Eva's Education

I unpacked my things. She had neatly folded four miniskirts, several blouses and other tops, two nice sundresses, a lovely, short black velvet cocktail dress and one lightweight jacket. The only things remotely resembling underwear were two satin garter belts, three or four pairs of stockings to wear with them, and two short silk slips. There was an assortment of make-up and costume jewellery, and a white envelope, which I slit open.

A single sheet of paper fell out. I read the letter, which was in Romanian.

Dear Eva,

You will now have arrived in your new home, and have unpacked the few items of clothing we have allotted to you.

Your first appointment will be in a day or two's time, and we always make sure that first assignments are for lunch. You will therefore wear the cocktail dress provided. The client will be aware that it is your first experience of the kind, and will make due allowances, but you should remember that you are ON TRIAL for this and the following FOUR assignments, and may be summarily dismissed at any time, if our clients are dissatisfied with you. You will, however, be well remunerated, and an allowance will be given to you for the purchase of clothing for your subsequent assignment.

I trust you will enjoy your role in our organisation

S. Ivanescu.

I sat on the bed and suddenly felt very lonely. I didn't realise it, but I was crying when a knock came on the door, and Petra was stood there, waving her letter at me.

'What do you think to all this, then?' she asked.

I wiped my messy mascara-streaked cheeks, and managed a wan smile. 'Dunno – better than mucking out pigs, I suppose!' We sat and laughed together, then went out to have a first look at our new, strange, city.

A couple of days later, just as I was settling down for yet another session with irregular verbs, a noise alerted me, and when I went to investigate, I found an envelope that had been slid under my door. I was to prepare to meet a client, in the lounge at the Hotel Cuzco, at two. My waiting period was at an end. I called around and discovered that Olga too had a date for that lunchtime, but that Petra had so far heard nothing.

Nervous again, I decided on a black satin garter belt, black seamed stockings and patent heel under the short, tight, black velvet cocktail dress, which moulded my figure perfectly. Black silk gloves and a pair of long silver pendant ear-rings completed my outfit, but, at the last minute, I opted to tie my hair up in a pony-tail, with a black velvet bow. I thought it would go well. I had been told that my client 'would find me easily enough, if I sat at the bar with a dry martini.'

I arrived by taxi ten minutes early, and sat at the bar, feeling like a character from some old movie, showing lots of stocking leg as I perched on the stool, one heel hooked over the bar-rail, swirling an olive around in my glass. Eyes watched me hungrily, until there was a commotion at the door-end of the bar, and attention switched to a head of black wavy hair making its way towards me. I couldn't suppress a little gasp when Antonio -- made himself known as my client. A television presenter, and household name, I already knew his face, despite my few days of watching the 14 inch television in my apartment, trying to get to grips with language and culture, and had an inkling that he was happily married, with kids.

'You are Eva,' he said, in the lovely, soft voice I had heard on the telly, 'come on, we have lunch waiting!'

Without delay, he led the way to the lobby used by the staff, and grinned cheekily as he summoned the lift – there was no-one around to see us. We arrived at one of the upper floors - I couldn't remember which – and he let us into a magnificent suite, where a superb lunch-trolley was waiting for us, complete with champagne. His eyes mesmerised me to the extent that I had no idea afterwards just what I had eaten, I only remember those eyes, and his soft voice, and his hands on my knees – my sensitive knees – kneading, as if it were necessary for him to court me. It was wonderful, and when he took my napkin from me and leant over to kiss me, I melted, my lips moulded to his, my tongue slowly, ever so slowly, broaching his lips, working its way between his even white teeth. My silver stud clicked against the back of those perfect teeth, nd grazed his tongue, while my hand sought the front of his chinos, and I wasn't disappointed to find the hardness there that showed his appreciation. I pulled down his zipper, but was thwarted by boxer-shorts, and, trying to reach over the waistband, thought it best to release that of his trousers first. He wore no belt, so I soon tugged them open, and he raised his backside to help me pull down trousers and shorts, so that a nice, thick, stiff, slightly curved rod stood to attention. I pulled back for a moment to admire it, then cradling the base of it in both hands, I gently let my tongue-stud run across its very tip, taking off the tiny drop of pre-cum which had formed there. He moaned gently, and pulled down the long zipper at my back, then, my breasts now free, brought his hands around and cupped them as I attended to his cock, tweaking my nipples hard until I cried out as I sucked and licked the length of his rod. He was now filled with a need for me, and his cock had a life of its own, pulsing as I sucked, until I feared he might cum, and had to grasp him hard around the base of his shaft to give him time.

