Pretty Baby Ch. 04

Julie gasped, giving me a look that said, 'are you crazy?'

The others stared at me for a moment, then exploded with laughter, deciding, as I had hoped they would, my statement a joke. They screeched and hollered, and Lindsey wrapped her arms around me, hanging off me as she laughed. I laughed along with them, feeling immense relief.

"God!" exclaimed Lindsey. "For a sec, I almost believed you!"

"Yeah, right, if she was a call girl, she'd be driving a Lexus or something," said Tina dismissively.

"Nah. Mercedes," I said.

"Ooo, yeah, like, one of those convertibles . . . ."

As the others discussed what kind of car they would have if they were call girls, I glanced to Julie, who gave me a look of relief that matched how I felt. Okay, you pulled it off, she told me with her eyes. Now don't scare me like that again!

I just smiled.

***

Over the following months, I established a routine. I dated four days a week, sticking to 'normal' clients. Some of my previous regulars were delighted to find out I had returned, and I met with them. They made me feel precious and appreciated, and I made them feel satisfied in ways few other women could. Or so they told me.

When not dating, however, I spent a lot of time with Julie and her friends. Julie still wasn't happy about my continued profession, and we never talked about it. When I was hanging out with her and the others, however, thoughts of the men I saw rarely intruded upon my mind. I was enjoying just being a girl with them.

In order to head off any further suspicions about my apparent lack of dating, whenever we were hanging out at the mall or the theater, I flirted with boys and got a few phone numbers here and there. Maybe my new circle of friends never saw me alone with any of them, but through innuendo, I managed to convey that I was 'seeing someone.'

Aside from my clients, I also managed to find time now and then to be with Ian. I never said those 'three little words' to him again -- after Gary, I told myself I never would -- but I did love Ian, and not just when we were making love. Whenever we went out, it was always casual, just Ian and Alyssa, blue jeans and burgers. We managed to forget about the other parts of our lives when we were together.

More than any other man, Ian made me feel appreciated. He repeatedly told me how 'precious' I was to him, how much he 'adored' me. Adoration, for Ian, was as close as he came to love. To admit anything more would compromise his control.

By August, my popularity among all the girls at the agency (I learned through Cleo that there were eighteen of us) and the number of glowing comments I received regarding my services prompted Cleo to increase my rate. Instead of finding ten hundred-dollar bills in the little red envelopes James gave me, I started counting thirteen of them. I was moving up.

***

"I've received a special request for you," Cleo told me on the phone one Wednesday morning as I lay in bed. The evening before I had spent with the son of some German diplomat. He'd had a sexy accent and was delightfully kinky. Dieter had wanted to watch me give his limo driver a blow job before enjoying my charms for himself, which turned me on and reminded me of the 'old days.'

"A 'special' request?" I asked as I sat up in bed and looked for my smokes. I had a slight hangover. Damn that sweet German Gewurtztra-whatever wine!

She laughed gently into the phone. "Not that kind of 'special,'" she said, then reconsidered her words. "Actually, to be honest, I don't know."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not often that a woman calls our agency," Cleo said.

That piqued my interest. I lit up, blew smoke with a sigh. "A woman? You mean . . . a lesbian?" An image instantly popped into my mind of some middle-aged dyke with short hair, wearing a strap-on dildo and glossy leather boots. I shuddered.

Cleo chuckled. "While we do -- very rarely -- receive the occasional request by a lesbian, there are other agencies for that. No, when a woman calls, she usually wants to surprise her husband with a sexy little gift. Sometimes, the woman is involved, sometimes not."

I chewed my lip, feeling a little twitch between my legs at the prospect of being with a man and a woman at the same time. "Do you know anything about her? I mean, what she wants?"

"All I know is that it is a young couple," said Cleo. "But . . . the impression I got was that the woman will definitely be involved."

My heart palpitated. I felt a tingling in my nipples. Then I thought about Cleo's first words. "You said this was a request? For me?"

"She asked for you by name," Cleo confirmed. "She even described you, just to make sure she would get the right girl."

That had me wondering. I couldn't imagine any woman I had met, as Yvette, that had ever given me the impression that something like this would happen. "What's her name? Or the man's?"

