My simple "Yes," was hardly audible.
"Thank goodness for that."
"What do you want?" I asked, somewhat regaining my composure. "I don't do full sex."
He smiled "I don't want that, I can get that at home."
That made me smile too. "So what is it you can't get at home that you want from me?"
"I want to hold you, kiss, cuddle and caress you. I want to make you cum and have you do that to me. Is that alright?"
'He certainly didn't mince his words' I thought, as they crashed into my mind arousing even more.
"Yes, yes that's fine."
"How much do you charge?"
I remembered what one of the models had said. "I have one price for everything apart from sex, fifty pounds."
"Then young lady," he said turning me to face him, pushing the robe off my shoulders and undoing the tie at the waist. It fell open. "Let's go to the bed."
Most studios have a bed, which are there ostensibly as a posing prop, but also clearly have other uses as well.
He led me over to it and indicated for me to lie down. I did, right in the middle. With no hint of embarrassment at all, he undressed. He was impressively well built, both with his athletic, tanned body and his thick, dark cock rearing right up his flat stomach.
He laid beside me and held me. We kissed and his hands went all over my body, more and more zeroing in on my bum. He was squeezing it, rubbing it, gently pinching it and running his fingers up and down the crease.
"Oh God Sam, you have a bum to die for, it's gorgeous."
I couldn't think of anything else to say, other than "Thanks."
The pressure on my shoulders indicated that he wished me to turn over. I did.
"Just lie like that," he whispered running his surprisingly soft fingertips and hands over each of my cheeks. He was so gentle and so complimentary, that it sent a little shiver through me. He stroked and massaged, rubbed and caressed each cheek, kneading the pliant, yet firm when I tightened the muscles flesh. All the time he was letting his fingers slide further and further into the crease going deeper and deeper in that crevice, nearer and nearer to that most sensitive, yet also, until recently, taboo hole.
I was laying flat on my front. I had my arms under my face, my forehead was resting on them. My legs were slightly open. I knew that this, almost, stranger could see everything, but I wasn't at all nervous. After all he'd seen and photographed it all so seeing it again and now touching it seemed hardly anything. It's amazing how blasé and open one can get about one's body, one's nakedness and one's most intimate parts when one sells photographing them to the highest bidders!
The side of his hand was now blatantly rubbing along the base of that sort of valley between my cheeks. I was gasping and writhing slightly with the unexpected level of pleasure he was giving me. I had never been stimulated in this way before.
"Is it Ok Sam?" he whispered.
"Yes," I grunted as I felt his fingers slither along my pussy lips then rub my secretions right on my bum hole.
"This?" He croaked as he pressed on it.
"Mmmmm," was all I could manage.
"Lift up," he said, pulling on my hips.
He got me onto my knees, my back bent forward my head on the bed, my legs apart. I could feel his eyes burning into my bum, I liked it. Then he touched me again, right there, right on it, right on my anal hole. He pressed and pushed. He was, I suppose posing a question, but I was not ready to answer, not yet. He reached round me with his other hand and found my breasts. He rubbed and squeezed them as he pressed right on my bum hole, probably going slightly, but not far inside it. He kept asking that unsaid question, which I demurred from answering. I was even further from answering that right at that moment for he was making me cum. And making me cum from playing with my bum really. What an initiation into providing extras as a photographic model!
Now aware of the fascination men have for girls' bums, I was not surprised with the poses I was asked to perform. I was also not surprised when I provided extras, that my bum came into play far more and was played with far more.
Somewhere along the way I did answer that unasked, but so clearly indicated question. I can hardly remember who it was that got an answer when they posed the question, when they signified their desire, their wish, their need, maybe. Their whatever it was to shove their finger up my bum and fuck it.
It didn't matter whose it was. Who owned the finger that took my anal virginity was irrelevant. What was relevant was that a few months later I was lying on my back, my legs were open and pushed up squashing my tits and some guy was inching his finger up and up me. Deeper and deeper into me. Further and further inside me. Yes, a guy I hardly knew was finger fucking my bum and making me cum so strongly I think I may well have passed out.
