Brandy Ch. 07-08

The one thing I wasn't too sure about was whether she wanted me to make the first move or whether she wanted to be the initiator of whatever was to follow. As the set-up was so unusual I felt it best to wait - and as things turned out I had made the right choice.

'Let me re-fill your glass.' she said, getting up and reaching out for my glass.

'Not for me, thank you Toni. I'm not a very big drinker.'

'How wise. Then neither will I.'

She put the nearly empty glasses on the cabinet then instead of returning to her chair, came around behind mine and rested her hands on my shoulder, then as she slid them slowly down along my arms, I felt her lips lightly brushing the nape of my neck.

'Such beautiful skin, I'm really quite envious.' she whispered. 'Relax - sit still for a minute, I'd like to be able to feel more of it.' she said as her fingers began to work on the buttons down the front of my shirt.

When she had unfastened them she eased the jacket and shirt off my shoulders then gently pushed me forwards so she could reach the upper part of my back with her lips and hands - softly touching it, tracing the outline of my shoulder-blades, brushing me with her lips, the tip of her tongue lightly licking up the ridge of my spine.

She took her time and her touch was so sensitive that I was quite happy to remain like that, bent low, my breasts squashed against my legs, her fingers and mouth tracing exciting pattern across and up and down my back. But gradually the pressure of her touch grew stronger and after a while she whispered.

'Stand up please, so I can reach the rest of you.'

As I got up she came around the chair, turned me to face it and as I undid the zip at the front, she knelt behind me and eased the trousers down over my hips. Then, having taken the jacket and shirt completely off me, leaving me standing there quite naked, she began to run her soft hands up and down my back, down over my hips and the firm curve of my bottom. I felt her breath on my back as she urged me forward, quietly suggesting I should kneel on the chair.

I held on to the back of it for support as she eased my legs further apart, then began to repeat the things she had been doing to me before - this time kissing and caressing not only my back but also the backs of my thighs, my bottom and, in time, beneath and between the fleshy cheeks.

She used fingers and tongue to arouse me, knowing just when to change from one to another, sensing what I wanted her to do almost before I knew it myself and soon had me making soft sighing moans of pleasure as I gave myself up to what she was doing for me.

After what seemed an absolute age I felt her ease back from me, heard the sound of a zip, then the rustle of her getting out of her dress and wondered if I should get up and start to do something for her. But the feelings she had aroused had put me into a mild torpor and, as she was quicker than I expected, before I could really do anything, I felt her hands resting on my bottom again. They slipped down along the valley between the twin cheeks, beneath, her fingers gently probing the hot wetness of my pussy before spreading my legs a little further apart - then I felt the hard length of something being slowly urged forward, between my puffy pussy-lips and on, deep into my sex.

At first I assumed it was a strap-on dildo - but, as it slid deeper into me I recognised it for what it really was - it was a cock, a hard, fully erect, man's cock!

In a flash I understood what was going on of course - and wondered why I hadn't twigged to it earlier. It was Tony, there was no sister, just Tony - with an unusually strange and complex need. Understanding that changed what was going on in my head, what he was doing was still physically enjoyable - but the extra level of pleasure, that I had felt as a result of thinking he was a she, slipped away and once more I knew that I was back in control of things, not under Toni's, as I had been.

Soon after that I felt his fingers on my bum-hole, they were lubricating it with something greasy - obviously he wanted to fuck me that way, the initial strokes into my pussy were merely to relax me and to provide his shaft with a coating of my juices. I composed myself and let him get on with it - pushing back at him as I heard his grunts of pleasure getting both louder and more frequent. As I'd suspected, once inside my arse he didn't take very long at all and quite soon after that I felt him pumping strongly up into me as his climax overwhelmed him.

Later, after I had showered and got back into my own things I returned to the living-room and found him sitting in the chair we had used, nursing another drink, still quite naked, his wilted cock almost buried out of sight between his legs. He looked up at me, there was an incredibly sad expression on his face as he spoke.

