All the Young Girls Love Laura Pt. 03

Copyright 2015-2020 Lisa Summers

All characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters in this work were 18 years of age or older, at the time of any sexual activity.

Chapter 1

"Laura Jones and Ted Mitchell, here to see Rhonda Paxton," I said imperiously to the receptionist.

As receptionists do - and this was a very cute one - she said, "Just a moment please, I'll see if she's in." She paused, and then asked, "What company do you represent?"

I replied, "Mid-State Data Associates. We have a 2:30 appointment."

"Laura Jones and Ted Mitchell of Mid-State Data Associates are here to see Mrs. Paxton," she said into her small telephone headset.

As we stood waiting, I took in the girl's appearance. Chicly dressed, young, probably 21 or so, auburn hair cut short, attractive face, intelligent looking brown eyes with flecks of green - she was mouth watering. I sighed to think that she was undoubtedly straight - the odds favored it, unfortunately - and would end up marrying some guy.

What a waste.

My name is Laura Hendricks - not Jones, that was just a small bit of cover - and I am a courtesan. That is, I provide sexual favors to clients - patrons is the term I usually prefer to use - who pay me very large amounts of money. And these favors are only available to other women. Most women who hire me are well off, often leaders in some field, and it is a requirement of mine that they at least be of average looks.

I know, it's discriminatory to leave out the elderly, the ugly, etc. But I require the highest standards of myself - to astonish the client with the level of satisfaction that they will receive from me, and that is simply not possible if I am distracted or unenthusiastic. Those women can find others to serve their needs, in fact I often refer clients that do not meet my standards to a list of "competitors."

You might be surprised to discover that I'm 20 years old, as most successful women in my line of work are older, at least mid-twenties to mid-thirties. I am attractive, but not stunningly so, my body is really rather average, though trim and shapely, but neither my bust nor my posterior are impressive. What I do have that advantages me, are intelligence and personality, and an extreme desire to be the best.

My hair is dark blonde and long, which annoys me. My own desire is to have more of a butch appearance, but frankly, the market here demands that I be as ultra feminine in appearance as I can be. In the bedroom, the client might prefer that I be as coarse as a diesel dyke, and I know my way very well around strap-ons, but invariably when we go out for dinner and drinks, she'll insist that I wear the nicest of dresses or skirts.

Business was extremely good, it's almost unbelievable the large numbers of women - women that a man would salivate over, chic, pretty, intelligent, funny - that desire my services. Not necessarily because I'm better at pleasing them sexually than a man, though I am.

Not because I'm more attractive than a man, though I am.

It's more because a willing woman is so, so much better at doing all the little things that will please another woman, with the bonus feature that I have the more exciting features of a woman. You've seen what a cock looks like, does it have the pleasing look that a woman's well-shaped breasts do?

You might think so, but most women will disagree. They'll make love with a man in spite of his cock, not because of it, pornography notwithstanding.

And that's a man's most sexually attractive feature! Sadly, it's all downhill from there, including bad smells, odd noises, clumsy touches, thoughtless words and on and on and on...

But, back to my meeting with Rhonda Paxton.

Just a few minutes later a young man exited one of the bank of elevators in the Independent Building, the city's pre-eminent and most prestigious office building. "Miss Jones, Mister Mitchell," he said in that half question, half accusatory way that people have when they're speaking formally, in English at least.

"Follow me, please. Mrs. Paxton is in her private suite of offices on the 17th floor, so we needn't go through the main office."

The elevator, accessible on that floor only with a special key, opened up on a sumptuously decorated, but small lobby, with wood paneling and floors, and a fine Persian Isfahan wool and silk carpet. We passed through it into a living room, with a fireplace in which a genteel gas fire burned.

"Nice," I said, reminding myself of how comfortably the wealthy are, and turning to Ted. He smiled.

"May I take your coat, ma'am?" he said, even as I began to shrug it off.

"Thank you," I responded, as he slipped it off my shoulders and hung it on the heavy mahogany coat rack, an antique from the Victorian Era, something that I had discovered on a previous visit.

Just then, Rhonda Paxton entered. She looked absolutely stunning and so, so rich and powerful in a simple black A-line dress and pearls.