As I moved on from offering sex as an extra when modelling to selling sex as an escort, so I continued my anal education. I was now becoming used to being anally finger fucked, 'plated' at some length, licked and tongued and massaged in that area.
It wasn't an every client thing. Most played with the cheeks of my bum, but there seemed to be a division, between those who enjoyed that and those that wanted to go further. Those that gained pleasure from the feel and shape of the cheeks of my bum and those who wanted more, those who wanted to get down and dirty as it were.
Was it inevitable, or did I just feel it was yet another stage in my sexual education, well more to the point my anal sex education? I don't know. I don't think that way about sex. In my position you can't. When effectively sex is one's stock in trade, you can't think too much about what's in the warehouse. The sex you have, whether it simply is simulating it as a man photographs you, providing him extras after the session or dispensing with the photography and meeting men in the hotels for sex, is detached from reality. You sort of lock that part away when you are finished and don't open the cupboard up again until the next time you are in an elevator zooming up to a bedroom or suite in a luxury hotel. You store the memories in a part of your mind that seems able to keep them well in the background and does not keep fast forwarding them so they interfere with 'normal' life. Girls who, for whatever reason, are unable to do that, don't last as either a glamour model or an escort. I am now in my third year!!!
"Do you do anal?" the client asked as I lay in his arms in the huge bed in the Lanesborough Hotel just by Hyde Park in, Mayfair, London.
That was an oft asked question both to me and to the agency that organised the dates. My instruction to the agency was the same as my usual reply to the clients when they asked the question.
Just why the hell, then, I heard myself mumbling "It depends" as I sucked on his nipple, I have no idea.
"On what," he asked squeezing my breast and kissing my hair.
"Oh lots of things" I smiled back, biting his nipple playfully as I turned onto my back and let him run his eyes up and down my naked body, lit just by the dimmed lights from the dressing table and from the living room of the huge suite.
"Such as?" he asked leaning forward and licking my nipple as he ran his hand gently up my thighs and pressed on my wetness.
It was in the early hours of a Friday morning. I had met him in the coffee shop of the hotel at five thirty the previous afternoon. He was a regular, well it was our third time, which is as regular as most escort relationships go. He was possibly Turkish or maybe Lebanese or Jordanian, certainly Eastern Mediterranean. Escort girls learn not to ask too personal questions; if a client wants you to know something, sooner or later they will tell you. Whatever his nationality, he was fantastically good looking in an Imran Khan sort of way, had impeccable manners, great style and oodles of money. He was generous, highly articulate, interesting, fun to be with and a bloody good fuck. When such a number of boxes are ticked by a client, being an escort girl, or if you prefer a whore, 'why not call a spade a spade' I often smiled to myself, can be quite pleasant.
When I first started doing escort work I used to wonder why the, generally, super guys with loads of money paid for sex. Why not just get a mistress I thought? Over a time I found the answer. It was two fold. One, mistresses are too risky, 'No matter what they say at the start, they always want more as it goes on and then that can fuck up everything,' I was told several times, usually just after sex.
Time was the other reason. 'It just takes too long to find, get to know and then trust someone,' one of the guys explained.
The other aspect of my 'profession' that I found intriguing was why they did it and what they were after? The clients were all successful in their own spheres, most were happily married with a family, they were usually good looking and sexually, at least pretty proficient. They had plenty of money and opportunity so why 'buy me?'
Again it was two fold. A reassurance that they could still make it with a young bird and they wanted affection. On the wish list that the agency put to them, kissing and cuddling, was their top priority as part of the sex process.
Amar, the Turk or whatever, was precisely like that. I am quite sure that if I had said I could not do full sex, but would kiss him and hold him all night, giving him the occasional masturbation, then he would have still paid the huge fee and given me the generous presents he did after a four time fuck during a night.
Odd buggers men, but they can be lovely.
I smiled at him. "On what time?"
"Huh?" He asked not understanding my feeble joke.
"That's one of the things it depends on."
"How do you mean?"
I had started a sort of joke that was backfiring rapidly, but had no alternative other than to press on with it.
"What time of day and what time you want it?" I weakly explained.
He rolled half on top of me and kissed me. He was a good kisser as, indeed I tried to be.
