tagExhibitionist & VoyeurThe Lady and Camilla Ch. 06

The Lady and Camilla Ch. 06

bykarabryn©

We had no more appointments booked and, if this month were to follow the pattern of the previous two, I wouldn't see Victoria and His Lordship for another few weeks. With some clients I would probably make contact with them if I hadn't heard anything for a few days, but I knew with these two that they'd be in touch when they wanted me. And after last night, I very much hoped they wanted me. I was certain that Victoria did at least.

Nearly three weeks passed and still I heard nothing. An offer to work at a party near Edinburgh came up and I couldn't turn it down, especially since the client was another semi-regular. The parties he hosted weren't exactly sex parties, but there was usually me and another escort invited along as part of a mixed group, and if we added some spice to the occasion then so be it. There was no attempt to pass us off as anything but hired girls and so we were expected to be risqué, as long as the guests appeared comfortable with it. At the last party I think we'd both ended up in only our underwear and stockings. Or at least, I think I kept my underwear: the host is rather more insistent that we join in with the alcohol consumption than most and, since I don't need to be on my guard with that group, it makes it an easy decision to go along with his suggestions.

This time I believe I'll be working alone, though, as he'd asked me if there was anyone I could suggest to work alongside me. I came up blank and I hadn't heard anything that led me to believe that he'd found a replacement for the previous girl, although I had no idea why she wasn't going to be there again. Maybe she had insisted on keeping her underwear? I genuinely couldn't remember.

But, of course, no sooner had I accepted the offer than my phone buzzed on the table and a text message from Victoria arrived.

"In Somerset," it said, "Can you come tomorrow?"

I rolled my eyes: why did she have to wait until the last minute? I ran the logistics through my head: drive down to Somerset tomorrow morning, one night there, back to London, then the train to Edinburgh the next. It was going to be busy, but I could keep everyone happy as long as the trains didn't let me down. But Victoria would be out of luck if she expected to monopolise my time for the next four days as she usually did.

"Sounds great!" I replied, "Send me the details."

Victoria knew what to send: a hotel address was all I'd need. She would already have everything booked and ready for me on the assumption that I would accept.

"Somerset" turned out to be "Bristol", and the city name is I think how anybody except the upper classes would refer to it. Instead of driving I decided to take the train and packed myself an overnight bag with a selection of dresses and matching underwear. I had no idea what kind of social situation they'd put me in so I had to be prepared for anything from a casual drink to a formal dinner.

Once I arrived in Bristol I took a taxi to the hotel, which was on the outskirts of the city. After I'd checked into my room and hung my clothes up I sent Victoria a message.

"I'm here. It's a lovely hotel! Thank you."

I had found that showing appreciation to my clients went a long way. Even if it was expected that they would pay for everything, they liked to hear gratitude.

The reply came quickly: "Great! Meet in the lobby at 6? I have a restaurant booked."

It was safe to assume that the restaurant would be pretty exclusive so I picked out a red cocktail dress with short sleeves and, since the weather wasn't quite as good as the past month, stockings beneath. It was almost a golden rule in the escort business that a girl wears stockings, not tights... Lingerie instead of underwear... panties instead of knickers... you get the idea. I always double-checked that the stockings weren't obvious from a casual glance, though, and most of my dresses were chosen to be just about long enough, but still short enough that I could let the client catch a glimpse if I wanted to. Although I had a couple of very short skirts for when I had a client who liked to see that kind of thing, and liked that other people saw that kind of thing too.

The dress was one of my least revealing, but it fitted my slim figure exceptionally well, and stockings always helped to make an outfit feel sexy. I slipped on a pair of tall, black heels and made my way down to reception at ten minutes to six. I wanted to make sure that I didn't keep Victoria waiting as she was usually very punctual.

At a minute to six I heard footsteps coming down the staircase and Victoria walked down, taking each step carefully and deliberately as if making a grand entrance. She wore a light blue wrap skirt and matching jacket with a white blouse that was buttoned up to the collar. The skirt came just below the knee and, although the evening was still warm enough for bare legs, the ever-shy Victoria wore tights beneath. Or at least I presumed she wasn't wearing stockings; I doubted she even owned a pair. On her feet she wore tall white high heels, although not as high as the ones I had chosen for her the last time we had met. In fact, it was one of the most conservative outfits I had seen her in.

