Picture, Picture on the Wall

Author's note: This is the first of an occasional series I'm planning, exploring the theme of women who work in the sex industry. Let me know what you think of it. And, please, not put-downs about escorts as victims. I've deliberately tried to create a character who is making her own way.)

The other day I got a call from someone new. She told me that my name had been passed on by somebody I knew, whom she mentioned by name. She asked me if I was available that Thursday.

It was pretty familiar territory and yet what she said struck me.

Not what she said really, but how.

That voice - the sultryiest, sexiest woman's voice I had heard in a long time.

An Angelina Jolie kind of voice.

I pictured her, Max, she said she was, in my mind.

She would be tall, confident.

"Uh, actually, Thursday afternoon isn't too good for me," I said, remembering I had a massage booked at the gym.

"That's OK, Sydney. I'm in meetings most of the day. Why don't we do dinner?" There was a moment's pause. "Then you can stay the night."

Great, I thought to myself. A client who knows what she wants. Well, so did I. I might be able to afford that gallery photograph I'd seen at the exhibition last week after all.

"I'm afraid I have to invoice you double if we do that. . . . "

I hope she didn't think I sounded money grabbing. I always used the word "invoice" rather than "charge". I think it sounds more professional, and I only go out with professional women - bankers, advertising account directors, creatives and so on.

"That's fine with me. I understand how it works. So - shall we meet at my place? I'm in Melbourne for a couple of days,staying at the Westin. I'll be in the lobby."

The Westin? Nice place to stay. I've met other business clients there. The restaurant is good too.

"OK - that'll be great. How will I recog -?"

I swear I could hear the smile in her voice as she interrupted.

"Sydney - don't worry about that. I know I'll recognise you. See you on Thursday."

Click.

The caller was gone, but her sexy voice remained with me.

I'm good with voices - I have to be, doing what I do.

If you can't sense that something might be wrong when a stanger calls you to have sex, you can be in trouble. Even when you only go out with women.

It's a myth that only men are violent. You should hear what's happened to some girls when they didn't trust their instincts.

I reached over and flipped on the recording machine.

I always keep recordings - just in case.

The words came across in just the same way, muffled only slightly by the tinny speaker.

"That's OK, Sydney...... Then you can stay the night."

Sexy. Feminine. Confident. Educated.

I suddenly wondered if Thursday might turn out to be interesting? The secret is to make sure the first time is fantastic. Do that, and you have a client for life.

****

"It's a great landscape," the woman said. "Probably one of the finest photographs in her portfolio."

She looked at me.

"You really like it, don't you? You've been back to the gallery at least twice since the exhibition.I've noticed you."

I looked at her, wondering whether to respond to her come-on and give her a card. But I decided to stick with the photograph.

"You're right," I smiled. "There's something about the outback at night. That moon. The color. The emptiness. The raw beauty of it."

"Well, honey," she smiled, moving slightly closer to me. "The exhibition finishes Friday. Let's hope it's still here. If you can afford it?"

Bitch.

"Let's hope," I answered coolly, stepping back and opening my purse.

"Here's my card, by the way." I paused."If you can afford it?"

*****

I wasn't working Wednesday, and I was busy sorting out office chores.

My accountant was pressing me to get my paperwork to her for the year end, and I had been putting it off. I pay my taxes, but Brenda, in my opinion, is Melbourne's first lady of tax reduction. By the time I was done, and looked at a spreadsheet showing a rough outline of earnings after expenses, I felt pretty good about life.

I had worked hard. But it had been a profitable year.

Compared to girlfriends who had been in my year at business school, I was doing OK.

I have a great apartment. An expensive girlie German convertible in the lock up basement garage. Good money in the bank. I pay off my credit cards monthly. And - I dress well.

"Sydney - how do you do it? You always look good. What's the secret? What do you do, anyway?"

"It's a kind of boutique hedge fund operation, Sandi. Don't even ask!"

It usually works.

******

"What do you do, anyway?"

I ask myself that question sometimes, but I've given up analysing. I've read a lot of books and some of the research papers on the sex industry. I've got a few friends who work in it too.

I don't buy into the traumatised victim profile; I had a happy, expensive upbringing.

For the most part, I enjoy what I do - I can choose whether I take a client on or not.

And - I know this may be hard to accept - I sometimes really enjoy the sex.

