The Accidental Call Girl

by Portia Da Costa

  ‘Well, for this one time only, consider me a lord, then.’ He laughed and grabbed hold of her hot buttocks, squeezing them.

  ‘Yes, your lordship. Thank you, your lordship.’ Even though his fingers tightened, punishing her sore flesh and making her want to whimper, she still found herself giggling at the absurdity of it all.

  ‘You won’t be laughing soon, you cheeky mare,’ he threatened, but she could hear the smile in his voice . . . the affection? Leaning over her again, he kissed her back and shoulders repeatedly, even while he handled her tingling buttocks. ‘Dear God, I want to be inside you . . . right in you. I can’t wait any longer.’

  ‘Then don’t wait,’ she said, her body wracked by a long shudder. Was it fear, or was it longing? She couldn’t tell.

  Giving her one last squeeze, John pulled away. ‘Would you like another sip of gin?’ His voice was tight, as if he was having difficulty containing a great emotion, and was maybe as confused as she was. Her heart turned over, touched, even in the midst of sexual madness, that his thought was for her nervousness, her inexperience.

  ‘Just a sip . . . yes . . . that would be good.’ She rocked onto her side, hissing as her bottom pressed against the floor, and took the glass as he held it out to her. The bite of the spirit was fortifying, though; even one sip buoyed her up, and she put the glass aside and slid back onto her knees.

  John was beside her, and she turned to look in his eyes. They were dazzling, almost navy blue, his face an illuminated icon of desire. An agreement passed between them. Her assent, and his acknowledgement of it. She let her head drop as she saw him reach for the tube of lubricant.

  The stuff was cool when it touched her, and she imagined it as silvery as the gin as he slathered it into the hot crease of her buttocks. It was silky, but thick and unctuous, and it clung to her there, coating her anal vent and oozing down as he applied more and more.

  And then it was more than application. He began pushing the stuff inside her, thick dollops of it. Odd sneaky feelings began to gather, and she shivered again.

  ‘Relax . . . don’t be scared . . . just relax.’ His voice was low and hypnotic as he began to pack the sticky gel inside her. Panic surged, but he bent over her, kissing her back and breathing against her as he worked.

  His words calmed her. His lips against her skin were far more potent than the gin. Her body yielded, accepting his ministrations and the sensations of heat and fullness. The fiery glow from her spanking seemed to spread through her entire sex and her pelvis, warming her and inciting her needs. She wondered idly if he’d used a whole tube of lubricant on her. It felt like that. As she shifted her thighs slightly, she imagined she heard the squelch of it.

  ‘Stay still, my sweet,’ he said against her back then straightened up. She imagined him looking down on her, pleased with his handiwork and with the sight of her submissive and presented before him, her thighs parted and her anal cleft glistening. There came the small tearing sound of him opening the contraceptive package, then dead quiet as he concentrated on sheathing himself. She didn’t look round. To see him might overwhelm her. She was safe within the thick curtain of her black hair, dangling around her face.

  Breathe . . . Breathe . . .

  Apprehension welled again, but she compelled it to retreat, focusing on simply drawing air in and out, and not trying to anticipate or analyse. Better not to get ahead of herself, either in the moments that lay ahead, or the hours, days, weeks or years that lay beyond that.

  She was just a body, ready to be possessed, ready for him.

  ‘Hold yourself open for me.’

  A moan tried to escape her, but she captured it, pursing her lips as she pressed her forehead against the piled-up towels, to support herself, then reached around. A heavy slicking sound told her he was slapping more lube on his condom-covered cock, and her heart pounded as hard as her body shook. Holding her bottom cheeks apart she barely registered the soreness of her spanking.

  Again, she imagined herself, the rude, wanton sight of her own fingers on her flesh, facilitating his entrance. How lewd a snapshot of her now would be. The ultimate porno pic. And yet it didn’t feel that way, not at all. It felt wonderful, and sacred . . . almost orgasmic. Her pussy fluttered, as if he were already possessing her.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Lizzie . . . you’re gorgeous . . . the hottest . . . the most wonderful . . .’ His voice was ragged now. She knew he was exerting control, but there was a deep dark thrill at the thought he might lose it. Despite her inexperience, she wanted him to. Drawing apart her cheeks even further, she waggled her bottom to entice him, to stir him up.