I pulled off him, and pushed him back on the couch, then stood in front of him, my dress now around my hips. Slowly, my eyes never leaving his, I pushed it down, until it fell to the floor, leaving me standing there in nothing more than my garter belt, stockings and heels. I knelt on the carpeted floor right in front of him, and lay back, my knees apart, whilst his eyes were intently watching me. As I slowly moved both hands down between my legs, I watched his eyes move with them, and I made sure to keep my movements slow as I parted my outer labia with the finger of both hands, then opened up my hot wet vagina for him to gorge his eyes on, finally plunging two fingers deep into my cunt, while my eyes never left his.

I said, as sexily as I could, 'Would you like to fuck me, Antonio?' He was on the floor, between my legs, in a split second, and after half a dozen good thrusts, came with shattering force, leaving me a bit 'high and dry,' but full of his hot cum.

I thought I should have my turn later, but he lost interest quickly, declared that he had an important appointment, and that was that. He asked that we leave separately, thanked me profusely, and said he hoped we should meet again. He had been nice to me, but……well, I guess there's often a 'but.'

Another envelope slid under my door, the very next day.

Dear Eva,

Your first client was satisfied with your service. We enclose a cheque for you to cash, and a credit card – please sign the back – with which to purchase clothes.

Tomorrow evening, the 16th, you are to be in the lobby of the Hotel Westin Palace at 8.30, where your next client will meet you. You should wear an evening gown. I trust your evening will be fulfilling, and that you will continue to maintain a high standard of service,

S.I.

I had to look twice at the Al portador (to the bearer) cheque, as the sum was beyond my wildest expectations, and immediately consulted with Olga, down the corridor – she too had seemingly done well, and had been rewarded similarly. After checking and finding that Petra had a date for that very evening, and was even then preparing nervously for it, Olga and I skipped off to take a preliminary look at the shops.

It was lat the next afternoon before I had settled on a dress for the evening, after visiting all the fine shops I had never dreamed of using in my life. What I bought was a flaming scarlet creation in soft red silk, which was really a long sheath dress in two halves, front and back, gathered at the collar. Down each side there was a broad gap, bridged only by three gold-coloured clasps, one just below my armpit, one at hip level and one below my knees. Even had I wished to wear underwear, it would have shown inelegantly in the gap. As it was, I knew that everyone would see quite clearly that I was entirely naked under the dress, and my breasts would jiggle as I walked, under the caressing silk. I chose a pair of ruinously expensive Manolo Blahnik heels to wear with the dress – even though they would be largely hidden, I would feel good in them.

I took a taxi to my rendezvous, and, with nothing more than a filmy stole around my shoulders, attracted many a glance as I sat in the lobby in my eye-catching dress, awaiting my client. I felt very good.

I felt better still on the arm of my client, when he showed up. I was staggered when it turned out to be a famous footballer, whose face I had seen smiling at me on my Romanian television screens, and who was an international superstar.

'Call me Ed,' he told me – it certainly wasn't the name the public knew him by.

We dined in the hotel's superlative restaurant, his hand on my thigh, through the gap in my gown, whenever there was a pause between courses, then we danced at a smart discotheque for a while, where the name of the game was 'to be seen' – the place was full of the rich and famous – before returning to the hotel in the early hours of the morning.

We went up to a superb suite – better even, if that were possible, than the one my previous client had had – and Ed poured me a drink. I guess I should have been tired at that hour, but my adrenalin was rushing, as a result of all that had happened so far, and my nipples were so hard they actually hurt, when Ed took me in his strong arms and kissed me.

'You like dancing, Eva, don't you?' he asked, rhetorically, 'so why don't you do a nice dance – just for me?'

