- Joined
- Mar 21, 2024
Chapter Two... The Present...
I was wearing my usual conservative apparel, my 'suburban' disguise suitable for an office temp as I entered the Coffee Clutch. Jackson nodded at me from behind the counter of the Coffee clutch as he tried to serve three customers demanding he take their order first! Jackson made mine first. I'm a morning regular; he already knew my order. I'd dated him a few times when he'd asked me out. Realizing the spark just wasn't there, we'd drifted apart after three dates. But I still got my morning coffee and Danish for free. The coffee he handed me was always the same, but I let him surprise me with which gooey fruit filling my Danish would have. Exiting the cafe, I took a bite... Mmm, blueberry. Perfect!
I sat at a table in the outdoor eating area of the Coffee Clutch. The weather was perfect and I had time to enjoy it. After finishing my Danish, I continued to sip my coffee as I began walking slowly towards my Brownstone apartment building. An apartment my parents knew nothing about. I've given serious thought to 'officially' moving to the city from my parents’ house in the suburbs. I'm almost nineteen and out of high school. Many girls I graduated with were in their freshman year of college. Others had jobs and were living on their own. A few were already married! One was already pregnant and in her second trimester. Money was no longer an issue, but... But the city was less than an hour by train from our suburb.
If my mom knew I had an apartment she would drop by at all hours of the day, any day of the week. Maybe I’d get a call after she was already on the train. I'd never be able to keep my secret life a secret. Instead, I considered my apartment as just a place where I could change clothes, wash and hang out while binge watching Netflix when I didn't have a client. So, I still lived at home in the bedroom which had been mine since I was sleeping in a cradle. Mom and I still rode bikes together. Shopped together. Gardened, talked, and watched weepy-eye Lifetime/Hallmark movies together. To keep Mom happy, I even went out on dates occasionally with the son of one of her friends that she thought would be perfect for me. Spoiler: They weren't!
My Dad? Oh, he huffed and puffed and bellowed like an elephant wondering, 'When are you going to leave the damned nest so your mom and I can have some damned peace and quiet around here!' But on Saturday mornings after falling asleep on the couch during a late-night binge of watching the aforementioned weepy-eye movies, I'd find a blanket covering me and Dad making a huge breakfast while bellowing, 'Eat you idiot child and put some meat on those skinny bones so you have the energy to find your own damned place and leave me in peace!'
Yeah, I've had Daddy figured out and wrapped around my little finger since I took my first steps.
Thinking of steps, I looked at my watch and increased the pace of mine while licking my fingers clean of gooey blueberries. I was on the steps leading to the rear door of my building when I met Danny leaving. We exchanged our usual, 'Heys' which seemed to be the only word the shy nerd knew.
A senior in college, Danny had moved into the apartment below mine a couple of months ago. With un-kempt hair that always needed to be cut, seeing him made my fingers itch to reach for a comb and scissors. Even dressed in his usual jeans and wrinkled t-shirt, he still looked delicious in a rumpled, un-made bed, shaggy sad-eyed sheepdog kind of way. I knew that underneath the shyness, he wanted to ask me out.
Closing my apartment's door behind me, I tossed my bag and keys on the kitchen counter and breathed in the sweet smell of privacy. This is my first apartment, and although I didn't spend much time here, it was still mine. I could decorate it the way I liked. Paint the walls with the colors I like. Buy furniture that I like. I could even run naked through all the rooms. Cook in the nude. Throw caution to the wind and even fry bacon in the nude!
Tried that once. Hot bacon grease spattering out of the skillet had me grabbing for an apron very quickly. So, okay, probably wouldn't fry bacon in the nude again. But the important point is I can if I want to.
I had hours until meeting my client. Once inside my apartment, I stripped off my 'suburban' clothes, climbed under the bed sheets and took a nap.
Much later I dithered in my walk-in closet over what to wear. My apartment has two bedrooms. Not needing two, I'd paid Mr. Miller our building's super, to turn my second bedroom into a Shoes-and-Accessories/Walk-in Closet by lining the walls with shelves. Mr. Miller loves me. I pay in beer and cash. Plus, I always wear tight, low-cut shirts when I treat him to lunch at a nearby diner before I ask for something.
I don't usually go to this much trouble in selecting what I wear for a daytime assignation at a hotel. But this client had been my very first client and has since requested my services once or twice a month. Tim liked the 'slutty girl' look... Slutty girls without panties I remembered as I checked the contents of the handbag I'd selected. I took off my panties and put them back in the drawer.
In my kitchen I took some condoms from the tin on the counter marked SUGAR and slipped them into a side pocket of my purse. My clients seem to run about 70/30 pro/con about using condoms and it’s better to have too many than not enough. From the tin labeled TEA, I grabbed more tampons and put those in my purse. With money from the antique lacquered box, I was ready for the day.
Riding the subway, I texted Marla I'd be on time.
