Trying To Relate

It seemed too easy. "What exactly does an escort do?" I asked.

"Accompany businessmen and executives socially - dinners, restaurants, dancing and sometimes to other events such as the theatre or boxing matches. As well as your wages you can count on a top class meal every time. They pay the agency £100 to hire you for a four hour shift and you get paid £15 per hour. When you get rewarded for working longer than that or if they want to give you presents, that goes straight to you. Believe me; they all want to give you something."

"I take it that it will all be evening work?"

"Generally yes although I have occasionally been places during the day. I am contracted to make myself available for three evenings a week. Most of the bookings come from the internet now via the agency web site but a lot of clients still call at the agency office to view the files of available girls on the computers there. The trick is to get your own regulars and slide them on to none agency nights so that all the money goes to you - that's the way I got into the position I'm in now."

Cynthia gave me the telephone number of the agency instructing me to mention that Cyn recommended me. After leaving my friend, I eagerly found a phone box and dialled the number. The male voice on the other end sounded disappointingly disinterested but did agree to interview me the following morning. My £5 went on petrol so that I could drive back to town. I said nothing to Charles rather than raise his hopes and thankfully he did not notice when I took extra care over my clothes and make-up, accepting my excuse that I was meeting an old school friend. At the agency, the man was presumably the one I had spoken to on the phone but after seeing me, his attitude was completely different. Just one look into his eyes told me that the job was mine.

Using a digital camera he took various shots, some head and shoulders with me gazing appealingly into the lens, plus other full length ones in various poses. There was also a camcorder sequence showing me moving about doing various things. In addition I had to provide a short resume of interests and hobbies to go on my file. "Some clients just want you on their arm looking decorative," he explained, "but others like conversation and it helps them if they know what you can talk about." He made the final serious point that as all bookings were made in advance from checkable sources, the agency had time to run thorough integrity checks against new clients to ensure the safety of the girls.

Before leaving I was shown my old friends file to illustrate what my own display package would look like. I noticed that Cynthia had posed somewhat more raunchily than me and for some reason, she had altered the spelling of her name to 'Sin'. At home, I had anticipated trouble selling the job to my husband but apart from wishing my absences would be during the day rather than evenings, he was remarkably pragmatic about it. Allowing for taxi fares, the minimum of £150 per week that I would earn was not much compared to our debt but it meant that we would not be queuing at some soup kitchen for a while yet.

I had opted to work Wednesday, Friday and Saturday nights but my first period of duty fell on a Friday. My first customer was a bluff and stocky, red faced, middle aged businessman from somewhere in the north and I met him as arranged in the lobby of his hotel. He started to drool on first sight of me and did not stop thereafter. I am used to seeing that look in a man's eyes and know how to control them nicely - so was able to remove his clammy hand from my thigh several times during the meal without it seeming like a rebuff. At the end of the evening, he winked and asked it I was going up to his room for my present. Cyn had told me to expect this so I unsuspectingly followed him to the lift.

The trouble started the moment we were in his room. Before I knew it he was trying to push his fat tongue into my mouth and his hands were roaming all over my tits. I pushed him off and with some dignity said, "What do you think you are doing - I was here to be your escort for the evening, nothing more."

"Fair enough - I jumped the gun a bit," he said stepping back. "We should have talked terms first but I've got a wallet bursting with notes just looking for a new home so I don't really give a damn what it costs."

"You don't understand," I insisted. "I have done what I have been paid to do and now I am going home to my husband."

The man was so irate that small flecks of spit came off his fat lips to fly in all directions. "I don't believe it," he stormed. "I've been coming down here once a month for years and you are the first cunt that hasn't come across, at least in some way. Look at me. You spend the evening leading me on until my nob is like a stick of Blackpool Rock and then do fuck all about it. We've got a name for your sort where I come from. "

"I'm sorry if I have given you the wrong impression," I said in a more placatory tone. "This is my first night working for the agency and I had no idea that anything more might be expected of me. My husband has lost his job so I'm only doing this part time to help out."