He didn't wait for a response, just put on a CD of some slinky sax number, and slumped down on a sofa to watch me. I picked up the rhythm, and started to move slowly to the music, running my hands up an down my body, eventually stopping to flip open the bottom clasps, so that I could smooth the flimsy silk of the skirt slowly up my legs as I gyrated, stopping tantalisingly as I reached the top of my thighs, and letting my gown fall back into place.

I reached around behind my head, pulled my long mane of hair of the way, and unclipped my collar, holding it in place for a moment, then allowing it to fall so that only the clasps at my armpits held the bodice of my dress in place. I unclipped them next, and held an arm protectively over my breasts as I danced close to Ed, letting my free arm trail suggestively across his lap. He groaned, and I knew he was getting ready for me in a big way. A little further away, I let my dress fall down to the waist, and, still trying to keep time with the music, I cupped my smallish, still-quite-firm breasts, and teased the nipples between thumb and forefinger, making an 'Mmmm' noise as I did so.

Looking now t Ed, I could see that he was right on the edge of his seat, and I didn't want to tease him any longer, so I simply pushed my gown down over my hips, and allowed it to fall to the floor in a soft pool of scarlet silk, out of which I stepped, and walked slowly, in my heels, to the waiting Ed, who had, in preparation, extracted a highly impressive cock from his trousers, and was stroking its long, hard shaft lovingly, as he watched me. In a gesture that I now knew to be irresistible, I parted my labia with the first two fingers of one hand, and simultaneously let my tongue slip out from between slightly parted lips, in a mute invitation.

For once, no foreplay seemed to be indicated, and I simply straddled him and impaled myself on his lovely weapon, sinking it slowly, so slowly, deep, deep, within my wet, impatient vagina. I sighed with intense pleasure as he filled me to the hilt, and then I rode him, rode him and controlled him, feeling his mouth on my tits, his big hands grasping my buttocks, but above all, his great prick, filling me as I thrust at him, my fingers now busy on my clit as I made sure I should come to my orgasm as he came to his. I was confident, somehow, that I could bring him off just when I wanted to, and so it was – he followed my lead as well as if I had given him verbal instructions, and when he stiffened as he shot his load of hot spunk hard and deep into me, I too came, and felt the overwhelming joy of a mighty orgasm.

We slept together, naked, and fucked again when we awoke, much more gently this time, preceded by much kissing and fondling. When we parted, he promised to see me again, but I knew it was a hollow promise, unlikely to be fulfilled.

The next day, I stayed in bed until midday, so not a lot happened, but as I was preparing my lazy evening meal in the microwave, my doorbell sounded. It was Petra, who had just returned from a shopping expedition, having been paid for her first assignment. She was eager to show me what she had bought.

I gasped in amazement when she took hr purchases out of two black carrier bags.

'Just when are you planning to wear those?' I asked her, as she held up first a purple whale-boned corset, which looked two sizes two small for her, and then a shiny pencil-slim skirt, which looked as if it were metallic.

'Latex!' she supplied, and then showed me the horrendously high needle-heels she had bought, complete with platform soles, to wear with them. 'And I shall wear them for my next client, tomorrow lunchtime,' she added, 'he apparently likes subservient women, an I was told to dress accordingly.'

I made her promise to model the way-out gear for me when she got around to trying it on, and sat down to watch the telly.

But half an hour later she was back, all dressed up, and I had to admit she looked fantastic. Her already narrow waist was restricted to almost nothing by the corset – 'And if you laced it for me, darling, it would be even better,' she said - and her breasts were thrust upwards above the black frilly lace top of the garment. She wore over it a black transparent blouse, and the latex skirt, so tight around her knees she could scarcely walk, and she had on seamed black stockings, and those amazing shoes, with their ankle straps, platform soles and teetering heels.

'Wait a minute,' I told her, and rummaged around in a drawer until I found what I was looking for, then buckled around her neck a silver collar I had recently taken a fancy to.

'Wow,' I said, 'you look something else!' And I meant it. After she had gone, I couldn't get her 'look' out of my head, and resolved to try 'restraint gear' for myself some time soon.