  ‘Lizzie,’ he growled, pressing forward.

  The slickened tip of his cock pushed against the forbidden entrance. It felt huge, and she gasped, but before she could falter, she pressed back against him, encouraging him. He was guiding himself with one hand, but with the other, he reached around and beneath her, seeking her sex.

  ‘Oh . . . oh God,’ she moaned as he found her clit.

  ‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he said again. He was pushing slowly, but she could feel him struggling with her tightness, the resistance she didn’t feel in her mind and heart, but which her body still held on to. ‘I know it feels . . . feels peculiar at first, love, but don’t fight it. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you. Trust me.’

  He pressed harder, the fat head of his cock stretching, stretching, stretching . . . It seemed impossible, and sweat broke out all over her body. Droplets pooled at her hairline, between her breast and in the creases of her groin. Another little push and his glans entered, and she couldn’t help herself, a strange, high mewling sound did escape her lips this time. Dreadful yet wonderful sensations roiled in her vitals and she snatched her hands away from her buttocks, now he was in, and pitched forward onto thick-piled rug, folding an arm beneath her head and laying her face against it.

  ‘That’s it. That’s it. Easy, my sweet girl . . .’

  His voice, his wonderful, low, beloved voice was like a balm that soothed her fears, and flowed through her body, gentling its panicked reaction to the new sensation.

  ‘My dear, sweet girl . . . that’s wonderful . . . you’re wonderful . . . that’s it . . . stay relaxed. You’re doing beautifully.’

  All anxiety seemed to melt away like mist. The unpleasant fearful sensations dissolved with it, only to be replaced by an intense, all-consuming voluptuousness and sense of being possessed and cherished. John’s hot cock slid into her easily now, her resistance was gone. He felt huge and potent, and the might of him found areas of sensitivity and susceptibility she’d never imagined could exist. He wasn’t in her pussy, but it was as if he was there, and in her brain and heart too. His fingers strummed her clit and seemed to meet a pressure wave emanating deep inside, amplifying the divine stimulation of it. He was grasping her thigh now too, for purchase, and the way his thumb dug into the spanked flesh of her bottom cheek only added another note to the symphony of perception.

  ‘Oh God . . . Oh God . . .’ he groaned as her body rippled and gripped around him.

  Lizzie was beyond words, but she crooned and moaned as hot pleasure bloomed in a great swelling wave that engulfed her loins. Her empty vagina clenched and grabbed, embracing the memory of the cock that now possessed her arse. Her clitoris fluttered and leapt beneath his gentle, puissant fingertips.

  Tears trickled from her eyes, and flowed over her forearm, seeded by an emotion so great she could barely quantify it right at that moment. Joy. Ecstasy. Whatever the hell people called it when they were in a glorious evanescent place they might never reach again.

  She only knew, as John shouted and came, his body shaking and slapping against hers, that she loved him completely and utterly . . . and always would.

  Afterwards, John bundled her in a bath sheet and carried her in his arms to the bathroom adjoining her own room, answering her request for a little time to herself. It wasn’t so much that she wanted privacy to cleanse herself, although she certainly did w
ant that; it was more that she needed to be in her own space to gain emotional composure too.

  If she stayed close, she was afraid that he’d be kind, and sensitive to her current state of fragility, and then she’d not be able to stop herself blurting out her silly feelings to him. Impossible, stupid feelings that could come to nothing. She was the one who’d posited the notion of ‘temporary sex friends’. But John had embraced it without demur. It suited his needs. She was just a passing diversion for him, whether he paid her as a prostitute or not.

  That didn’t mean he wasn’t a good man, though. He was just a good man who didn’t want a relationship.

  And the sooner she accepted that, the better it would be for both of them.

  17

  Eyes Wide Open

  ‘So, tell me about what you really do for a living, Lizzie?’