'That was wonderful Brandy. Thank you. I'd like you to buy something nice for yourself.' he added, indicating some money lying on the table beside me. I picked it up of course, said I was glad he'd enjoyed himself - turned and let myself out of the apartment.

Naturally I never heard from him again - it wouldn't have been the same for him with the other person knowing beforehand that his 'sister' was merely a role he played. For things to work for him he not only had to believe that he was Toni, he had to be certain that the girl - who in his mind was presumably a 'boy' - had to believe it too.

As I said, I'd put Tony and his unusual needs at the far end of the spectrum of things to do with clothes and dressing, most men are much less complex than that. Pure cross-dressers, that is men who like to wear women's clothes, are usually quite happy to do so in the privacy of their own home and rarely seek out escort-girls as companions when they do it. In my business when dressing is involved it's far more usual for the man to want me to wear something special for him - and the single most common request is of course - for me to wear, stockings! Men loathe panty-hose, at least when they're being worn by a woman they want to have sex with.

Men love being able to see a flash of the pale, rounded curve of a thigh above a stocking-top, I don't think I've ever met a man who didn't agree that was one of the most exciting sights for him - that and an unexpected glimpse of part of a breast are guaranteed to attract the attention of virtually any man's eye.

So because of that I have drawers full of stockings and suspender belts of all types and colours, to go with every kind of outfit, I virtually never wear panty-hose and I'd go through more pairs of stockings than you could believe, mainly because I'm so often asked to keep them on while having sex, there's something about the feel of them that gets most men going - but doing that nearly always ladders them!

But, as I said when I started talking about the odd kinds of clothes that some men see as being sexy and the ways they then like to get off, you would be amazed at how often I'm asked if I'll dress up in some particular way by men who in every other respect, unlike Tony or the man with the 'funny habits', want perfectly straightforward sex.

Nurses are popular and I must say I now know enough to make a very good one, another escort-girl I made friends with turned out to have been a nurse before she took up this work and she gave me plenty of tips. I've even got myself a small bag of proper instruments, stethoscope, blood-pressure binding, thermometer - I always take temperatures rectally - and a few other bits and pieces that really turn-on the guys who want to screw a nurse.

Airline hostesses were popular at one time but they seem to have gone out of fashion these days, I don't know whether that's because the type of girls they accept for the job are less glamorous than they used to be - or whether the hostesses are doing the fucking themselves!

I can only think that there's a lot of frustrated businessmen spending time fantasising about their, or somebody else's secretary - because I'm often asked to play that role. You can imagine the kind of thing - 'Take a letter please Miss Smith. Mumble, mumble, mumble. By the way, have I told you how attractive you look today, that's a particularly nice outfit. Mumble, mumble, mumble. Haven't you done something different with your hair? Mumble, mumble, mumble. Would you mind just coming over here and taking a look at this document, I can't quite make this part out. Mumble, mumble, mumble. That's a new perfume you are wearing isn't it? Mumble, mumble, mumble. I really find it rather disturbing having you standing so close to me. Mumble, mumble, mumble. Do you want to see the effect you are having on me? Mumble, mumble, mumble. Would you like to do something about that for me?'

But I suppose that without any doubt at all, the all-time favourite has to be the school-girl! The number of men like the one I mentioned earlier, Frank - the one I call the School-Teacher - who secretly want to have it off with teen-agers, is fantastic. And I suppose girls like me are, in an odd sort of a way, performing a social function - by relieving the guys of that pressure we must save a few kids from actually being raped. Not that I'm saying that every man that fantasises about fucking a school-girl is eventually going to go out and rape one, I'm not that stupid. But there must be the odd one here and there that might just do it - and if he comes to someone like me instead, that's great.

Anyway, apart from that, after the stockings, being asked to dress-up as a school-girl is one of the most common requests I get that involves clothes. I've bought several actual school uniforms, hat, bag, exercise books, pencil case and even a few second-hand text books, the full kit - and if I say so myself, I make a pretty terrific school-girl. Of course not every man wants the girl to be in a formal uniform and for them I just tone down my normal make-up, pop my hair up into a pony-tail or pigtails and pick an appropriate outfit from my own, casual clothes.

