Scarlette

(*note from author- a sequel to this story is entirely possible, if people are interested in it. I quite like the character, I think she's really interesting to write, so please let me know and I can work on her a little bit more!)

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I have a rather unusual occupation. I am neither dominatrix or whore, courtesan nor cam girl. I am your every fantasy. I am Scarlette.

I am one of those women who never needed to work, never really wanted to. I was a spoiled brat once upon a time, now I'm 26 and completely unqualified for life. So I do what I do best, which is having sex.

But it's not just sex, really. The men I fuck are from all walks of life; old and young, rich, poor, rock stars and accountants. They're my companions and friends, they keep me occupied, happy and horny, and in fantastic shoes. I wouldn't change for the world, moon, sun or stars.

London is, of course, one of the best cities in the world to do nothing. I can wake up every day and do something different, or exactly the same thing I did yesterday. I was born in South Africa, raised in Germany and moved to England when I was 14, when my mother decided that Daddy could keep his mistresses to himself, and we would come back to her home country. We lived in Edinburgh for a while, and then came down to London for me, for school. I'm an only child of two only children, the grandparents used to spoil me rotten, these days I wouldn't like to consider what they think of me. My tumultuous upbringing installed a great love of travel in me, and despite often getting itchy feet, I always come back to my apartment in Notting Hill. It's home.

A normal day for me starts thus; I wake up and spend about an hour carefully grooming myself. I bathe in my big, claw- foot tub filled high with bubbles because I like the way my long legs look when I lift them out of the water. I feel like the Little Mermaid, when she is washed by the group of ugly women. I like to fantasise a little about having my own army of slave women, available at my beck and call to rub my neck, or my breasts, scrub my feet to smooth perfection, massage lovely expensive lotions into my hair and face. I do all of these things myself, all the time pretending my hands are those of other women I pay for the privilege. I wonder how one would go about advertising for a team of slave girls. "Wanted. A dozen plain women to take care of my every whim and need. Must be prepared to wash, clean and cook. Also, must have lesbian tendencies, and not be afraid to strap on a giant cock and fuck me senseless. Apply within." I can't see the JobCentre taking it on.

These days I entertain about 10 men on a regular basis. Keeping up with this many people means I have a rather hectic social calendar, and I'm convinced the waiting staff at The Ivy think I'm a prostitute, I'm there so regularly with different men. Even though I see very well- to- do people I have no aspiration to be famous; my worst nightmare is to be exposed in a Sunday tabloid. How terribly common. This weekend I'm spending a four day holiday in Paris with the charming Mr. Richmond. He likes me in corsets and suspenders, so choice of outfits to pack must accommodate very awkward underwear. I never said this occupation is easy.

Mr. Richmond and I meet at Heathrow, board our flight (turning left when we reach the top of the stairs, of course) and land at Charles de Gaulle at 4pm. We will stay at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée this time, one of my favourites.

I am to be treated this weekend. Mr. Richmond has two other guests staying in our suite with us, a young French couple. Alis is a classic beauty, long, naturally fair hair, high cheekbones, big green eyes, small firm breasts and a tiny waist. Etienne is also classically French, he has dark hair and eyes and a brooding, smoky sexiness which is very European. When we enter the suite we find Etienne on his knees, his tongue working over Alis' clitoris. She is propped up on a side table in the entrance hall, her skirt bunched at her waist and a leg over each of Etienne's shoulders. One shoe has been lost in all the fun, the other heel digging into his back. Her cheeks are flushed, her head thrown back and she is moaning in pure pleasure. Mr. Richmond and I take a seat on the little settee opposite them, and watch the rest of the show. She climaxes quickly, despite the presence of the porter who is still in the process of carrying my luggage into the master bedroom, and cries out as her sticky love juices cover the face of her companion.

"Bon soirée," I greet them, offering a hand to Alis as Etienne slips her other shoe onto her foot, then kissing them in turn on each cheek. I can still taste a little of Alis on Etienne's face. I am going to enjoy this weekend.

