Fifty Shades of Lexi Maxxwell

by Lexi Maxxwell

  Problem was, Celeste had no desire to work at Prime. She loved Joanna, who had been a great mentor, and it was where she had met one of her best friends, Sophia, back when Celeste was Autumn’s age and the youngest bunny at Prime. She had loved the agency then, but couldn't see the life now. Celeste wanted to be in charge, had to be the one to say when and where. It was a different world than it had been when Joanna first let her fill the spot as the agency’s resident “college call-girl,” an often requested flavor.

  That was before the ubiquity of social media, and there were few profession’s that could benefit from the new medium as much as the oldest one in the world. Celeste didn’t see any reason she couldn't set up shop on Twitter, capitalize on the social media hot spot’s anonymity, and book herself right into a brand new Beamer.

  She just needed two more girls to get started; one older and one younger, with her in the middle. Once she had the holy trinity of fuck-holes – young bunny, perfectly ripe kitten, and cougar – Celeste would be ready to go.

  She started by trying to enlist her sister Autumn, but Autumn said no before Celeste finished her first sentence. Sure, she loved man-juice on her mangos and in her meat hole almost as much as Celeste. But the bitch was selective, and certainly wasn’t going to cheat on her new boyfriend Sam, especially not for money.

  Fortunately, Autumn’s friend Brooke was perfect.

  Brooke worked for a phone sex company and loved her job, but according to Autumn, she’d love working with Celeste a whole lot more. Talking the talk was fun, but fucking the fuck would be a good goo better. Autumn described Brooke as a junior Celeste, always horny and rarely satisfied. She was already fucking every night of the week for free, even resorting to random encounters on CraigsList if she didn’t have anything else lined up. Autumn thought CraigsList was creepy and thought it was especially weird for a girl like Brooke, since she was adorably sexy and came from high enough pedigree and money to know better. It made perfect sense to Celeste.

  Celeste took one look at Brooke and imagined the rager she’d be sporting if she were a paying client. The girl was perfect. She had wavy, dark brown hair that made her ridiculously blue eyes look even bluer. She had small breasts, a tiny waist, and almost elfin features that could look fuck-hole sexy one second and angel innocent the next – the perfect look for a high class escort men would want to be seen with in public, then defile behind closed doors.

  Brooke agreed in seconds, even before she learned Celeste had no plans to keep a commission. Celeste was bringing in other girls to make her brand stronger and grow their internal network since she had no plans to work full-time, but she had no desire to be a madam or have anyone working for her.

  With her bunny in the pen, Celeste needed a cougar. So she called her old friend and semi-mentor, Sophia, who had quit working for Joanne at Prime three years earlier. Sophia had a few steady clients and ran a blog to generate new leads. She squealed at Celeste’s offer, then squealed louder when she heard she’d be keeping the entire fee.

  Sophia never intended to be a lifer, it just happened. Her parents divorced three weeks after her eleventh birthday. She stayed with her mother in a smallish two bedroom, while her father split his time between two three bedrooms on two different coasts. Never one for attention, he showed Sophia how much he loved her with the occasional gifts; birthday, Christmas, and a few random times per year. He was an investment analyst who hired himself out as a consultant to firms across the country. Sophia saw him rarely and kissed him less. The couple of weeks they spent together each year were filled with expensive dinners, new clothes, and plenty of shiny. When Sophia grew tall enough to know what she wanted from life, it turned out it wasn’t much different: fleeting attention, expensive dinners, new clothes and lots of shiny.

  One of Celeste’s best encounters while working at Prime had been with Sophia and a client who had booked them as a pair, not just for a single evening but for a three-day trip to Vegas, Celeste’s first time on the strip. She had to miss her Monday’s classes, but the trip was totally worth it. She and Sophia each made 10K and while it was old hat to Sophia by then, Celeste had the time of her life.