"Um . . . Erica Riley," Cleo said. "She went through one of our corporate accounts, so there's no real way to confirm if that's her name. Chances are, though, it isn't."

"Why do you say that?"

Cleo chuckled. "Women are for more worried about their image than men," she said. "Especially women with money. If a lady is going to hire an escort to show her and hubby a good time, she's going to cover her tracks."

Makes sense. "I don't know."

"Well . . . at the risk of being forward," Cleo said. "In my book, nothing beats a good menage a trois."

I laughed. I was feeling more than a little warm, imagining tasting another woman. I remembered how good it had felt when those nameless girls had gone down on me at the gang-bang. "I guess I don't have to ask if you've ever done that."

"No, you don't," said Cleo meaningfully. "Honey, if you're worried about knowing how to make love to another woman, don't be. Trust me, you already know how."

I shuddered. The very thought of being with a woman, while feeling a man inside me at the same time, was starting the river flowing between my legs. "I'll do it," I said.

"I knew you would," said Cleo. "I'll get you all the information later today."

"Okay," I breathed, touching my pussy. Damn, was I wet!

"And, honey?"

"Yeah."

I could almost hear her wink. "Have fun."

Cleo hung up, and fell back on the bed, forgetting about my cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. Desperately, I spread my legs and madly rubbed my aching clitoris until I was moaning and bucking in orgasm.

***

All of my dates thus far had been in town. Only rarely had I ever left the city with a man, and that was only to go to some little retreat at the coast or a second home in the country. For the first time, I was getting on a plane to meet my lover . . . or in this case, lovers.

I would be gone for three days, with Cleo assuring me I would be paid appropriately. I was glad the request had come when it did; I was due to start my Sophomore year in another week.

I was a little anxious about leaving the city at first, until I found out that James would be accompanying me. I laughed at the irony: the escort had an escort. Once we arrived at our destination, James, as always, would disappear into the background. But he would never be far away.

Over the summer, James and I had become closer as friends. We talked often before and after my dates, usually in the Lincoln as he took me to and from. I found out he was older than I thought, almost forty, and had been a cop for ten years before deciding to go into private security. He had been driving for the agency for about three years, and had been the regular driver for two other girls before me.

"What happened to them?" I had asked one time.

He had simply shrugged. "One of them retired," he said. "The other . . . she got pretty messed up. Drugs."

"Oh."

"Does it bother you at all, what we do?"

James had chuckled and given me a look. "Why should it? Hell, if I had the money, I would be calling you, too."

I couldn't help but smile, the way he said that. Not, 'calling the agency.' 'Calling you.'

There had been times when I had been tempted to find out what would happen if, just if, I asked James to crawl into the back of the Lincoln with me. But that wouldn't have been feasible. I didn't want to meet any of my dates after having just had sex, and I doubt James would want to be with me after I'd been with another man. Still, I always had the little black phone . . . .

I wondered why I was attracted to James. Certainly, he was handsome, but I really didn't know him that well. Maybe it was because of our slowly-growing friendship, professional as it was, or maybe it was because he was the only man who saw me before and after I'd had sex with someone. There was something intrinsically naughty about getting in the back of the Lincoln every night, smelling of sex, my hair disheveled and pussy still swollen from a night of fucking, with James knowing what I had been doing.

I wondered if he ever got jealous, or if he ever fantasized about me. He was so stoic and professional that it was impossible to read him.

We talked casually on the plane, with James sitting in the aisle seat. I noticed the way he gave other men warning when looks when they checked me out. The way he acted around me made it pretty obvious to others that he was not my lover, and he was just standoffish enough that he did not come off as a family member. No, it was pretty obvious that he was my bodyguard.

I wonder if anyone thinks I'm a movie star or something, I thought with a giggle as we headed through the airport. I sure didn't look like it, wearing a denim skirt and a leather jacket over a pink halter. Aside from some of my jewelry, I didn't look like I had money. I guess people just assumed I came from a good family or something like that. Just a spoiled little girl 'on holiday.'

The trip to Lake Tahoe was thankfully brief. I didn't get airsick, I just hated the cramped conditions. I had only been on a plane once before, during a summer vacation to Mexico when I was growing up. God, that seemed so long ago . . . .