I guess anyone reading my story is pretty confused my now. How did I, a middle-class suburban teenager became a whore? My parents loved me. I was never abused. I was popular in school. So, how?
In one word, MONEY!
**********
Nine Months Ago...
"DISCREETOFFICESERVICES.COM," I read from the card Marla had handed me on the sidewalk. "Sounds like you work for the CIA or something."
"Or something," Marla replied with a small smile. We were in her office now. She gestured to a chair in front of her desk as she leaned back in hers. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Still very attractive and poised.
"I've noticed you working in the building across the street this past week. You're a very attractive young lady. Prom Queen in high school?"
"Thanks for the compliments." I felt the heat of a blush on my cheeks. I've never felt comfortable accepting compliments for things I'd been born with. After all, how much credit can you take for being the recipient of a lucky arrangement of bits and pieces of genetic code?
"I got enough votes to be a member of the Queen's Court but not the Prom Queen."
"You were content to be the Queen Bee, weren't you," Marla laughed.
"Well..." I shrugged. "It seemed to really mean a lot to one of my girlfriends to be the Prom Queen. It wasn't worth it to me to split our group into competing factions."
"Very diplomatic to know what really mattered. Anyway, about the job offer," Marla said. "You see, fifteen years ago I was being offered the same opportunity I'm offering to you in much the same setting. Different office, different city, of course, but the offer was the same."
"And in fifteen years you worked your way up to being the boss? Or CEO, or whatever your job title is? You must have been very hard-working."
"I was. One might say I worked my ass off to get where I am today,” Marla said with a sly smile. “Also, the job I was offered, and am now offering to you, has an expiration date. Ladies get old, tired, jaded... You either move up to management in a few years or you leave the field entirely. A year ago, I chose to move here to open my own agency and move up to management."
"Well, you must be doing something right. Your office decor..." I touched the desk. "Solid cherry, probably cost more than I'll make in a year on my salary."
"Only if you don't accept my job offer," Marla said cryptically "So. Out there in the city, there are hundreds, thousands, of successful men and women. They became successful because of long hours of hard work. Long hours of hard work which left them exhausted, with few opportunities to truly enjoy the fruits of their hard work.
"They had little time or energy after work to socialize, to date, meet new people, fall in love. Some of them remained single. Some settled for 'good enough'," Marla said with air quotes. "Most of my target demographic is in their middle-to-late forties and fifties. All of them are well off financially now and tired of being single. Tired of having settled for good enough. They're still relatively young. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for me and perhaps you, a leopard doesn't change its spots overnight. They're still stuck on that corporate treadmill. After years of long hours and hard work, it seems impossible for them to change.
"But... Isn't there always a 'but'? But now they have corner offices. Large bank balances... Stock portfolios... Plush houses... Expensive cars. They have all the things they once wanted, and the damned fools are still working themselves into an early grave.
"But... There's that but again," Marla said with a laugh. "But humans don't just want material things. They also want excitement. They crave intimacy. Since my clients seem incapable of relaxing and taking the time to go out to find that intimacy, I provide them with intimacy. Any type of intimacy they desire, when and where they want. Do you understand?"
It took several seconds, but the light bulb finally lit up over my head.
"You're a Madame," I whispered as if it was a secret.
"What's in a name,” Marla asked dismissively with a shrug. “Madame, CEO, Company President. Call girl, escort, consort, mistress, hooker, whore... All the same things. A rose by any other name... The only thing that changes is the degree of respectability the public attaches to the name.
"What would you say if I told you that all women are whores at times,” Marla asked me over steepled fingers.
"I'd say that you're wrong," I replied forcefully. "My mom would never become a whore."
"Really? Give me your definition of a whore?"
"A woman who has sex for money."
"So, you agree that if a woman has sex for compensation, she's a whore. But money isn't the only form of compensation. Your definition needs to be expanded. Want to know my definition? My definition of a whore would be, 'A woman who has sex for any reason other than her own enjoyment.' Are you a virgin, Olivia?"
"Umm, no..." was all I could mumble. I wasn't used to being asked so personal a question.
"Do you think you've whored yourself?"
"NO!"
"Really?" There was a tone in Marla's voice as if she knew she'd already won our argument. "Ever been on a date with a guy and he's all over you? He's whining about how horny he is. He's trying to undo your jeans, your bra... You don't feel like having sex but to keep the guy happy maybe you gave him a blowjob or hand job. Got in the backseat for a few minutes just to satisfy him? Calm him down? Stop his whining?"
Marla let me think in the silence.
"Wouldn't that qualify as having sex not for your enjoyment but for the compensation of stopping his incessant whining?"
Marla stopped talking to give me more time to think. She waited patiently. I had time to remember some of my dates in high school. I thought about her definition of a whore. I thought and... Marla took my continued silence as a yes.
"Olivia, I'd bet that our experiences growing up were pretty much the same. Middle-class values. Pretty and popular in school. I was the Prom Queen by the way. We all whored for something," Marla stated simply. Her tone was of someone just stating a fact.
