by James Grey
“Does it hurt?” he says, looking up from his work and catching my eye. There’s a twinkle in his – boy does he have a firm jawline! – and I think he knows he’s asking me an awkward question.
“Not exactly,” I snap grumpily as I try in vain to relax my tight grip on the edge of the examination table. And it hits me that the pain would be a good excuse for my sharp intakes of breath. “I mean, yes, it does.”
I make an effort to turn my next moan into an ‘ouch’. I does hurt, after all. Just in a very good way.
He chuckles, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me, and goes back to his project between my legs. Then the pinches turn to some kind of buzzing, and it’s like he’s using a tiny vibrator with a drill attached. But it’s tinier than anything you could buy in a sex shop. It’s hitting a spot so small and so perfect that it’s all I can do not to wriggle.
Christ, I’m not going to squirt in his face, am I? The awful prospect crosses my mind. I’ve just recently discovered that I’m capable of it. Fortunately it went down very well with the client on that particular night.
I manage to hold on, but only just. It’s all over in ten minutes, but I’m breathing heavily and sticky with perspiration by the time he’s done. Truth be told, I want the man to go down on me right now, or I might just explode. My legs are trembling and my control is on the brink.
Save it for tonight, I say to myself, thinking of Charles and hoping he’s going to like what he finds. I assume Lucy is going to tell all clients of the new developments in my nether regions, but I’m quite sure Charles will approve. He worships pretty much anything I do.
Far too much the professional for my liking, my specialist leaves me to get dressed, assuring me that the ring can be taken out without too much trouble. Before he goes he hands me a small mirror so that I can admire what he’s done.
Just like when Miss Jackson left those pictures of my pussy, it’s a surreal experience to look at what’s going on down there. It’s the biggest thing to happen to that part of my body in a long, long time. I’m still not sold, but it certainly does look pretty. It’s a little larger and thicker than what I expected, almost like a small keyring.
I wonder, with a tiny fear gnawing at me, what Spurring has in mind with this little enhancement. He’s only got three weeks to enjoy it, in keeping with the Christmas removal plan.
In the meantime, I get the fright of my life when I take my first few steps with the ring embedded right in my tender hood. Every pace is a like a little orgasm as it jiggles between my legs like a tiny, expert finger.
Oh my, it’s going to be a long three weeks.
Chapter XX
At least once every day, I find myself standing at my huge window, staring out at frosty London and wondering when this dream will end. From the moment I snapped at my boss back in the summer, I’ve felt a little bit like all of this has been happening to somebody else. Some girl who had no idea what she was doing, but somehow landed up as the hottest property on the London escort scene.
Usually I just shake my head and smile to myself, still reeling at where I am and what I’ve become. Is this larger-than-life penthouse really mine? Am I the same woman who sat in an office chair for all that time, acting the dutiful employee and deluding myself that carefully-crafted presentations would really be my ticket to a future? Fuck, how did we women get dragged into that when we have much more fun ways of making money? Maybe we’ve all been blinded by Pankhurst and her damned suffragettes.
Am I the same woman who whimpered when she thought she’d lost Rupert? The same woman who was so ashamed of training to be a prostitute that I couldn’t even bear to say the word out loud? That was mere weeks ago! Now, in my mind, I am proud. Like any successful businessperson, I suppose, I am thrilled that I have clients who value my work so highly. And to be doing so well for myself. When Martin first mentioned this idea to me, and I almost slapped him for the suggestion, I’d have bet a million bucks that my journey wouldn’t bring me here.
Well, I’m not the same woman. That’s the only explanation for the change in me. At last, I’ve learned how to let myself enjoy myself. I’ve allowed Emma Carling to be what she really is. She’s not some uptight, do-the-right-thing English rose any more. Before, she was hiding, though she didn’t even know it.
Now, the real Emma Carling has come out, stood up and stripped off. The thrilling sex and the bountiful money are wonderful, of course. And they help validate the worth of what’s happened to me. But to me, the greatest victory is feeling liberated and alive. Money really can’t buy that.
I am still terrified of meeting up with my mother, of course. No amount of inner strength and self-love could quite prepare a girl for the news I’m planning on breaking. But I feel like I’ve got the chutzpah to see it through, at last. I need to do it. Along with the business of Spurring, keeping this secret is a niggle I want to get off my mind. Somehow.
In one of our frequent deep chats – usually when Alyssia is off somewhere – Sarah has made me realise that if I tell my parents, I can tell anyone. Cross that bridge first, and the rest will seem easy. If anything will teach me to be as publicly proud as I am inside myself, then telling my mother will do it. It’s important that she knows, sure. But I have to remember that I don’t need her approval.
Sarah, meanwhile, is having an exciting time. The moment her profile went online, her phone started buzzing like mad. There’s business aplenty out there if she wants it.
“Who needs an agent, eh?” she teases me. “Look how many men want to pay me £150 an hour!”
There’s a long list of gents who’ve applied for a slot in Sarah’s completely open diary. Very few have pictures, of course, although quite a lot of them have been rated by other prostitutes who’ve serviced them. I can’t quite get my head around all this – it’s so much like eBay for sex!