"The agency has always said you don't do it Sammi."
"I don't really."
"Then what does the time have to do with it?" he asked after breaking the kiss and staring into my eyes.
"Nothing really, but I have just changed, maybe I need to tell the agency."
"You really are a crazy girl Sam, I never know how to take you or what you are thinking," he said as he pinched my nipple and pulled on it.
"I take that as a compliment."
"You should. So how have you changed?"
"I have decided that I do do anal, but only between the hours of two and four."
He looked at his watch. "It's ten after three. What else does it depend on?"
"Well it has to be on a Friday, in Mayfair and only in a suite in the Lanesborough."
"So, Sammi, is this my lucky day then?"
"Well Amar," I said quietly and seriously as I reached down and wrapped my hand round his smooth, hot, and very erect dick. "You do seem to be ticking all the boxes, don't you?"
"Yes, but are you sure?"
"No, not totally, but I think it's time?"
"Time? Do you mean you have never done it?"
"Yes Amar, I mean exactly that."
"Oh God Sammi," he gushed. "You will let me do that, take your anal virginity?"
His mouth covered mine and his arms crushed me to his body.
"Yes Amar, I would like you to, but please be gentle with me."
Given the potential for the man to seriously hurt the girl by anal penetration with something the size of a twenty centimetre long and five centimetre diameter, hard cock, she has to have a great deal of trust in him. Not just that he will be careful and gentle, but also that he will stop if asked.
Oddly as he was a paying client, I had that level of trust in Amar.
"Yes Sammi, I will be doubly gentle, I promise and just say if you want me to stop."
"Thank you, so how do want to do this?" I asked feeling strangely nervous.
"I think it is better for the woman from behind."
I wanted to ask how he knew that and if his wife had told him, but I respected the escort girl's diplomacy guide and said nothing.
"So lie in your front Sammi."
I did that.
"Maybe put a pillow or two under your tummy."
I smiled as I lay there the pillows making my body curved and sticking my bum in the air.
"Let me get some lotion that will make it easier."
He returned to the bed and squatted beside me. I felt the cool lotion on the cheeks of my bum and between them on the sides of the crease. It trickled downwards, its cool ooziness sending lovely little shivers through me. His fingers rubbing it in and going nearer and nearer to that puckered hole sent even more shivers through me.
I was nervous, slightly scared, but hugely excited and expectant. It was a very strange situation. I was his hooker, his prostitute, his whore. He had bought me; I was his to do with as he wished. That was the deal, we both knew that and we had both bought into it.
We'd met for tea in the coffee shop, but had almost immediately gone to the suite where we'd had sex. Good sex too, including both of us giving oral to the other, before he had fucked me missionary style as we held each tightly in the middle, of the huge bed.
We had snoozed for a while then had gone to Nobu for dinner, had a few bets in the Ritz casino, a couple of drinks in Tramp then back to the Lanesborough. We had slowly and seductively undressed each other before making quite tenderly and lingering love before going off to sleep in each others arms. That sort of arrangement where the escort really becomes the client's girl for the night is not at all unusual. Where things get fucked up is when one or the other mixes fantasy with reality and starts believing that their 'stolen night' is real life. Amar and I had that well in control. We both knew that come what may tonight I would go home mid morning tomorrow with a nice present and good memories. He would go home to his wife having spent a few hours with a young bird who would never pester him. If we met again that was completely at his volition.
So, given the client/escort circumstances it was sligthly unusual for me to be offering him, what in some ways is my most precious sexual gift. It was unusual, probably, for a client to be taking an escort's anal virginity, it was unheard of certainly for him to be receiving that gift FOC. But that was my relationship with him. Putting the fee and the presents to one side, just as he regarded me as 'his girl' for the hours he bought me so I looked on him as my lover when I was with him. Comfortable with the ridiculously high fee the agency charged and my cut, I always tried to put that to one side and forget about it.
So as Amar gently opened my legs and whispered how wonderful it was going to be, he made me feel special. Like a queen bee being looked after by her slave bees.
