Escort in Training (Emma Book 1)

by James Grey

Beyond her is the window, which looks onto the rose garden. I see Wilfred, the subject of my fleeting weekend lust, pottering around watering the flowers. He could surely see everything if he glanced this way. I’m a lot less bothered about that than I would have been a week ago. There’s a feast before me!

  I don’t even recognise myself any more. There’s Petra and there’s Rupert and I’m supposed to be worked up again, aren’t I? Not to mention outraged and embarrassed and mortified! Maybe another time. Right now, all I can think of is what’s in front of me.

  I want to tuck in, and, though I scratch around trying to find some shame within myself, I am not sure that I care who knows it or sees it.

  But there’s one thing I have to keep in mind. That thing about enjoying giving pleasure. I’m going to enjoy myself, but in a way that coincides with pleasing the man. I must try all of Miss Littlefair’s tips and tricks, and take my own pleasure in that ride.

  “Miss Carling, you will start with me,” says one of the men whose names I don’t know. He’s probably in his thirties, has green eyes, a five o’clock shadow and a rugged crop of curly chestnut hair. Not bad. “On your knees.”

  This is as expected, along lines that were explained to us before we came to this room. We’ll rotate through the men, trying different positions and exploring the unique challenges of each. My first task will be to pleasure a seated man. Then we’ll all switch places, and I’ll have to kneel before a standing man, working without the use of my hands. After that, I’ll take a passive lying-down man, then finally it will be sixty-nine time.

  “Yes Sir,” I smile at my guy, hoping this is the right sort of response. The rest of the girls are then called forward. Simone to the thin, grey-haired guy with the goatee. Petra to George, who lies down on one of two futon beds drawn in close to the chairs. And then Carol goes to Rupert. We’re all within a circle of perhaps fifteen feet. My, this is going to be…communal.

  And so the depravity begins, with barely a word spoken. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more salacious, I am swept into a scene from somebody else’s life. Somebody (bisexual, apparently) who goes to orgies, maybe? Four young women are sucking the cocks of four men, without even the decency to retire to the furthest corners of the suite. And I am one of those women with a cock in her mouth. Yes, me, Emma Rosemary Carling!

  Amid the slurping and the girly sighs and the manly groans, I feel like I’m doing something amazing. I conscious that I’m on an adventure. I know it will take some getting used to, but this is a journey that precious few women will ever dare to take. It’s a privilege. I’m staggered at what I am doing, but deeply proud of myself. Purely because I’m doing it. I can do anything.

  All this, though, is just foggy thought at the back of my mind. I am aware of the acute indecency of the situation. Aware how fucking hot that acute indecency is. But I can’t exactly look around. My man needs my focus. And that’s exactly where I want my focus to be. Because for all of the fun I’ve had with Sarah over the weekend, I so need my mouth filled.

  He tastes pleasant. In fact, he’s clearly just showered, and I’m grateful for the scent of apple-infused soap and the smoothness of his skin. He’s kept himself nicely trimmed, so I can savour every sensation. I remember the boiled sweet, and I’m absolutely thrilled when I hear his breathing quicken as I simulate the confectionary trick. Hmm, is that the pleasure of giving right there?

  Shit, did I mention this was amazing? I lick him up and down, using the man to try out all those subtle zones Miss Littlefair mentioned. I love every minute of this exploration, really I do, and I’m not sure I care whether I know his name or not. What matters is working magic with this special part of a man. I’m totally wrapped up in the challenge of it. Though my mouth moves with our classroom instruction in mind, everywhere it travels on its journey is a thrilling new sensation in itself.

  I lick his balls. No, I never did try that before. It feels incredibly naughty, and makes me feel warm to the core. He tightens and sighs as I cup them in my hand and then lick long, slow strokes from there all the way to his tip. There’s an impossibly beautiful mix of power and pleasure in me. I am losing myself in this.

  I look up at the man, and he looks down at me with…could it be awe? How could he feel that for some girl he just met? It’s like he’s in a gallery, marvelling at some beautiful work of art. Can I inspire so easily? What a thought that is! I feel my own juices beginning to gather in my crotch. Inevitable.