Mr. Richmond is one of my oldest friends. He is in his late 50s, was once something to do with politics, I believe, now rears race horses somewhere in Buckinghamshire. He came to me through a recommendation from a friend of his, who is a headmaster at an all girls private school, St Anne's Academy. Mr. Townsend has oodles of money which he likes to spend on pretty young things, and has been spending on me for about five years. He has his kinks, and spanking is one of his favourites. I will do rather naughty things for him, mainly because he is so sweet, and asks so nicely.

Once, and once only, I went to the Academy to see him. He sent me a uniform; dark grey skirt, white shirt, blue blazer, long red outer coat, knee high white socks. Sensible shoes. I pulled my hair back into a pony tail, removed most of my makeup and prayed I could still pass for seventeen. Probably not, but I was to attend an open lecture on poetry, and no one would be looking too hard. I wore some crisp, clean lace white underwear and bought a lovely tan leather satchel that I still use sometimes now. The lecture was about the Romantics, and I listened with such enthusiasm that no one would have realised that I was not another student among the two hundred other girls in the lecture theatre. After the lecture, there was a call as the other girls packed up. "Miss Woodington? Miss Woodington?" I raised my hand. "Yes, that's me." The young, green eyed poetry lecturer smiled up. "Mr. Townsend has requested that you see him in his office. It's regarding your dissertation."

I left, concealed by the crowd, blending in with all the others. I had been given clear directions in my letter, so I made my way to the second staircase, third floor, second door on the left. Marked, 'Headmaster'.

I knocked, then entered. "Mr. Townsend, you wished to see me?" We progressed as is the way for the naughty schoolgirl fantasy, I had not been performing to his expected standards, and he believed I should be shown the error of my ways. He stood, locked the door and sat back down behind his big desk in his big leather chair. He looked so powerful, a deer head mounted on the wall behind him, King of his small, but very expensive castle. "Come here, Miss Woodington." I rose, walked around the desk and assumed the position over his lap. "You have been a naughty girl."

"Yes, sir."

"I am going to spank you twenty times on your clothed bottom." He gave me those twenty smacks firmly, evenly across my skirt.

"I am now going to spank you twenty times across your knickers." He lifted my skirt to my waist to expose the white lace panties, now slightly damp across the seat. Again, he lay ten smacks on each cheek, alternating each one. "Have you learned your lesson yet, Miss Woodington?"

"No, sir. Not yet."

"In that case, Miss Woodington, I will now remove your underwear and spank you again." He pulled the now sopping white panties to my knees, and with a hand that was no longer so steady, began a rhythmical spank on my bare bottom. He couldn't resist stopping for a moment, and poking a finger between my bottom cheeks and into my pussy. "Miss Woodington this is disgraceful. A young woman of your position. Wet and ready for an old thing like me." He sucked my pussy juices from his finger, then started to spank again. My bottom was now stinging, and I could feel the thickness of his cock straining against my stomach. Suddenly he stopped spanking me, lifted me up, put my bottom against the edge of the desk (which felt wonderfully cool against the heat of my skin) and spread my legs. "Mmmm..." he growled, delving his head between my thighs and licking with huge enthusiasm. I had been instructed not to remove my uniform, but I tweaked my nipples through my shirt as Mr. Townsend's tongue brought me to an explosive orgasm.

"Turn over, Miss Woodington." I rose, turned and rested my forearms on that big desk, my bottom sticking up into the air. Mr. Townsend grabbed my hips, and having released his cock slammed it into my pussy with such force I was shunted forward. He fucked me over his desk kneading my bottom with his big hands, still spanking my thighs and bottom until he pulled out, and came all over my pink, sore bottom.

Mr. Richmond wrote to me for the first time a few weeks after that encounter, requesting that I accompany him on a short trip to Prague. And then Venice, Barcelona, Athens, Johannesburg, New York, Hong Kong, Munich. A wonderful weekend in Moscow, when he fucked me in the ass, then a week in Dublin, where he fingered me in the back of a taxi. I really am rather fond of him. But back to Paris.