"Welcome," she said. "I have been anticipating that this merger will be extremely beneficial to all involved, and I trust that you feel the same..."

"Yes, absolutely," I said, taking her in my arms. "I so want to merge my lips with yours, my breasts and hips and thighs with yours, and I'm almost certain that our clits working together can generate immense pleasure for all involved."

I kissed her, enjoying the pleasure of a successful and beautiful, sophisticated woman's lips against mine, and her tongue softly entreating me to explore further. I did as she proposed, my tongue softly caressing the inside of her mouth, the feel of her slick gums and rough tongue interesting textural contrasts. The saliva she gifted me with, tasting slightly of wine, was flavorful and egged on my desire for more of her.

"Chateau Margaux, 2002, if I'm not mistaken," I murmured when we broke our kiss.

She pulled back from me a few inches, a look of amazement in her eyes. "That's right, and so incredible! You have really been studying your wines!"

I smiled. "No Rhonda, only studying my patron. You always have Chateau Margaux at lunch on Fridays, because you always have your chef cook some beef dish on Fridays."

She laughed. "Oh you are so, so good Laura. You missed your calling. You should be working in an executive suite, plotting to kill the fat CEO and getting his office, his stock options, and his trophy wife."

"Ugh," I said. "No offense, but I prefer being an entrepreneur. Besides, do you really want me to leave your arms and go work somewhere?"

"Oh god, no!" she exclaimed. "Forget I ever said such a thing. I need you here...and here," she said, her hand going from a vague swirl to resting in between her thighs.

"The beards will be fine, yes?" I said.

"Just look," she said. Ted and her man, whose name was Russell, were both friends - and most importantly, gay - that we could use to paint any meeting in public as a business meeting. If a woman is accompanied by a vaguely handsome and very well dressed man of middle ages, the talk might be of the business they're engaged in, or it might be of the possibility that they're secretly fucking, but it will absolutely never be about the fact that the woman is a lesbian.

I had no real need for a "beard," a male who would confuse onlookers about my sexuality, but Rhonda certainly did. Married to an elderly man - the man who had started the business that she was driving to the top of the stock exchange - and in a position and business where innuendo and gossip could destroy that business, she must perforce keep her real inclinations on the low down.

That's where I came in. Discretion and sophistication were qualities that I could at least pretend to when called upon. Hence, this business meeting of my vaguely named cover business - for which I had business cards, and which was even registered with the Secretary of State - and hers, to discuss "affairs."

Our beards, Ted and her real assistant Russell, were getting busy together on the sofa, another antique.

"That didn't take long," I said, as Ted was crouched between Russell's naked thighs, orally worshipping his cock, impressively large. Ted was equally naked and I felt sure that Russell would soon be returning the favor.

"I think they won't miss us," Rhonda said, taking my hand and leading me off to the bedroom by the left side of the fireplace. A two sided fireplace, we were able to enjoy the flickering light of the fire as our only illumination, as Rhonda began to remove my clothes.

I sighed with pleasure. Rhonda usually liked to exercise her domination and mastery, at least to start the festivities, and I am always more than happy to indulge her desires. She removed my black suit jacket, an Elie Tahari Darcy jacket and admired me, her hands at me elbows as she surveyed my breasts.

"Lovely, just lovely," she said. "And how does it feel?"

"It's very nice, you have exquisite taste," I replied, my eyes steady on hers.

And here, a note of caution to the reader - should you find yourself an intermittent pleasure giver for recompense to a busy executive, never ever show excessive gratitude for anything that she gives you. A simple 'thank you' is sufficient. More than that is taken as weakness, and female executives are far closer to kinship with lionesses than to actual human beings. If they believe that you think that you are in their debt, they will eat you alive, and not in a good way.

"Good," she said brusquely, pleased that we would be meeting as equals. "I am anxious to see what lies beneath."

I couldn't blame her. The outfit was absolutely stunning, and she had ordered it and had it delivered to me after our last 'meeting,' one of the few that I have ever had in my own apartment, after she begged me, literally on her knees. Of course, I had to have the place staged by one of the city's finer decorators before I would ever let her enter, there was no way that I would let Rhonda get a glimpse of my real life and soul.