My envelope arrived the next day, with a fat cheque, and instructions about my next client, another evening job, two nights hence. I contemplated wearing the same gown, which had been such a success, but then reflected that Madrid's social scene was such that it would be regarded as a terrible solecism to be seen in the same outfit twice running, so I sallied forth and sought another dress. This time I chose a long black lace dress, high-necked and long-sleeved, but quite transparent, so that I was compelled to break with my own rules and purchase some underwear to go with it. I chose a black platform bra, which left my nipples free, nestling atop a frill of lace, and a tiny pair of black lace panties, tied at the sides by means of conspicuous white ribbons, which would be seen under my dress. When I tried on the entire outfit, with a pair of metal-heeled stilettos, I liked the effect, and spent the rest of the time looking for costume jewellery to wear with it.

The evening came around. Unlike my previous two assignments, the encounter was scheduled to take place not in a hotel, but at an exclusive restaurant. I had bought a fur coat to wear over my dress, and caught several pairs of eyes watching me when the waiter relieved me of it as I was shown to the table, where my client awaited me. Jorge was a well-known actor, with many television appearances to his credit, and he was a wonderful dinner host, handsome, fifty-something, a hint of grey in his wavy black hair, humour in his deep-set brown eyes. But apart from taking my hand and pressing it lightly, he made no move that could be interpreted as remotely sexual, and the waiters seemed to take greater interest in my just-visible nipples than did my companion. I tried my best, spurred on by the considerable amount of wine I had drunk, to arouse something in him, by touching his knees under the table, but all that seemed to raise was an enigmatic smile. The restaurant had a small dance floor, and we took to it for a few numbers after we had dined. He danced beautifully, and complimented me on my samba, but, when we came together for a slow number, I sensed no real passion in him. So I was mildly surprised when, after a while, he said, 'Come on, Eva, it's time you came to my lair!'

When we arrived at his city apartment, not two blocks from the restaurant, I was again surprised that, instead of letting himself in with his key, he pressed a button and was immediately 'buzzed in.' I thought he must have a servant in the place. To say I was shocked would have been to put it mildly when we walked in the open door to his third floor flat, and standing there was a dark-haired woman in her late thirties, I guessed, wearing a long peach silk nightgown.

'Meet my wife, Trini,' said Jorge, 'Trini, this is Eva. Let's all go and have a drink, and get to know each other, shall we?'

The scenario was….surprising! I was manoeuvred between the two of them onto a comfortable but none-too-large sofa, a drink-laden coffee-table before us, Trini's silk-clad form pressed close against me. I took a sly glance at her, and she caught my eye embarrassingly. She had the most magnificent head of hair I thought I had ever seen, a mass of Raven-black curls falling down way past her shoulders, and hr full lips were immaculately made-up, as were her eyes and her flawless skin. She was tall, and had a figure a little fuller than my own, but must have spent time in both the gym and the beauty salon – an impressive lady.

'Help yourself to a drink, Eva,' said Jorge, 'I'll just go and get a few nibbles for us.'

He levered himself up and left, whereupon I started to shuffle along the sofa a little, to make more room, but Trini put an arresting hand on my thigh, and said, quietly, 'No, dear, stay close to me, or is that a problem for you?'

'Of course not,' I replied, and it was the truth – her heady perfume, and voluptuous feminine closeness, was working on me. I almost didn't want Jorge to come back. I looked at her, and she put a long, manicured finger under my chin, tilted my head back, and kissed me, ever so gently, full on the lips. The hand which had lifted my chin traced my throat, ran lightly down to where an involuntarily hardened nipple had escaped through the lace of my dress. I glanced downwards, and saw her long nail drawing a little circle around the tip of my breast.

'Oh,' I moaned, quietly, 'but be careful, your husband will be back in a minute!'

'He won't be back until he's sure we are…….getting on well,' she said, 'he like to watch.'

'But…but, I'm not like that!' I protested, 'I've never….'

She put a finger to my lips, whilst a smile played about her own. 'Don't you like me?' she asked, and simultaneously lifted my hand to her breast, which was heaving gently under the luxurious soft silk of her gown. Her tits were round and mature, but still quite firm, and their nipples were puffy and swollen with desire. I found myself delving inside the neckline of her nightdress to feel her naked flesh in my hand, and she helped by easing the spaghetti straps from her shoulders. I was now able to drown myself in those lovely breasts, and took the nipples, one after the other, into my mouth, biting and teasing them to complete erection, grazing them with my stud, until she groaned with delight.