Working Girl

"Why not join an agency?"

"How do you mean? What sort?"

"An escort one."

He went on to explain that he had used one several times and the girls were great but the charges were high and much, much higher than mine.

"I've got the phone number if you'd like it," he told me getting up from the bed naked and going to his phone.

"Text it to me please."

"Oh and ask for Tom Marston."

Although I did all I reasonably could to ensure that my chat room punters turned up it didn't always work and probably one in three just didn't show up. This was particularly frustrating as it took such a lot of time and effort to source and groom them.

Additionally, finding guys willing to fork out for a hotel room and a reasonable fee for me was difficult and time-consuming. As a result, I tended to look for punters near to airports or main line train stations where I had found out rooms can be bought by the hour. Thus, reducing that cost meant I could ask for more, but even then, the most I had got so far was £300 for a long afternoon.

Another issue that was a constant worry was security. I could do nothing to check the punters out and I was constantly in fear of one using too much force or raping me if I said no. I had found out that as a hooker no rarely actually means no but can be a euphemism for 'maybe' or 'I quite like a bit of rough.'

I was certainly discovering that being a hooker had its difficulties and the more I thought about the more attractive Mark's suggestion became.

*

"I hope you don't mind and will understand Jayne, but I need to see you undressed," the escort agency owner told me a couple of weeks after my chat with Mark following which I had called Tom.

After that first fuck with Mel, I had been full of doubt, guilt and remorse. I had questioned just where all this might lead me, after all not too many fifty-year old women from my classic, British, middle-class background become hookers, or do they? I had no one I could turn to for any sort of advice or counselling. I mean, you can hardly ask your friends for their opinions, can you and obviously I couldn't ask my mum!

I had always lived a bit on the edge. What with soft drugs and girls, older men, cheating while married and some quite extreme sex, I had always struggled with understanding morals, restrictions and taboos. I really did have a hedonistic outlook on life and thought, if one enjoys something, how can that be wrong? So, I indulged in most of those things. I did smoke a lot of pot, popped some pills and messed around with various white powders. I did have sex with other women, and I did fuck older men, staring with the English lecturer at Uni. So was I now just thinking of another experience, another buzz, another turn-on or, was I taking that step that tips someone over the edge. I wasn't sure but didn't think so as I can control myself and shape my destiny, after all I had given up smoking, cigarettes that is of course, and sugar in my tea and coffee!

So, I had taken up the punter's suggestion to contact the escort agency and was now meeting with one of the owners, Tom Marston.

"I need to check for tattoos, piercings and the like," he explained. "I can get my secretary to come in if you like?"

"He's a really nice guy," Mark, the punter had explained as we were getting dressed after a full afternoon and evening of sex. "Not a bit seedy or pervy, all business-like and very professional."

Considering I was here to get work selling my body, asking if I needed a female chaperone struck me as rather ironic. In any case modelling for risqué photos had helped me overcome any shyness I had about flashing my bits.

"No that's ok," I said.

I was wearing a dark-blue, sleeveless, vee neck, cashmere sweater over a white, long-sleeved blouse, with tight, white jeans. The sweater was hip length and I wore a big, three-inch wide belt with a massive buckle round my waist. No stockings or socks for I was wearing strappy mid-heeled shoes with my red painted toes on view.

"There's a screen over there you can use."

"How much do I take off?"

"Just down to your underwear."

I didn't have any tats or piercings, scars or other unsightly marks so I passed Tom's test. It was encouragingly giving weight to Mark's assertion at how well he organised everything, including closely vetting the clients. He even made me pull my boobs out from my bra and slip my panties down so he could inspect my tits, bum cheeks, tummy and pubes.

"Well, you certainly have the essentials for escort work Jayne," he told me going on to ask if I wanted to try it. I said that I would like to for I had pretty much reached my decision before arriving at the smart offices in Hoxton, Tom's attitude and approach had simply confirmed it.

Earlier on the phone call when I had arranged the interview, we had covered the issue of my age and he had assured me that 'older women were in' making me feel very relieved particularly when he went on with. "There's a big demand from young City boys."