******

"Okay - how's the bod?" Bea arranged the warm towels over my ass and legs as I settled on her massage table.

"Usual thing - good in parts," I joked, "Tight shoulders, stiff back, sore neck, aching feet. Apart from that, I'm fine!"

She began mixing some oil.

"I'm going to give you geranium. It's just what you need."

"Ouch - that hurts!"

"You're such a girl. You should come to my favorite club. Then you'll see what hurting is about."

You wouldn't guess, looking at Bea, that she is one of Melbourne's top doms. But maybe that's because I still have this stereotype view of doms as bull dykes, buckled in black and built like wrestlers.

"I know, Bea," I sighed, suddenly relaxing as she worked my neck and shoulders. "You'd give me a fun time, and I would be off work for a month!"

"You're in great shape," she said, shifting the towels and moving down my legs, using long, powerful sweeps that were beginning to give me goosebumps. "You like that, don't you darling? Are you getting wet?"

"Just the teeniest bit," I groaned, wincing as she managed to locate another tense muscle.

"Here - I'm going to take this towel off your ass and cover your head and shoulders. You'll relax more, and I can really get to work on you."

She pulled the towel up my back and over my head, and the white, cottony darkness enveloped me.

I breathed deeply of the exotic aroma of the oils that had seeped into the material.

I could hear Bea moving to her table of oils, the clink of glass as she lifted a phial, and her footsteps as she returned.

I sighed deeply, relaxing my muscles, knowing how naked I was in front of her, and feeling excitedly apprehensive at what I knew was coming.

Bea's hands kneaded my back, tracing the muscles down my spine, pressing firmly and expertly wherever she sensed tension.

Closer... and closer...... to...... my..... ass.

******

"Shall we fuck?" she asked suddenly.

"I want you to fuck me," I said, without missing a beat.

That's how it had been between us ever since I walked into the Westin's spacious lobby.

It's a premier hotel, in the heart of the city. That's to say, the usual mix of stylish accommodation and over-the-top facilities which are never used by guests.

I'd told the cab to drop me off on Collins Street just short of the hotel.

"Keep the change," I smiled.

"Thanks, Ma'am - Have a good meeting, now."

Which is what he probably thought I was: one of any number of Melbourne's business people heading for an evening meeting.

That's how I dress for clients - understated, smart business wear.

I'd bought the suit in Hong Kong last summer, and it still looked good. I had my hair pulled back, light make-up, and my black Manilos. No jewellry. I never try to upstage clients and, besides, it can get in the way.

I had my neat black leather case that looked like it might have a laptop in it, but in fact had what I need for work: change of underwear, some toys, lube, scent, toothpaste, make-up, and - most important of all - a portable credit card reader. Like you see in bars.

I felt relaxed, and I knew I looked good.

Clients buy me if they like what they see: short blonde hair, expensive highlights; laughing eyes; a good mouth; nice neck; small breasts; nice ass; slim.

If they want rough sex and leathers, we'll part as friends, and no hard feelings.

The bell hop opened the door.

"Sydney - you made it!"

"Hi, Max - you look great!

At that moment, we were both acting.

This attractive, tall woman, about my age, I guess, made it seem that we were set up for an appointment and the lobby staff, always on the look out for low class hookers, could relax. But they weren't even interested.

It was clear Max was on the "Preferred Visiter" roster.

"Can I help you, Ma'am?" the concierge asked her. "Do you want a cab?"

"No, thanks, Anthony," Max said, looking at me with green eyes. "We're eating in tonight, aren't we Sydney?"

"Marvellous,"I smiled, "I'd love that."

"Let me take you to the elevator, then," Anthony said.

"There's a private bar," Max murmured to me as she turned. I caught her scent - one of my favorites.

She was dressed for work, like me, but her skirt was attractively short. She had great legs. Her dark blue business suit was, I guessed, tailored by a fashion house. And the diamond token on her lapel looked as though it would buy a beach house on the waterfront.

*******

"You're so wet!" I panted.

"Don't fucking stop!" she shouted.

Earlier, we'd taken corner seats in the VIP mezzanine bar by the window. The view was great. There were one or two other people there. Max had a diet coke. I had mineral water.

There was no mistaking it - she was very, very attractive. Not in a drop-dead kind of way. It was more subtle - attractive in the way that women like. And I was beginning to like her.

