In the Service of Women

by Shayne McClendon

  I like to make sure my partners are thoroughly satisfied.

  Viv’s eyes were half closed when she asked me to climb over her face so she could eat me. Smiling, I moved to position myself, gripping the headboard as she worked her mouth and tongue over inch of me.

  I watched her from above as she greedily devoured me, adding to my intense pleasure. I’d pull away and smile at her frustration when she couldn’t reach me. Dipping down to let her lick me, pulling away…again and again until she begged me to let her finish eating me, begged me to let her make me come.

  I consented and settled over her, my eyes on hers as she licked, sucked, and nibbled at my pussy. I held on as long as I could, finally coming with a long groan in the quiet apartment.

  When my legs stopped shaking, I untied Vivienne and she took her turn using the vibrator on me…it was a long afternoon.

  We showered, enjoying the simple feel of our bodies being soaped up and washed clean of all the mingled sweat and come accumulated during our marathon sex session. Having company during the grooming process was incredibly intimate.

  I felt comfortable enough to ask the “just to satisfy my curiosity” question on my mind. “Do you like men, Vivienne?” I asked as we stepped from the shower onto fluffy bath mats and I toweled her dry with a pale purple bath sheet.

  I watched the soft terry as it absorbed the droplets of water from her skin, and thought seriously about ditching the towel altogether. She was drying me as well and my nipples hardened. My sex drive was being revved again and I hated to deny it.

  “Of course. I love being with both men and women. There are such lovely things to enjoy with either.” She began drying her long blond hair, standing naked and glorious against my sink. “Some of my clients are lesbians and they want nothing to do with a dick. But there are straight women who use my services also.”

  She laughed. “I guess ‘straight’ can be broadly interpreted. I started this business to cater to women, who until recently, were sorely underrepresented. Lesbians have just as many issues finding normal people as straight women do. What about fantasy? What about seeing what it’s like to have a woman’s mouth on you? The truth is, most women know they want more of something, but they’re too shy, repressed, or whatever to get it. That, darling, is where you and the others come in…so to speak.”

  She reached out to towel the fine hair between my legs and I nearly buckled. She laughed softly, “To be your age and have your energy…you could fuck all day.” She ran one end of the towel over my ass, and returned the other end between my legs, rubbing a little more lazily. “But we have a lot to go over and I need to rest for a bit…I’m much older than you.” I started to pout before she added, “However, no reason you shouldn’t come again.”

  Vivienne slammed me against the vanity and sank two fingers into my pussy, rubbing her thumb over my clit while sucking hard on my nipple. My leg instinctively came up and I ground against the palm of her hand as my head dropped back. It took me so by surprise I came within moments.

  She laughed and kissed me again. “Now, I’m going to get dressed and you’re going to take another shower. Do not come out to the living room without clothes and distract me again, okay?” I stood a little shakily and leaned to turn on the shower, getting a smart smack on the ass for bearing it.

  When she left the room, I stepped beneath the pulsing hot water and stayed there for a while, contemplating the last twenty-four hours of my life. It was a thrill to be taking a new direction. I was excited and anxious to get started.

  It was a long time before I realized my naiveté about my new job. Those first couple of days, the only thing on my mind was the experience. Imagining the material I could write one day.

  I began replaying some of the moments recently spent with Viv through my mind and found my hand sliding down my torso to play with my clit. Every moment and every orgasm with her was vivid. I worked my hips against my hand as I masturbated and when I came again I felt like I could go out and hold an intelligent conversation.

  I needed to be able to concentrate or I’d seem like some sex-crazed freak. I always had a healthy appetite for the carnal pleasures, but I never let it rule me. I couldn’t start now or I’d find myself on a slippery slope.

  I had always recognized the fact that I had a mildly addictive personality, which was why I avoided excess in any area. I didn’t drink or smoke, do recreational drugs, or date dangerous people because I didn’t always trust myself to stay in control.