  I want to do even better for him, to make him come. But then he pushes lightly on my head and whispers, “Enough.”

  I withdraw dutifully, and sit back on my heels, licking my lips. I am smiling a little, while his features bear a benevolent, mild look. Between his legs is all arousal, glistening and slick from my mouth. My mouth.

  I look around at this scene of which I am a part. Just in time, I see Petra bring George to an obvious climax. I notice she uses her hand on his ample base whilst deep-throating him. She seems to swallow some of his seed, but pulls away quickly and lets the rest of it drip down his shaft.

  Fuck...am I supposed to make him come again so soon? I haven’t thought about this. Surely these guys haven’t got it in them to come four times in quick succession, have they? No, surely not. Miss Littlefair said they’d be mainly looking at our technique and our responsiveness. Didn’t she?

  Simone and then Carol are told to stop, and it doesn’t look like their guys came either. Carol just gave Rupert a blow job! Oh well. He hasn’t even caught my eye yet. Whatever. Water under the bridge and all that.

  And so the lust-laced session goes on. The four wanton, incorrigible girls move to their next assigned men, and fall onto their cocks. I wish I could watch the others more closely, but I guess that’s what my porn assignment is for. Still, I’d love to know who is doing what, to whom, and how well she’s doing it. But the man in my mouth is more interesting. Way more interesting.

  It’s weird moving to an already-wet manhood. I inherit Simone’s Dutch saliva, but it’s kinda sexy. It takes the tone even lower, makes me feel even dirtier. Fuck, bring it on. Only real women could do this. Even as I take his glistening length in my mouth, I think about someone taking me from behind. Very soon.

  I finish what Simone started, and make him come quite quickly. For the second time this afternoon, I swallow. Well, that was lesson one, wasn’t it? Still quite new for me, but I think of it as the taste of success. I did that!

  The others are still busy, so I stroke my man gently as I stay kneeling, feeling the tiniest slackening of his erection as he comes down whilst in my hand. Oh my! Who’s next?

  The lying position is my favourite, although I enjoyed the servile feeling of being on my knees. George seems to have recovered by the time I reach him, and he’s back to full size. I remember now that I’ve had him in me, and how good it was, and I keep having to stop myself from sitting on him. My pussy is absolutely burning beneath my panties. I don’t know how much more of this tease I can take.

  Then it’s Rupert’s turn, and I walk over to him with confidence and poise. As with each round before, he is wet from Simone, and, I suppose, Petra and Carol before that. A little something in me makes me want to outperform Petra here. It’s not about Rupert. I look across at her sleek little body as it kneels before standing guy, and feel a little twitch in my nose.

  “Please go on top first, Miss Carling,” says Rupert with that annoying, haughty formal way of his.

  Fine. But before I climb aboard, I whisper in his ear, “Did you come yet?”

  He nods.

  “Petra?”

  “Miss Stoycheva, yes.”

  Fuck, I’ll bet the bitch is four from four. She must be good with her mouth.

  I kneel above him, then purposefully lower my crotch into his face. I give it a little grind as it gets there. Just trying to tell him something. I don’t even know what.

  I feel the man pull my panties to one side and begin to lick. I’m kind of glad I don’t have to lo
ok at him right now. It might just awaken the things I’ve buried. I take him in my mouth, and decide I am going to outdo my former room-mate come hell or high water.

  I tickle and I tease and I suck and I lick and I bite and I kiss. I remember every last scrap of our lesson. I do the boiled-sweet thing, slurping like crazy. My hand joins the party, fondling gently down below. He’s not giving much away with his voice, but I can feel him growing stouter and I can feel him losing interest in his own end of the bargain.

  Well, okay, it’s not a bargain. He’s paying you! Whatever. I can enjoy this either way. But it’s interesting that he’s not very good. Or at least, only good enough to get me feeling even more desperate for something very substantial between my legs.

  A couple more minutes of wet slurping has him close, but then he wants to switch and be on top. Quickly – since I’m desperate not to lose momentum – we rearrange. He resumes his long, lazy licks on my sex, which slow to a trickle as he slides into my mouth and, quite frankly, leaves me very little to do.