It's funny, you'd think that the guys who wanted me to dress like that for them would also want me to be submissive and while that's certainly true if there is to be a bit of spanking involved - in other cases its quite often the reverse, many men want the school-girl to come on to them quite strongly.

As I said, apart from the dressing-up, which is usually just to get things going, once under way most guys are quite satisfied with some good old-fashioned, straight sex. Both oral and anal sex are popular too - presumably because a lot of guys don't get it from their wives or girl-friends which may often be just because they haven't been game to suggest it in the first place - both with and without any dressing-up involved and for an appropriate fee I'm more than happy to oblige them either way.

But I suppose when it comes to bizarre reasons for wanting me to wear some particular clothes, I'd have to put Chuck somewhere near the top of the list - and for him it was the colour, black.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter 8

THE MILLIONAIRE

To the best of my knowledge Chuck was the only genuine millionaire I've ever been with. Well, I may have been with other men who had that much money - but I've only once met a man who actually lived the way you imagine millionaire's do.

Quite a bit of work comes from being a straightforward escort, providing a man with a partner for a function of some sort, sometimes the man will want you to stay on with him afterwards but more frequently he just wants to have an attractive woman on his arm or at his table. Some of them are men who are secretly gay of course, who feel they need to be seen in public with a woman - but there are straight men too who find themselves without a partner for an important dinner or outing and use girls like me to fill the gap.

Those of us that are more experienced and maybe a bit more intelligent tend to get most of that kind of work, the last thing men are looking for on those occasions is an flagrant sex-pot, instead they want someone with a bit of style, someone who is able to keep up a conversation.

I met Chuck through one of those functions, I'd originally been booked by another man, to partner him to a film award night, Chuck was one of the internationally famous guests and he'd latched on to me quite early in the evening. It was funny really, the man I was escorting thought Chuck was interested in talking to him, couldn't see that all his self-opinionated waffling was boring Chuck senseless and that Chuck was just trying to find out who I was.

After a while I discretely slipped one of my business cards to him, they're quite elegant and although the word 'escort' doesn't actually appear, only a fool wouldn't understand the kind of 'Personal Communications' I do for a living. But that didn't put Chuck off at all, he grinned, nodded understandingly, said he'd ring me the following day and made his escape from my still waffling escort.

The rest of the evening was a bit of a bore but it passed, the guy arranged a cab for me, thanked me for my services and without even giving Chuck a single thought, I went home to bed.

It was mid morning the following day when he rang and said he'd like to see me, that he'd like me to have dinner with him at his house one evening. Although I'd only met him briefly, my intuition hadn't picked-up any bad feelings about him so I agreed and we set a date and although he offered to send his car over to pick me up I politely declined, telling him I'd prefer to make my own way by cab - that way I avoid having to give anyone my actual address. He'd finally asked if I minded wearing black for him, everything I wore was to be black - and he'd stressed the word 'everything'.

I took extra care in getting myself ready, laying out what I'd decided to wear before having a long shower and then taking time to fix my hair and make-up. I'd chosen an outfit that was sexily elegant - a mid-length, skirt - a semi-transparent blouse - a matching set of bra, bikini briefs and suspender belt - a pair of sheer stockings - high-heeled court shoes and, as a final touch, around my neck I wore a choker made of jet.

And of course, as he'd stipulated, everything was black.

The address he'd given me turned out to be a large, water-front house, set well back from the road, almost hidden by the trees surrounding it and protected by a high wall and a locked set of gates that were opened by remote control only after the cab driver had spoken through a security grill. Chuck was standing at the main entrance, helped me out, paid off the cab and after a long, obviously approving look at me, he took me inside.

The house was very modern and had been designed for parties, large parties. Enormous spaces, some tiled others carpeted and even though there were groups of very expensive furniture scattered here and there, I felt dwarfed by the amount of unfilled space around us. He led me through to a deck at the back of the house, from where I could see down across a pool, a tennis court, the garden and on across the water beyond - the setting and the view were spectacular but as I stood there enjoying it I could feel his eyes boring into me, stripping me.