At least we were flying first class. The complimentary champagne helped me relax. James, of course, didn't drink.

James had already arranged for a ride, which was -- surprise! -- a Lincoln Towncar. We picked it up at the rental agency and proceeded to the address we had been given. It wasn't a hotel.

The resort community had a lot of little properties around one side of the lake, most of them time-share condominiums. It was to one of these that we headed. I was impressed with the Spanish villa-like house, with its pink stuccoed walls and shingled roof. There were large earthenware pots by the front door, and I could see that a high sandstone wall surrounded the property. There appeared to be a pool in the back, with an extensive deck that overlooked the lake. The next closest property was a quarter-mile away.

Well, whoever Erica Riley is, I thought. She's definitely got money. This place sure isn't cheap.

James brought up our bags, produced a key that had been provided by Cleo. The house's interior was spacious, airy, and very comfortable. The main room was dominated by leather furniture, a huge stone fireplace with a big flocate rug before it, and a good-sized dry bar. The kitchen was immense, with the breakfast and dining areas open. Huge glass doors opened to the back deck.

The pool was your typical rectangular, Olympic-style affair, with a couple of round wooden tables, chairs and chaise lounges to either side, beer house umbrellas on poles to provide shade, and another small bar close to the house. The view of the lake was breathtaking. Waterskiiers trailed in the wake of speedboats far out on the water, and I saw a few yachts floating here and there. The sun was bright, but not too harsh despite the heat. There was a cool, crisp breeze rolling off the lake.

I noticed that a large round mat had been placed on the deck just before the nearest edge of the pool. I smirked. More than big enough for three people, I thought. Hmm . . . sex outdoors. Can you say 'afternoon delight?'

The exhibitionist in me was anticipating the idea.

James nodded curtly as he came up beside me. He had checked out the house right away, looking in all the rooms, following his trained instincts. "No one home," he said. "Not that I expected anyone to be."

I frowned. "So . . . what now?"

"Now," said James, taking an envelope from the inside of his windbreaker. He ripped it open, took out a letter.

"'Dear Yvette;

We're so delighted that you agreed to join us. We are going to have a wonderful weekend, let me assure you.

Please get comfortable, as comfortable as you wish. You will notice the pool, of course. There are bathing suits in the closet in the master bedroom, and sunscreen in the cabinet by the pool bar. Our house is yours; whatever we have, you are welcome to. We will be joining you shortly. Relax. Have a cocktail. And don't feel bad if you are nervous; this is our first time in such a situation as well.'"

I felt a little blush in my cheeks as James finished. 'Please get comfortable, as comfortable as you wish.'

Hmm . . . .

"The rest is for me," James said, scanning down the letter. "Looks like I have a room waiting down the road. Not too far away. Whoever these people are, they know how it works."

"Yeah," I nodded, feeling a little suspicious. "Seems that way."

"All right," said James, putting the letter away. He looked to me. "Keep the phone close, just in case, okay? I know this area fairly well. I'm not gonna be more than a few minutes away."

I nodded and smiled. "Thanks, James," I said, then lifted up and gave him a soft kiss.

He actually blushed. His lips curled slightly. "Have fun, Yvette."

I smiled after him as he left. Then I got ready.

***

Finding the bathing suits were pretty easy, especially considering the hand-written note with my name on it, attached to the multiple hangar from which hung my choices.

I picked up one of the suits as I stood naked in the closet, after having taken a quick shower and applied my 'elegant' makeup. I decided to put my hair in pig tails and chose a light pink shade of lipstick. I wore my gold waist chain, matching ankle bracelet, and a serpentine bangle around my upper right arm. I added little diamond studs to my ears and a couple of simple rings to my thumbs. Six-inch platform heels added a last little touch of appropriately slutty 'class.'

I took up one of the bathing suits . . . if you could call it that. This isn't a bikini. This is a string of spaghetti and a ravioli!

I went through the four skimpy garments that had been provided for me. 'Erica Riley' was either a really good guesser, or she knew me enough to know my size. Of course, considering that I had probably met her wearing one of my body-hugging dresses, any woman would be able to guess my size.

Again, I tried to figure out who she was, but decided I would just have to wait.