"You're tired of his whining so you have sex just to shut the asshole up. Maybe you think it will gain you popularity in school. You're afraid of not having a date for a party. You spread your legs in the back seat for the guy who will invite you to Senior Prom. There are so many reasons other than because you wanted to have sex." She picked up a folder from her desk and walked from behind her desk to sit in a chair next to mine. Taking a paper from the folder, she wrote on it before handing it to me. The only thing on the paper was a number.
"What I do is simplify things,” Marla continued. “I discard all the reasons a woman will have sex except for one. Money. That's how much a woman earns every time she meets with a client."
"A man will pay this much," I was shocked.
"That's the baseline amount. One client for two hours. The number is doubled if you agree to spend another hour. If it's a threesome, then..."
I thought about threesomes as Marla took back the sheet of paper. I'd never had a threesome though I'd wondered...
"Hypothetically, let's say the client needs a date, arm candy, for a corporate party. The party lasts three hours and at the end he has a friend who wants to party on into the night for another two hours... Two hours with two people... Five hours total..." Marla thought, then wrote another number on the paper and handed it to me. "That is how much my girl will make for five hours of her time."
Holy Shit!!! I was speechless! A five-hour party with two guys would go a long way to paying for a semester at State College. I'm pretty sure that there are times when each of us will wonder what we'd do for a large sum of money. I took another look at the number Marla had written down. I was tempted to ask for a calculator so I could calculate the number of days I'd have to work at the temp agency to get to that number.
"Men actually pay that much," I said again in a strangled whisper as I struggled to believe it. I'm not naive. But what I knew about prostitution was learned from TV and movies. Whores hanging out on street corners to do blow jobs for 50$. But the amount written on the paper in my hand was a lot more than 50$!
"Olivia, I run a very exclusive service. My girls are beautiful and are sent to entertain wealthy men and women. I provide the wealthy with the best at a premium price."
I was quiet as I digested all Marla had said. I'd been given a limited view into a world I'd never thought about and knew nothing about.
"I live at home,” I sighed and handed the paper back to Marla. “Even if I were tempted I could never 'date'." This time I used air quotes. "Go out on dates every night and still work to explain how I was making money. Not gonna happen."
"Who said anything about my girls working only at night," Marla laughed. She rose and opened the blinds of a window. The city skyline was prominent.
"Out there I have six girls working right now. I still had to turn down clients. I'd have to turn down clients if I had ten girls working every day. There are many successful men who are too busy to take the entire day off. Too tired after work for a date. But maybe they can free up an hour during the day for a nooner. Perhaps they're here in the city for business and want to combine business with some pleasure after a business meeting and before a power dinner. I'll get a request for a girl at such-n-such time at either a hotel room or their home or maybe even their office. If a girl is available and can make it to the location in time, I send her."
Marla leaned against the wall next to the window and crossed her arms under her ample boobs.
"Some of my girls are like you, Olivia. They live in the suburbs and come to the city just as it they worked in an office. One or two clients, sometimes even three clients if I can work the scheduling right. Hell, they might ride the same train into the city that you do. Return to a suburban home like you do. Eat dinner like you. Watch some shows like you. Do you want to know the only difference between you and them? They will make much more money than you will at your temp job.
"Some of my girls are proper, suburban wives. Some are even mothers who kept their figures after childbirth. Kids are in school. Husbands are at work. Maybe she needs some extra money. Maybe she's just bored. So she tells everyone she's going to the city to shop and maybe see a movie. She'll call me and I'll have a client for her by the time she's in the city. Sometimes two clients if she has the time. Before she returns home to her husband, the money is in her private bank account from an offshore bank. Usually? I'll never even see her that day."
Marla sat back in her chair. Content to give me time to think over all she'd said.
I wasn't a virgin. I was even on the pill because I wasn't shy about having fun on dates in high school. But the world that Marla described was way different than high school.
"So, I could continue to come into the city as if I was still working at the temp agency,” I mused. “What if a girl has to be on a train at a certain time? Would you pressure her to stay for another client?"
"Never. You set the hours you want to work. If you say you can't work past a certain time, I don't send you. You are only obligated to stay two hours each time you agree to see a client. All my clients know this and if, at the end of two hours you need to leave, that's it. It's over. I worked for a Madame who pressured her girls to do, 'just one more'. Pretty soon she had no girls working for her. I don't intend to make that mistake."
"Your girls do anything the client wants? There are... Ahh, things, I've never done before."
"Yes. If you agree to meet a client you are obligated to do anything he, or she, wants to do for at least two hours. There is flexibility on only a few conditions: Any act that could result in an arrest. So public sex is out! Any act that could result in bodily harm. Anal sex is out if the client didn’t mention he wanted it before you agreed to meet him.
"My clients know these conditions. Clients, especially those during the day for when they might have a break in their schedule, usually just want straight sex for some fun and stress reduction. But if I get a message that one of my girls refused any reasonable request, she doesn't get paid."
