Sexual Bio of a Young Woman Ch. 01

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Chapter 1

It wasn’t that I was a total stranger to shoving my tongue up another girl’s cunt. It wasn’t that I had no experience of sucking other female’s nipples or that I was new to squirming my mouth against another woman’s lips. No, it was none of those things that made it odd, no not odd, different. It wasn’t any of those that made me feel a little strange with this woman. The thought of doing any and all of those things to her didn’t daunt me. It wasn’t the morality issue of being with another woman, it wasn’t the ethics involved with her partner watching us or the fact that he might join us. It wasn’t any of those issues. It was simply that I was being paid to fuck this woman that made it so different.

Chapter 2

I was getting used to my new way of life. I had joined a very select band of people. Some called them ‘occasional partners’ others termed them ‘working girls.’ There are many names by which we are known. escorts, b-girls, call girls, prossies, hookers and whores. However you wrap it, whatever term you use, we sell our bodies for money, we sell sex. That’s what I now did and, to be frank, I was enjoying it.

But then why not? Once you get your head round the morality issue, which is only really social stereotyping and brainwashing, what girl wouldn’t enjoy a thousand or two a week, cash for about twenty hours work? What red-blooded female wouldn’t like eating at the finest restaurants in, visiting the top clubs and casinos and staying in the top London hotels? Alright you have to fuck the guys, but then for that amount of money, plus nice gifts, that’s so eminently bearable, I’m surprised there aren’t waiting lists for all the escort agencies. But then there might be for all I know. On the other hand, is this just my twisted logic trying to justify, becoming an escort; high class and expensive, of course?

It wasn’t all that different to glamour photographic modelling, well not the type I had drifted into. That had started with me posing for camera clubs of amateur photographers. The kind where once a month or so, they have a club night and a model is commissioned to pose for groups of between six and a dozen. It started with me doing that. It started with me doing topless, but not nude. That changed when I saw how much more I could earn so the next stage started. That was posing naked. The next stage was one-to-one posing. That started when I heard how much more I could earn, a hundred pound for an hour’s work. That wasn’t just nude, though, for I got requests to touch myself, pinch my nipples, cup my breasts and simulate masturbation. Of course I said no. That was until the bookings started to dry up. So the next stage of my photographic modelling career began. That started with me letting a guy shoot me as I played with my breasts, it went on when another asked me to rub my pussy and went further when I was persuaded to slip my fingers inside. All for extra money of course.

But, of course, it didn’t and couldn’t end there. More was inevitable, particularly if the price was right. And usually it was. So I began to sell more than just the chance to capture my image on film as I did things to myself. That started when I let guys do things to me. Touch my breasts, pinch my nipples and suck them. It went further, some masturbated me. But, of course they wanted more and I gave, well sold, them more. That started when I let a guy masturbate, it went further when I let another cum on me, further still when we mutually masturbated and it reached its peak when I let some cum on me, usually my breasts.

I was on a downward path, morally I suppose, but a hugely steep one financially. Which way would be next, I often wondered? The answer wasn’t long in coming. That started when I let a photographer fuck me.

It was a fellow model Monique, who suggested escort work. She did it and suggested I think about it. She introduced me to a great agency. They did everything. Found the punters, checked them out, did the deals, set up the meetings, collected the money, delivered us to the dates, provided a bleeper alarm, phoned every hour, made sure we were health-checked regularly and even looked after our bookkeeping, but there wasn’t too much of that. On top of all that they paid us our money within twenty-four hours of the ‘dates’.

The flip side was that we had to be totally exclusive to them. No moonlighting with other agencies and no personal deals. Also, for our health, they would not let us do more than four sessions a week. One or two four hour, afternoon or evening sessions and up to two overnighters. Still, with us getting between three fifty and five hundred for the short sessions and anywhere from eight to fifteen hundred for overnighters, dependent on what the client wanted from us, who really needed more?