She looked more like she was going to a wedding than out for a night on the town. What a change this was from the last time I had seen her, standing in her husband's arms in only a pair of high heels, and I wondered if she had taken a step backwards in the intervening three weeks. Nonetheless, I grinned at her and was ready with the compliments.

"Wow! You look amazing!" I told her. "I'm going to be well and truly outshone tonight." She grinned at the compliment. "Is Mr– on his way down as well?"

"Oh!" she said, "I thought we'd told you. He's had to go away on business."

Ah, I thought, that changes things. I was certain that she hadn't mentioned any such thing. I felt that there was some scheming going on in Victoria's mind.

"Still," she said, as if she was making the best of it, "we can enjoy a night out together. Just us girls."

I smiled: in truth, it didn't matter who was here and who wasn't. I was being paid for a job and I was going to do it. But it was amusing that Victoria thought she had "trick" me into being alone with her when every single minute of our time together was because she was paying me for it.

"We can indeed," I said with a smile. Victoria and George may have been my first (and still only) married couple that I had accompanied as a professional escort, but she certainly wasn't my first girl-only night out. "What do you have planned for us?"

Her eyes sparkled at the open-ended question. "I've booked the restaurant," she said, "But they have a bar so if we turn up a little early we can have a drink. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," I said with the most enthusiasm I could gather.

The reception called a taxi to take us to the restaurant and, as I suspected, it was a very exclusive establishment. We took a seat at the bar and the waiter mixed our cocktails. I had a Margarita and Victoria ordered a Negroni.

"You liked the Negroni, then?" I asked, referring to the drink I had introduced to the couple only a few weeks before.

"I did indeed," she said, "Although this one isn't as good as yours." Her eyes sparkled again and she looked me up and down. I realised that in Victoria's mind she was flirting with me.

"It tastes okay," she continued, "But I liked the way the other one was served better."

I giggled, as was expected of me. I wasn't in the least bit embarrassed by what had happened, and I was sure it wouldn't be the last time that I'd become a naked cocktail waitress.

I try not to drink too much when I'm working, but when you have a large cocktail in front of you it's quite hard not to drink it without appearing rude. And it was better to be a tiny bit inebriated than to appear rude to a client. By the time our table was ready Victoria was on her second Negroni while I had just finished my first Margarita.

We were led through the restaurant to a quiet area at the back and sat at a table inside a semi-private booth. There we talked as we worked our way through seven very small but perfectly crafted courses. It always amazes me that such food can make one feel full when the quantities appear miniscule.

The bottle of white wine we had started with was almost finished, which was mostly down to Victoria's consumption, I might add, and I was starting to wonder what else she intended for us that evening. She was the client, and a very good one at that, so there wasn't much that I would refuse, but her relationship with her husband was on my mind.

Victoria looked suddenly thoughtful.

"Do you enjoy your work, Camilla?"

I smiled. "I do, most of the time," I replied. But I had to say that to a client, didn't I? It was mostly true, though. "Obviously sometimes I enjoy it more than other times," I added, hoping that the hint that she was a "special" client wouldn't pass her by.

"You're very good at it," she said. I wasn't sure how exactly she could know, since she'd seen such a small part of my world; unless they'd tried escorts before, of course, although their nervousness made me think probably not.

"Thank you," I said in reply. "Girls who aren't good at it... tend not to last long." She grinned.

"And are most of your clients men?" she asked with an interrogative look. It was strange that she was suddenly so interested in what I did.

"Mostly," I said, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable with the truth that, at the moment, all of my other clients were men. I had had female clients in the past, very rarely, but just none right now. Except for Victoria.

"But what does your boyfriend think of it all," she asked. It wasn't a surprising question from a client, but it was a surprising question from Victoria.

"I don't have a boyfriend," I said with a smile. Sometimes, if it was a client I knew I would never agree to sleep with, I would lie and say that I did. But so few men wanted to know me for who I was rather than how I looked, and those few that did were put off when they found out what I had to do for my work, that I had just given up on it for now. Many would claim they'd be fine with it, but they were usually exactly the wrong type of men in the first place. It was an impossible situation.