  But I was strong. I knew I could handle this as I’d handled every obstacle in my life…I’d take what I needed from it and leave the rest.

  I suppose morals should have reared their puritanical head at some point over that first weekend, but I’m not wired like most people. I believe in the right of every person to make their own decisions – good or bad. I had no intention of hurting anyone and I hoped the people I crossed paths with would have similar methods of conducting their lives…so I wouldn’t get hurt either.

  When I joined Vivienne in the living room fifteen minutes later, she was perusing my bookshelves and had turned on some music. She held one of my favorite books, “Erotica – An Illustrated Anthology of Art and Literature”, and smiled when she heard my footsteps.

  I was in jeans and a tank top, barefoot and toweling my hair. She watched me turban the towel and I noticed a distinct sparkle in her eyes. She’d asked me to be prepared to discuss business and I planned to exhibit my most mature behavior.

  She returned the book to the shelf and joined me on the couch. We sat at opposite ends with glasses of fresh iced tea. At first I found it hard to concentrate. She was curled up in the corner with her long legs tucked beneath her, oblivious of her affect.

  She talked for a couple of hours about the business end of my new job while Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles played softly on the stereo. My ‘appointments’ would begin and end at her penthouse every weekend.

  I would never drive myself; Katie or Max would take me in either the Town Car or the limo. Some of my appointments would be overnights in which case a bag packed with my essentials would be in the trunk and left at the appointment location.

  I was never to discuss money with a client or accept money from a client…they paid cash via courier to Vivienne’s business office which doubled as a photo studio. I was to keep my cell phone on me at all times, in case there was ever an emergency.

  As far as etiquette, Vivienne thought I should go with what I knew. She felt I was good about sensing the needs of my lover, and would be able to determine if the client was looking to maintain control or relinquish it to me.

  She explained many customers enjoyed role-play, some relied on toys, most just wanted to have their world rocked. My new boss had no doubt I could make this happen. I was pretty confident myself.

  If there was to be a man involved, as I learned was sometimes the case, Vivienne would know before the date and find out if it was fine with me. When I raised an eyebrow at this, she explained. “Some of the girls I employ are lesbians, through and through. Rolande and Ezbeth, specifically. I make sure they get appointments with women only so there are no awkward situations.” She paused before continuing, “But there are situations where wives want to fulfill their husbands’ ultimate fantasy.”

  I laughed, “Ah, that one…yes, popular among all straight members of the species. The holy grail of men’s jack-off material. Two women going at it and worshipping his ‘throbbing member’ like the second coming.”

  She laughed with me. “They are predictable, aren’t they?”

  All clients and their significant others were checked out thoroughly and asked to submit a physical exam before she entrusted her girls to them.

  If I chose to sleep with people outside those on the job, I should be selective and let her know, for everyone’s protection. I gave her a very short list of two current casual lovers and let her know I’d asked both to get checked out before I started fucking them. People who don’t ask their partn
ers to get checked out are idiots…if you want to tap something bad enough, a little physical should be no problem. I did not play when it came to my health.

  If I ever canceled an appointment, I was expected to service the client free of charge and degrade myself until forgiven; which really meant availing myself as a love slave for the evening. This never happened to me in all the time I worked for Vivienne. My work ethic was above reproach.

  I would notice over time that several of the girls had their favorite clients and would sometimes be encouraged by Vivienne to give the client a love-slave bonus for continued use of their services. Customers loved it and the escort usually ended up with a nice bonus anyway for the thought.

  The money? It was better than clerking at the law office without a doubt. Hell, better than most jobs. For a typical overnight – which was a minimum of eight hours – I would take home seven hundred and fifty dollars after Vivienne took sixty-five percent off the top. Her cut seemed excessive unless you understood her overhead costs.

  She clothed and groomed us perfectly. She arranged all details for an evening, including hotel accommodations when a woman was moving outside her significant other’s orbit. We were chauffeur-driven and were welcome to crash at Vivienne’s condo until we were rested enough to drive ourselves home the morning after. She covered medical expenses and even provided financial advice to those of us who needed it.