In theory you could earn four grand in a week, but nobody I knew had come near to hitting that jackpot. To do that, you not only had to swallow and do anal, but also be into BDSM. As I did none of those three high paying services, antalya escort my average was one overnighter at a thou, and two shorter sessions where I got between seven fifty and eight hundred. Good money, though, particularly when you add on casino winnings that they invariably let you keep and the gifts of jewellery, underwear, bags and purses they sometimes bought you.

I had been ‘at it’ for about six months now. I knew, intimately, most of the top hotels in and around London, had been to practically all the top restaurants and clubs and most of the casinos. I was becoming a ‘face’ on the London escort scene.

I may well have been becoming a face there, but still my mum didn’t know what I did and I still lived with her. I hid it by keeping my ‘working clothes’ slick, ritzy dresses and bundles of sexy lingerie at the agency. I would go there and change before meeting the client and sometimes after as well, although frequently I could do that in his room before I left.

The other big problem was the cash. I was getting too much to put into my bank account, for I couldn’t declare it to the tax man, could I? Hard life being a working girl with twenty grand in a bag under your bed.

Chapter 3.

“Sammi you are ok with bi stuff aren’t you?” Sandy, the wife of the agency owner asked me 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?”

“No, of course not, it’ll be fine.”

“Actually Sam it’s not just a girl, it’s her husband as well.”

“Oh a threesome?”



“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 you’ll get twelve hundred, 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.

“He hasn’t been around for a while, so that’s why you haven’t met him, but he just loves young blondes.” Sandy told me

“Lucky me then.”

“Exactly. Anyway he’s been married for ages and has, like many men, always wanted to see his wife with another girl. He says that he has been asking her for years and eventually she has agreed.

“How old is she then?”

“Early to mid-forties.”

I went on the date with the Aussie lawyer at the Hilton and had a great time, forgetting completely about the conversation with Sandy. We ate in their rooftop restaurant, went to a casino in Curzon Street, had a few drinks in Tramp and then went back to his suite in the Hilton.

He kissed me directly we were in the suite. He was good and I liked him so it was all very easy for me. My clothes came off easily, I removed his as easily, he easily caressed me everywhere and I just as easily played with his cock. It didn’t take long for him to have me bent forward over the back of a chair, my panties round my knees as he easily fucked me. It was just as easy an hour or so later when I knelt alongside his naked body on the massive bed and gave him a blow job. In the morning it was also easy to let him fuck me in a very straightforward way, with me laying on my back my legs over his shoulders.

As I ‘tubed’ it home, after changing into jeans and a sweater, I thought how easy it had been making the thousand fee, getting the two red fifty pound notes tip and a receiving the little Fendi clutch bag, I had admired in the shop in the Hilton lobby!

Chapter 4

Since starting my escort work, I had not been with another woman, I hadn’t even snogged another girl. It did, at times, worry me, a little, at how much I seemed to miss the softness and gentleness of sex with other women. I didn’t have time to miss sex with men, though, for that had been in plentiful supply throughout my ‘modelling’ career and now I was practising the ‘oldest profession in the world!’

Sandy called me a few days later and told me it was on for the following week. She confirmed the fee and said for me to meet them in the bar of the Ritz hotel on the following Tuesday. The client had said he would meet me first for a drink and then would introduce me to his wife with whom we would kemer escort have lunch.

“And then Sam you take it from there.”

“Ok no problem,” I replied my mind, for some reason, going back to the first time I went with another girl.

I was nineteen and in my first year at Bristol University. I had got to know this gorgeous girl Stephanie who was a star of the third year. She was a straight A+ student and should really have gone to Oxford or Cambridge for the size of her brain was only matched by the wonderful size of her full D cup breasts.

We had been around a bit together and had gradually got closer to each other. That was accompanied by rather lingering glances, standing or sitting closer than was perhaps necessary and often touching each other. We had been to a rehearsal of a college play, What the Butler Saw, in which we were both going to appear naked. After it, I gave her a lift home to the house she shared with a group of equally big brained, but sadly not big-titted other third year students.

