Escort in Training (Emma Book 1)

by James Grey

  Fuck. Group shower. It must be. I pray I’m wrong.

  I open the door ahead of Petra, glad that I’m not the first one inside. The showers have been switched on, clouds of steam billowing up from the black-tiled floor. And there, I assume, are the rest of my new classmates.

  None of the girls has taken the plunge yet. They all seem to be waiting for someone else to go first. There’s a nervous energy, an uncertainty, in the room as the others mill about near the benches that run along the wall opposite the shower entrance. There are towel hooks above the benches, and some of the girls are hanging their toiletry bags up.

  My heart is absolutely pounding now. I can be very naughty in the company of someone with whom I feel comfortable, but I’ve always managed to avoid this kind of situation in locker rooms. Not that I mind women’s bodies. It’s just that I feel a bit shy and awkward about it all.

  It doesn’t look like there’s going to be a choice here.

  My wish comes true as Petra leads by example. Or, more likely, just runs out of patience. Without ceremony she picks out her soaps, undoes her towel and steps into the shower like some kind of Viking goddess. There’s that ass again. Lilia, whose plump boobs look entirely fake on her smallish body, follows suit. And gradually the herd musters itself to join them. Towels are lost, and now naked strangers tiptoe, understandably coy, towards the hot water.

  I hesitate. Just do it! I shake my head and unfurl my towel. I hang it up, trying not to notice whether anyone is looking or not. I am nearly the last one in. Nobody has said a word. Meeting a new group of people is awkward enough clothed, and doing it bare only brings on more paralysis. Still, a ripple of excitement takes me by surprise. The naughtiness of it all!

  I pick a shower head. They’re closer together than I noticed last night, and it appears that there are exactly twelve of them. I’m wedged in between an unusually tall brunette and a cute little girl with shoulder-length red curls. Both are already running soapy hands across their skin.

  Only now do I notice the men. Christ, they must have been here all along! How did I miss that? Just above the towel hooks is what amounts to a viewing gallery! There are two men, sitting on plush armchairs. It’s beyond bizarre. But you just wouldn’t notice them until you were standing under a shower, facing towards them.

  Neither of the guys is the man who woke us this morning. They’re more casual, in shirts and jackets but without ties, like it’s dress-down Friday. I can’t see much more than that through the steam. That’s probably for the best, because I’m shaking now. Suddenly I want to die.

  I look away from the glaring gaze of these shameless male spectators, and catch the eyes of one or two other girls. Clearly they are as surprised as I am, and their reactions mostly mirror mine. A couple are making pathetic attempts to cover their breasts, but we’re all rooted to the spot. Only Petra, Lilia and three of the others seem happy to go on as if they couldn’t care less. My mind races.

  All I am sure of is that I feel more naked than naked. Exposed and embarrassed to a point I’ve never explored before. But I know there is no place to go. Not if I want to last a morning in this place.

  Pretend they’re not there.

  It’s easier said than done, but I begin to wash. It’s difficult, because I can’t truly forget their probing eyes. I avoid bending over, and face the wall as I quickly run my fingers over my genitals. Just then I notice dispensers on the wall: special soap for just that area. Probably wise, I suppose. I smirk to myself, in spite of everything, and rub down there again. My sense of humour, like my new-found temper, is never far from the surface.

  Some of the other girls are slowly beginning to relax. Most have accepted their situation, that they can’t hide themselves. One of them, opposite me, is still looking particularly uptight though. I watch her as I wash my hair. She is the most spectacular blue-eyed blonde. She sports a ponytail, toned figure and skin just one tiny shade browner than pale. She’s still trying to cover herself, and seems to have lost interest in washing. There’s a frightened, faraway look in her eyes.

  Suddenly she makes to leave the shower, one arm across her nipples and another hiding her pubic hair, shaking her bowed head. She races to her towel, flings it around her and scuttles out of the room. I notice the gallery follow her with their eyes as she makes for the door and runs out.