I selected a burgundy bikini and slipped it on. The fabric vanished between my cheeks and plump vulvae, no matter how I tried to stretch it, leaving just a little V-shaped patch that revealed my pubes. I thought about shaving away my little 'mohawk,' but decided to leave it alone. The top was equally skimpy, doing nothing to support my breasts (not that they needed any) and just barely covering my puffies.

I modeled before the full-length mirror in the bedroom. Damn, Alyssa, you are one hot bitch!

I glanced briefly to the king-sized bed with the gold silk sheets and earth-toned comforter. I hoped it was sturdy enough.

I was in a persistent state of arousal as I headed back through the house to the pool. I found the sunscreen, massaged it into my skin, aware of how hot I was getting . . . and it wasn't because of the sun shining down upon me.

I rummaged through the bar, looking through the various bottles. I grinned when I found a half-empty bottle of strawberry-flavored vodka hidden amongst the shelves. I poured myself a martini, sipped it as I walked around the pool. I stood out at the edge, looking over the lake.

God, this place is gorgeous, I thought. This is paradise, if any place could be called that. Hmm . . . a few years as an escort, save up my money, invest it wisely . . . I could own a place like this by the time I graduated.

I sat down on one of the lounge chairs after tossing the towel I had brought with me from the bedroom onto the table beside it. Easing back, I watched the waterskiiers and yachts and sipped my martini. Man, could I get used to this . . . .

I heard the sound of heels clicking across the tile beside the pool. My heartbeat increased in tempo and I felt blush rising to my cheeks and breasts. I briefly considered getting up to meet my hostess, then decided to wait. I was enjoying the delicious anticipation. I would let her make the move.

A pair of slender, feminine hands slipped over my shoulders from behind, the skin tanned, fingers adorned with rings. One of those supported a large rock of a diamond, easily a full karat, upon her ring finger. They were the hands of a young woman, I realized. They reached to the swell of my breasts, then slowly moved back up. I sighed softly. She had a really nice touch.

"Hi, sweetie."

With a start, I recognized the voice in my ear, the aroma of her gentle perfume. I looked up, craning my neck as she walked around the edge of the chaise, watching as she came into view.

Like me, she wore a barely-there bikini that showed off her sexy, toned body. She had more of a tan than I did. Her breasts, a good cup size larger than mine, all but spilled out of her green bikini top. The bottoms vanished between swollen vulvae and made it obvious that she shaved her pussy smooth. Like me, she wore heels and just enough jewelry. Her thick, russet-brown hair, with some sun-kissed highlights, cascaded around her beautiful face. The sun brought out the tiny freckles on her cheeks and shoulders.

"Erin," I breathed.

She grinned, her glossy dark lips catching the sunlight. Her eyes wandered over my body approvingly. "Wow," she said.

I couldn't do anything but stare back. This was the woman who had requested me? Ian's daughter? I worked my jaw, trying to figure out what to say. But my vocabulary had vanished.

Erin looked amused. "You? Speechless?"

I blinked. "Where's Ross?" I asked.

She arched an eyebrow. "Anxious already?"

I blushed. "No," I said. "Sorry, I just . . . I didn't anticipate this."

Erin sat down on the edge of the chaise, one of her well-rounded cheeks pressed against my thigh. She did not try to hide her attraction to me. "He'll be here in a little bit," she said. Her dark eyes -- just like her father's, I realized -- glittered. "I figured it would be best if we got comfortable, first, just you and I."

I wondered if 'comfortable' meant pulling of our bikinis. If so, I wasn't about to say no. Erin was hotter than Julie and just as voluptuous, and I realized with sudden clarity that I wanted her. I couldn't imagine a more beautiful girl to be the first I would make love to.

"I'd like that," I said.

Now it was Erin's turn to blush, feeling the steadily growing sexual tension between us. Her nipples were thick and hard, pushing through her tiny top. I didn't have to look to know that mine were, as well.

"Sorry about the deception," she said, brushing my hand. I immediately laced my fingers through hers. Her eyes gave me a knowing look. "But I don't think Daddy would approve if he knew I had hired one of his girls."

I lifted my martini, warmed from the sun but still cool as the liquid flowed over my tongue. "That turns you on, doesn't it?" I asked, following my instincts. "That I'm one of 'Daddy's girls.'"