I pulled up near to the house in a dark road and we chatted for a moment or two.

I could hear the nervousness in her voice and see the apprehension in her eyes, even though it was dark in the MINI. We looked at each other for a moment or two until she said, in almost a whisper.

“Are you feeling the same things as I am Sam?”

The look on her face as she said that was so caring and intense that my heart went out to her. Instead of responding with the rather smart-arse remark about “how would I know” that firstly came into my mind, I replied, in a voice that was croaky with emotion.

“Yes Steph, I think I am.”

“Oh God Sammi,” were the wonderfully confirming last words I heard before we were in each others arms her lips on mine stopping any further talking.

It was simply the most exciting kiss I’d ever had: the most intense, the most arousing; the most succulent and the most enjoyable. It was long and tender; long and passionate; long and enquiring and long and inviting. It was a kiss of relief that we’d found each other and one of demand that we wanted more. It was asking and accepting at same time. It was everything a kiss should be and everything I’d imagined it would be as I’d lain so many nights now, masturbating thinking about exactly what we were now doing.

Our arms went round the other and our hands, as if on autopilot, found the others breasts. No words were exchanged. We didn’t ask permission or give approval. There was no need, it was what our bodies wanted and our minds demanded, it was perfectly natural, the logical extension of the kiss and probably the most sexually exciting thing that had ever happened to me.

Somehow a couple of buttons on her blouse had come undone and my hands were on her bra and the bare flesh above it while hers were inside my sweater.

“Not here Sammi, not here, it’s too public,” Steph broke our kiss long enough to whisper.

“Where then? Where can we go?” I asked knowing it wasn’t in her house. “Just drive Sam, take me somewhere quiet, where there’s no one around.”

I almost smiled as I drove into the country her hand stroking my neck, for once again I realised, I was going to make love in a car.

And make love we did. Wondrous, magical, exhilarating and tantalisingly stimulating love; love that was so different, so gentle, so exciting and so incredibly satisfying. It was soft and slow and tender, but it wasn’t complete love, it couldn’t be, we didn’t have the time or the space on the back seat of a MINI for that.

But we did have the time to bare our breasts for each other, to stroke and caress them, to squeeze and pinch them and to kiss and lick them. We had the time and the space and the will and the desire to make each other cum by stimulating our breasts.

It was on the back seat of my MINI that I think I fell in love, well at least in lust, with Stephanie’s tits. They were even more absolutely gorgeous naked than covered up, well I suppose that’s natural and inevitable isn’t it? They were so full, so heavy, so round and so firm, yet soft, if that isn’t a contradiction in terms. They felt amazing in my hands and incredible in my mouth. Her nipples were big and excitingly crinkly and tasted like nectar as I sucked them as a baby would her mother’s teats. And her reaction to my oral attention was fantastic and so horny. The groans and moans, the long sighs and deep grunts, the tight gripping of her hands on me and the straining of her body, all combined to thrill me so much. As I made love to those fantastic breasts I didn’t know just what it was that was giving me the greatest sexual pleasure, the feel, taste and look of them, or the wonderful way she responded. But did I care? No, not one bit. I just accepted, enjoyed and loved every second of the pleasure and extreme sexual stimulation I was gaining.

It wasn’t by any means one way, for Stephanie was pretty much mirroring what I was doing to konyaaltı escort her breasts by doing the same to mine. And also it wasn’t just me gaining the fantastic pleasures and stimulation for she was moaning and groaning as she had sex with my smaller, but I felt, equally sensitive tits and nipples.

We made each other cum twice like that. But we didn’t go any further. I wanted to touch her between her legs but as she made no move to touch me there I was too shy to start that, maybe Steph felt the same, I thought.

As she opened the door to the MINI an hour or so later outside her house she held my face in her hands and we kissed each other very tenderly on the lips.

