In the Service
of Women
When you sell your body you lose little pieces of your soul…
Shayne McClendon
Copyright © 2012 Shayne McClendon
Cover Photo by DepositPhoto and Allegra Strategy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author and publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Also by Shayne McClendon
The Barter System
Yes to Everything
Damaged
The Hermit
Woman’s Best Friend
Revenge is Best Served Hot
Ready to Rumble
Somebody
Makeup and Blowjobs
Makeup and Blowjobs – The Naughty Trio
Acknowledgments
To my beautiful, encouraging readers:
You come from all age groups, races, both genders,
religions, political beliefs, sexual orientations, and walks of life.
I adore you.
Without you, this would still be a hobby.
Much love,
Shayne
Author’s Note
“In the Service of Women” was the first full-length erotica novel I wrote. It took me more than ten years to finish because I didn’t believe in myself. I know better now.
It has a special place in my heart even though it can be a little rough around the edges.
I hope you like it.
Shayne
About the Story
When Sarah is recruited as a high-end call girl servicing women, she embarks on a journey of passion and self discovery that will alter her view of herself and her life.
Initiated into a world of passion and excess, she accommodates her clients’ every carnal desire, until she learns they may need more from her than sexual release.
After two years spent in the world’s oldest profession, she walks away from it with lessons that will change her forever and no regrets.
Table of Contents
Prologue – October 2005
Chapter One – The Beginning
Chapter Two – The Details
Chapter Three – Silk from Sackcloth
Chapter Four – The Others
Chapter Five – The Attorney
Chapter Six – The Singer
Chapter Seven – Lemons and Lemonade
Chapter Eight – Reality Check
Chapter Nine – The Housewife
Chapter Ten – Is He For Real?
Chapter Eleven – The Bartender
Chapter Twelve – A New Millennium
Chapter Thirteen – The Marketing Rep
Chapter Fourteen – Changing Direction
Chapter Fifteen – Monica Continued
Chapter Sixteen – Back at the Office
Chapter Seventeen – The Super Model
Chapter Eighteen – Hanging Out
Chapter Nineteen – The Pilot
Chapter Twenty – Farewell to Friends
Chapter Twenty-One – Missing Normalcy
Chapter Twenty-Two – The Chef
Chapter Twenty-Three – Just Business…
Chapter Twenty-Four – The Rookies
Chapter Twenty-Five – The College Student
Chapter Twenty-Six – The Morning After
Chapter Twenty-Seven – The First Time Client
Epilogue – The Road Less Traveled
About the Author – Shayne McClendon
Prologue – October 2005
At the age of eighteen, I became a call girl for an escort service…run by women, for women. There have been many books on the market portraying call girls as ‘making it’ on their backs, taking their clients for everything they could get. Their customers meant nothing but cash to them, and they make no excuses for that. I applaud their detachment.
I was a totally different breed…more the ‘hooker with a heart’ type.
This isn’t a book about clients. It’s a book about people. I originally went into the occupation for the adventure. I stayed in it because of the people. The money was gravy.
At the end of the day, if money is your main motivation, you’re going to end up feeling pretty fucking empty. I don’t live like that. I embrace every moment, every experience, for all it’s worth. I go through life with my eyes open and do the best I can to be a decent human being.
With that said, this story is about my journey from a young woman to a better woman, traveling a path of luxury and mind-blowing sex in a world I wasn’t really cut out for in the end. I’m not a lesbian; I guess most people would label me bi-sexual, if I was one for labels. I wasn’t ‘fooling anyone’ or ‘living the life’.
At the time, I was just living my life.
Courage in our youth conceals an ignorance of reality. Things can get dicey when you come to realize even small choices change your entire life. My life today is far removed from the one I used to lead. But I’m the person I am in part because of the time in my life I share here. I have no regrets.
I hope you like the journey. If you don’t, no worries. My story isn’t for everyone.
S.
Chapter One – The Beginning
Ft. Lauderdale, April 1999
My entrance into the world of the call girl began on a quiet Friday afternoon at the unlikely location of a law office where I worked part-time. I clerked for a family attorney named Monica Carter, who was also my lawyer.
I was eighteen then but I’d already lived on my own for almost three years. I’d felt like an adult since I was six and not much could shock me.
My work with Monica was in addition to attending my senior year in high school. I was an insomniac and had been since I was little. I accomplished a lot more in the course of my day than most people. I kept my grades up. I dated when the mood struck. I worked the rest of the time.
Boring. Average. Safe. Not much of a life.
The world was in a strange place socially, politically, and environmentally (isn’t it always?). They’d tried (and failed) to impeach President Bill Clinton for ‘indiscretions’ that none of our past presidents had been hauled in front of Congress for. I’m not saying its’ right, I’m saying its’ none of our damn business if they do the job they were hired to do.