  She would deposit money directly into my account before each appointment, since she was paid before as well. I was listed as a model for her photo studio, where pictures of me, and every other escort, would hang on display. Clients were billed, on the books, as regular customers for the studio. Since most of them commissioned portfolios for their private collections, everything remained above-board and the IRS remained blissfully ignorant.

  A review of an evening appointment the morning after might sometimes incur a bonus. If a client requested something unusual, they went by the honor system and sent Vivienne a little extra the next day, meaning my basic fee could, and often would, jump anywhere from eight hundred to a thousand dollars.

  Going the extra mile for a client sometimes meant anonymous gifts would arrive care of Vivienne. Items like clothing, with a request to wear it for the following appointment, jewelry, and in some cases stock options.

  It was a strange and wonderful world.

  Vivienne had been a madam for eight years and wasn’t hurting for money. After two years in the business I saved more than eighty-five grand and upgraded almost every area of my life. It was a lot of money to a young woman with no dependents or vices who’d been raised in a poor Texas town working on a cattle ranch.

  Vivienne stayed with me our second night together until almost three in the morning, having brought a nice bag of tricks for my pleasure. She finally left so I could get some rest, admitting she was the one in need of it after noticing I required very little. Sunday was going to be a busy day and she said there could be no bags under her eyes.

  I walked her to her car and kissed her passionately before closing the driver door. Some of my neighbors must have wondered about me over the years I lived in that apartment.

  I returned to the second floor and sat on one of my balcony chairs, propping my feet in the other one. I was wearing small cotton boxers and my tank top from earlier. It smelled like Vivienne. When I’d had enough talk about business and pulled her over to my side of the couch she’d resisted laughingly, but gave in quickly when I began stroking her bare skin.

  I was glad I’d taken this chance and looked forward to the work…I loved sex, it loved me, and I was young enough to blame it all on my age later in life.

  Besides, who would believe this shit was true anyway?

  Chapter Three – Silk from Sackcloth

  I rode my motorcycle to Vivienne’s the next morning. I thought I’d take Vivienne for a ride along the beach after the busy day she’d scheduled for me. Work the vibrations on her again and see where it got me. I’d definitely benefited from her reaction to the first ride.

  I wore my standard outfit: jeans, jersey, and running shoes. No makeup, no styling shit in my hair, no jewelry. I believed in the minimalist way of thinking…less was usually more. That one characteristic separated me from most of the American population. If I didn’t need it, or didn’t have the cash to pay for it, I didn’t buy it. Period.

  I played “tag” on the way down to Miami. It was one of my favorite games. Looking back, it probably could’ve gotten me killed. I’d sit at a light and begin slowly humping the tank between my legs; once in a while throwing in a quick boob grope for good measure. I’d glance around through the visor of my dark helmet to catch anyone watching. Someone was always watching.

  I’d see how many numbers were called to me as I skirted between the cars and the light turned green. Then I’d haul ass before one of the cars caught up with me.

  I know, I told you it was dangerous.

  It was the exhibitionist in me. Thankfully, I grew out of it when an SUV full of preppy college boys on Spring Break tailed me through the streets of Ft. Lauderdale. They were very persistent, and I couldn’t lose them until I made it over a drawbridge about to go up, leaving them stuck on the other side. Men are so easy. Show them a free plum and they’re going to try like hell to get it, even if there isn’t a chance in hell they will.

  When I pulled into Vivienne’s parking garage, an attendant keyed me into her elevator while imagining me without clothes. The poor thing talked to my chest, and only my chest, until the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside. I was sure to be wank material later…which gave me a private giggle. Whatever got his rocks off.

  Several people stared at me when I entered, likely estimating what it would take to work me over. I’d never been a glamour puss and I guess the pros in the room could sense it. Everyone seemed nice as they approached and introduced themselves. I doubt all of them were genuine, but that’s how people tend to be. They cater to anyone they think can give them what they want, whether they think you’re an asshole or not.