  What was that about? I’m wary of assuming anything here, but her eyes showed real discomfort. On the surface it looks like this whole thing is already proving too much for one of our number. It looks to me like she ran out of nerve. I’m not sure I can blame her. I can’t quite fathom how I haven’t done the same.

  And yet my own tension is easing just a touch. I watch Petra for direction. She is lathering herself nonchalantly. It’s efficient and rhythmic. She must know she has watchers, but she makes no special effort to cover herself. She even bends over as she reaches down to wash her legs. I don’t get the feeling it’s for their benefit; I just don’t think she’s bothered. I suspect she may have stripped for a living.

  Great, and now I’m thinking about bending over for the men. And I’m soaping up my breasts. Stop it, girl, what’s wrong with you? Nope, they’re firming up. Fuck! Can anyone see? Think of something else! Anything! I quickly take my hands away and let the water rinse my tits clean, but a glance down reveals what I can feel: you could hang a key ring off those.

  I finish up as fast as I can, switch of my taps and scurry to my towel. I rub myself down quickly, all too aware that those guys are right above me. Other girls are making for the door too, now. I glance up as I wrap up in my towel and let myself out: the two men are unmoved.

  I’m sitting on my bed again, wrapped in my towel, just trying to catch my breath. Did I just shower with 12 other girls while two unknown men watched us? I congratulate myself for not being the blonde who ran out. Maybe I can do this. How in God’s name did I get turned on at the end? Could that be…a good thing?

  It looks like we’ll have to grow up fast in this place. Will I be up to it? I think again of my ex-colleagues slaving in front of their computer screens, and conclude that I’m certainly going to give it my best shot. Anything but that.

  I feel the need to compare notes with someone, but get a sinking feeling when I realise I have only Petra for company. And she’s disappeared inside the wardrobe. No doubt picking out some figure hugging dress for the day.

  The thought of wearing the school uniform comes back to me. We were told to choose anything from that wardrobe. And it does make sense. Plus, it gives me a tiny thrill to think of myself in it. And right now any clothes at all are enough to make me want to take on the world. Let’s do it!

  “Good morning Emma, I’m Miss Jackson. I’ll be your mentor this week and I can’t wait for us to get started. I’ve heard some good things about you already.”

  The woman standing across the desk from me can’t seem to wipe the smile from her face. She must be around forty, and looks a touch eccentric. Her hair is cropped short and dyed bright blonde. Red-rimmed glasses, a pink blouse and a bulky stud in each ear give her something of a theatrical look. She’s pretty slight, with no bust to speak of, and not especially attractive. But she looks truly comfortable with herself, and that commands respect.

  She shakes my hand and motions me to sit. I smile back at her, wondering what ‘good things’ she’s heard, and smooth my skirt before taking a seat. I wonder what qualifies her to mentor here.

  “I like your choice of outfit today,” she remarks, looking me up and down as she eases into her chair. “Very appropriate. I think you might be the first of our girls ever to try that on day one.”

  I try not to blush, but I’m glad to hear I’m doing something right.

  “Thanks! It kind of made sense to me…first day of school and all that…”

  “My thoughts exactly,” she smiles. “And you’re very sexy in that, young lady. Now, in your own words, what made you want to come here?”

  Oh! This introductory meeting is cutt
ing right to the chase. I cough nervously. In spite of the otherworldly shower experience and her reaction to my outfit, I still can’t quite bring myself to reference hooker training directly.

  “Um, I lost my job a week or so ago…well, I walked out actually. And then…I guess I was open to ideas, and a friend of a friend told me about…you know…this.”

  Miss Jackson nods encouragingly.

  “You can say it, Emma, it’s okay. You’re training to be a prostitute. A sexy, irresistible and highly-skilled prostitute.”

  I nod, grimace and look down at my knees. The words still jar. She really enunciates the three t’s in prostitute, like rapid fire. Just so I’m in no doubt. Is this my life I’m living this morning? What on earth has happened to me?

  But my mind flooded with images, too, when she said ‘sexy’ and ‘irresistible’. Oh, and my, how sexily and irresistibly she said those two words! I think I see Charles again. Jesus, Emma! Do you want this or not?