Louder and louder rumblings about global warming were being heard while we continued raping our planet and her resources one acre at a time.
Dot commers were making a killing and believed their bubble would never burst as they bought up Star Wars memorabilia and lived the ‘good life’.
The first waves of panic about the new millennium and possible apocalypse were crashing across the landscape. This had the end-of-the-world groupies foaming at the mouth.
I’d always done my best to stay under the radar. I’d had a rough childhood I was still hiding from. You won’t be getting my sob story here. It’s not only depressing but self-defeating.
The short version?
It was a long and sordid tale causing me to leave my home at fifteen and file for legal separation from my parents, which is how I originally met Monica. She was a customer at the grocery store I used to work in. She did the case pro-bono but I don’t take anything for free. I asked her what she would have charged me and worked it off by helping at her office. When my debt was paid, I kept working. It was a good
arrangement for both of us and looked good on my college applications.
I worked, I studied, and vowed to make better choices than my family had. I was due to graduate in two months. I enjoyed my own company, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn down something interesting if it came knocking on my door.
The ‘knock’ I’d been subconsciously waiting for came one sunny afternoon in the form of a beautiful woman named Vivienne.
Vivienne was a former model frustrated with Father Time for sweeping her “past her prime” as I would hear many times over the years I knew her. When I met her, she was thirty-six. Almost twice my age, twice my body, and twice the balls of any man I’d ever met before.
She was 5’10”, long blond hair, and bright blue eyes. She could be compared to someone like Uma Thurman in “Kill Bill”, only better looking. She’d been blessed with a body most women would happily commit a crime to possess. Breasts of the perfect size and shape. Legs that could make anyone (male or female) beg for mercy. I was certain she was begged for mercy on a regular basis.
She’d been alone with Monica in her office for about an hour when she joined me in the small courtyard area where I took my lunch breaks to read. From the corner of my eye, I sensed her watching me as she lit a long European cigarette. She was dressed in crème slacks and an electric blue silk tank top. Her heels were crème leather and added another 3” to her height. A Viking goddess come to life.
She didn’t approach me immediately, just openly stared. It didn’t take long to make me squirm. I had deep red hair to my waist and light hazel eyes. I maintained a fairly tight body and narrow waist from running cross-country track and working all the damn time. I was tanned and slightly freckled.
A set of 36D breasts had been with me since fifth grade, when I was teased unendingly by my classmates. No one has teased me about my chest in a long time. I’ve had my share of staring and I’m never comfortable with it.
That day, I wore jeans, a soft Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, and running shoes. My hair was braided down my back and I wasn’t even wearing lipstick. Not my most glamorous, but I guessed she was glamorous enough for both of us.
I met my initial nervousness head-on by looking directly at her and flashing my friendliest Texas smile, guaranteed to win friends, influence teachers, and make most young men cream their shorts.
It seemed to do the trick and she came to sit beside me, her heels clicking lightly over the Mexican tile of the courtyard. She sat and leaned her back against the wrought iron table, crossing her long legs with a natural grace I envied.
“What’s your name?” She asked. Her voice sounded fresh from a New England prep school.
“Sarah…and yours?” I responded, automatically putting my hand out to shake in introduction. She gave me a smile and a slight nod, seeming to answer an unspoken question.
She shook my hand but didn’t let go of it right away. She examined my nails, which were short but neat; turned my hands palm up and ran a polished nail down the center of one, bringing her gaze back to my face. “My name is Vivienne, and I’d like very much to be your friend.”
After the life I’d led, I was able to sense bullshit real fast, but so far no alarms were going off. “Sure, who can’t use friends?” I replied.
“Today is going to be a good day, Sarah. I’d like to take you with me for the rest of the afternoon. Would you like that? I can speak to Monica.” She took a long drag of her French cigarette. The smell of that tobacco still reminds me of her.
Monica was cool to work for and gorgeous to look at, but I didn’t think she’d go for the idea of her clerk playing hooky. I said as much to Vivienne, and she responded with a laugh.
“No worries. Monica and I go way back. We were sorority sisters in Boston. She’s one of the reasons I’m here talking to you, but we’ll discuss that later. I’ll go speak to her as long as you don’t mind.” She took a final puff and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table, meeting my gaze and waiting for my answer.
I knew this woman was different from anyone I’d ever met. I was subtly aware of an unspoken opportunity presenting itself to me and I wasn’t about to let a single chance slip by. She was beautiful and seemed sane enough…and I could peg insane people at a hundred yards.
There was also the familiar stirring in my low abdomen that I wasn’t going to ignore. “I’ll grab my stuff.” Her smile was predatory when she nodded.