  They were eating late in the hotel’s restaurant. Lizzie had jumped at the chance to dine out when John had suggested it. The atmosphere in their suite was too intense, too claustrophobic, even though the rooms were vast and spacious. There, she seemed to canon into her own ridiculous hopes and yearnings as if they were tangible objects, and John too seemed to be relieved at a chance to avoid them, even though neither of them had touched on anything more than the practical. As she’d expected, he’d been solicitous and thoughtful in every way.

  It might have been much easier if he’d been a selfish alpha bastard.

  ‘Well, as I’m sure you know, I mostly do secretarial temp work. It’s a bit boring, but it pays quite well and I’m not tied down to one office and one boss that I might not like.’ She gazed down at her plate. The simple chicken dish she’d chosen was exquisitely prepared, and one of the nicest she’d ever tasted, but her appetite kept flickering in and out of existence. ‘But I also sew a bit. I love dressmaking . . . which is handy, because it’s not easy to get “Bettie Page” outfits off the peg. I make clothes for my friends and friends of friends too. It’s not really a business or anything. They always buy their own fabric, and pay me by buying a bit of fabric for me at the same time.’ She put down her knife and fork, giving up on the chicken. ‘I’m not sure how the taxman would view it, but what he doesn’t know . . . well, it doesn’t hurt. You won’t tell on me, will you?’

  John smiled. He looked almost fond for a moment, then seemed to sharpen up. ‘Of course not, don’t worry. But if you’re ever looking for a bit of capital to start up your own design house, I’m your man. Don’t hesitate to approach me.’

  She could imagine it. Writing to him. Getting a formal reply from Willis, his treasure of a P.A. She’d no doubt he’d be a canny but generous benefactor. But there’d probably be no actual contact between them. Which would probably be worse than never ever having anything to do with him ever again.

  ‘Well, that’s an incredibly generous offer, but I’m not really a designer. I just use patterns and adapt them a bit.’

  ‘It’s a skill, nevertheless. And you’d be better off pursuing something creative like that, and using your gifts, than getting bored in an office.’

  ‘True. And I’m not a very good temp anyway. I’m probably actually a far better call girl than I am a secretarial assistant or database clerk.’

  John’s expression lightened, and a familiar puckish twinkle appeared in his eyes. Lizzie felt lighter too and more relaxed all of a sudden. Sex and kink seemed far less perilous territory than talk of purpose in life, and emotions.

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly got the gifts for that, too. If you really were to go down that path you could be the most sought after courtesan in the land!’ He took a sip from his water glass, and waggled his eyebrows salaciously at her. ‘I’d certainly give you a glowing reference.’

  Yes, this was much safer ground. Erotic flirtation. She gave him a slow, sultry look in return.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. I did try to give value for money.’ Reaching out, she stroked the back of his hand where it rested on the tablecloth. His skin was warm, and the elegant shape of his fingers reminded her of how they felt, touching and exploring her. ‘Although if the tables had been turned, I’d have valued your services at twice the fee you paid me.’

  Her memory pinged as she said it. What had he told her? That he’d once sold his body too. John’s blue eyes narrowed as if he’d read her thought.

  ‘I’ve been paid a lot more than that for my body,’ he said slowly.

  They were straying back into dangerously iffy territory again, but curiosity gouged at her. ‘What do you mean? Can you tell me? Don’t worry if you can’t . . . I’m just being a nosy cow.’

  Twisting his hand beneath hers, he gave her fingers a squeeze then withdrew his hand to pour them some wine. They’d both been drinking mainly water, but now it seemed as if he needed a jolt of alcohol.

  ‘I married for money, Lizzie. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.’ He took a sip from his glass. ‘I don’t know how much you’ve learnt about me from the internet, but I had a rocky time, to say the least, in my twenties . . . and became completely estranged from my father, and my family. I’d brought shame on them . . .’ His face tightened, his mouth a thin line. She could almost see the younger John, angry, confused, ashamed of himself . . . totally alone. ‘I was a mess. I knew I had a talent for business . . . but I had no capital. And then a friend came to me, someone I’d always liked, but . . . well . . . never seen as a woman before.’

