“Darling. Surely the fishnets are unnecessary?” I turn to look at my friend quizzically, red fishnet stockings still poised in my hand.
“A bit too much?” I venture, pursing my lips in a contemplative manner. Julia was also pursing her lips, applying a slick of rouge lipstick onto their ripened contours in the greasy, lip gloss smeared mirror that hung in a rather uncommitted way, upon our magnolia white walls.
“Red boned corset and red fishnets?” Julia turns to face me, her brows quivering in disapproval. “Personally, I would never wear the two together. Ever.”
I note the dig. Having a conversation with Julia was a lot like playing Russian Roulette. You never knew when and if you would receive the fatal bullet. She was, of course asserting herself once again as the more advanced and more knowledgeable escort of the two of us and she liked to do this rather frequently.
Like most escorts, I find myself both invigorated and perplexed by the world that I inhabit. I find as my days as an escort go by I am less and less shocked by the depths and heights of human gratification. Be it married men, politicians, religious leaders or mere teenagers, I have tasted them all and have come to discover no matter what position or background a man is from, sexual desire is a potent, unrelenting fire few can oppose. The world is a race, an invigorating battle and I love the thrill.
“Have I taught you nothing?” Julia presses, exasperation perforating her voice. “Corsets should only be worn with sheer stockings, fishnets will make him think he’s got into bed with a dirty tart on a night out. Let’s not degrade ourselves now, shall we.”
“What do they say…that ship has sailed?” I counter, suppressing a giggle. Julia catches my glance and her rouge lips remain motionless and unimpressed.
Julia is from a privileged background, she attended a highly acclaimed private boarding school in Scotland, but when ‘daddy’s’ assets were obtained due to allegations of laundering and fraud she was speedily removed from her expensive education. The shrewd Julia soon discovered there was only one way to keep the money coming in as quickly and as easily as daddy’s credit card did, suffice to say her one-way ticket into the world of high class escorts was booked.
“Ok. No fishnets.” I relent.
Of course, I have my own opinions about the appropriate lingerie for my clients, but the people-pleasing novice whore in me often surpasses the feisty, savoir-faire escort that I have become, just like a child regressing into infant state in the presence of her mother.
If mothers are anything to go by, Julia has certainly been a much more attentive mother than my own; she indeed was my passport into the world we now inhabit. So, you could say she gave birth to my inner harlot.
“But… you do look beautiful.” Julia adds and is suddenly all doe-eyed politeness and dimpled smiles once more. I admire myself in the mirror and smooth the red satin of my corset so that it accentuates the rise of my cleavage.
Julia’s attire is sensational, as always. She is wearing a black lace camisole, black lace stockings and her platinum blonde hair is pulled high in an elegant pony tail. She reaches for her jewelry from the night stand, a simple pearl bracelet and straps it to her pale bony wrist.
We enjoy getting ready together for our clientele, it is a die-hard tradition which incites a feeling of comradely and togetherness, I find this has helped in preventing me from feeling as if I am going slightly insane – having that other person there that is equally as immersed in the anti-social and controversial world which carries so much stigma.
Our boxes and boxes of makeup are stacked high on my dressing table and a hundred makeup brushes, blusher brushes and eye-shadow applicators spill from a battered Clinique makeup bag, brandishing purple and brown sparkles on the glass top.
Julia hands me my tumbler of straight vodka and motions for me to knock it back. We do so together and make a face at each other as the sharp liquid burns our throats. We slam glasses on my dressing table.
“Where are you going?” I ask, watching Julia fasten the belt of her overcoat.
“The actor, oh Lord what’s his name…” Julia slaps her head as if to summon her thoughts from the back of her head.
“An actor?” I ask, interested. It is Julia’s hope that a wealthy man will pluck her from her world and transport her into a sumptuous world much like her father used to offer her, and then she is convinced her days of escorting will be over. Tales of fellow whores being snapped up by bankers, CEOs and oil merchants circulate like wildfire among the many escorts we are associated with. I believe they are nothing more than Urban Myths.
“Nothing to get excited about,” Julia states, disgruntled. “He’s a Z-list celebrity if anything. He can’t be that well known – his name has completely escaped me, imagine that!” She laughs her high-pitched tinkling laugh and sits on the double bed of my room in order to apply black velvet kitten heels onto her stocking enveloped feet.
“Isn’t that the third night you’ve seen him in a week?” I ask with an appreciative head nod. Julia cocks her head to one side and twirls the hair from her pony tail with her fingers, lost in thought.
“I never seem to keep them interested longer than the fifth booking though. It’s really rather odd. Unlucky number five.”
Not that odd. I smile politely, forcibly containing my thoughts. The ever erratic and hot tempered Julia is a true Gemini, a woman of many faces. One minute she is all doe eyed smiles and sweetness the next she wants to cut your throat with a rusty carving knife. We share an apartment together and so her every mood swing is played out as if under a magnifying glass.