It cost several hundred dollars to erect my little Potemkin village so briefly, but it had paid off in her repeat business at my top rate - which is really quite tippy top, as courtesan rates go. Rhonda is paying for the belief that I have class, prestige, élan and she is paying for complete and total discretion and finally, she is paying for mind bending sex with another woman.

And she would get all of those things, dependably and assured. That is what sets me apart from the few other, beautiful and young women who do what I do.

And finally, I think she - and every other one of my patrons - pay for me because they know that I genuinely enjoy making love with other women - or at least with them, I'm sure that they could not care less about any of my other patrons.

She quickly removed my creme Judith silk blouse, also a Taheri and the black mixed-media Becky skirt, leaving me in my white lace bra and panties, a La Perla windflower thong and triangle bra combination, set off exquisitely by an Aubade Fleurs suspender belt to hold up my stockings - Rhonda loathed pantyhose on her women.

I stepped out of the nude Manolo Blahnik pointed toe, patent leather pumps and stretched out my toes, stepping out of the skirt as I did - which, frankly was a relief, I prefer to see other women in high heels, it gives them such beautiful 'fuck me' asses.

I then stepped back into the pumps, sighing under my breath, as Rhonda clapped her hands like a little girl. "Amazing, so beautiful," she marveled.

"Around," she commanded me, so I slowly turned, stopping at four points and affecting provocative poses, hip shot and ass foremost.

"Oh my god," she murmured, when she stared at my ass lifted up by the posture forced on me by the high heels. If I'm ever queen of the world, every woman will have to wear high heels, but I never will.

As I turned the full 360 degrees she took me in her arms, kissing me passionately, warmly even lovingly. I don't know any other way to describe it, but there's a way that a woman touches you when she's in love with you - or falling in love with you - and it's very dangerous for a courtesan with ethics.

There was certainly nothing I could do then, and I wasn't about to give her less than my best, but I'd have to keep it in mind for the future.

My hand went to her right breast as we kissed, caressing her. Her breasts were full, even large, and exquisitely, enticingly feminine. I could feel her nipple under her white Dolce and Gabbana blouse, stiff and yearning. Her sigh confirmed her need.

"Ohh, Laura, I've needed this...business has been such a war," she moaned, her cheek against mine. "Make me forget that I have to work with men, won't you?" She pulled back, her grey eyes looking deeply into mine, as she allowed herself to be dependent on someone else for once.

The pressure on her must have been tremendous. It was a certainty, given the state of his health and his age, that her husband was not much of a stress reliever for her, and besides, she was far more lesbian than bisexual, but she'd made her choice of lifelong companions years ago and knew that she'd only be able to supplement him, rather than replace him with women like me.

Rhonda had sharp features, features that had helped her to attract her husband - apart from her tremendous business mind - but those features were just starting to become overlain with a layer of fat. Softening her, yes, but also a sign that she was no longer the young girl that she pictured herself as. No one likes to see their illusions destroyed.

"Poor baby," I crooned, bringing my left hand up to cradle the back of her head, and taking control - now that I knew her mood - kissed her, hard.

She moaned, this time with passion growing inside her, her clothed body beginning to mold itself to my nearly naked, but fetching, female body. My fingers toyed with her glossy black hair, beginning to grey although of course she maintained it weekly. In business, sadly, youth is everything.

"Lie back here," I murmured in her ear. Trustingly she let me push her backwards onto the bed.

"Ooh," she exclaimed, perhaps surprised that someone she trusted actually hadn't let her down.

"Skooch up," I told her, wanting to get her ass further up on the bed so that I could attend to her lower half. She did, wriggling her still cute ass back until her knees were just at the edge of the bed. I unbuttoned the waist of her black Tom Ford silk skirt, then unzipped it and began shimmying it down her hips, revealing her bikini panties under her pantyhose.

"Pantyhose?" I exclaimed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I told you that I hate pantyhose - and I do, you look so fucking darling in your stockings - but I had a business meeting earlier that was so tense, and I didn't have time...please forgive me..."

I leaned over her, my breasts in my bra touching hers through her blouse and bra, my naked thigh deliberately thrust between her slick, pantyhose clad thighs, pussy pressing closer to hers. Gazing fondly into her eyes like the lover that I was for the moment, I said, "I can deny you nothing, sweetie."