"We get quite a few younger guys, city traders and the like who are simply gagging for older women so you'll be fine."

Slipping into my jeans and tee and pulling my sweater over my head, I fluffed my hair up as I listened to him saying.

"Before you make your mind up, I want you to have a good think about it. Lots of pretty girls are happy to get their kit off and have sex with guys for stacks of loot. I need women who are more than that. I need sophisticated and intelligent ones."

The smartarse remark was out of my mouth before I could stop it; that's always been a fault of mine, speak first and think later.

"Want me to take a test?"

Fortunately, he got the irony and smiled.

"No that won't be necessary, but I would like you to join me for dinner tomorrow night, if that's convenient?"

He said that a car would pick me up the next evening from my home in Essex making me wonder what my mum, who lived with me to save us both money, would think of that. I asked him what I should wear and he deflected the question by simply telling me where we were eating. That clearly put the clothes issue back in my court which was his test I guessed.

Anyway, that all went ok. I told mum I was seeing a guy who was very wealthy, explaining away the car, and that he was taking me to Nobu, which wasn't where I was going. It seemed sensible to hide something, but the Nobu reference, explained the posh frock.

Apart from him taking endless calls on his mobile. "I have six girls working," he explained, the evening was great. It was almost like a date and I felt a little disappointed when he put me back in the car after dinner. I thought I had passed his test for he complimented me on the lowish cut, thin strapped, black dress with a slightly flared, on the knee length skirt, I didn't get drunk, snort any powder or pop any pills and I used all the right knives and forks.

In between the calls from both the girls and his 'controller', who he told me was in touch all the time, for each girl had a pager that was constantly switched on and ready for use if anything at all started to go wrong. "Which thankfully it rarely does," he added comfortingly, he told me how he wanted his girls to behave and explained the pay.

The sums they charged almost blew me away as did what I was left with even after they took their thirty-three percent.

You have to be like a real date. Most of the guys are after companionship and comforting almost as much as they are after sex. They are nearly all married and use us as a preference to having a mistress.

I understood what he meant for my mind flitted back to Mel and the other punters I had generated from the chat rooms. I certainly and, from what they said them as well, found the sex more memorable and enjoyable when we kissed and cuddled as well as fucked.

*

I didn't realise until afterwards that my first 'date' was a set up. It was with an established client who I was 'given' to, to check me out: Tom's sensible standard procedure.

It was though as scary as hell. What had seemed a good idea, to meet for a drink in the bar of an upscale London hotel, have lunch at their extraordinarily expensive restaurant and then go back to his hotel for the remainder of the afternoon, when Tom had briefed me, felt anything like it as I got ready. I told my mum I was going out to lunch with my 'new rich boyfriend' so when the car arrived, Tom always sends cars to collect us and pick us up after dates, she wasn't surprised, jealous maybe for she loves all the glam stuff. As we glided through the East End into the swankier West End of London in the Merc, I couldn't help musing on the difference to when I was finding my own clients and would travel in and out on the tube!

Mum also wasn't, therefore, surprised to see me in my tight, smart but casual, just right for lunch, Versace blue jeans, little silky, cerise coloured camisole top with spaghetti straps and a rumpled, beige linen jacket with the sleeves rolled up, very retro Miami Vice, a look that had recently come back in London.

"Hello you must be Jayne," a middle-aged, pleasant looking, slightly balding guy said in an American accent as I got out of the car outside the hotel. I assumed the driver had rung ahead to let him know I was arriving and again the agency's organisation impressed me. As I got out of the car and took his outstretched hand I felt pleased that I was wearing jeans rather than a skirt as that saved me flashing my knickers at him as a hello.

"Yes, and you must be Derek."

He was nice. Easy to talk to, not at all boastful and seemingly more interested in me than in talking about himself. I did though, as advised by Tom in my 'training sessions,' keep turning the conversation back to him; after all that is everyone's favourite topic, isn't it? I mean no one is really interested in other people's holiday photos, are they?

After a glass of lovely Chablis, we were shown into the restaurant. He was clearly well-known and we were directed to a corner table where we sat almost side by side with a view across the elegant room, completely full room.