'Stunning Brandy, quite stunning.' he finally said in a low voice and when I turned I saw that his eyes were filled with a dark softness and knew that he was already anticipating whatever it was that he had in mind for us.

But he offered me a drink and having fetched it we settled the financial business and stayed out there for a while, saying little as we watched the light of the setting sun reflecting off the water. As it darkened the air quickly cooled and when he saw me give a slight shiver he took me back inside the house.

'I've had something light prepared for us to eat, I thought we'd have it in what I call the Trophy Room, we can talk there and I'll explain why I had to meet you. O.K.?'

'Fine Chuck.' I answered as he took my hand and led me through the house.

The Trophy Room was just that and although it certainly wasn't small, by comparison with the scale of what else I'd seen of the house, at first it seemed so. Wood panelling covered the walls and apart from a large, glass fronted cabinet, a couple of arm-chairs and small coffee tables there was nothing in there but photographs, and assorted memorabilia - framed records and letters, strangely shaped awards, dozens and dozens of things. I felt his eyes watching me as I moved slowly around the room, looking at this and that, most of the objects meant very little to me of course but here and there, amongst the other things were autographed photos of many movie stars I recognised. One entire wall seemed to be devoted to cartoons and alongside the various trophies were what I took to be scenes from the appropriate film.

'What are these?' I asked, pointing to one of them.

'They're called cells, the building blocks of animation. Each film is made from tens of thousands, sometimes millions of those, each one slightly different to the one before and the one after. We film each one of them separately and when the film runs, the pictures give the impression of movement. In the early days every one had to be drawn by hand, that's why feature length animation and good quality cartoons virtually disappeared, just too expensive to make you see. Now we can use computers to generate many of the graphics and only use the human talent in the finishing and so keep the costs down.'

I'd known the principles of cartoon production but it was only when I looked at the individual drawing, saw the amount of detail and then tried to imagine an army of artists producing the numbers required for some of the feature-length cartoons I'd loved as a child that I really understood just what was involved.

As I moved slowly along the wall a single cell caught my eye, it didn't seem to be associated with any of the others or with any of the various awards. More importantly it gave me the feeling I was looking in a mirror - it was me, or rather, a cartoon of a woman who, in spite of the fact that everything about her was more perfect than was possible in reality, still managed to look strikingly like me!

Her figure was fantastic, the kind of shape men fantasise about and that I envied - dressed in a black, full-length, figure-hugging dress, with long black gloves reaching two-thirds of the way up her arms. She was standing, looking out of the cell at a point somewhere just beyond my left shoulder, her eyes smouldered and her full, rich red lips pouted.

I turned and saw him smiling at me. 'Amazing isn't it? Imagine how I felt when I saw you at that dinner. Now you can understand why I had to find out who you were Brandy.'

'Who is she, what's she doing here? There don't seem to be any trophies associated with the cell.'

He smiled again, then explained. 'True. And the fact that you're in the business you are makes it easier for me to explain why she's there - I've had to make up a more suitable story for most people who've asked.

But sit down, I'll explain as we eat.'

There was a remote control unit on one of the tables which he used to activate some hidden mechanism, sending one entire section of panelling gliding back into the walls, exposing a screen and beneath it a small cocktail bar. Having laid cutlery and serviettes on one of the tables he took plates of food and a bottle of an excellent champagne from a fridge and after pouring us each a glass he sat down opposite me and as we began to eat told me the story.

'I've been involved in animation for most of my life Brandy - and it's been very good to me, financially I mean. I've loved cartoons since I was a little kid, I mean really loved them. In many ways I prefer animation and good cartoons, to real movies. The early Disney work is my idea of heaven, of art even. You could say I'm obsessed by cartoons. Over the years I've built a collection of stuff you wouldn't believe, a lot of it is film copies of course - but I've a fair number still in the original cell form too, from all over the world.