“Please, Julia. Remember, I will be occupied until midday tomorrow.” I say, turning towards the mirror and running my hands through my mane of copper hair. Julia watches me steadily.
“Occupied.” Julia begins, seemingly enchanted. “An interesting choice of words.”
“I am never fully occupied. Only in body.” I answer in a soft tone. Julia rolls her eyes; she does not appreciate my sentiments on escorting. It’s as if any notion that it could be a distasteful occupation will dampen her fun.
“You are forgetting, my darling that you needn’t work for yourself. Why don’t I speak to my agent and arrange some work for you?” She asks in her stale vocabulary which betrays her high class background.
Julia is a member of an up-market escort agency in Mayfair.
“I really don’t think I am capable of your line of work, I hear that the owner is… demanding.” I offer slowly, words crawling tentatively from my mouth.
Julia nods in agreement and seems momentarily absorbed in her own thoughts, the owner gets his pick of the women who work for him, sleeping with any of them whenever he chooses. She somehow manages to shake whatever has fixated her thoughts quickly enough.
“You must set your sights high.” She begins, flexing her fingers to inspect her nails. “What protection can anyone give you here?”
I don’t need protection. I am way past protection. I have seen much more than most people who have lived their twenty one years on this earth.
I don’t answer and after a while Julia seems to have realized her words have vanquished into thin air. She comes over to me, grabs my head and kisses my forehead.
“Abiento.” She says.
“Abiento.” I echo, watching her slink out through the door.
My First Client
It’s 8pm and I’m meeting a new client, we’ve been speaking for a few days, settling arrangements. I have put a stunning white tight dress over my lingerie and my hair falls long and mahogany over my shoulders. I always keep spare makeup in my bag to perfect whatever tumbles of passion gets the better of me as the night goes on.
I arrive in front of a high class hotel near Regents Street and call my client, who gives me the door number of his hotel room. I flounce into the lobby of the hotel, swinging my token designer bag, which helps me to feel at ease in the opulent setting. I always book a minimum of two hour appointments, but this client has a dinner meeting so he decided to pay me the same price for just one hour. Suits me, I smile as I reach his floor.
Dr. X opens the door, dressed in a bath robe and smelling of soap. I know he is a doctor and know exactly what field of medicine he practises, due to the chitchat we have partaken in during the week, it’s nice to build a friendly relationship before making a proper booking.
“Come in.” The doctor beckons, looking excited and flustered. I begin to undress, taking off my dress and sit on the bed with him in my lingerie. The doctor offers me a drink from an ice bucket. The champagne tastes good and calms my nerves. I always feel nervous with every client, I don’t have an agent and so don’t always know what I’m getting.
The doctor explains what he wants me to do, quite robotically. It’s clear he uses escorts frequently and is not what I would call a potential regular, he’s the type of man to appreciate a variation of different women.
The doctor takes off his robe and asks me to get naked. No problem. I peel off my lingerie and slide onto the bed next to him.
He’s asked for a blow job first so I begin to tease him with my hands, getting him more aroused. I then take him in my mouth, encircling his cock with my tongue, he is clearly enjoying it and asks me quickly to get on top of him, I put on a condom first, which is lying next to him on his side table and sit on top of him, letting him enter me. I ride him slowly at first then pick up speed, moaning to show my enjoyment.
He is a sure thing, and comes quickly, pushing me off him, he rips off the condom and comes all over my bare breasts spraying me with hot semen. I go into the bathroom and clean myself up. I then come and get dressed. Some clients like to sit and chat in depth after and before, but some are almost disgusted at themselves and want you out the door as quick as they can, this one is one such as this. He hurriedly counts out some notes, £400 in cash is handed to me and I tuck it into my bag, thanking him.
We haven’t even touched lips and I notice the time, I’ve barely been there 30 minutes. This also suits me fine, I can fit in some more clients tonight.
“Goodnight, see you soon.” I call as I leave the room, although I can tell he won’t be booking me again, he’s definitely a man who likes to experience varied types of women.
Outside I check my Iphone for messages, my next booking is in a hotel in Park Lane. This one is a dinner date plus a 3 hour session. I text him that I am on my way and step out into the balmy night air to pick up my car.
Continue reading about sex and escorts
Since then, he has specialised in articles on the battle for equal rights for sex workers, sexual health, as well as bringing the readers fun news from around the world. He also has a major interest in LGBT rights, and is an active campaigner in this field.
When he isn't fighting the good fight, he enjoys spending time with his girlfriend, and young daughter. He also enjoys reading and taking long walks.
Latest posts by Martin Ward (see all)
- Study Announces What Women Want Guys To Say in Bed – Number One is Shocking! - November 17, 2017
- Visitors To ‘Sex Island Holiday’ May Be Deported On Sight - November 13, 2017
- Are Mature Escorts Better in Bed? - November 10, 2017