"I could do just one client a day and make way more money than I'd make working at the temp agency," I continued to muse. "Do your girls, umm, find work every day?"
"Olivia! Have you looked into a mirror lately,” Marla laughed looking shocked. “You're tall, blonde, eye-catchingly beautiful and your measurements are... Impressive. I can't guarantee you'll see clients every day. But a girl looking like you do? I don't think there will be many idle days. You'll earn more money in one day, in two hours, than you do for a week temping. Because there will be gifts. Your clients will be wealthy and though you may never ask for money nor discuss money with them, they almost always show their appreciation to my girls in the way of gifts that average between two and three hundred dollars. Often more. Gifts are kept by the girls. I don't get a cut of those."
Damn! Even at the low end of tips, if I met five clients a week, that would be 1,000$. Plus, five times the first number... HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!! I must have shown my greed.
Marla stood up. She'd tossed the bait into the water. Now all she could do was see if I took it. She showed me out.
Hailing a taxi, I phoned Mom to tell her I'd missed my regular train and would be a little late. At the dinner table, I tried hard to act as if this had just been a normal day where nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Pleading a stressful day, I brushed my teeth and put on one of the many Hello Kitty nightshirts I wore to sleep in before going to bed early. But I couldn't fall asleep. Lying awake in the dark, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd do with lots of money...
**********
THE PRESENT...
Entering the hotel, I went straight to the Ladies Room off the lobby.
In the months I've been a Call Girl, I've learned that many of the clients I meet are eager, very eager, to get their cock as deep inside me as soon as possible. Discomfort and pain as dry shaft pulled and stretched dry pussy walls followed. Until I'd discovered a simple solution.
In a stall, I put a large glob of a water-based lubricant on two of my fingers. Pushing and rotating my fingers as far inside my pussy as I could moistened the first inches of my pussy. I spread another glop in my pussy. My pussy wouldn't be pulled and stretched painfully during initial penetration now.
The man who answered my knock is a regular of mine. Tim was my first. My first client. Barely a week after he'd fucked me in his office, he'd contacted Marla to arrange another appointment. We've met in this hotel once or twice a month since.
As soon as the door closed behind me, Tim pressed me against a wall. He smiled into our kiss when his roving hands discovered that I wasn't wearing panties. Sliding a finger up my pussy, he was pleased to find that, thanks to the motion-lotion, I was wet and ready for him.
"Mmm, nice and wet already," Tim's smile broadened in approval as he continued to finger me under my dress.
"Just thinking about what was waiting for me got me wet," I hopefully lied convincingly as I rubbed the hard cock in his trousers. We exchanged another long kiss. Through the kiss, I hummed a long, throaty sound of approval as Tim slipped a second finger inside me.
There are many positive things about Tim that I took pleasure in. He was clean. He didn't take a shower in his aftershave. (Guys, a splash is enough, no need to use the whole bottle.) Most of all, there was no pretense on his part. He didn't try and treat me like we were on a date. To him I was a bought and paid for 'sure thing' and that's how he treated me. If he wanted to finger my pussy, he did. When he wanted to fuck me, he would. In between his wants, it was up to me to provide other 'entertainments' such as sucking his cock on demand.
German as a second language wasn't the only education I received while in high school. Everything I needed to know about being a whore and satisfying men I'd learned while dating high school boys. Men are simple, easily satisfied creatures. Give them a tight, wet pussy to fuck and a girl who'll suck their cock and they're happy.
Tim loves taking his time. I was aware that I was on a clock. Wanting to move things along, I let Tim finger me against the wall for only a few more seconds before, clasping his wrist, I pulled his hand from between my legs. Moving to the mini bar, I selected two small bottles from the refrigerator. One for my glass and one to add to the drink Tim had already.
"Are you trying to get me drunk, Viv?"
I laughed as I reached to loosen his tie.
"Now, Tim. Why would I need to get a sure thing drunk?"
Sipping our drinks we took turns loosening and losing clothing. Since I had on only my dress, it wasn't long before I was naked except for my stilettos. Tim is a boob man. Which might explain why he requests me and my 34DDs. He really enjoys playing with my tits. Maneuvering Tim closer to the couch, I gave him a push that sat him down, bouncing his ass on the couch cushion. While I whole-heartedly applaud any man who likes taking time to engage in foreplay, I was pressed for time and needed to move things along. Leaning over I continued removing his clothes while he fondled my tits.
I finished my drink and straddled Tim's hips. Coat, shirt and tie were tossed to the floor while Tim took his time sucking on my nipples and his hands continued to explore my ass and pussy. Kneeling on the floor, Tim's shoes trousers and underwear were tossed aside also. Tim relaxed into the couch cushions as I lowered my head to lick his shaft from ball sack to tip a couple of times before starting to seriously stroke and suck.
"God, Viv. You really know how to suck a cock."
"I like sucking a cock," I replied, "And I know what you like."
Tim stood up and began mouthfucking me beside the couch. I knew it wouldn't be long before I tasted cum...