We dined in the hotel to save having to go too far, and returned to our suite by 11.30. I always wondered about Mr. Richmond's sexuality, we had shared a women a few times before, I forget where, and once a girl had slipped well lubricated finger up his bottom while I was sucking his cock. He came so hard, all over my face, but was reluctant to let me perform the act for him again. Maybe we were too close by then. Mr. Richmond and I shared a shower, while Etienne and Alis did the same in the room next to us. I was desperate for some pussy by this point, and from the little taster I had had earlier in the evening, Alis' was top of my list. We both walked naked from the shower and I admired her gentle bush of soft blonde pubic hair. We settled in the master suite, and after a few whispered words, I lowered my head to her nipple to suck. She groaned, and fisted her hands in my hair. I swirled my tongue around her peaking nub and teased it with my teeth. "Lick me," she whispered "Please, lick me." I lowered my head, and lifting a leg over each shoulder started to delicately lap at her soft, hairy pussy lips. They were much puffier than mine, and I enjoyed nudging them apart to find the little knuckle of her clitoris. With my bottom stuck up in the air, enjoying the taste of Alis, a pair of hands separated by bottom cheeks and started to lap at my anus. Using one hand to keep me spread, the other began pumping in and out of my pussy, two, then three fingers stretching me while a tongue worked in and out of my tighter hole. I recognised this must be Etienne, Mr. Richmond was not inclined to lick my bottom and I revelled in the newness of this partner. I wondered where Mr. Richmond had gotten to.

Suddenly, Alis began to buck under me, and arched her back and curled her toes as she powered to orgasm, screaming it to the cool Paris night. She reached down to stroke my cheek in thanks, and smiled as she saw her partner's efforts on my pussy. I wriggled up the bed to kiss her mouth, losing Etienne's ministrations but craving the sensuality of another woman's kisses.

We propped ourselves up on the lush pillows and I was mildly shocked to see Etienne standing proud, his thick, long cock being hungrily sucked by Conservative Mr. Richmond. I knew it.

I draped an arm around Alis' shoulders and she settled against my breast, her tongue darting out to lick a nipple and her fingers settling lightly against my shaven pussy lips. We would both enjoy this show.

Etienne gently took Mr. Richmond's head and tugged him to his feet, where the two men softly joined lips and tongues in a passionate kiss. Etienne reached down for Mr. Richmond's cock and gently began to stroke it. As their kiss deepened, Mr. Richmond took hold of the Frenchman's cock and they rubbed the two engorged members together, entwining fingers around their proud manhoods. "Scarlette?" He looked over. "You don't mind, do you?"

I laughed. "Of course not." I whispered. "Enjoy him."

Etienne allowed Mr. Richmond to drop once more to his knees, and his inexperience in cock sucking became apparent as he sloppily licked and sucked up and down the cock. He stopped to lean under, taking Etienne's cock in one hand as the other stuffed both hairy balls into his mouth at once, swirling his tongue around one then the other.

Then, as before, Etienne used his strength to lift the other man and lay him on the bed at the feet of myself and the Frenchwoman. Mr. Richmond looked apprehensive, but allowed Etienne to place one foot at a time on his shoulder then reach down to reassure his twitching cock.

Etienne licked his fingers, then worried them around Mr. Richmond's arsehole to prepare him for the coming act. He pressed the thick head of his cock against the man's bottom, then after a moment of resistance slid home. Mr. Richmond's fingers grabbed at the bedspread as his bottom was invaded, then began to relax as the fucking became deeper and more intense.

"Scarlette," he called me over. "Sit on my face."

I have seen this before, a man starts to feel emasculated as he is fucked by another man, and needs a woman to remind him of his heterosexuality. I crawled over, spread my pussy lips, dripping wet from Alis' roaming fingers, and lowered myself onto Mr. Richmond's face. At once he grabbed at my hips, and began to lick at my pussy in earnest, desperately convincing himself he was not gay. I did not mind. The rhythm of his tongue in my pussy brought me to orgasm again, this time gushing just a little pussy juice into his mouth. Etienne was next to come, shooting his sperm deep into Mr. Richmond's ass. The rhythmical pumping brought Mr. Richmond to orgasm, and I bent over to lick his come from his stomach.

Mr. Richmond had been inducted into the dark world of homosexual lovemaking, and I fear one of my oldest friends will stop calling on me. I suppose only time will tell, but over the long weekend in Paris he left my side, and joined the other man in the suite more times than I care to recount, leaving me to enjoy Alis. Not that I minded, of course.