"Well you're in the wrong job lass, I'll tell you that for nothing. 'Escort' is just a polite term for you-know-what - I thought everybody knew that," he said, resigned to dealing with that obvious erection himself. "Let's just write it off as a cock-up all round. No on second thoughts - that's the last thing that it is."

I escaped from the room feeling that I had just been unlucky with my first client but the next night, although my companion was charming and attentive throughout, he took me to his room with similar expectations. "I can't claim that I am not very disappointed," he said with some dignity when I turned him down. "It must be said however that I do feel I have been lured into paying for a very expensive evening under completely false pretences."

At home I was despondent. Two dates with only the basic fee to show for it when judging by Cynthia's apparent success; I had rather expected a couple of nice presents to boost my income. The friend in question rang on the Sunday evening to ask how I had gone on. Not willing to discuss on the telephone, I said, "I'd like a quiet word with you," and we arranged to meet in the coffee bar the following morning.

"You might have told me that I was expected to give sex as part of this job," I said accusingly before she had properly sat down.

"Come on - it was obvious. You didn't seriously think that I got all this working for a measly £15 an hour - hell there aren't enough hours in the day." Cynthia gave me a searching look and on seeing how innocently I had entered into this she shook her head and said sadly, "Oh dear Fiona - and to think that I used to think that you were so clued up about everything."

Rather nettled I came back, "Well I certainly never expected to see you end up as a whore."

"I am not a whore," she said categorically. "A whore has to put out for any man who comes up to her with the right number of notes in his grubby little hand. In contrast, I spend pleasant evenings with rich cultured men who I might have just met and, at my choice, end the night in an enjoyable civilised manner. How many decent ordinary girls get picked up, taken for a meal then open their legs and get screwed just to show appreciation. What I do is no different to that except that I get a nice financial bonus out of it."

"Sorry - I wasn't getting at you. I just know that I couldn't do it - I don't want to be unfaithful to Charles."

"It all depends upon how you specify infidelity," Cynthia told me, lighting herself a cigarette and tossing the packet on my plate to show that I was still in her bad books.

"Intercourse - fucking.".

"Well that gives you a lot of leeway. I won't deny that all clients hope to get their cocks up inside you but most will settle for less, as long as they get rid of the load in their balls."

"I don't think I understand," I said feeling very stupid.

""Hand Relief - surely you've heard of that - it's the massage parlours stock in trade. I charge a basic £25 to toss them off, add a tenner to show my tits while I am doing it and it's a straight fifty if they want to touch them as well - that just about doubles the evenings money for little more that an extra ten minutes work."

Cyn paused for reaction but I was busy thinking about £100 per night and wondering if I could do what had been suggested. She continued, "If you want to get into the big money as I do there are other options like a blow-job. Some guys will pay more for that than a straight screw so you have got to play it by ear. Then you get the kinky stuff, the ones who want you to sit on their face, that's easy and can be quite pleasant - trouble is, it opens you up to really perverted requests but there's really big money in that if you can do it. I let them fuck me using a condom for £300, bareback is one hell of a lot more but I am very particular who I do that with. Anyway, that's what I charge, some girls have to ask for less but with your looks you should be able to easily get top wack."

My friend left me with food for thought and I spent a lot of time pondering the problem. In the end, I rationalised that giving strange men a quick wank was hardly infidelity and that if I did not accommodate the customers in some way, I most certainly wouldn't get any regulars and might even lose the escort job altogether. My date on the Wednesday turned out to be a quiet, nervous middle aged man. He was on edge all the time but still had plans to prolong the evening. "Would you like to stay with me for a while," he asked looking significantly at the bed.

I bluntly told him my position, "I am married so I don't go to bed with customers but I am willing to use my hand to relieve your distress."

"How much will it cost for you to do it will all your clothes off? I won't touch."

I suddenly realised that I didn't want to do it - so the only escape was to price myself out of the market. "£200," I told him. He looked at me with a shocked expression. "Is that all right," I asked expecting him to say 'No'.

