Escort in Training (Emma Book 1)

by James Grey

  “Yeah, my arse hurts but it was so fucking worth it!” Alyssia adds, blunt as always.

  There’s two ways I can take that, but I decide not to pursue it. I’m repressed, after all.

  Latifa gets up and moves closer to me. She sits down by my feet and puts a hand on my leg.

  “We both really like you, Emma, and we’re going to help you. We all know there are some cold ones around here, but you’re not one of them. You’re sexy and it’s not hard to see how much you like the filthy stuff. You try to hide it sometimes but I’ve got a sixth sense for these things.”

  She smiles. And I think back to how I screamed and moaned with Rupert inside me. She probably has a point.

  “You’ll be missing out if you can’t learn to really let yourself go. Embrace it all. Even the spunk in your face,” she leans over and runs over my now-sweaty cheek with her thumb, decrusting it just a little.

  I’m really starting to like these two. They’re like young, sexy Miss Honeywells. It’s like they’ve been here for years, done this before.

  “You’ll get the whore treatment at times. But remember everything, everything, that happens to you happens because it gives them a raging hard on. And that’s all down to you, lovely! Keep telling yourself how much they want you. Once you’re out of here, the money will remind you of that.

  “When there’s spunk in your eye and something huge up your arse, that’s Emma power right there. Think about it! And once you really let your guilt go, you become twice as powerful. They will love that you love it. When you get that part right, you will be so turned on.”

  “I know you’re right,” I reply with a sigh. She ought to know a thing or two about overcoming repression, after all. “It’s just easier said than done! Hey…you two seem to know a lot about how to play it here. You’re sure you haven’t done this before?”

  “Not at all Emma! We’re rookie hookers, promise. But we are randy bitches and we know how the world works, OK? I want to see the randy bitch inside you come out, because when she does, Emma is going to have a wicked time!

  “This stuff is easy if you only let yourself enjoy it – learning the skills will then be a breeze. You’ll have to try some new things here, but it’s all about attitude. I think this life can be for you. Anticipate the thrill. Crave the excitement. And let go.”

  The last two words roll very, very slowly off her tongue, dangling in the thick, roasting air of the hothouse. They hover there until I snatch them.

  Okay then. Let go, Carling.

  Chapter XI

  I still don’t know his name. That guy who wakes us up every morning. Him and his goddamn bell. It’s hump day today. In every sense of the word, I’m sure.

  “Miss Carling, Miss Stoycheva. Good morning.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get it over with.

  I feel the clammy sheets resting gently on my skin. Then I feel skin on skin: my thighs pressing together. With a sudden fright, I remember that I’m naked.

  But at least it’s a tiny but less of a shock today. I’m getting used to it now. And have I heard anything other than admiration for my body? In the cold light of day, there’s only one answer to that. The compliments are good for my nerves.

  I’m well-rested. Yesterday’s exertions and emotions, followed by the hot sauna, had me out like a light. I’m glad I wasn’t called upon for anything last night.

  I stretch as Mr Firth-face moves to open the curtains. It feels just a little sexy to know I’m not wearing a stitch beneath my sheet. Does he know? I bet he knows everything. Before I know it, I’m imagining him lifting the covers for a peek at me. And then climbing into my bed.

  God, it doesn’t take me long to get going in the mornings these days! A slight chill heightens the thrill – and a glance out the window tells me the weather has broken. It’s raining. More the English summer I’m used to. No sunscreen games today, I think to myself.

  “Ladies, you have new showering instructions this morning,” continues our impassive and smartly-dressed waker. “From now on, room-mates will be responsible for washing each other. Thoroughly.”

  With that, he turns on his heel and leaves us.

  Shit.

  My heart begins to race as his words sink in. After my pep talk in the sauna last night, I felt ready, even excited, for most things today might throw at me. Except Petra. I’ve learned to ignore my room-mate most of the time, but that’s going to be tough if I’ve got to soap her up and down.

  My fingers rub gently together at this particular thought. That’s weird.

  I still don’t want to admit to myself that I’m attracted to that wench.

  And I’ll bet there’ll be an audience.

  My throat tightens.

  “You know what to do, right?”