She was confident; not fazed by the nature of our meeting. And that voice - I couldn't get enough of it. She'd worked in Europe for several years, so she'd lost that hard Ozzie lilt. She said that there was Venezuelan blood in the family, which went some way to explain the sultry, sexy timbre to her words and the olive wine darkness of her skin.

Dinner was light. She talked a little about her work - banking, of course. She was determined to work her butt off and then get out while she still had time to enjoy life.

"So - is there a guy?" I asked.

She was silent for a moment, and I could see what she might be like in a boardroom confrontation. Then she brightened.

"There was," she said. "He was an asshole. But he was rich. After he hit me I decided to make my own way and my own money. That's when I decided that I prefered my own kind. And, no - ," she added, "I'm not two-timing anyone else. So, how about you?" she asked me.

"No - and no, " I smiled. "No men, ever. I just knew who I liked being with. Right now though, I haven't found Miss Right. And, I'm building my business too."

Inevitably, we got around to talking about sex.

"I know it sounds saddo, but it's easier for me, at the moment, not to be involved with anyone. I can't share my life right now. I'm travelling for the bank. I get hassled. I get grouchy. But - I need sex...a lot. ... That's where you come in," she smiled.

"You're welcome," I said, in my MacVoice. "How would you like your steak, rare?"

She leaned over and touched me for the first time.

"I'd like it really hot," she said huskily, those green eyes looking into mine.

*********

We stood looking out over the skyline. Then Max turned towards me and gently pulled me towards her, leaning forward to kiss me lightly on the mouth.

"I've been wanting to hold you all evening," she said.

Her lips were soft and sensuous; she opened her mouth slightly, and my tongue found hers.

I could feel her getting aroused after even just a few moments of light kissing, and I would be lying if I didn't feel slightly turned on too. She pressed her body against mine, and I swear I could feel her heart pounding. She was ready to go, and I pressed deeper into her mouth.

After a moment we pulled away to draw breath.

"Wow - that was a good beginning," she joked in that dark Venezuelan timbre, and placed her arm on my shoulder.

I smiled at her, and began to unbutton her jacket, sliding it off her shoulders.. As she threw it over the armchair, I took mine off and pulled her mouth to me again, feeling the swell of her soft breasts.

Some clients like being undressed - a kind of throwback to childhood, a yielding of responsibility.

This time we kissed harder, and more urgently, her fingers roaming over my chest and ass while my hand stroked her back.

Still kissing, Max started to undo my blouse, pulling the cotton aside and pressing her mouth between my breasts.

I pushed her gently away and lifted her arms. I drew her blouse up slowly over her shoulders without bothering to undo the last three pearl buttons.

For a moment she was before me, arms uplifted, face hidden, chest exposed, yielding to the fabric's movement. I noticed for a second the way her skin paled slightly under her arms, the color of the moon in the picture in my bedroom.

Then she wriggled free, black hair pulled back and her dark green eyes laughing at me.

I was kissing her neck now, her face arched back in delight as I feather lipped her throat and chest, slowly moving down to her breast, kissing along the silk border of her black lacy bra, and then cupping the enclosed nipple in my mouth, sucking it hard through the embroidered fabric.

I took time to trail my lips over her smooth, velvety skin.

"Ahhhh - that is so-oooo good," she whispered. She reached behind and unclipped her bra. I pulled it down with my mouth.

Her coral pink, bare nipple was hard, and I squeezed it between my lips.

Max leaned back and flicked the hair from her face. As she did so, her breast lifted into my mouth, and I kissed its sweetness, alternately lightly sucking, and then licking hard, all the while stroking her back and hips.

She stroked my hair while I kissed one breast, and then the other.

As I worked her breasts, I noticed the tiny, soft, golden, downy hairs on hr skin, and I trailed my tongue along her light tan line.

I slowly straightened, kissing her chest again, and then paused to plant feather kisses on her neck once more, first one side, and then another, while she sighed with pleasure.

Then we were kissing wetly again, pulling each other close, our hands roaming over each other's bodies with increasing urgency.

I drew breath, and then bent down to those firm, small breasts, lingering over one, and then moving to the other, and back again.

Stroking my bare shoulders, Max spoke suddenly.

"Undress me," she said.

"I thought you'd never ask!" I answered.