  He shrugged expressively. ‘That probably sounds stupid, but it was . . . circumstances. Suddenly we found we could talk and talk, and because she was witty and kind and a lovely woman, I found I could tell her things.’ He reached for his glass again, but seemed to have second thoughts, withdrawing his hand. ‘I said I had plans to go into business and make a sodding great fortune, just to spite the old man. He thought commerce was beneath us, so much so that what money we did have was avalanching away, and we were in danger of losing Montcalm.’

  ‘But I thought your family were loaded. Montcalm is one of the most fabulous stately homes in the country. Everybody knows how amazing it is.’

  ‘It is now. Back then it was falling to bits.’ He winked at her, his wry expression speaking silent volumes. She understood immediately who had shored up the family fortunes. In secret. There was so much she still didn’t know about him, and probably never would.

  ‘This woman . . . Caroline . . . offered me a bargain,’ he went on, his voice low and level. ‘After the death of her first husband, she’d been lonely. And more than that. She really missed sex. She said she thought I was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen . . . and that I’d been sorely wronged.’ He paused, his lips twitching as if part of him wanted to laugh . . . and another part didn’t at all, perhaps the reverse. ‘She said if I’d marry her, and give her a taste of the good sex she was missing, she’d bankroll me to the tune of any sum I cared to name.’

  ‘Crikey!’

  ‘Crikey indeed. I was completely gobsmacked when she came out and suggested it, but . . . well . . . it seemed to make sense. We could both give each other something we needed. And I was a young man, in a bit of a mess . . . and hell, I was flattered too.’ He shrugged.

  But you’re still beautiful, she wanted to say. You’re certainly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Even now you’re at least twenty years older . . .

  ‘And it wasn’t as if I didn’t like her. She was . . . she is . . . an incredibly attractive woman. Witty, sexy, very warm and wonderful company. The circumstances were weird, to say the least . . . more than you can imagine . . . But it was no hardship to fuck her,’ he said in a very soft voice. ‘We enjoyed ourselves in bed.’ He did his sexy eyebrow thing. ‘I tried to give the best value I could . . . the best bang for her bucks.’

  Lizzie laughed out loud. ‘God, you really are the living end. I thought I was being outrageous, pretending to be an escort . . . but you . . .’ She shook her head. ‘So, what happened? Obviously you’re not together any more. Did she get tired of you?’

 
‘Not exactly. But we did, gradually, become more and more just good friends than lovers. We could have rubbed along like that, but she met someone else.’

  Lizzie knew her surprise must be patent on her face, because John smiled wryly. She still couldn’t see how anyone could chuck him over for somebody else, though. Had she been mad? Had his older ex-wife gone gaga?

  ‘I know . . . hard to believe. But this man was the childhood sweetheart she realised she still loved, two husbands notwithstanding. He was her true love, but he’d been living in the Far East for two decades and now he’d come back, a widower.’

  ‘So what happened . . . was it . . . was it ugly?’

  John smiled, his expression far away, complex. ‘No, exactly the opposite. We’d both known all along that it was only a temporary marriage. It was a gentle, amicable parting . . . and she was very generous. My “settlement”, if you want to call it that, was all the seed capital I needed to consolidate the evil plutocratic business empire I control today.’

  Lizzie gaped at him. No wonder he didn’t have any qualms about paying for sex. No wonder he thought nothing of the pile of money he’d lavished on her.

  ‘Wow,’ was all she could manage.

  ‘Yes . . . just described cold like that, it probably seems an obscene arrangement, but it wasn’t like that at all. She picked me up when I was in a bit of a pit, and we were friends, we still are . . . and we were passionate lovers for a while. I still have dinner with her and her husband from time to time. And I paid her back every penny within three years.’

  ‘Might take me a bit longer than that to pay you back.’

  ‘There’s no need. I do understand why you want to . . .’ His expression was strangely earnest. ‘But you don’t need to, Lizzie. I’m a rich man. I enjoy giving gifts to friends. Just consider it as that. Donate the money to charity, if you must, but don’t give it back to me. I don’t need it and I don’t want it.’