  Petra’s talking to me. That’s quite an event in itself. We’re on our walk down towards the shower room. She’s wrapped up, but I’ve remembered my instructions and am ambling along completely naked. Somehow it gives me a strange sense of superiority now.

  I can’t quite place her tone. It’s somewhere between helpful and mocking.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. You wash me and I wash you. Why don’t you do me first, OK?”

  She replies with her trademark shrug, which I assume must be a yes.

  Miserable fucking whore.

  And yet…those shoulders. Peachy. Curvy. Straight out of a soap advert.

  Sure enough, there’s a gallery today. As we step into the shower alongside the other girls, I glance over my shoulder and recognize some of the other gents I met at the ball. One is Jack, another is Frederick and the third has a name I can’t remember. He’s one of the older, less attractive ones. Also, Miss Jackson is up there.

  We’re last in. Latifa is well into running her soapy hands up and down Alyssia, and both wear broad smiles. Carrie, the tall one, is paired up with Diane, the cute little American redhead. Jane is uncomfortably pawing at the firm skin of her room-mate Simone. Lilia and Carol have settled in beneath a gushing shower head, and Sarah, the artsy English girl with the red-dyed hair, is showering solo. I guess she must have been sharing with the Irish one that ran out.

  Lucky thing. Wish I could have my own room.

  I’m so glad Petra’s going to do me first. Just when I thought I had my brain in order, my thoughts are awhirl once more. I drifted off to sleep certain of myself last night, buoyed by the encouragement from Alyssia and Latifa. They could bring men, they could bring women, they could bring whips and chains, and I was going to love it.

  But this…I just don’t know how I feel about this. I’ve been slightly horny ever since I woke up naked. And I’m antsy at the thought of being touched again. Particularly by…no, I’m going to keep fighting this. I’m not going to let myself like anything that sullen Petra does to me.

  She’s rubbing her hands with soap now. Her face is expressionless, like a hairdresser getting set to shampoo another client’s hair. At no point does she catch my eye. She moves round behind me.

  She starts with my shoulders, works her way down my arms. Clinical. Her tiny hands massage the soap into my arms. Right down to my hands. Her fingers lock into mine: she will not miss a spot. Up the inside of my arms she goes, thorough but without tenderness. It tickles a little when she brushes my armpit.

  You’ll handle this, Emma.

  Similar things are happening to the other girls receiving. Latifa and Alyssia, of course, are having a great time of it. Alyssia’s head is thrown back now, as Latifa’s hand lingers between her legs.

  Others look more awkward. I notice that Carrie, in front of me, is kneading Diane’s breasts a lot harder than necessary for cleaning purposes. Diane looks just like I feel: she wants to let go, but something is stopping her.

  The steam is rising now, and I forget the audience again. All my energy is on getting through this without…oh, fuuuuuck, hold your breath Emma, think of something else now. Don’t think of her hands on your boobs. Don’t think of her hands on your…

&n
bsp; This is getting hard. It’s the second time in as many days that I’ve had a woman fondle my breasts. And yes…it’s still nice. I look down at my toes, trying to forget everyone and everything. She’s pressing against me now as she traces a soapy trail right across my stomach, up and down my sides. Onto my hips.

  Close your eyes. No, don’t! Damn you butterflies!

  I can feel her rubbing my butt now. Her fingers glide down the side of each cheek in symmetrical unison, one by one doing a u-turn as she cups the meaty part of each one, pulling them gently towards her.

  It still feels businesslike. She isn’t lingering. She’s doing her bit for what I assume is the show, that’s all. Oh, but the touches are enough to get me going. And as I look down, I can see her sculpted feet, either side of mine, and they’re so darn pretty. I have this weird thought of her in red heels.

  What’s happening to you Emma, for Christ’s sake? I try to think of what a bitch she is.

  She takes her hands away for a moment. I feel her turn my shoulders to change my position. She’s got me facing the gallery now! Oh, Petra, why? Why does it have to be her, of all people? I feel their impassive eyes on me, and yes, it’s doing something to me. Who knew I could be this okay in front of a crowd?