  He begins to pump me, and all I can do is try to keep my tongue moving and my mouth juices flowing. Because there’s no trouble with juices flowing down there, which must be gushing like a waterfall. I create a tube around my lips with my palms, to give him an extra something to rub against. Another of Miss Littlefair’s tips. Although this, quite frankly, does not feel like doing very much.

  It is, however, very sexy. And it’s sexier when he jets his salty stream into my throat. I cough a little as some of it catches me awkwardly, but still feel thrilled and on edge.

  More than anything, though, I’m desperate.

  We’re all done now. I put my underwear to rights as I stand, and my fingers come away completely soaked. The first guy I was with catches my eye, and it’s a sympathetic look he gives me. He holds my gaze as the others file out back to class. I’m rooted to the spot, transfixed by his still-hard member. Someone must have run out of time on him! Ooh, I could use that right now.

  I slowly make my way towards the door. The other men go past me, on their way back to the feedback session. Rupert gives me what must be a funny look as he slips by, but I don’t catch his eye. Instead, I hover in the doorway, hypnotised by my runaway desires.

  I need to be fucked. Like, now.

  I’m going to ask. I can’t take this anymore.

  “Would you like to fuck me, Sir?” is what I come out with, though what I really mean is please, please, please can you fuck me this instant.

  He motions to the futon, and I feel my time has come.

  I want it from behind, deep and hard and fast.

  I take a chance and get down on my hands and knees, wiggling my ass hopefully.

  Jesus, what am I doing?

  I don’t even know this guy’s name.

  I’m dripping wet. I need it.

  He nods and moves in behind me. The relief when he slides in is beyond words. It’s like getting to a loo when you’ve been holding it in all day. That kind of relief.

  I drop my head and push my hips into his. I just want the unknown guy to go for it. Like he’s never gone for it before.

  He reads me. Or maybe he just knows we’re both due downstairs in a minute. Whatever. Forty-five seconds and a few dozen thrusts later, I’m coming all over the place like a crazed wolverine.

  Thank God the wait is over.

  Chapter XVIII

  I’m dishevelled and breathless when I get back to class. The others are just about finished dressing. My guy follows me in afterwards and joins the other men of the house at the back of the room. I dress quickly and quietly, avoiding eyes. I’m not sure I got rid of all the evidence running down my thighs. Oh God. They’re not going to be fooled.

  I sit down as inconspicuously as I can. Petra’s hand shoots up in the air.

  “Miss? Is it okay to stay and have sex with a guy after an assignment is over?”

  I studiously look into space ahead of me, but I can feel she’s got her eyes on me while she poses her snide question in front of the class. Her first contribution of the day, I might add. Fuck you!

  I can feel my jaw tightening and my fist clenching. Is this her way of taking revenge for the beating? Belittling me in front of the class? What a witch!

  Miss Littlefair seems to know what she’s getting at, of course, but our teacher doesn’t look my way at all. “If a girl wants to go the extra mile, Miss Stoycheva, then she should be commended, should she not?”

  She’s silenced my slight Slavic friend. Who, I am most tempted to yell out, did a spot of freelancing of her own on Friday night.

  “If a girl can get caught up in the situation, carried away if you will, then nine out of ten clients will love it. As long as it’s not a strict dom-sub client request. And as long as she is prepared to change course for the client should he wish it.”

  She reluctantly unglues her judging eyes from Petra, and slowly sweeps her gaze across the room. “And that goes for all of you ladies. Don’t let enthusiasm and abandon become forgotten arts. Though you must always couple these with intense awareness.”

  Hurrah for Miss Littlefair! Carling one, Stoycheva nil! Suddenly I feel refreshed enough to throw Petra a triumphant look. But the blonde, of course, is looking out through the giant glass panes of the window.

  I relax through a lengthy feedback session, in which each of our techniques are picked apart at length by the men and Miss Littlefair. Our teacher even does a couple of demonstrations, and my, she really is good. Also, she seems to enjoy it as much as the orgasmic men she’s pleasuring.