"I suppose so," he said and counted ten £20 notes into my hand. It left his wallet empty.

I removed my clothes in a very ordinary way when it would have been so easy to add a 'stripper' touch. He had dropped his trousers and sat, prick sticking out, gazing at me, his eyes alight with excitement. He was too excited for his own good because the moment that I touched him it was all over and all that he had to show for his £300 was a large blob of semen on the carpet. His face registered absolute dejection as he quickly bent to pull his trousers up again.

I was ashamed. He was a nice man. During the evening he had proudly shown me photographs of his wife and children, and described at length how this was his first weekend away from home in twenty years of marriage. I thought of the weeks he had probably looked forward to this night and how he must have scrimped and saved to accumulate that £300 away from his wife's economic vigilance. There was only one thing that I could decently do. I undid his belt again, took his hand and placed it on my breast then pulled his head down to my other tit. Slipping my hand inside his shirt I tickled his nipples and then moving down I did the same round his groin area paying special attention to the inside of his thighs. By the time that I had finished gently squeezing his balls he was stiff enough for me to start a long slow masturbation. It took me an hour but I did take my £200 home with a clear conscience.

On Friday it was a brash blunt younger guy. In his room he said straight away, "I assume that you don't screw so what do you charge for a hand job?"

I was equally forthright, "£200 - for that I strip but you don't touch."

"Piss off - at that price I'd rather do it myself," he said.

I had already mentally spent my anticipated fee so now I panicked. "£100 then," I said and when he shook his head I slashed my price again, "All right I'll do it for fifty."

He opened the door for me to leave saying, "If you tried to rip me off with the price you will probably short change me on the wank. I don't want to know."

Returning home despondent after this salutary lesson in greed I thought out my routine for the future. My charge became a straight hundred and for that I stripped completely, except for suspender belt, stockings and high heels. I disrobed with some flair, bounced my tits and left my legs sufficiently apart for them to feast their eyes. I found that building an erotic atmosphere saved some wear and tear on my wrist but still left me with a very satisfied client. One guy grabbed my discarded knickers, held them to his nose throughout and at then at the end offered me an extra fifty to let him keep them. After that I had an occasional profitable sideline in souvenirs.

Charles did not know exactly how much I was earning. I kept some cash back in a secret fund, mainly for the new clothes I knew that I would need, but I still dropped more into the kitty than he expected. At first he was delighted at my extra 'presents' but eventually he became suspicious. "They are exceptionally generous," he remarked casually one day but I could tell from his searching look that he was asking for an explanation.

The secret of our marriage was trust but despite this I had not told Charles about the way that I 'obliged' the men who I escorted. This was not deceit because I had come to see what I did as trivial and not something worth disturbing my husband's peace of mind over. Now I had no choice but to tell him the truth about what I did. "Look at it this way love," I said in justification. "The basic escorting fee allows us to just survive but the extra presents mean that we can still live a little. Isn't it worth me spending a few minutes doing something that has no relevance to either of us if it doubles the amount that I earn every time that I go out? If I tried to earn as much just with straight escort work then I would have to spend double to time away from you."

Charles accepted my argument with little dissension and after I had reaffirmed my devotion to him in bed, I felt that he had few remaining qualms about allowing me to continue my working practices.

It was on a Saturday some weeks later that I met Sheikh Serif Yamani. The agency advised me to put on my very best glad rags because my client was exceptionally rich from 'oil money' and he had picked me out specifically from the girls on file. I entered the restaurant where we were to meet and looked round. The headwaiter was busy showing another party to their table so I had plenty of time to scan the other diners. My gaze fell upon a striking olive skinned eastern looking gentleman sitting alone at a table, and stopped on him. I am very used to being the recipient of admiring glances but never find myself admiring men. This mysterious man was the exception that proved the rule. I found that my blood was flowing faster through my veins and rather disconcerted, forced myself to continue scanning for my client - the title 'Sheikh' had led me to expect someone dressed in flowing Arab robes.