I was wearing my usual conservative apparel, my 'suburban' disguise suitable for an office temp as I entered the Coffee Clutch. Jackson nodded at me from behind the counter of the Coffee clutch as he tried to serve three customers demanding he take their order first! Jackson made mine first. I'm a morning regular; he already knew my order. I'd dated him a few times when he'd asked me out. Realizing the spark just wasn't there, we'd drifted apart after three dates. But I still got my morning coffee and Danish for free. The coffee he handed me was always the same, but I let him surprise me with which gooey fruit filling my Danish would have. Exiting the cafe, I took a bite... Mmm, blueberry. Perfect!
I sat at a table in the outdoor eating area of the Coffee Clutch. The weather was perfect and I had time to enjoy it. After finishing my Danish, I continued to sip my coffee as I began walking slowly towards my Brownstone apartment building. An apartment my parents knew nothing about. I've given serious thought to 'officially' moving to the city from my parents’ house in the suburbs. I'm almost nineteen and out of high school. Many girls I graduated with were in their freshman year of college. Others had jobs and were living on their own. A few were already married! One was already pregnant and in her second trimester. Money was no longer an issue, but... But the city was less than an hour by train from our suburb.
If my mom knew I had an apartment she would drop by at all hours of the day, any day of the week. Maybe I’d get a call after she was already on the train. I'd never be able to keep my secret life a secret. Instead, I considered my apartment as just a place where I could change clothes, wash and hang out while binge watching Netflix when I didn't have a client. So, I still lived at home in the bedroom which had been mine since I was sleeping in a cradle. Mom and I still rode bikes together. Shopped together. Gardened, talked, and watched weepy-eye Lifetime/Hallmark movies together. To keep Mom happy, I even went out on dates occasionally with the son of one of her friends that she thought would be perfect for me. Spoiler: They weren't!
My Dad? Oh, he huffed and puffed and bellowed like an elephant wondering, 'When are you going to leave the damned nest so your mom and I can have some damned peace and quiet around here!' But on Saturday mornings after falling asleep on the couch during a late-night binge of watching the aforementioned weepy-eye movies, I'd find a blanket covering me and Dad making a huge breakfast while bellowing, 'Eat you idiot child and put some meat on those skinny bones so you have the energy to find your own damned place and leave me in peace!'
Yeah, I've had Daddy figured out and wrapped around my little finger since I took my first steps.
Thinking of steps, I looked at my watch and increased the pace of mine while licking my fingers clean of gooey blueberries. I was on the steps leading to the rear door of my building when I met Danny leaving. We exchanged our usual, 'Heys' which seemed to be the only word the shy nerd knew.
A senior in college, Danny had moved into the apartment below mine a couple of months ago. With un-kempt hair that always needed to be cut, seeing him made my fingers itch to reach for a comb and scissors. Even dressed in his usual jeans and wrinkled t-shirt, he still looked delicious in a rumpled, un-made bed, shaggy sad-eyed sheepdog kind of way. I knew that underneath the shyness, he wanted to ask me out.
Closing my apartment's door behind me, I tossed my bag and keys on the kitchen counter and breathed in the sweet smell of privacy. This is my first apartment, and although I didn't spend much time here, it was still mine. I could decorate it the way I liked. Paint the walls with the colors I like. Buy furniture that I like. I could even run naked through all the rooms. Cook in the nude. Throw caution to the wind and even fry bacon in the nude!
Tried that once. Hot bacon grease spattering out of the skillet had me grabbing for an apron very quickly. So, okay, probably wouldn't fry bacon in the nude again. But the important point is I can if I want to.
I had hours until meeting my client. Once inside my apartment, I stripped off my 'suburban' clothes, climbed under the bed sheets and took a nap.
Much later I dithered in my walk-in closet over what to wear. My apartment has two bedrooms. Not needing two, I'd paid Mr. Miller our building's super, to turn my second bedroom into a Shoes-and-Accessories/Walk-in Closet by lining the walls with shelves. Mr. Miller loves me. I pay in beer and cash. Plus, I always wear tight, low-cut shirts when I treat him to lunch at a nearby diner before I ask for something.
I don't usually go to this much trouble in selecting what I wear for a daytime assignation at a hotel. But this client had been my very first client and has since requested my services once or twice a month. Tim liked the 'slutty girl' look... Slutty girls without panties I remembered as I checked the contents of the handbag I'd selected. I took off my panties and put them back in the drawer.
In my kitchen I took some condoms from the tin on the counter marked SUGAR and slipped them into a side pocket of my purse. My clients seem to run about 70/30 pro/con about using condoms and it’s better to have too many than not enough. From the tin labeled TEA, I grabbed more tampons and put those in my purse. With money from the antique lacquered box, I was ready for the day.
Riding the subway, I texted Marla I'd be on time.
I guess anyone reading my story is pretty confused my now. How did I, a middle-class suburban teenager became a whore? My parents loved me. I was never abused. I was popular in school. So, how?