“I want you so very, very much Sammi,” she whispered.

“Oh yes, yes Steph,” was the only sort of rather inept reply I could make.

“I want to make full and complete love to you, very, very soon,” she whispered as she got out of the car.

“Where?” I whimpered.

“Tomorrow 2.00 pm. The Royal Hotel, I’ll txt the room number at 1.30.”

Chapter 5

I knew mum would be out on the Tuesday for its ladies golf morning at her club and that is a sacrosanct date for her. I brought some clothes home from where I stored them at the agency and had a long leisurely bath, washed and dried my hair, painted my nails, fingers and toes and did all the pampering things women generally, and high class hookers in particular, do when going on a date.

Not wishing to want to look too vampish to my ‘female client’, as opposed to being as vampish as possible when dating a guy, I wore white underwear. The Agent Provocateur bra was cut acutely across each of my boobs, just about covering each of my areola. Although it had that expensive flimsiness associated with high quality sexy underwear, it somehow also managed to give me strong support and push my tits up a bit. That made them look bigger than their thirty two B cup and gave me a great cleavage. It was as good as totally see-through so my rather small areolas and reasonably large nipples were very much on show through it. They looked good, I thought. I slipped into a pair of white lacy shorts, which were also see-through, so my small patch of neatly trimmed, near blonde pubic hair was also on show. The shorts were low cut, hipsters really, and from behind, the top of the crease of my bottom was slightly higher than the elastic of the shorts, which was round my hips. White, self-support stockings completed my underwear.

Being summer, I had decided to wear a pale grey, almost lilac, suit made from a very fine, very thin, material. It fitted me snugly everywhere and, the three button jacket having reasonably, but not overtly, plunging lapels, my ‘new-found’ cleavage came into its own. The skirt, being fairly, but not overly short, brought my white nylon covered legs into play. I slipped into a pair of silver, mid height, strappy pumps and was ready to go for drinks at the Ritz.

Richard Benson was an attractive and very distinguished looking man. He was tall and slim and looked to be fit and toned. He had a good head of greying hair, which he wore quite long, but neat and not in too young a style for his age, which the agency had told me was early fifties. He was dressed very smartly in expensive looking, beige, linen trousers, Gucci loafers and a blue jacket. He looked rich and successful.

We chatted for a while as, quite clearly he checked me out. Not just as a young blonde that he would like to fuck, but also as a potential lover for his wife. I must have passed, for he suggested we walk the hundred yards or so to Langans where his wife Lisa would join us.

Lisa was a tall champagne, not golden as I am, blonde. Also expensively dressed in a tight, above the knee dark blue, sheath dress with a thin, white linen jacket, possibly snake or alligator skin, black, high-heeled boots, she was very nervous when Richard introduced us. She was, as it happens, like that throughout lunch. She was fairly slim, but by no means ‘stick-like’ as is the fashion, for some reason, with many well off people. I put her in her early to mid forties. The tight dress bulged a little across her slight paunch of a tummy and she was carrying a little excess on her hips and bum I reckoned. Having said all that, she was attractive although, by no means, a raving beauty.

As always I drank very little. The agency stress that we must never overdo it and I agree that to keep things in perspective, my alcohol intake needs to be extremely limited. I don’t apply that thinking to my clients, though, and I prefer them to indulge heavily. Although most men feel that being slightly pissed increases their sexual prowess, the reverse, with many is the reality, and that way they demand less from the girl. As it happens, at the lunch, it was Lisa who drank the most. Steve sipped a couple of glasses of red wine, I drank a glass of white and Lisa had a couple of both.

Fortuitously, but not that it can make that much difference to a working girl, I found both of them, attractive, likeable, interesting and quite fanciable. Thus, when Richard said. “Shall we make our way back to the hotel,” I was quite looking forward to the rest of the afternoon and evening for I was so reminded of the first time I had sex with a girl in a hotel

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