  And while Vegas itself was been here, swallowed that, it was that trip when Sophia first realized she might be selling sex for the long haul. She shared her epiphany with Celeste in front of the Bellagio’s breathtaking fountains and the mesmerizing choreography of their gorgeous water show, while their client, an introvert with a deep appetite and deeper pockets, took an hour’s worth of phone calls alone in his room.

  She acknowledged her fate with an edge of defeat, still believing it was possible to find her true Prince Charming, but knowing Time stole 1,440 minutes each day and that every one made it more likely that she’d have to sell herself by the hour to stand anywhere near it, all the while knowing it was she who needed the exchange as much, if not more, than the client. Sophia loved, and trusted, Celeste. She needed approximately seven seconds to find her YES.

  And like that, Pink Triangle was born.

  Celeste had everything she needed to get going, though she still couldn't believe she was starting Pink Triangle with Rick’s blessing, or robust encouragement considering it was his idea in the first place.

  But it was true, it was actually happening. Celeste may have had different dreams than most girls, she would have happily traded a handsome prince and a midnight ball for the borrowed body of an adonis and a ball gag, but she was a gushing orgasm worth of happy.

  Celeste’s new career had dramatically enhanced the quality of her love life. Two days ago she appeared at Ale Mary’s, unannounced, just to see if the new Rick who had finally found the fire in his fuck stick could fuel the flames at work. He could. Rick took her into the store room, would have dragged her by the hair if the bar had been empty, then sucked her cock socket into a soak before fucking her into collapse.

  GODdammit she loved that man.

  Celeste pulled to a stop at the red and grabbed the vibrating iPhone from her passenger seat. A Twitter DM from her 1:00: Here now.

  She felt a strong tingle in her tool box. The same sort of tingle Celeste always felt before meeting a client, but stronger. She had to admit this one was special, making the anticipation more delicious. Celeste slipped her hand past the waistband of her skirt, then on top of her pink panty covered pussy. It was burning.

  The light turned green. Celeste floored it.

  She thought about all the things her 1:00 was going to do to her. She could feel the hot wet of her lower lips dripping past the edge of her panties, sliming the sides of her upper thighs. This client was her favorite, by far. There were things he did to her that no one else did, things no one else could. But it didn’t matter what he could do, she had to keep her preferences in the backseat. He was the client, she was the hole. Her job was to make sure he got everything he paid for.

  A block from the hotel, Celeste felt like pulling to the side of the road so she could finger-fuck herself into a frenzy, but knew better than to keep a paying client waiting.

  Celeste pulled to the front of the wraparound carport at the front of the Hotel Indigo, handed the attendant her keys, then crossed the lobby to the front desk. “I’m here to see Mr. Knox in room #1118, she said. “My name is Carmen Blush.”

  Celeste smiled at the desk clerk, a middle aged man who knew exactly who and what she was.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, handing her a key. “Mr. Knox is expecting you.”

  Celeste took the key, smiled, then crossed the lobby and stepped inside an empty elevator. She placed her hand into her skirt again, this time passing elastic and digging into her sopping hole.

  Anticipation alone had brought her reasonably close to the edge, and the final few seconds crossing the carpet from the elevator to room #1118 drove her to smolder. If this wasn’t about to be the best fuck of her life, it would certainly be one of them.

  She didn’t bother to knock.

  Celeste’s favorite client was sitting in an
overstuffed chair, naked except for a cool looking black jacket. Her favorite sultry song, “Wicked Game,” was oozing through the speakers, probably on repeat.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re a minute early,” he smiled, then said, “does your husband know you’re here?”

  Celeste purred, “He doesn’t have a clue.”

  Her 1:00 waved her closer and patted his knee. She sat.

  “We only have an hour,” she said. “And the clock’s ticking.”

  “I have every right to inspect my merchandise,” he said playfully, lifting her skirt and lowering her panties. Her nipples hardened as his hand moved down her dampened patch, then trembled slightly as his fingers slipped inside; one, then two, and finally three.

  Celeste moaned as her 1:00’s cock thickened beneath her leg. She slithered to the side, wrapped her fingers around his fattening fuck stick, and started to stroke him.