Half an hour later, I climbed into Vivienne’s Mercedes convertible and we headed to her penthouse in Miami. I’d never been to Miami before and that first drive scared me to death. The roads are narrow and the drivers have a death wish.
Vivienne seemed unconcerned, driving ninety all the way, swerving between cars like she was running the Indy. She had a Bon Jovi CD playing and was tapping the steering wheel in time with the music.
She made small talk, asking about my life, what I wanted to do, did I have a boyfriend.
I skipped over discussing my past since it would have been a downer and went straight to aspirations. My dream was to be a writer and I was banking my future on a full journalism scholarship opportunity with a couple of colleges who’d been courting me.
In the meantime, I was the editor and self-help columnist for my high school newspaper. I was in my third year with the paper. I was proud of my brain, prouder of my common sense. Even as a very young woman, I noted the lack of this trait in almost everyone around me.
As far as a boyfriend? No one at the moment, no one I had my eye on. I’d dated plenty, been through a couple of steady boyfriends…as well as a couple of girlfriends. Vivienne smiled at that.
I explained that I didn’t have a preference at the moment, but I’d choose a team if there was ever a real reason to. There are pros and cons to dating anyone – no matter what their gender – but why limit your options by excluding half the population?
Vivienne maneuvered her car off I-95 and through narrow side streets, pulling into a parking garage beneath her building on South Beach. She parked and led me to a private elevator.
At the top, the doors opened to the most gorgeous loft space I’d ever seen. The opposite wall was a solid window overlooking the ocean.
The rest of the room was done in varying shades of white; a beautiful backdrop for the impact artwork and modern furniture done in every color scattered around the room. There were multiple seating areas, with thick rugs over crisp white tile. A huge fireplace adorned one half-wall; a built-in saltwater fish tank decorated another, both adding to the effect of openness.
Vivienne took my backpack, placing it in a small coat closet near the elevator. She paused in the living room to turn on the stereo, and then took my hand casually to lead me to the kitchen. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.” She brought me a bottle from the fridge, making a small vodka-cranberry for herself. We sat side by side at the island bar while we drank.
“You run track?” She asked me politely. I nodded and told her a bit about cross-country running. I’d done fourteen miles that morning. “I would not have the stamina for that. I’d need a week to recover.” I seriously doubted she’d ever had trouble with stamina in her life but I let it go with a smile and no comment.
The kitchen was done in a shocking shade of plum purple, with matte finish steel appliances. The effect was beautiful. There was another spectacular view from this room and a small shaded balcony off the breakfast nook. I could tell she never cooked, but it was lovely.
Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On began playing in the background, one of my favorite old songs. She brought up the subject of music and was surprised that I leaned toward artists from the sixties and seventies more than current hip-hop and pop most people my age were listening to.
The small talk got me to a point where the suspense was killing me.
I placed my water bottle on the counter, looked at her, and asked, “I want you to know I’m not a child, either in age or mental capacity. I don’t mean any disresp
ect but I think you may want to fuck me and I’m cool with that. There’s no need to talk me into it.”
Vivienne’s eyes grew wide and her mouth slightly parted. I thought for a moment I’d read the situation wrong, and she was really looking for a nice girl as a charity case or something. I was about to apologize when she leaned forward and locked her mouth to mine.
Thank god! I was worried my fuck me meter had gone on the fritz.
I let her explore my mouth for a few seconds while I learned her style and then I gave as good as I got. I stood and turned her towards me on the stool, stepping between her legs. One arm going behind the small of her back, the other cupping the base of her skull to anchor her for my assault.
I licked and sucked her lips until she was out of breath then let her get some air while I kissed a gentle trail along her jaw and down her neck. Her pulse was jumping and I loved that.
Vivienne rested one hand on my shoulder while the other traced the long braid down my back. She found the clasp, unsnapped and dropped it to the floor, unraveled my hair. She wrapped it around her fingers, watching it bounce into the natural curls I worked so hard to brush out. A handful went to her face and she breathed in the fresh smell of coconut.
For a moment, she was in her own world. Running her hands over my back and ass. I felt like one of my uncle’s horses at auction. Turned out later I wasn’t far off the mark but I didn’t mind. She had a soft touch that caused very nice sensations up and down my spine.
I was doing my own exploration of her face, neck, and shoulders with my mouth. She was incredibly smooth with a soft scent of peaches and expensive tobacco.
I slipped my hands around her waist and pulled her closer, moving inside the silk top she wore and up her back with massaging fingers. She was so warm. I didn’t hesitate to lift the blouse over her head, and never gave a second thought to removing her satin bra, dropping both on the ceramic tile of her kitchen. In sex, any surface was fair play. As long as it looked reasonably clean, everything and everyone was washable.
In the Service of Women Page 1