I’m happy that I’ve got my agent, who vets all my clients and works in a world where the stakes are infinitely higher. I am glad I don’t have to take my chances with any guy walking in off the street. That kind of thing is for Petra. Not that I say any of that to Sarah. She’s doing the right thing for her situation and I want it to work out for her.
And unlike Petra, I think she can progress to better things.
“It’s good money for an hour’s work,” I smile, trying not to come across as sarcastic. And I’m certainly not trying to be: it really is a good amount of money for sixty minutes of any kind of job! The fact that I’m getting obscenely spoilt right now doesn’t change that.
But Sarah still comes and goes like the tides. Her enthusiasm seeps away from her after she finally books in a first client. She turns pale, and turns to me.
“Em, I don’t know if I can really go through with it!” she says, showing me those eyes that look like they’re about to sob. “I’m not as pretty as you; I didn’t get such good grades; I’m not –”
For once, it’s my turn to interrupt her and set her straight. “Hey, enough of that! You are as pretty as anyone, and who cares what that stupid school thinks? You are the one who helped me break through with that double-team thing we did, remember? Without your confident lead I might never have made it through that session. I might have gone running up the driveway and off into the hills, never to be seen again.”
She smiles at this. And I kiss her. I do it so deeply that she knows, without a morsel of doubt, just how lovely and beautiful I think she is. Then I hold her hands and look into her eyes once again.
“This is only the beginning for you. When you’ve got some experience and all the five-star reviews I know you’re going to get, I’m going back to Lucy and I’m going to get you on my team. Because I really, really want to play with you while I’m working. The thought of you and me entertaining a customer together makes me wetter than anything.”
“I want that too, gorgeous!” she says, brightening in an instant.
“Okay then, go and enjoy some cock,” I say. “You’ve not been with a man in a while: I think yo
u need this!”
She laughs. “True. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like, thanks to you! Hey, but…why don’t you join me and help me through my first client?”
I thought this suggestion might be coming, and I’m prepared for it. I shake my head. “Might be tempting, sure, but I’m not allowed. I’m exclusive with Lucy, you know? I think she’d go nuts if she thought I was available on the app for…” I must choose my words carefully, “A lower price.”
She nods and sighs. “Well, nothing to worry about, I guess. It’s sex with a man. And I get paid!”
“It really is as good as it sounds,” I assure her. “Let’s hope he’s gorgeous too!”
After that I dress her in one of the many expensive gowns I’ve been given (my walk-in wardrobe is already beginning to creak), a pretty yellow number that’s bright and perfect for a lunchtime appointment. I doubt it will stay on her for long, anyway.
We inspect the spare room, which has morphed into a minimalist sex den that I’ve finally been allowed to look at. Sarah and Alyssia have installed a double bed with a strong (and, I hope, discreetly quiet) base. They’ve made it attractive with deep red pillows and sheets, along with a thin white duvet. There’s a cabinet by the bed with a candle on top, and a drawer stuffed full of condoms. Simple. And that’s all that’s needed for this chamber’s animal purpose.
Then I give her a peck and leave her to it. I don’t think she needs me hovering in the other room while this happens, even if she thinks she does. So I head to the café downstairs to pursue my book and read a coffee, and text Alyssia (out gallivanting somewhere) not to go barging into the flat any time soon.
I can hardly keep my mind on the story, though. I keep thinking of Sarah’s debut, and praying it goes well for her. I know that one good session will change her belief in herself, and my stomach is almost hurting from the anticipation of hearing her news in an hour or so.
And the image of her sucking a complete stranger off in my flat won’t leave my head. It makes me far too wet to actually get any of my book read.
It’s a huge relief to see Sarah’s eyes shining when she opens the door for me. She’s now dressed in her house gear: a t-shirt and grey tracksuit pants. Even though it’s winter, you don’t need any more than that in my well-insulated apartment. Not with all that sunlight that streams through the windows.
“Yes?” is all I ask, pulling her close as I walk into the hallway.
She sucks in a breath and gives me a look, all exaggerated and drunken-eyed. Another one of her tricks from drama school no doubt.
“Fuck me, yes!” she whispers.
I squeal and she squeals and we both jump up and down on the spot.
“So you did it! You’ve done it! You’re like me! One of us!”
“God, Emma, why did I wait so long? We are the luckiest girls in London. Are we going to wake up any time soon?”
I’ve been asking myself that question ever since the summer, and I certainly don’t know how to answer it from Sarah. I’m wary of her extreme mood swings, and I’m really not keen to risk bursting her bubble. At the same time, I’m scared of raising her expectations.
“Come on through to the lounge, I want to hear everything!” I say, taking her by the hand. “Is the money in?”
She shows me her phone, which displays the balance screen for the app. There’s a healthy number on there. A one, followed by five and a zero. “Pre-paid,” she giggles. “What have I been doing all my life?”
We sit down on the sofa and she regales me with the story of her first client, a well-groomed Danish man in his forties. Blonde and confident, he was visiting one of the major firms just around the corner. He had a three-hour break between meetings, and, at a loose end, he decided to indulge himself with my Sarah.