  That was all it took. His mouth and hands were suddenly everywhere. It was 1:06 when her legs were straight in the air and his dick was splitting her down the middle, 1:09 when they were nearly at their end.

  The early afternoon’s anticipation had been too great for them both.

  Her 1:00 paused from his thundering thrusts and threw his mouth on her neck as he spasmed and twitched inside her, filling her with hot, thick cum. Celeste fell into a series of orgasms that lasted a minute and felt like ten. Her pussy clamped tightly around the steel of her client’s cock, milking the remaining cum from his shaft.

  They collapsed on the bed, husband and wife, happier than they’d ever been.

  “Ready to go again?” Rick said, barely breathing.

  “It’s your dime,” Celeste said, tracing her fingers on his nipples as she lay beside him in love.

  XXX

  Sophia Knight: Cougar in Heat

  Sophia handed the valet her keys, then grazed his belly as she stepped from her silver Lexus. The valet smiled, then did everything he could to make his brain stop his body from doing anything else, judging by the look on his face and the twitch of his cheek.

  Sophia returned his smile, then sashayed to the front of her Lexus, got a shiver from the stares – she got older, but the feeling never aged – then thanked the Good Lord Jesus and whoever else might need thanking for giving her a body that looked as good in clothes as it did without a single thread.

  Even at 43, Sophia had a body men would pay to fuck, and jack off to if they couldn't afford it, or didn’t know it was for sale. Her straight blond hair had never seen a bottle of dye, her complexion was as smooth as glassy water, and her full, pouting lips were all too easy to imagine puckered with a cock between them.

  Sophia stepped into the hotel lobby and inhaled. She LOVED the The Broadway. Not as chi-chi as The Hotel Indigo, and the sort of place she would have considered stuffy, or “posh” if she was feeling kind, just 10 years earlier. Now she loved it. Sophia would have happily fucked all 40 days and nights worth of a flood, but if she could’ve done it in one of the warmly lit, thick carpeted and marbled bathroom suites at The Broadway, the smile would’ve never left her face.

  Unfortunately, there weren’t a lot of men willing to book a paid fucking at The Broadway. It wasn’t that the hotel was ridiculously expensive, though it was, it was that even people who loved nice things and were willing to pay ludicrous prices to get them, still didn’t need opulence for only an hour.

  Sophia had been paid to fuck at The Broadway three times before. This was her fourth. Her date, Phil, said in his DM that he’d be wearing a dark colored suit. Sophia laughed and scanned the sea of black and charcoal colored suits. She wondered if not wearing a tie was against the official rules, or if it was only unspoken law, enforced with stares and stink eyes.

  Phil also said he had “tufty puff” hair. That may not have been a typical description, but when she saw the guy with the tufty puff-looking hair enter the bar, she knew exactly who it was. Sophia turned from the barstool and waited for his eyes to meet hers. When they did, she held them, pulling him to her like scent to a nostril.

  “You must be Sophia.”

  “Phil,” she smiled. “I like your tufty puff hair.”

  Phil smiled back and took a seat beside her. “You’re even more beautiful in person than you are on your website.”

  “Aw, thanks,” she said, waving her hand. Even if Sophia wasn’t blushing, her shucks was sincere. She never tired of hearing compliments from well-groomed and well-lived men, even if they were paying handsomely for the pleasure.

  Phil wasn’t tall or short, nor was he ugly or handsome. He wasn’t really light or dark, and definitely didn’t look strong or weak. Phil might have been the plainest, most in-the-middle guy Sophia had ever seen.

  “Glenfiddich on the rocks,” he said to the bartender. The drink was in Phil’s hands in less than a minute, and empty not too long after that.

  Phil was nervous. He kept touching his tie, brushing his hand across his nose, and nudging his chin with his thumb. It wasn’t that he’d never done this before. Phil was obviously an old pro. A girl like Sophia could tell at a text.

  They made small talk for five minutes after Phil’s ice cubes were alone in the glass, then Phil asked the bartender for two more. Sophia said, “Make mine a Glenlivit, and off with the rocks.”