  She interrupts my daydream. “Now, having told you how lovely you look in those clothes, I need you to remove them.”

  I look up at her, shocked. She’s dead-pan.

  “Please stand up and take everything off,” she says patiently. “You can put your clothes on the chair.”

  I try not to sigh out loud. They want me naked again? I only just got dressed! I think my leg starts to twitch, but I stand up. I feel like a newborn lamb getting to its feet. You can do this. Don’t show her you’re scared.

  “Okay.” I try to give her a convincing smile. “Any particular order…?”

  She waves my question away: “Relax, girl, it’s not a striptease. I just need you naked. It’s a logical starting point, don’t you think?”

  Logical? I don’t know. Logic, like my whole world, has been turned upside down for me in the past few days, but I nod anyway. And pull off my schoolgirl slipper-shoes. Then the long socks: first the left, then the right. My bare feet feel sticky against the varnished wooden floor. I unbutton my blouse and slip it off my shoulders. I have to force myself to stay facing her. Then I undo the clip on my little grey skirt, and add it to the pile on the chair.

  I am down to my underwear now. I’ve put on some of the lingerie provided in my drawer. As instructed. Lacy white bra and panties, relatively modest. The air feels close in here. Muggy, even a little moist. I reach behind my back and unhook my bra, freeing my breasts. She sits back in her chair, seems to like what she sees. But I avoid her eye as I pull down my panties and place the lingerie on the chair.

  And now I try to stand up tall, hands behind my back. And I’m fucking naked again. Probably balancing on the outsides of my feet, like I always do when I’m nervous.

  “That’s lovely, Emma,” says Miss Jackson, oozing approval. “Really, you’re quite beautiful.”

  I feel a tiny wave of calm wash over me. There’s a long pause. She’s just taking me in, the happiness dancing even brighter on her face. I feel flattered, but at the same time massively uncomfortable.

  “You’ll get used to this kind of thing, trust me,” she says, getting up and walking around the desk towards me. “You’re doing well. I’ve seen girls go to pieces.”

  “Er, yes. Actually…I think I saw one struggle in the shower this morning?”

  “You did, Emma,” she says wistfully. “It’s a real shame, but Cassie won’t be staying with us. She decided it wasn’t for her. Pity: as you will have noticed, she is a real emerald. And such a beautiful Irish accent too.”

  She’s standing right in front of me now. I’m kind of glad we have something to talk about that isn’t me.

  “So…we’re down to eleven?” I ask, stupidly looking at her shoulder blades.

  “That’s right, you’re an even more select group now! Okay, keep still while I take a nice look at you.”

  And with that, she touches my breasts. She brushes her thumbs across them both. I breathe in sharply. Somehow I’m not offended, just taken aback. Her hands are warm, but they feel rough, more like those of a man. She gives them a gentle squeeze, then lets go.

  “Ah, Emma, I have a feeling the men will like to have these in their hands. Classic shape and size, and all natural. A surgeon could do no better. Lucky girl!”

  She walks around behind me, ever so slowly. She takes in every angle, pauses as if to sniff the air around my body. Behind me now, I hear her take a step back.

  “Yes, yes, I can see that they were right. Your reputation precedes you, young lady. Stunning cheeks. Oh, they’ll get some attention alright. You have no idea how much potential you’ve got.”

  If she’s trying to build me up and relax me, she’s doing a good job. I allow myself a smile, since I know she can’t see my face. “Thanks,” I murmur.

  “Now please bend over for me.”

  Okay, there goes the relaxation. Nice one, lady. Now I feel like a slave at an auction again. You can’t turn back now. Do you want to run scared like the Irish chick?

  “Let’s have your feet apart…that’s right...all the way down now, hold onto your ankles. Wonderful!”

  I’m trembling a little, but whether it’s the awkward position or the newness of it all I’m not sure. And I thought I felt exposed in the shower! My bits must be looking her straight in the eye. I hope she’s happy.