  My breathing gets heavier but I look straight ahead, burrowing my gaze into the mundane, lifeless towels on the railing. It’s no good. She pushes her foot between mine and twists, prising my legs a little wider. God, I think I know what’s coming. I gulp. I want….no, shut up!

  Now she’s pressed up behind me again, her left arm holding me steady and her right arm…descending. Down, down, past my belly button and straight along my runway. I steel myself, keep looking ahead. Close your eyes. Yes, OK, close your eyes. It’s fucking Petra, okay?

  And now her glistening, soapy hand is over my bone and dropping. Her hand slows now, as it reaches my pussy. Oh! Her middle finger rolls down my clit with the accuracy of a tracer bullet. God, yes! I mean, no! Down, down, down she slides, that middle finger settling neatly between my lips as her hand descends.

  And up she comes again. I am literally holding my breath. This is so good, so fucking erotic, everything heightening everything: the steam, the naked girls, the audience….Petra. No! Not Petra! She’s not on the turn-on list, you silly girl!

  She grazes my clit again, and takes her hand away just before I lose my cool. I seize the chance to breathe out. I’m aware of the gallery, Miss Jackson and the men, in my peripheral vision, but try desperately to forget. I cannot let this turn me on.

  I hear Alyssia giggling: “Oh yes, girl, right there!”

  This isn’t helping. How the hell are they so brazen? Was I like that at the poolside yesterday? I wonder.

  Petra’s back, a fresh stock of soap on her finger. Now she presses even harder against me. Her curled hand pushes between my thighs again, but it bypasses my pussy this time. Thank God for that! But she’s going for my ass. Of course she is. It’s that middle finger again. It rubs the soap into my anus. Round and round, firmly. No! You do not want her to slide it in! I try not to think of how easily her cute little digit would enter me there, all soapy and wet. I fail. She doesn’t. Fucking tease.

  Now she pulls away from me. The trial is over. No more sensitive areas. She squats down and finishes the rest of me, lathering my legs and feet one by one. My neck wants to give in, but something tells me to keep looking ahead. What are they thinking? If only I had a different partner, I’d do the Alyssia thing, I swear I would. I think I would…wouldn’t I?

  “OK, finished,” says Petra, rinsing off her palms beneath the water. Her tone is that of some snotty kid who’s just solved a maths problem before anyone else in the class. My eyes narrow, but I say nothing. I can’t believe I let this miserable creature take me so close. I’m glad I held firm.

  So I guess I know what to do. I follow her lead. I’ll do exactly as she did. I am not in the mood to be creative or give her pleasure.

  When my hands touch her cunt and her breasts and her asshole, it’s the first time I’ve ever touched those parts of a woman. It’s a curious experience, but to me it doesn’t count. It’s too easy, too fleeting. Above all, it’s Petra, and if I’m going to touch a woman’s privates then I want it to be someone I don’t actively dislike. So for me, this is all in a day’s work. Her way will be my way.

  And yet, despite myself, I feel something else when I’m exploring her finest asset. Her skin. I’m intoxicated by that cloak she wears. Oh, Jesus, it’s so smooth. So slippery-soapy smooth. This is my indulgence, not hers. Just because I take pleasure from your sleekness doesn’t mean I like you, OK? Her little doll’s butt still has me in its snare, and I have to force myself to move on, to stop myself squeezing its teeny-tiny cheeks a couple of times.

  And what the fuck is it with her feet? I have never had a thing for feet. But hers, boy, they’re so damn gorgeous. I finish up with them, as she did with mine. I take my time, loving the feeling of wrapping my hand around her perfect heel and soaping up between each of her shiny-capped toes. And yet I’m also loving that I’ve got her standing uncomfortably on one leg, too.

  I can feel vibes of thunder coming from above, but I hold my ground. I linger on each foot, justifying – and doubling – my pleasure with the annoyance it gives her.

  At last I let go, let her stand, and clamber to my feet. I catch her eye for a moment. I imagine I see a trace of a smile start to come, from this woman whose pussy I just rubbed and who just rubbed mine. But it doesn’t quite come. If it was there at all.

  “Ok, finished,” I announce.