He told me he owned an electronics company based in Illinois. By the advice from Tom and for discretion I didn't ask its name or the town where he lived or worked.

"Irrespective of the subject always be interested, but not inquisitive," Tom had explained.

He said he was married with three children, one of whom needed special care and that had caused problems in the marriage. Although telling me the marriage was surviving and on the surface was fine and he thought they still loved each other, he said that he needs the buzz of women like me from time to time.

"It keeps me young Jayne, and stops me straying," he explained rather illogically, but who was I to disagree?

"Undress for me," he asked politely a couple of hours later when we were in his sumptuous suite as he poured us both a glass of champagne.

Does this make me a slut, a woman of easy virtue, a natural hooker or just a girl who lives on the edge, wants to push out the boundaries of her sexuality and loves to experiment, but I found undressing myself, then him, having extensive foreplay with a virtual stranger then fucking him twice that afternoon, so easy. In a number of ways that worried me!

He wasn't an especially good lover, but he was considerate, not particularly demanding and did, as Tom had intimated, want comfort and, I suppose 'loving' as much as he wanted sex.

It was flattering to see and hear his admiration and desire for me as I stood before him in the sitting room of the lounge and dropped the jacket on the floor. I ran my hands up and down my body a few times before lifting the lacy hem of the silky, cerise camisole up to my breasts. I stroked them through the material enjoying that feeling and liking the look on his face as I touched my tits. I pulled the camisole up and over my head and handed it to him: where the hell that idea came from I have no idea, perhaps I am a natural, born stripper!

"Oh Jayne, you have lovely breasts," he said quietly, his eyes riveted on my D cup boobs. I liked him saying that so I took my bra off and showed them to him in all their naked glory.

With lovers and when posing for photographs with particularly my ex, I adore being half undressed, while the other party is fully clothed. I have no idea why, but it is such a massive turn on for me and that was the case with Derek. I think it was that turn on that made fucking my first escort client so relatively easy.

"Come here," he said huskily.

I stood in front of him. He undid the brass button on the zip of my posh jeans. He put his hands on my hips, I leaned forward, my tits dangling invitingly for his mouth, and he gently sucked each nipple. He was good, just the right pressure, nothing too hard or aggressive. Nice. He turned me round.

"And you have a gorgeous butt, baby," he sighed running his hands over it. His fingers went into the waist band and he tried easing them down, but the zip was still done up. I didn't know whether he would want me to undo it or not, so I turned back to face him, thrusting my hips forward as I did. He smiled as he found the zip and slid it down. He turned me round again, then peeled the almost skin tight jeans down my bum revealing the white lacy thong that plunged between the mounds of my 'gorgeous butt.'

"Now where do nice young ladies like you get such great all over tans?" He asked running his fingers over each mound.

I was feeling relaxed and confident enough to try a jokey retort.

"Ah a trick of the trade Derek, and I can't reveal that."

"No, I suppose not," he replied stroking my bum so wonderfully gently. He went on. "And you are revealing other, more important things to me, aren't you?"

I smiled at that and muttered. "Yes Derek."

He left the waist band of my jeans round my upper thighs so that both cheeks in the thong were bare, but my thighs and legs were still covered. I bent forward a little, this time offering him my bum in place of my tits. He accepted the invitation. He kissed it and licked both cheeks. That was also very nice. He slid one hand round to my front his fingers slipping down and probing in the silk of my thong. He quickly found what he was looking for, and as he did, my entire body shuddered, so strong was the sensation in my clit.

"Oh God," I groaned not at all acting as Tom had told me some girls do, but as I shouldn't. "Men can always tell," he'd said.

I half stumbled and was half pulled backwards so that my bum pressed against his face. One hand rubbing my clit, the other holding my hip, Derek rubbed his face all over my bum and got his tongue between my cheeks.

"Lean forward more."

"I can't," I replied "The jeans are in the way and I will lose my balance."

"Ok," he replied sounding disappointed.

"Like this then," I said moving away from him, sliding the jeans down round my knees and bending over a table so that my arms were resting on it and my head on them.