In one word, MONEY!
**********
Nine Months Ago...
"DISCREETOFFICESERVICES.COM," I read from the card Marla had handed me on the sidewalk. "Sounds like you work for the CIA or something."
"Or something," Marla replied with a small smile. We were in her office now. She gestured to a chair in front of her desk as she leaned back in hers. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Still very attractive and poised.
"I've noticed you working in the building across the street this past week. You're a very attractive young lady. Prom Queen in high school?"
"Thanks for the compliments." I felt the heat of a blush on my cheeks. I've never felt comfortable accepting compliments for things I'd been born with. After all, how much credit can you take for being the recipient of a lucky arrangement of bits and pieces of genetic code?
"I got enough votes to be a member of the Queen's Court but not the Prom Queen."
"You were content to be the Queen Bee, weren't you," Marla laughed.
"Well..." I shrugged. "It seemed to really mean a lot to one of my girlfriends to be the Prom Queen. It wasn't worth it to me to split our group into competing factions."
"Very diplomatic to know what really mattered. Anyway, about the job offer," Marla said. "You see, fifteen years ago I was being offered the same opportunity I'm offering to you in much the same setting. Different office, different city, of course, but the offer was the same."
"And in fifteen years you worked your way up to being the boss? Or CEO, or whatever your job title is? You must have been very hard-working."
"I was. One might say I worked my ass off to get where I am today,” Marla said with a sly smile. “Also, the job I was offered, and am now offering to you, has an expiration date. Ladies get old, tired, jaded... You either move up to management in a few years or you leave the field entirely. A year ago, I chose to move here to open my own agency and move up to management."
"Well, you must be doing something right. Your office decor..." I touched the desk. "Solid cherry, probably cost more than I'll make in a year on my salary."
"Only if you don't accept my job offer," Marla said cryptically "So. Out there in the city, there are hundreds, thousands, of successful men and women. They became successful because of long hours of hard work. Long hours of hard work which left them exhausted, with few opportunities to truly enjoy the fruits of their hard work.
"They had little time or energy after work to socialize, to date, meet new people, fall in love. Some of them remained single. Some settled for 'good enough'," Marla said with air quotes. "Most of my target demographic is in their middle-to-late forties and fifties. All of them are well off financially now and tired of being single. Tired of having settled for good enough. They're still relatively young. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for me and perhaps you, a leopard doesn't change its spots overnight. They're still stuck on that corporate treadmill. After years of long hours and hard work, it seems impossible for them to change.
"But... Isn't there always a 'but'? But now they have corner offices. Large bank balances... Stock portfolios... Plush houses... Expensive cars. They have all the things they once wanted, and the damned fools are still working themselves into an early grave.
"But... There's that but again," Marla said with a laugh. "But humans don't just want material things. They also want excitement. They crave intimacy. Since my clients seem incapable of relaxing and taking the time to go out to find that intimacy, I provide them with intimacy. Any type of intimacy they desire, when and where they want. Do you understand?"
It took several seconds, but the light bulb finally lit up over my head.
"You're a Madame," I whispered as if it was a secret.
"What's in a name,” Marla asked dismissively with a shrug. “Madame, CEO, Company President. Call girl, escort, consort, mistress, hooker, whore... All the same things. A rose by any other name... The only thing that changes is the degree of respectability the public attaches to the name.
"What would you say if I told you that all women are whores at times,” Marla asked me over steepled fingers.
"I'd say that you're wrong," I replied forcefully. "My mom would never become a whore."
"Really? Give me your definition of a whore?"
"A woman who has sex for money."
"So, you agree that if a woman has sex for compensation, she's a whore. But money isn't the only form of compensation. Your definition needs to be expanded. Want to know my definition? My definition of a whore would be, 'A woman who has sex for any reason other than her own enjoyment.' Are you a virgin, Olivia?"
"Umm, no..." was all I could mumble. I wasn't used to being asked so personal a question.
"Do you think you've whored yourself?"
"NO!"
"Really?" There was a tone in Marla's voice as if she knew she'd already won our argument. "Ever been on a date with a guy and he's all over you? He's whining about how horny he is. He's trying to undo your jeans, your bra... You don't feel like having sex but to keep the guy happy maybe you gave him a blowjob or hand job. Got in the backseat for a few minutes just to satisfy him? Calm him down? Stop his whining?"
Marla let me think in the silence.
"Wouldn't that qualify as having sex not for your enjoyment but for the compensation of stopping his incessant whining?"
Marla stopped talking to give me more time to think. She waited patiently. I had time to remember some of my dates in high school. I thought about her definition of a whore. I thought and... Marla took my continued silence as a yes.
"Olivia, I'd bet that our experiences growing up were pretty much the same. Middle-class values. Pretty and popular in school. I was the Prom Queen by the way. We all whored for something," Marla stated simply. Her tone was of someone just stating a fact.