"Girlfriend?" she asked, suddenly looking embarrassed about the questioning. I shook my head.

"No-one," I said, "It's easier not to." I think she understood as much as she could.

She paused for a second and I could tell there was more to come. I took a sip from my wine glass. "Do you think I could do it?" she asked.

I nearly spat my wine across the table at the question.

"You want to be my girlfriend?"

She giggled and turned a bright shade of red.

"No, silly... do your job."

"Become an es-... do what I do?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes!" she said, "Don't you think I could?" She seemed indignant. It was odd, this wealthy woman of position and breeding who needed for nothing, yet she was wondering if she had the skills necessary to become what many people viewed as prostitution.

"Well," I said, not wanting to get on her bad side, "You've certainly got the looks for it... and the conversation skills. And I know a lot of men who would love the idea of someone so... refined... lavishing attention on them." I paused and winked at her. "Posh totty," I ventured and she laughed.

"I'm 'posh totty', am I?" she asked. I nodded and laughed too.

"Without equal," I said, and I meant it: if ever there was going to be a poster girl for the beautiful, well-bred upper class woman, then Victoria would be it.

"But?" she probed.

"But," I said, "There are a lot of compromises." She waited for me to continue. "You may not like your client, but you can never show it. You can never let your guard down or relax and show how you really feel."

"Don't you relax around me?" she asked, offended again.

"Some clients... people are different," I said and I put my hand on hers to reassure her, knowing that she responded well to touch. Even when I was being honest I had to calculate the impact of my words and actions; I couldn't see how she could understand the need to act like that.

"It would be fun to be able to give it a try," she said. A few of the women who knew what I did had said the same, but I don't think they really knew what they were saying. The fantasy might sound fun, but the reality was very different.

"Well," I said, "If ever someone calls me up and I can't make it I'll be sure to pass them on."

We both giggled because the very idea of Victoria as an escort was preposterous. But I hoped the joke was a good way to close the matter. It seemed to work.

"Oh," she said, moving on to a new subject, "I wondered if you would like to come on a boat trip with me tomorrow?"

As always, the question wasn't really "would I like to come" but "I want you to come". I wasn't free to suggest an alternative, but then I remembered I had yet to break the bad news.

"Ah," I said, "There's a bit of a problem... I have another appointment." I couldn't think of how else to phrase it. I wanted her to know that I really couldn't get out of it; that I would cancel anything if I could. If it was a personal engagement I would have dropped it, as I had in the past, which was probably why I had so few personal engagements nowadays: nobody thought it worth inviting me.

"Oh," she mouthed, "Another client?"

I nodded. "The night after tomorrow, up in Edinburgh."

"Anything you can tell me about?" she probed again.

I shook my head. "Not really," I said, "But it's nobody you know, I don't think." She seemed relieved at that, as if sharing me with strangers was somehow better than sharing me with friends. "It's a party and I provide some of the... entertainment."

I felt uncomfortable being so explicit with a client, but I felt that if she saw that it wasn't personal then she may be able to dismiss it. Some clients hate the idea of sharing me with anyone, preferring to think that the relationship I have with them is the only one that matters to me.

"Oh well," she said and I took another sip of wine. She was lost in thought for a second. "Can I come with you?" she asked.

For the second time in five minutes I nearly spat my wine across the table.

"Victoria!" I said, far too informally.

"What!" I had an inkling that she actually meant it as a serious question. "I said it might be fun and... well, I'm not doing anything else, and if you're there to look after me... and your client gets two sparkling conversationalists for the price of one." She tried to look coy. "And more 'posh totty' around."

I rolled my eyes: she really did think it was all conversation and charm, that you just had to "be yourself" and it would all be fine? I couldn't imagine what it would be like having to babysit her for the evening whilst trying to work. In fact, I could see it being such a disaster that I would lose the client and a night's pay at the same time.

"I'm sorry," I said, "But I really can't. Trust me: you wouldn't like it."