  The entire penthouse was buzzing with activity. A photography area was set up in the living room, complete with lights and backdrops. One of Vivienne’s rooms on the first floor had been converted into a full beauty salon used every weekend to pamper the escorts. Another large storage room housed a masseuse table and walk-in steam room.

  I found Vivienne in her den, consulting with a personal shopper about me. The man must have brought the whole damn store with him. Everything from lingerie to formal gowns – each with accessories – spread out on the furniture, and hanging from mobile clothing racks around the room. I drank the bottle of water I’d grabbed from the fridge and watched as she coordinated my new “look”.

  Her hair was swept up and small reading glasses sat perched on the end of her nose. A short suede skirt, iridescent pearl blouse, and matching suede heels made her the hottest librarian I’d ever seen. Hmm, I decided to remember that for later.

  She turned when she heard me cap the water and smiled. She was glad to see me and I felt the familiar flutter throughout my lower body. She pecked me demurely on the cheek and introduced me to Decklan, my new wardrobe consultant. He was gorgeous and I immediately suspected he must be gay. He looked like he should be modeling for nude sculptures instead of dressing strangers in pretty clothes and fretting about the right shoes.

  Luckily, I adore gay men because he approached me and immediately hefted each of my breasts in his hands. Not even a “how ya doing?” first.

  “They’re very heavy, Vivienne. You don’t want to go with those damn spaghetti strap bras and dresses or these will hang to her belly button. You also want to avoid anything completely strapless or she’ll look like she’s falling out, and not in a good way.”

  I absolutely hate when someone talks as if you aren’t there. He continued on, discussing what colors to never put me in, seeming to forget he still had possession of my boobs. I cleared my throat quietly and he looked at me as if I’d interr
upted the Pope’s Mass.

  “Yeah, that’s real interesting, Decklan. I agree that yellow is just not me…so right. Do you think you could release my tits now? Not that it doesn’t feel nice…but I suspect it won’t lead anywhere, if you know what I’m saying?”

  It was a little shocking when he gave them a slight squeeze before letting go. He was gay, right?

  “Where are you from, er, Sarah, is it?” Oh, the condescending tone was going to earn him a smack. Vivienne thoughtfully interjected I was from Texas and for him to stop his little snit. One last jab from Decklan, “Thought so. She sounds like Daisy Duke.”

  Vivienne snickered, “You hate it when women assume you’re gay, don’t you Decklan? Straight men with your sense of style simply don’t look like you!”

  Decklan and I locked gazes. His eyes said, “Take that…trailer trash.” Mine communicated, “Really? Do you really want to tangle?”

  We practically growled at one another but did what had to be done. Still, I wasn’t about to be the bigger person. My sarcastic remarks started to make him cringe and that gave me warm happy tingles all over.

  For the next hour, I was measured and critiqued. Notes were made to ensure my clothes would be altered where necessary. I refused to speak civilly to the fashion snob and he seemed of the same mind. I grudgingly admitted, to myself only, that his sense of color and texture was extraordinary. He put the right touches to every outfit without seeming like he was trying. I might not like him, but his skills commanded respect.

  I moved on to being plucked, filed, painted, and virtually reassembled from scratch. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed my first pedicure. I’d always been careful with my grooming, but I’d never treated myself to things like this.

  When the hair stylist got me in her chair, Vivienne left firm instructions to “neaten it…do not fuck with it” before glaring hysterically and returning to her office.

  The girl looked about my age and laughed at me in the mirror. Lucia was Puerto Rican and absolutely adorable. “She is afraid I will give you a straight bob, no? As if I would destroy such a head of hair…tsk, tsk!” She kept up a steady stream of accented chatter throughout the cut, and I learned about her entire life in a matter of forty minutes. She kissed me on the cheek when I got up to leave.