I stepped back, and knelt knelt down to pull her short blue skirt down slowly over her thighs, the silk lining sliding over her skin, pausing only to kiss the inside of one, and then the other. As I did so, I could scarcely breathe, so close was I to her pussy lips visible outlined by her tight, black, panties.

I never hurry this - you can mess someone's clothing, and they get tense and anxious.

But I could tedll Max was hugely wet already.

Holding her gaze, I stood up quickly slipped out of my blouse and bra, and bent down to lift one of her heels, and then the other. I scooped up her skirt carefully and placed it behind me.

Then I slowly ran my hands up her slim calves, and the back of her legs.

"Turn around," I whispered, and gently pushed her against the low sideboard.

The skimpiest black panties framed Max's toned ass, the filmy thin fabric disappearing between her ass.

I slipped my fingers under the thin waist bands and slowly, oh, so slowly, pulled them downwards.

There was an imperceptible pause as they clung to her wet pussy lips.

I left them half on and half off, and trailed my palms over the coolness of her ass cheeks, kneading them slightly, pulling them apart just enough for me to savour a glimpse of her cleft's darkness.

Almost daintily, like a pony skittering, Max lifted one ankle, then the other, as I took away her remaining underwear.

She was naked before me.

"Bend down," I whispered, as she reached her arms in front of her and leaned over the sideboard.

The backs of her thighs were taut, and her ass's smooth skin glowed ivory.

I pressed my lips into one side, and then the other, noticing her hot scent.

Then, kneeling down, I gently spread her legs slightly apart, and pressed inwards to kiss her pussy, thrusting my tongue into her wetness. She was clean, and sweet.

Max groaned with pleasure as I began to lick and kiss her from behind, my face buried in her ass, almost smothered by her muskiness.

Then I drew back, pulled her ass aside, and slowly pressed my finger into her pussy, slowly at first, until I was deeply inside and was able to draw back and forward, pressing more deeply into her with each urgent thrust.

Moving faster and faster, as Max's breathing became shallower and more laboured, I used two fingers to bring her to excitement, watching her anus clench and contract as each wave of pleasure crashed into her willing consciousness.

Still fingering her, I knelt close and leaned forward, the better to kiss and lick her ass.

My cheeks were hot against her cool flanks as I rimmed her at first.

Max bucked slightly, the better to anticipate the movement of my mouth against the dark aureole of her asshole, but then I pointed my tongue and thrust deeply into her ring.

At first I felt the instinctive resistance, then Max relaxed for a moment, and I was inside her, pressing into the tight muscle.

My slippery fingers were moving much faster now, and Max groaned loudly, her face covered by her hair.

I could hardly breathe now as Max thrust hard against me.

My face was smeared with her juice as I ran my tongue up and down her cleft - flat against her perineum, and then pressing inward, my tongue dagger-shaped, all the time rubbing her pussy with my drenched fingers.

I suddenly felt Max's hand on the back of my head, as she tried to pull me more deeply into her ass.

I pulled back slightly.

"You're so wet!" I panted, determined to use all my skills to give her a good time.

"Don't fucking stop!" she shouted.

I withdrew my fingers and pushed my tongue into her soaking pussy, reaching between her legs to stroke her clitoris.

Max was bucking and rocking now, groaning with my every movement.

I grasped her tanned thighs and thumbed her swollen clitoris, its pearly hardness ripe and fecund.

"Ahhh - ahhhhh - ahhhhhhhhh," she cried.

Reaching up, I ran a finger up and down her ass, and then pressed against her anus for a second before thrusting it into her slippery ring.

Max was panting now, but she reached back and pulled her ass cheek wide.

As I brought her to a climax, I pushed inwards as far as my knuckle, feeling her hot tightness clench around my finger, fighting for mastery.

At the same moment, Max shouted out, her body rigid with excitement as she approached her climax, oblivious to all but the probing abandon of her ass's tingling nerve endings and her own tumultous approaching orgasm.

I could tell she was on the brink. I pressed her clit harder, and at the same time pushed a second finger firmly into her ass again.

Max stifled a scream and, bucking wildly against my fingers deep in her behind, raised herself on tiptoe as her body writhed and arched, her orgasm overwhelming her.

For a moment she lay panting, sprawled across the wooden surface of the sidetable, before she pushed herself upright and turned around, I was still level with her pussy, her purple lips swollen and parted, and I leaned forward to kiss her clit.