  The drinks came. Phil paid, then led Sophia to table in the back of the bar.

  As they sat, a couple across the way, obviously not speaking to one another, stood to leave, the man three steps behind the woman, his sigh heavy enough to flutter the air as he passed. A knowing look washed across Phil’s face, as though the two men were fellow refugees from the same domestic civil war.

  Sophia smiled, gestured toward the departing couple, then put her hand on his knee. “So, is that why we’re here?”

  Phil was either playing embarrassed or he actually was, because he couldn't meet Sophia’s eyes for several seconds. Once he found them he said, “Yeah, I’ve been there. Live there, in fact. Bought a condo so the commute wouldn’t be so bad.” He laughed at his own joke.

  Sophia laughed, too. It wasn’t that Phil’s joke was funny, it wasn’t. But his jokes were ice breakers and he’d started shattering the frozen water the minute after he downed his first drink. And yes, all the jokes were dorky, but like Phil, they had their own brand of definite charm.

  Phil had put her in the mood to laugh, almost immediately. And Sophia loved to laugh, especially at The Broadway.

  “Wanna move to shots?” Phil asked after his third Glenfiddich.

  “Sounds perfect.” Sophia waited until Phil was done ordering a round of Patron, then said, “now what were you saying?”

  Phil wrinkled his brow. “Not sure?” He wrinkled it more. “Maybe I was talking about the weight and density of my storm gutters?” He laughed. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that because that would be the most boring thing I could think of to say. But that’s exactly what it’s like every single day of my life, nearly every second I spend behind the prison bars of my home.”

  If Sophia didn’t know better, she would think Phil was bitter or angry. But he wasn’t. His jokes were genuine. He may have been miserable at home, but he lived life by his rulebook outside his zip code, so it was easy enough to see himself as even.

  Sophia wondered what else Phil did besides pay for sex.

  Truth was, though, Phil wasn’t really paying for sex. Sophia had known lots of guys like Phil. They wanted to be touched, heard, and laughed with. They wanted someone to share their warmth, even if it was temporary and artificial.

  Temporary and artificial got a bad rap as far as Sophia was concerned. Temporary and artificial could touch a person, could fill them with anticipation just fine, so said the million artificial Christmas trees which took their temporary place in the living rooms of millions of Americans who didn’t have the inclination or resources to keep a real one living at the year’s icy end.

  “Really,” Phil said. “It’s fine. But I don’t see how anyon
e can be happy when they spend all day inside, I mean NEVER leaving the house, except to buy more shit to fill it. The Internet’s cut that shit down to near zero. I’d think she was fucking the UPS man if their weren’t cobwebs on her cooter!”

  Sophia nearly spit her drink out, laughing.

  Phil looked at Sophia, seemingly surprised by his own words.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

  Sophia had seen it countless times: men who felt they were disappearing. While few things made you more visible then a gorgeous girl on your arm, guys like Phil didn’t just want to be seen, they wanted to be heard, too. Which was fine with Sophia, it was his time after all, and she would happily spend it however he wanted, especially at The Broadway. But it was still time to sway the conversation.

  Even if Phil was talking about his wife, that didn’t mean he wanted to. Sour thoughts had a way of stewing inside a person until they ended up spilling out in the worst ways, eating the social environment like acid through a paper cup.

  “One more round?” Sophia sent Phil one of her sexiest smiles.

  “Of course,” Phil ordered another round of Patron.

  The glasses were set on the table and they swallowed in a gulp. Phil’s necktie was loose, and Sophia figured his tongue was probably looser by now, too. “So what do you have planned for me tonight?” she asked.

  Phil turned away, not too long, then turned back and said, “Not sure, I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  Sophia laughed out loud. “Oh, I can’t believe that. I bet you’ve been thinking about it ever since you found me online.” She leaned forward and whispered, “What do you have planned for me tonight?”

  Phil rocked back and forth on his seat, then leaned into Sophia’s ear. “I’m going to take you upstairs to my room and fuck you.”