"You're perfection, and your sweet jewels are beautiful no matter what kind of setting they're in."

Rhonda probably never heard anyone routinely making the effort to compliment her on her femininity, surrounded by either men or females that wanted only to slit her throat. She mewed with pleasure at my words.

"Next time I'll greet you completely naked, no matter where we are," she promised.

"Oh, I'll hold you to that," I laughed. "As a matter of fact I'm going to a wedding at St. Robert's next Saturday, can I expect you to be my guest...naked?"

There was a moment of panic in her eyes, and then she saw the corners of my eyes crinkle in amusement.

"Oh you...you sweet thing, putting me on," she said. "But perhaps one day you and I will be at a wedding..."

Uh oh, my bad. Time to change tracks.

"You need some sweet attention darling," I said. "Let me just slip off those pantyhose..." My hands went to the waist of the tan colored sheer fabric, and slipped them down off her legs. "There, doesn't that feel better?" I said.

"Well, I'm getting there," she conceded, her right hand going to the gusset of her bikini panties underneath, her fingers touching her mons from outside the fabric as if to reassure herself it was still there.

"Umm, allow me," I said, kneeling between her slightly stocky legs to bring my face closer to her pussy. I brought my nose next to the cotton, running the tip of it up along inside the indentation of her slit, the merest whisper of a touch, but enough to cause her to moan.

"Oh, that feels so good," she whispered. "Please do me," she begged.

I kissed along her labia, again through the fabric, each touch of my warm lips along her sensitive flesh summoning a sigh or moan from within her, her hips wriggling with her very evident need. After about five minutes of kissing her heat through the thin cloth, and inhaling her sweet fragrance, I was rewarded with a blossoming dark spot in the center of the gusset as her feminine cream began to overflow her pussy and seep through her panties.

"So sweet and fresh, so feminine," I murmured, loud enough for her to hear. She needed confirmation that she was still a woman after working so hard among men and their bullshit competition.

"Such a womanly body, you're making me so wet," I continued. Rhonda had to hear that she was desirable, especially to someone that she knew was desirable herself.

"I think that I'm going to love kissing your sweet pussy, licking leisurely along your plump, slick lips, and inside your hot, creamy pussy...kissing your swollen, hot clit is the most wonderful thing of all...watching you cum endlessly as I worship your amazing body, your beauty and sweetness..."

It almost didn't matter what I said then, at that point it was a matter of coming across with the goods - making her cum. My words were only background music for our lovemaking.

"The feel of your inner thighs...so like silk, the finest textures, so smooth and slickly wet," I crooned, as my fingertips lightly touched her warm, smooth flesh there, skating along from hip to knee.

"I must kiss your loveliness, so sweet, so fragrant," my lips followed behind my fingers, softly kissing her, the fragrance of frank, musky cunt, aroused and wetting, wicking off her pheromones to entice me, gradually blending and turning into the sweet fragrance of Terry De Gunzburg Oud she had dabbed lightly behind her knees earlier.

"Mmm, my love...rich pleasure, sweet music of love, your taste, your scent, your texture...see what you do to me?" With that I slipped my index finger under the gusset of my panties, into my steaming slit, dripping with my sweet, creamy excitement, a viscous, clear drop at the tip of my perfectly manicured finger brought up to her nose.

Her eyes flashed open - the change from aural seduction to olfactory exciting in itself - and focused, cross-eyed, on the clear drop of female musk nanometers from the rounded tip of her nose, the scent of my seduction made real and evident to her, confirmation of her effect on another woman.

Satisfied that she was all the woman that she so badly wanted to be, she begged for release.

"Please, Laura..." she began.

"No..." I replied.

"Please...Mistress, I beg you, let me taste you..."

It was an old game between us, but one lightly played, and all the richer and more enticing for its rarity.

"What will you do..." I began.

"Anything," she replied quickly. "Lick your cunt, tongue your sweet, plump clitty..."

I laughed. "You'll do that anyway," I riposted. "You love the taste of my hole, slut. No, I think that you need to degrade yourself, humiliate yourself in some secret way that you know very clearly, but that you're afraid to tell me."