"Oh fuck, yes," he groaned, moving over to me and kneeling behind me.

Derek kissed, licked, sucked and gently nibbled both cheeks for some time. He alternated his fingers between rubbing my clit by putting his arm round me, and stroking my pussy, by slipping his hand between my legs from behind. He was obviously something of a bum fan. His enthusiasm, the time he spent and the low moans and expressions of pleasure told me that and that was fine by me for I really am sensitive down there.

I felt his tongue licking across one of my cheeks right along the curve of my crease. Then it slid down the 'cliff wall' deep into that musky crevice. It was almost as if he was exploring, no enquiring is a better term for he seemed to be asking my permission, how gentlemanly! A little wiggle and a low groan told him that I was giving him that. He quickly pulled the thin gusset to one side. His tongue then slid right into my crease and it licked along the bottom of it. It was absolutely, bloody gorgeous, particularly when he got the tip of his tongue inside me a little. He did that by grasping each cheek, pulling them apart and stretching the puckered skin surrounding that hole. That opened it a little, which enabled him to give me that most sensational of sensations, anal, oral sex.

Odd, isn't it? I adore my bum being fucked by a tongue, quite enjoy a finger's exploration, but am shit scared of having a cock up there.

*

So that started my new 'career' as an escort. I stopped using chat rooms to source clients and instead worked solely for Tom's agency. Alright, I had to part with a large percentage of the fee that they charged the client but what I was left with was far more than I earned freelance. On top of that, I didn't have to worry about whether the punters would turn up or find locations, all of that was done for me.

"So, Jayne, Derek reported back that everything was fine and that you did well," Tom told me on the phone a few days after my first escort adventure.

"Do you ask them to complete a survey?" I rather cheekily asked.

"No, not at all," he laughed adding. "Derek is our tester well one of them."

"What do you mean?"

He explained that before they expose real, fee-paying clients to new escorts they are tested by using guys like Derek. I got what he meant and again was impressed with their organisation and efficiency. It was that as much as anything that persuaded me to sign up with them, well and the money of course!

"So, Jayne how much work are you looking for?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well one date a month or two, maybe weekly, we don't like our ladies to do more than that regularly."

"That was fine by me and we agreed one every other week?"

"How are you fixed for overnights?"

"No problem, that'd be fine," I told him.

"Mmmmm that's good as there's a premium on that."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, the normal fee for an afternoon or evening is five hundred pounds but that doubles if you are ok to stay the night and actually sleep with the punter."

Even allowing for their take of one third an all-nighter giving me between six and seven hundred almost blew me away, so I agreed.

"We have quite a busy time ahead so would you do one a week for the rest of this month?"

I readily agreed.

*

Jayne you are ok with bi stuff aren't you?" Sandy, Tom's wife asked me on the phone as I was changing to go on a date with an Aussie lawyer staying at the Hilton.

Laughing, I replied. "Why, are you propositioning me?"

"Don't be silly," she smiled back. "I may have a nice job for you, if you are comfortable with it."

"I'm ok as long as she isn't really dykey. I've never done it with a girl for money though."

"Shouldn't be any different, should it?"

"Different to what?"

"With doing it with a guy?"

"No, I guess not, it'll be fine."

"Actually, Jayne it's not just a girl, it's her husband as well."

"Oh a threesome?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Yes, he isn't sure."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the main event is that he wants to see his wife with another woman and he may, or may not join in. You ok with that?"

I wasn't' quite so sure now, but quickly thinking about it, for I knew Sandy had others who were up for some girly action, I asked. "How much?"

They want an afternoon with an option on the evening as well, so it will be two 'fours', as we called the four-hour sessions. I was working out that would be about eight hundred when Sandy dropped a nice bombshell.

"As there are two of them and they want bi stuff, we do, of course charge a premium, so it'll get twelve hundred, ok?"

"Is that before your take?"

"Yes."

"So I get eight?"

"Yes, is that ok?"

"Yep fine."

She went on to explain that Richard was a rich English guy in his early fifties. He had been a client for some years using a number of different girls.