  “Oh, Emma! I’m lost for words!”

  This gets weirder and weirder. I gather she’s impressed again. Should I say something? All I can manage from down here is a grunt. Probably not great.

  For some reason the office comes back to my mind. If they could see me now, bent double with my naked vagina under inspection! I’m not quite sure if it’s an improvement, but it’s certainly different. I definitely didn’t need to go to South America for adventure.

  “Now don’t move,” she orders, “just spread your legs a little wider.”

  I do as I’m told, my brain practically in meltdown. But all I hear is what sounds like her taking something out of her pocket. She takes a step forward. I sense her close behind me. I can see her shoes through my legs. What’s in her hand? There’s a pause, but she doesn’t touch me. I tense. I’m on tenterhooks, fearing the unexpected. And then I hear her take a step back.

  “Up you get!”

  What was that all about? I don’t feel it’s my place to ask right now. I just stand up straight again. She gives me a light slap on the bum as she passes me and walks back to her desk, still flashing a toothy smile at me. I wonder if she might be a lesbian. She does look the part.

  “I’d like you to stay nude, Emma, but please have a seat on the other chair.”

  Clearly I am going to be getting plenty of practice in my birthday suit. But if I keep getting reactions like hers, I might just get used to it. I sit down on the wooden chair, crossing my legs and placing my hands on the arms.

  “I like to know exactly what I’ll be working with, you see. If all goes well, at the end of two weeks, you’ll be ready to do a shoot with a photographer at your agency. Photos that will sell you to clients.”

  I nod again. Pretend I didn’t hear the word ‘sell’.

  “So Emma, your training follows a loose basic structure. The first four or five days are an assessment of where you’re at. That means testing you, seeing how you react to situations. We find this far more useful than asking you to fill out some silly forms.”

  I gulp. I guess I’ve had a couple of those tests already, then. And nobody could be naïve enough not to figure out what might be coming next.

  “Some of these situations you can imagine, others may be less familiar. We don’t believe in preparing you for them, because we want to gauge your natural responses and get a feel for your experience levels. There is no need to try and impress. You won’t see me all the time, but I will have my sources. You won’t encounter anyone whose opinion I don’t trust implicitly.”

  I shiver a little at the implications of her deliberately vague words. I feel ridiculous, sitting here stripped, cool wood against my bare bottom, listening to such talk. I
wonder if I am about to wake up, sweating and wet at the crotch. Because…how could I not be excited?

  “Later in the week, assuming all goes well, we’ll meet here again and formulate a plan for the rest of your training. That means deciding where we want to focus our efforts, and why. Much will depend on your strengths, preferences and aptitudes. You’ll have a full say in which way we go and how we examine you in the last couple of days. Between now and then, though, the important thing is for you to enjoy yourself as much as you can.”

  All of a sudden I am naked, blindfolded and bent over this very chair. Footsteps heavy with intent, approaching behind me. The sound of a zip.

  “Emma? Cuckoo! I like that you’re dreaming already. But come back to the room.” She winks at me.

  Shit, was my filthy daydream that obvious? Suddenly I begin to worry about the state of this chair when I stand up.

  “Um, sorry,” I say. I can’t hide much from this lady, that’s for sure. I cross my legs the other way, relieved that I don’t feel any trace of moisture. Stopped just in time, I guess.

  “Don’t apologize,” says Miss Jackson. “Now, as I said, we’re not interested in ticking boxes at this stage, but a candid chat does help me understand who you are. I’d like to hear about your sex life. In your own words.”

  Chapter VI

  Miss Jackson leans back in her chair, offering me no further guidance. I take it she’s all ears. She’s after my dirt.

  I swallow hard. Suddenly being naked in front of her seems like the easy part. But speaking of my sex life? My, that’s a broad question. I hope I’m right in thinking she isn’t going to judge me for anything I’ve done. More likely things I haven’t.

  “Uh…OK...” I mumble.

  She smiles warmly at me, tilting her head to one side. But she just won’t offer me the crutch of a more direct question. I say the first thing that comes into my head.