I’m so proud of her. And she’s still popping with excitement.
“It didn’t feel any different, Emma! It was like…it was just good, fun, sex. I opened the door and I wanted him straight away.”
“So it was all completely natural then?”
She nods. “I was so nervous! But as soon as I saw him on the video screen, my heart just went crazy with excitement. I let him in, introduced myself and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then I took his coat.”
“Ooh, civilized!” I joke.
She hardly hears me, doesn’t miss a beat. “After that I showed him into the room and, well, had some fun! I wanted to kiss him, so I did. And it all just happened. I forgot I was being paid or anything, except if he asked me to do this or that.
“But Em,” she said, eyes shining bright and breath short and gaspy. “If a guy like that had told me to get down on my knees and, you know…I would have done it for nothing any day of the week! You should have seen his body! I think he’s been working out on his other lunch breaks.”
“It sounds like the perfect first experience, Sarah! I hope every guy is going to be as hot as he was.”
I’m trying to gently bring her to earth and remind her it might not be this way every single time. Although kink probably won’t be so much a part of her world just yet, as her clients are a little more time and budget-conscious. In short, they want a quick and easy fuck.
“Did you…get there?” I ask, curious.
“Twice! Did I mention how big he was? Once that monster slipped into me, I was almost gone then and there. I can’t believe I was nervous before. I mean, it’s just sex!”
I nod, smile, and say nothing. The sun’s beaming in through the glass and straight onto Sarah and me. It’s warming my back and she’s having to squint just to see me. It’s another weekday that I could have been slaving over a laptop; and here I am sapping up the rays while comparing paid sex notes with my best friend and lesbian lover.
“You were so right, Emma,” Sarah goes on. “I did need some cock! I’ve missed it.”
I twang of something I don’t quite like runs through my torso. And maybe she senses it: “Not that I would trade you for any man in the world, hear me? I wish you could have been there to share that cock with me.”
And all at once I feel better. Not that I could really complain: she’s never muttered a word about all the people I’ve been fucking since she moved here, despite the strong feelings we have for each other. I nod and put my hand on her thigh.
“We can make this work,” I burst out, smiling now that I feel bright again. And I know she knows exactly what I mean.
Sarah gradually starts seeing more men, but – thank God – she remains as ravenous for me as ever. And now that she has money, she’s beginning to give me little treats. I find flowers on the bed, she takes me up the London Eye (shockingly, I’d never been) and insists we plan ourselves a little getaway on her.
And best of all, to celebrate her first client, she orders champagne once again, insisting on Scott as our delivery man.
This time she’s planned it so that it’s his last job of the day, and she doesn’t breathe a word about the delivery. She just lights some scented candles and puts me in the bath. When I whine that she’s not with me, she scurries off on the pretext of getting us a drink. She comes back with a drink all right – plus a naked Scott.
We devour him again, both in and out of the water. He’s a lucky boy, he is. And I think I love Sarah.
Alyssia is still around, but not spending a whole lot of time in my apartment. It’s not like we’ve fallen out; I think she’s just being sensitive. In fact, she tells me so. She doesn’t want to take advantage of my flat, and I think she knows that Sarah and I need our own space. Which is not to say she doesn’t share our bed and play with us when the mood takes us all. Like Sarah, I’ve given her a key, and she has my total trust.
She’s been given a little three-month trial with her agency, and it’s going extremely well. It doesn’t sound quite at Lucy’s level, and for now it’s not an exclusive thing for her, but the earnings are still a cut above what the app would bring her. Though I’ve told her she’s welcome to use our ‘sex room’ if she wants to try that
option post-trial, she says she’d rather use her own place for that. And now that she’s got her big break, she’s decided to stay in London for a while: at least until she helps us settle my score with Spurring. So Alyssia is on the lookout for a digs of her own.
I tell her she’s welcome at mine, but we both know that it’s more kind than I need to be, much as I love her. My bond with Sarah is getting stronger by the day, and my home has to be our sanctuary up to a point. I quickly realise that I don’t think I really want Sarah working regularly from my flat.
Even if she starts paying rent, it’s not about the money. It’s about us having a refuge. And avoiding any awkward moments. After all, as far removed as I now am from the shy little English girl I barely recognise from my past, things are easier if I can come home safe in the knowledge there won’t be a strange man getting dressed in the hallway. Not only that, but I would get tired if I have to keep on making myself scarce while she did her work.
Not that she’s asked me to, of course, but I think I prefer it that way. I’ve been caught out once or twice already, finding myself stuck in our room whilst she entertained a man. I could hear her groans and his grunts, and the little seed of envy took root in me when that happened. I didn’t much like it.
Also, she made the mistake of showing one of her clients the bathroom, and she had to work hard to talk him away from fucking her whilst looking over London.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I don’t want to share my dream bathroom with anybody but Sarah and our own guests. So we agree that it’s best we find her another ‘office’ for her work, if she’s going to carry on with this.
And since I don’t think wild horses could drag the ever-beaming Sarah away from prostituting herself now, we agree to start looking for a little place where she can entertain clients. Who are all leaving her five-star reviews, of course. How could they not?