"You can't know that," she said argumentatively, "I can flirt with the best of them when I have to. How do you think I got my husband in the first place?" I had wondered that, given that she didn't seem particularly attracted to him, or even to men in general. "Why don't you ask your client? No names, of course."

"Of course," I said. I know what my client would say: he'd say "bring her". He'd wanted two girls anyway and he'd be over the moon when he saw Victoria, but maybe not so enthused when she said "no" to some of his more.... idiosyncratic requests. I shook my head.

"Give me one good reason why you don't think I could do it," Victoria asked.

I thought for a second. "Because you need to be able to follow instructions," I told her truthfully, "Often, to do things that you find distasteful. And you have to pretend to enjoy it."

She bristled as what I said sunk in. "Is this so distasteful?" she asked, looking around at the restaurant surroundings.

I smiled to placate her. "Not like this," I said softly, "But not all clients are like you." I realised I had just committed an error I'd promised myself I'd never make: I'd called her a client. Luckily, she ignored it.

"Like what kinds of things?" I asked.

"Like..." What had I done at the last party for this client? "Like stand on a table in the middle of the room and strip naked." I said. Had I actually stripped naked? Again: I really couldn't remember.

She looked shocked. "You did that?" she asked. I nodded, sure that I probably had; if not at this party then at one of them.

"You see?" I said. She'd made my point for me.

"But maybe I could do that, if the money was right," she joked with a wink. I laughed at the thought of Victoria needing the money.

"Maybe you could," I said, "But I'd hope not."

"Take me along and perhaps you'll see a different side to me, eh?" She wasn't giving this up, but I had an idea.

"Okay," I said, "I have an idea: for the next hour, I'm the client and you're me. If you can last an hour... I'll think about it."

"You'll think about it? That's not much of a promise."

"Take it or leave it."

"Okay, mistress." She rested her chin in her hands and stared into my eyes. "What does my mistress command me to do?"

I rolled my eyes but laughed at the same time, also feeling a little flattered at the sudden attention. It wasn't that I'd not believed Victoria when she said she could flirt, but the sudden change was surprising. And as I'd said: she certainly had the looks, and the charm, for the job, but there was more to it than that. I wanted to tell her that just because she had finally had sex with her husband in the drawing room rather than the bedroom that it didn't exactly mean she was ready to be an escort.

"And when have I ever called you 'mistress' or asked you what you wanted me to do?" I said. Being an escort was as much about anticipating what the client wanted as being prepared to do it.

"You're right!" she said and sat upright in the seat as if in shock, "I want my money back!"

I laughed: this was another side to Victoria that I hadn't seen before.

"Well, seriously," she said, "Give me some tips."

"Okay," I said, "The trick is to give the client what they want before they even know themselves what they want."

"Sure," she said confidently, "I can do that."

"Can you?" I questioned, "What do you think I want?"

"I don't kn-" She stopped herself before she finished the sentence. "Sex later?" She giggled, but this time I didn't join in.

"It's not just about sex," I said. Although I wanted her to keep in mind that it often was about sex by the end of the night. "Or rather, it's not just about having sex. It's about the idea of having sex, and having that idea hanging there for a whole evening."

Victoria mouthed a silient "oh". I glanced down at her outfit and her eyes followed mine.

"And my outfit isn't exactly... sexy, is it?" she said. I shook my head. It was very pretty, but far from sexy.

"Well," she said and, with a look around the room (which was pointless because nobody could see into our little booth) she began to unbutton the top of her blouse. She unfastened three of the buttons and I caught the smallest hint of cleavage. It was nothing that a client would get excited about, but it gave me an idea.

"Shall I tell you a secret," I said, and I leant forwards into the table as if I was sharing something that I didn't want anyone to overhear. Victoria leant forwards and nodded.

"I've always had this fantasy," I said, "That I was having dinner with someone, and they were very smartly dressed." Victoria nodded enthusiastically. "But they let slip during the meal that..." It was my turn to look around theatrically. I leant forward a little more and lowered my voice again. Victoria was on tenterhooks. "...That beneath their smart clothes, they weren't wearing anything at all!"

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bykarabryn© 3 comments/ 2812 views/ 4 favorites

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