  I feel good about myself this afternoon. I feel good that I handled that shower session reasonably well. And I feel good about my body – I am beginning to forget my nudity, even though I’m the only naked one at lunch. And I’m feeling excited. As long as the next challenge doesn’t involve Petra, I’ll be able to succumb to the rising horniness that gripped me this morning. I can’t wait to do that.

  And the next challenge is upon me now. Naked little Emma is outside the door of the Jennings room. It’s actually the room directly beneath my own. The door swings open when I knock. I expect a man or a woman, perhaps two people. But I’m taken aback to see more. Two men. Miss Jackson. And Miss Tottingham, another of the mentors. All are seated, facing me as I enter. To the side stands Sarah, the girl with the freakish red-dyed hair. She wears a traditional French maid’s outfit and black heels.

  I assess the men quickly. I’ve seen them around, but I don’t know their names. Thank God they’re among the decent-looking ones, although nothing like as special as the two I’ve, ahem, encountered, so far. Both are dressed in thick bathrobes, no more. They’re without shoes. The two mentors are as breezy as ever.

  “Hello Emma,” says Miss Jackson with her disarming smile. “Please go and stand next to Sarah. That’s it. Now put your arm around her waist. You too, Sarah.”

  I begin to wish this was Latifa. I haven’t really spoken to this Sarah much yet. Hardly at all, really. She seems OK, a little scatty, quite out there, perhaps a dramatic type. All we really have in common, from what I know of her, is that we’re both English. Which is something, I suppose.

  Sarah seems relaxed, though. I feel the crisp fabric of her outfit against my side, and there’s something comforting in the way she pulls me close. She rests her left hand lightly on my hip bone. I shiver suddenly. The temperature has plunged today, and suddenly the side of me that’s not pressed up against her feels acutely cold.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t be chilly for long, dear,” continues Miss Jackson. “I’m not sure if you’ve met Miss Tottingham, have you? She’s in charge of anal sex training here. We’ll now leave you to the instructions of George and Robert. You will do exactly as they say. Gentlemen.”

  I begin to shake. It’s the cold, the mention of anal sex – oh my! – and the excitement. My nipples are already standing to attention from the temperature in this high-ceilinged, sparsely-furnished room. But I swear they harden
further as flashbacks from my sexual memory bank blitz across my mind. Did I tell my mentor if I’d done anal before? I am pretty sure I didn’t.

  Whatever. The truth is it’s been a while.

  I feel Sarah’s fingers tighten on my side as we await our instructions. I’m facing towards the massive window. It looks onto the driveway area, which is all gravel and bright-grey sky, framed by the sentinel trees that keep our secrets within. The trees sway – it’s windy today. I hear a crow squawk in the distance.

  Inside the room is very little besides built-in bookshelves filled with tomes, a couple of drinks cabinets and the chairs on which the staff sit. The most striking feature is the furry rug, grey to match the day. We’re standing just off the edge of it, but I can see it’s fluffy and soft. A pool of long-haired comfort. The chairs are arranged around it.

  “Miss Carling, kindly strip Miss Smith,” instructs Robert, a man with hawkish features and blonde hair. I notice a bulge appearing in the groin of his robe.

  “Of course,” I smile. I surprise myself with my readiness. The speed bump that was showering with Petra has come and gone, Latifa’s words from last night still ring in my ears once again. Anticipate the thrill. Crave the excitement. Let go.

  And I’ve been anticipating like crazy since I got the message to come up here. The craving is beginning to take over. So then, it’s just a question of letting go. I don’t have a clue what’s coming, but I think I’m ready for whatever it might be.

  I’ve never unclothed someone before, but instinctively I stand behind her so I won’t block the view. Hell, I must be a natural! I can smell the scent of her shampoo, which I’ve noticed she spends a long time using in the shower. It’s coconut and vanilla, heavenly scents for me. Her short red hair shimmers bright before my eyes. It seems to have a life of its own.

  I unhook the shoulder braces and let them drop to the floor. This is easy! I start to unbutton the blouse from the top down, and as I do so I notice the smell of her perfume mingling with that of her hair. I forget what’s to come and lose myself in the sensations my nose is giving me. I breathe in deep, once again surprised at how I’m living my role.