When the headwaiter returned to deal with me, I was led unerringly to the table of the attractive stranger. At my approach the sheikh stood, bowed very low pressing my fingers to his lips and then said in a voice which made me glow, "Madame - you are every bit as beautiful as your pictures led me to expect."

He was immaculately dressed, tall and slim with very black slightly wavy hair. His nose was a trifle hooked but apart from that he had the look of Omar Sharif, except that his face was somewhat thinner. The eyes most certainly were the same. A thin moustache and small goatee beard completes the picture, but I have to say that he had the most kissable lips that I have ever seen on a man.

The food was superb, consistently gourmet standard and in mercenary fashion I calculated that, including the wine, his bill for the meal would be in the hundreds. Throughout he talked in a modulated refined voice, which held only the slightest trace of an accent. Although noticeably reticent about his home country, Serif told how he had been educated in England at public schools and then gone on to Oxford. When pressed, he modestly admitted to gaining a double first. He very skilfully and humorously drew me into conversation even though I was feeling very like a schoolgirl in the midst of her first crush. Money considerations aside I began to worry that he might only require me for my escort function when I desperately wanted to practice my other skills upon him.

In his suite, he produced a case from his pocket, which opened to reveal an exquisite necklace. "A small token of appreciation for a most delightful companion," whispered as he placed it round my neck.

Not allowing me to speak, he led me to a mirror in which to admire myself. The necklace was totally me. "How did you know," I gasped. "How did you know it would suit me so well?"

"Easy. My lotus flower," he said. "All that I needed was to seek stones that would enhance your eyes because I knew that nothing could compare to their beauty."

It was too much. I turned and flung my arms around him and the next moment his tongue was in my mouth. The tingle went right to my toes. His skin held a delicate aroma of sweet almonds and as the scent of his body wafted to my nostrils, my brain seemed to be inflamed.

It was he who pushed me away. "Sweet creature," he said. "When I first saw your picture, I must confess that I had hopes we might spend the night in tender dalliance but after hearing earlier about your devoted husband, I was forced to limit my ambitions. Now I fear that you may be inadvertently expanding my expectations."

Had he not spoken, I would have forgotten my vows, abandoned the years of fidelity and with no thought of reward abandoned myself to him, to do with me what he may. He gave me the chance to regroup, rebuild my defences, remember my husband. "I am allowed to make you come - with my hand," I said thickly, still breathing heavily and trembling all over. I mentioned no price because the value of the necklace far exceeded what I might ask - and even if there had been no gift I would still not have mentioned reward. As I quickly undressed, I decided that I could give him as much as I gave that first unsure premature punter who betrayed his wife for the first time with me.

I will not dwell upon that long hard penis, (at least two inches more than Charles and extra in girth). Nor will I tell you how much it thrilled me to touch it or how I ached to have it inside me somewhere, anywhere. I must however admit to a certain lack of professional detachment.

I was proceeding not briskly, not slowly, but with possible too much reverence when Serif put his hand under my chin and tilted my face towards him. I looked into those deep brown eyes in which I would happily have drowned and heard him say, "I will give £1000, if you can complete at least part of the operation with your lovely mouth." I sank immediately to me knees, slid his lovely cock between my lips and only vaguely heard him say, "I will understand, if at the end..."

I sucked happily, possible enjoying it more than he did. I had no doubt that I would let him cum in my mouth, the only question was whether I would be betraying Charles less if I spat it out. To be honest, thoughts of betrayal did not feature too largely in my mind at that time. I do know that I made it last it long as possible, feeling him on the point of ejaculation several times but successfully calming him down. Afterwards he counted out ten £100 pound notes and placed them in my hand. "Next Saturday I would be pleased to pay twice that amount to enjoy your lovely body as it cries out to be enjoyed. I probably have no right to ask but please think about it - discuss it with your husband if you need to. Whatever you decide, I still crave your company for the evening."