"You're tired of his whining so you have sex just to shut the asshole up. Maybe you think it will gain you popularity in school. You're afraid of not having a date for a party. You spread your legs in the back seat for the guy who will invite you to Senior Prom. There are so many reasons other than because you wanted to have sex." She picked up a folder from her desk and walked from behind her desk to sit in a chair next to mine. Taking a paper from the folder, she wrote on it before handing it to me. The only thing on the paper was a number.
"What I do is simplify things,” Marla continued. “I discard all the reasons a woman will have sex except for one. Money. That's how much a woman earns every time she meets with a client."
"A man will pay this much," I was shocked.
"That's the baseline amount. One client for two hours. The number is doubled if you agree to spend another hour. If it's a threesome, then..."
I thought about threesomes as Marla took back the sheet of paper. I'd never had a threesome though I'd wondered...
"Hypothetically, let's say the client needs a date, arm candy, for a corporate party. The party lasts three hours and at the end he has a friend who wants to party on into the night for another two hours... Two hours with two people... Five hours total..." Marla thought, then wrote another number on the paper and handed it to me. "That is how much my girl will make for five hours of her time."
Holy Shit!!! I was speechless! A five-hour party with two guys would go a long way to paying for a semester at State College. I'm pretty sure that there are times when each of us will wonder what we'd do for a large sum of money. I took another look at the number Marla had written down. I was tempted to ask for a calculator so I could calculate the number of days I'd have to work at the temp agency to get to that number.
"Men actually pay that much," I said again in a strangled whisper as I struggled to believe it. I'm not naive. But what I knew about prostitution was learned from TV and movies. Whores hanging out on street corners to do blow jobs for 50$. But the amount written on the paper in my hand was a lot more than 50$!
"Olivia, I run a very exclusive service. My girls are beautiful and are sent to entertain wealthy men and women. I provide the wealthy with the best at a premium price."
I was quiet as I digested all Marla had said. I'd been given a limited view into a world I'd never thought about and knew nothing about.
"I live at home,” I sighed and handed the paper back to Marla. “Even if I were tempted I could never 'date'." This time I used air quotes. "Go out on dates every night and still work to explain how I was making money. Not gonna happen."
"Who said anything about my girls working only at night," Marla laughed. She rose and opened the blinds of a window. The city skyline was prominent.
"Out there I have six girls working right now. I still had to turn down clients. I'd have to turn down clients if I had ten girls working every day. There are many successful men who are too busy to take the entire day off. Too tired after work for a date. But maybe they can free up an hour during the day for a nooner. Perhaps they're here in the city for business and want to combine business with some pleasure after a business meeting and before a power dinner. I'll get a request for a girl at such-n-such time at either a hotel room or their home or maybe even their office. If a girl is available and can make it to the location in time, I send her."
Marla leaned against the wall next to the window and crossed her arms under her ample boobs.
"Some of my girls are like you, Olivia. They live in the suburbs and come to the city just as it they worked in an office. One or two clients, sometimes even three clients if I can work the scheduling right. Hell, they might ride the same train into the city that you do. Return to a suburban home like you do. Eat dinner like you. Watch some shows like you. Do you want to know the only difference between you and them? They will make much more money than you will at your temp job.
"Some of my girls are proper, suburban wives. Some are even mothers who kept their figures after childbirth. Kids are in school. Husbands are at work. Maybe she needs some extra money. Maybe she's just bored. So she tells everyone she's going to the city to shop and maybe see a movie. She'll call me and I'll have a client for her by the time she's in the city. Sometimes two clients if she has the time. Before she returns home to her husband, the money is in her private bank account from an offshore bank. Usually? I'll never even see her that day."
Marla sat back in her chair. Content to give me time to think over all she'd said.
I wasn't a virgin. I was even on the pill because I wasn't shy about having fun on dates in high school. But the world that Marla described was way different than high school.
"So, I could continue to come into the city as if I was still working at the temp agency,” I mused. “What if a girl has to be on a train at a certain time? Would you pressure her to stay for another client?"
"Never. You set the hours you want to work. If you say you can't work past a certain time, I don't send you. You are only obligated to stay two hours each time you agree to see a client. All my clients know this and if, at the end of two hours you need to leave, that's it. It's over. I worked for a Madame who pressured her girls to do, 'just one more'. Pretty soon she had no girls working for her. I don't intend to make that mistake."
"Your girls do anything the client wants? There are... Ahh, things, I've never done before."
"Yes. If you agree to meet a client you are obligated to do anything he, or she, wants to do for at least two hours. There is flexibility on only a few conditions: Any act that could result in an arrest. So public sex is out! Any act that could result in bodily harm. Anal sex is out if the client didn’t mention he wanted it before you agreed to meet him.
"My clients know these conditions. Clients, especially those during the day for when they might have a break in their schedule, usually just want straight sex for some fun and stress reduction. But if I get a message that one of my girls refused any reasonable request, she doesn't get paid."