  We’re called up at various intervals to work on this or that aspect of fellating a man – and our test model keeps changing. This is getting seriously hands-on! I can tell that embarrassment has all but dried up for most of us, myself included, but Jane’s body language still indicates a level of contempt for what she’s doing. Sarah’s a little shy today too, but then she’s always a bit up and down like that.

  I barely even notice whom I am working with. I’m sated for once, and I’m actually able to focus on the technical skills. I guess they planned it that way. I focus hard on the folds and the special veins, my sucking depth, tongue work and nibbling pressure. I have time to feel amazed and thrilled at just how interesting and fun my life has become. Training seminars were never like this in my last job! To think I used to get nervy about doing a presentation…!

  It’s an exhausting afternoon, and we’re all gagging for dinner when it comes. The kitchen has gone oriental tonight. I virtually inhale my spicy lobster soup, then tuck into some exquisite sushi. Even before I reach the tamarind and coconut mousse dessert, my eyes feel ready to close.

  Sarah elbows me in the ribs and reminds me that I’ve got to watch my evening porn before I fall asleep. She lapped up the on-screen fornication earlier in the day, which only helps I guess. Tonight, when we roll a boy-girl-girl threesome film featuring a blonde hunk and two incredibly perky brunettes, I already feel closer to their world than I did this morning. Maybe even a part of it.

  The scene begins to smoulder and I feel Sarah’s hand roaming along the inside of my leg. I forget that I am probably the only one who had the chance to come today, and anyway, I feel ever so mildly horny watching this. Without warning, then, I whip on top of her, pin her down and kiss her deeply. Then I slip my fingers into her, and my thumb onto her clit, kissing her all the while.

  In no time her day’s stimulations come pouring out of her, and I smile maternally as I watch her writhe in ecstasy.

  The next day we begin to break into smaller, specialist groups. Nobody was going to get away with not perfecting their blow-job technique yesterday, but now it’s about getting into the specifics of our training programme. Miss Jackson tells me that because of the length of my speciality list – and the things I need to work on – I’ll have to do some extra evening sessions.

  Tuesday morning is all about that emotional detachment thing. I think I’ve come a long way in this area, but Miss Jackson says there�
��s another exercise that can help. She runs a small group with myself, Sarah, Carol and Diane. I guess we’re the girly, emotional ones then. The four of us are stripped, blindfolded and told to sit cross-legged on the floor, which has been covered with beautiful, velvety mats.

  “Ladies, you’re going to have a very interesting morning of completely detached sex acts,” says Miss Jackson. “You will be joined in the room by some other individuals now, and I’ll be instructing you. Since you can’t see them, you’re going to learn to focus purely on the physical thrill of the sexual contact.”

  I’m totally switched on again and begin to shiver with excitement. And gosh, her blindfolds are top-notch. I couldn’t see through this red cloth for a million bucks. It’s tight around my eyes, but its lower edge caresses my cheek bone gently, and I like how it feels.

  She’s not wrong: it’s a very interesting morning indeed. The door keeps opening and closing, but the only voice I ever hear is Miss Jackson’s. Three times my pussy is licked, but I have no idea by whom. One is definitely a man, because I can feel his stubble brush me, but I don’t know who or what the other two are.

  The sensation, the not knowing, is unbelievable. It’s like one of those silly restaurants where you go and eat in the dark, so your taste sense is more switched on. I feel like not being able to see has got my clit in turbo mode.

  Miss Jackson makes me crawl up to someone and perform oral sex. Her terminology is deliberately vague, which makes my newly bisexual tummy do cartwheels. I hold my breath to prolong the tension, so only when tentative, fearful tongue touches the unmistakable wet folds of a woman do I know what I’m working with. Christ, it’s hot in here.

  It might be a mentor, or it might be Diane. Or Carol. Or it might be Sarah – should I be able to recognise my most regular partner by taste? Who knows? Miss Jackson was right – all I can do is enjoy what I’m feeling.

  And orgasm. Twice. Both times when I’m penetrated. Once by a mystery man and once by somebody with a vibrating dildo. Normally I am more of a clit girl, but the blindfold seems to have shifted things. Being fucked by someone I can’t see somehow takes on an extra dimension of sexiness. The man feels gigantic on top of me, but I’m not sure if he really is.