have my suit pressed and ready and make sure my shoes are shined. You can choose a tie. Otherwise, you have some time to yourself."

"Yes, sir." At least that was a more normal part of my duties. Then he was gone.

I didn't want to open the envelope. I didn't want to think about it. Once I started thinking, I'd be stuck with it, cycling through my head. I'd have to make a decision.

On the other hand, here he was giving me a chance to process everything so that I wouldn't have to make the decision on the spot. And maybe I could talk to one of the other attendants, someone who usually offered more than me.

Just think of the money, Monica had said. If I didn't like it, I'd still have the money, and I wouldn't have to do it again if I didn't want to.

And if I did like it?

I went into my little room and stretched out on the bed.

The envelope.

I didn't have to look at it. I could just tell him no. I could just tell him I'd do another blow job for $750, but that was all.

I pulled out the piece of paper inside, also resort stationary, and unfolded it.

He had neat handwriting. The paper was divided into two columns. It looked like he'd drawn the lines with a ruler. He was very precise in everything he did. That much was obvious.

The left column was titled, "Act," and the right column was titled, "Offer." It was a menu! The first item was "blow job, including deep throat and swallow, clothed, no touching" and the price was already filled in, "$750." The next was "blow job, including deep throat and swallow, naked, no touching," and "$5000" beside it. Seeing it written out like this made it so sterile, just another business transaction.

It wasn't just another business transaction for me.

I continued down the list. "Blow job, including deep throat and swallow, naked, touching breasts" was filled in as well, "$6000." The rest of the prices were blank. I was supposed to decide.

Was I selling a service, or was I selling myself? The price I set, if I decided to, would be a direct indication of how much I valued myself, my body. Part of me said, if I truly valued myself, I wouldn't allow someone to pay me to use me this way. And part of me said, if someone is willing to pay for it, why not? I could set outrageous prices just to see what he would do. But if he agreed, then did that mean I had to, or was it just an offer I could accept or refuse when the time came?

The next line said "blow job add-ons," and the options were "all of the above, plus suck breasts" and "all of the above, plus touch pussy." It was like planning a stay at the resort. Here's your base package, now choose your additional services. I shuddered. I didn't like this. It wasn't fun. I thought it would be fun, but this was my body.