To the casual observer in the hotel lobby, Laura Hampton might have been a secretary or legal assistant. She carried a lightweight briefcase and wore a stylish blue blazer, a tasteful matching skirt, and a bright white blouse that did little -- not that it was supposed to -- to hide Laura's curving, bountiful breasts. Her thick russet hair hung almost to her shoulders and was styled to enhance her dancing green eyes, high cheekbones, and full, red lips. To complete the secretarial look, Laura wore flattering silver-rimmed glasses.
Laura wore white stockings on her long dancer's legs, and the three-inch white high heels she wore provided the only clue as to what she truly was -- a 19-year-old college student working her way through school as a call girl.
A closer look at Laura would have revealed that she had opened the top two buttons to emphasize her cleavage; her clients loved that, found it tantalizing. The blazer not only served to conceal her presence from hotel management and provide protection against the chilly October night, it also gave her new client one more garment to remove.
But the timing couldn't be worse for Laura; it was a Friday night, and her parents were coming to visit her for the weekend the next day. Laura wanted to be ready. But Craig Johnson, her professor and procurer, had insisted.
"He comes to town every other month or so," Craig had told her. "He always demands the same physical type. Not too tall, leggy, brunette, big tits, green eyes. Right now, that's you."
As always, it was the money that won. There simply weren't that many jobs that paid $250 for an evening's work. With more on the way; Craig told her she could clear $5,000 during Homecoming Week.
"That's why they're home, Laura," he said. "To come."
Besides the money, Laura had to admit she often enjoyed the job. Men, especially the older ones, were putty in her hands. Most of them wanted someone to talk to as much as someone to take to bed; in many ways, Laura was a therapist. She certainly left none of her clients unhappy.
Room 413. Laura knocked gently on the door, right on time. It swung open immediately.
Call girl and client gaped in shock.
"Laura!"
"Dad!"
"Oh, my God."
Calvin Hampton grabbed his daughter hard around the wrist and yanked her into the room.
"What the hell is this?" he demanded.
"I might ask you the same," she replied. "Does Mom know?"
Cal blushed.
"That's not important, young lady. Right now, I want to know what you're doing here, and it had better be a coincidence."
Now Laura blushed, somewhat ashamed, and not knowing what to say, especially since, like all her clients, he'd paid in advance.
"It's just for the money," she said quietly as tears welled in her eyes. "You know how high tuition is, and--"
"I ought to call the cops," Cal muttered. "How many others is that bastard--"
"There's a big problem with calling the cops, Dad," Laura reminded him. "The client list becomes public, so your name will be out there, too. Let me just quit. Nobody has to know."
Cal looked away from her, and walked over to the dresser, on which stood a bottle of Scotch, two glasses, and an ice bucket.
"It's not that simple, Laura," he said. "There's a reason I use this … service. But I don't want you to be a part of it. Go wait tables or something." He turned to pour his drink.
Wait tables? No way. Laura didn't want to give up her job, but what choice did she have now? Crushed, she was about to leave.
But when her father turned to the dresser, she gave him an instinctive glance. Laura could spot a hard-on at twenty yards, and Dad's was poking out like a cannon from a battleship.
Laura made a nervy decision. She dropped her blazer to the floor, and her inviting tits bulged forward. Boldly, she stepped close to him.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"You've been staring at me since I was fourteen," she said, shaking her tits slightly, her voice dropping. "I always knew what you wanted. Maybe you should have asked what I wanted."