He laid his length in the crease of my bottom, reached round and, after I lifted up a little, cupped my breast. He was supporting himself and making sure he wasn't squashing me, by the elbow on the hand that was holding my boob supporting his body. He was holding his cock in his other hand and was rubbing the end of it up and down my crease pausing, inevitably, on the anal hole.
"Are you ready my sweet," he whispered into my ear.
"Yes, yes I am Amar," I stammered back the cocktail of emotions and feelings making me feel very different to how I normally felt when about to have sex.
"I will be so gentle, I will go slowly and you stop me whenever you need to," he said pressing the end of his erection right on my anus.
With the softening effect of the lotion and I guess the finger manipulation of the past, the first level of penetration was ok. I felt myself opening up as the bulbous head eased itself into that restricted passage.
"Ok?" He asked running his fingers up and down my back, presumably leaving his cock stuck in me unattended.
"Yes," I grunted, feeling little more than when I had been fingered there.
He was clever or skilful and certainly considerate for he didn't, in more ways than one, push things too quickly or too far too soon come to that. He left himself in me as far as he had entered me with that initial surge, but I didn't know just how far that was.
When being finger fucked there, I had noticed that I never really knew just how far the finger was up me. It seemed that once it had opened the sphincter and had got to the first knuckle then the feelings were almost the same as when it was fully buried up my bum. But then a finger is only a couple of centimetres in diameter at most and has only minor bulges. The cock that I was about to take was at least six centimetres and had a massive bulge round the knob end of its uncircumcised length. I knew I was not home and dry just yet.
Amar was obviously aware of that for, as I learned later, he had been having anal sex for years with a multitude of women, including his wives. He knew the next manoeuvre was critical. Critical to my pleasure, critical to my withstanding the pain of being stretched, critical to the act itself and thus critical to his own satisfaction.
"This may hurt a little Sam, ok?"
My heart was hammering, I'm such a whimp with pain, I even detest the dentist.
I gripped the bedclothes tightly with both hands as I felt my body tensing up: my opened legs were rigid; the muscles in my bum were as hard as all those hours in the gym could make them when needed, my eyes were clamped shut and my teeth were grinding together. He knew that was the last thing we needed.
"Relax Sammi," he whispered, "Just try to relax."
"I'm sorry, but it's so hard."
"I know it is, do you want something, a popper perhaps?"
I knew that he meant amyl.
I hardly had to think. "Yes that would be great."
He had, of course, anticipated my need. He moved his hand from my breast and picked up the capsule that he had, probably, previously laid on the bed. His closed hand slid round my face and covered my mouth and nose. I put my hands on the back of his making a larger mask as he slowly opened his palm. The sweet, slightly sickly smell immediately filled my nostrils, mouth and throat as the relaxant drug rushed into my body. I hadn't taken it often, but on the occasions I had I knew it worked quickly especially on a woman's vaginal and anal muscles.
Despite the 'liquid gold' the feeling as he slowly eased the bulbous head past the tight sphincter muscle made me gasp. It was sharp and painful and just like, as other women have told me, having a baby.
I grunted and gasped. "Oh fuck."
"Is it bad?"
"Don't worry it'll pass," he said comfortingly gripping my hand, which I really appreciated.
My bum was screaming with pain and seemed to be burning up with heat as he stretched the muscle to what I was sure was its maximum.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, it will I promise, or I will stop."
He was right. As the A.M. really kicked in so it became less. There was still tremendous warmth, but the tearing, ripping pain had gone.
"Better?" He asked, still holding my hand.
"Yes, it's fine."
"Good," he replied letting go of my hand and moulding his body around my back, both of his hands coming round to my front. One found my breasts, the other my clit. He just lay there for some time not moving and enabling my, now drug relaxed, bum to become accustomed to its welcome but, certainly unusual visitor.
My body was tingling, with both a sort of expectancy and the heat emanating from where he was penetrating me. But that was changing. The warmth that had at first been uncomfortable was now spreading throughout my body. It filled my bum, crept round the front, consumed my pussy and then slid upwards and took over my tits. They seemed to be on fire with an enormous pressure trying to get out through my nipples. It was a new sensation, but a very pleasant and hugely exciting one.