"I could do just one client a day and make way more money than I'd make working at the temp agency," I continued to muse. "Do your girls, umm, find work every day?"
"Olivia! Have you looked into a mirror lately,” Marla laughed looking shocked. “You're tall, blonde, eye-catchingly beautiful and your measurements are... Impressive. I can't guarantee you'll see clients every day. But a girl looking like you do? I don't think there will be many idle days. You'll earn more money in one day, in two hours, than you do for a week temping. Because there will be gifts. Your clients will be wealthy and though you may never ask for money nor discuss money with them, they almost always show their appreciation to my girls in the way of gifts that average between two and three hundred dollars. Often more. Gifts are kept by the girls. I don't get a cut of those."
Damn! Even at the low end of tips, if I met five clients a week, that would be 1,000$. Plus, five times the first number... HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!! I must have shown my greed.
Marla stood up. She'd tossed the bait into the water. Now all she could do was see if I took it. She showed me out.
Hailing a taxi, I phoned Mom to tell her I'd missed my regular train and would be a little late. At the dinner table, I tried hard to act as if this had just been a normal day where nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Pleading a stressful day, I brushed my teeth and put on one of the many Hello Kitty nightshirts I wore to sleep in before going to bed early. But I couldn't fall asleep. Lying awake in the dark, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd do with lots of money...
**********
THE PRESENT...
Entering the hotel, I went straight to the Ladies Room off the lobby.
In the months I've been a Call Girl, I've learned that many of the clients I meet are eager, very eager, to get their cock as deep inside me as soon as possible. Discomfort and pain as dry shaft pulled and stretched dry pussy walls followed. Until I'd discovered a simple solution.
In a stall, I put a large glob of a water-based lubricant on two of my fingers. Pushing and rotating my fingers as far inside my pussy as I could moistened the first inches of my pussy. I spread another glop in my pussy. My pussy wouldn't be pulled and stretched painfully during initial penetration now.
The man who answered my knock is a regular of mine. Tim was my first. My first client. Barely a week after he'd fucked me in his office, he'd contacted Marla to arrange another appointment. We've met in this hotel once or twice a month since.
As soon as the door closed behind me, Tim pressed me against a wall. He smiled into our kiss when his roving hands discovered that I wasn't wearing panties. Sliding a finger up my pussy, he was pleased to find that, thanks to the motion-lotion, I was wet and ready for him.
"Mmm, nice and wet already," Tim's smile broadened in approval as he continued to finger me under my dress.
"Just thinking about what was waiting for me got me wet," I hopefully lied convincingly as I rubbed the hard cock in his trousers. We exchanged another long kiss. Through the kiss, I hummed a long, throaty sound of approval as Tim slipped a second finger inside me.
There are many positive things about Tim that I took pleasure in. He was clean. He didn't take a shower in his aftershave. (Guys, a splash is enough, no need to use the whole bottle.) Most of all, there was no pretense on his part. He didn't try and treat me like we were on a date. To him I was a bought and paid for 'sure thing' and that's how he treated me. If he wanted to finger my pussy, he did. When he wanted to fuck me, he would. In between his wants, it was up to me to provide other 'entertainments' such as sucking his cock on demand.
German as a second language wasn't the only education I received while in high school. Everything I needed to know about being a whore and satisfying men I'd learned while dating high school boys. Men are simple, easily satisfied creatures. Give them a tight, wet pussy to fuck and a girl who'll suck their cock and they're happy.
Tim loves taking his time. I was aware that I was on a clock. Wanting to move things along, I let Tim finger me against the wall for only a few more seconds before, clasping his wrist, I pulled his hand from between my legs. Moving to the mini bar, I selected two small bottles from the refrigerator. One for my glass and one to add to the drink Tim had already.
"Are you trying to get me drunk, Viv?"
I laughed as I reached to loosen his tie.
"Now, Tim. Why would I need to get a sure thing drunk?"
Sipping our drinks we took turns loosening and losing clothing. Since I had on only my dress, it wasn't long before I was naked except for my stilettos. Tim is a boob man. Which might explain why he requests me and my 34DDs. He really enjoys playing with my tits. Maneuvering Tim closer to the couch, I gave him a push that sat him down, bouncing his ass on the couch cushion. While I whole-heartedly applaud any man who likes taking time to engage in foreplay, I was pressed for time and needed to move things along. Leaning over I continued removing his clothes while he fondled my tits.
I finished my drink and straddled Tim's hips. Coat, shirt and tie were tossed to the floor while Tim took his time sucking on my nipples and his hands continued to explore my ass and pussy. Kneeling on the floor, Tim's shoes trousers and underwear were tossed aside also. Tim relaxed into the couch cushions as I lowered my head to lick his shaft from ball sack to tip a couple of times before starting to seriously stroke and suck.
"God, Viv. You really know how to suck a cock."
"I like sucking a cock," I replied, "And I know what you like."
Tim stood up and began mouthfucking me beside the couch. I knew it wouldn't be long before I tasted cum...
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