Escort in Training (Emma Book 1)

by James Grey

  The positive Simone is the first to make a move, pushing her tall frame towards the bar. “Hey, at least we have free drinks guys! Let’s make the most of it!”

  That much is true. Chris did tell us our tab would be picked up. I think I’m going to need something pretty strong, pretty soon.

  She orders a shot of vodka for all of us. Not exactly classy, but nobody objects. Not even Latifa. Not sure why I thought she’d be a good Muslim girl when it came to alcohol. She’s so naughty!

  Nicely warmed up, we order the pub’s most expensive bottles of red and white wine. Someone suggested champagne, but a place like this was never going to have any. We’re lucky to have something that isn’t beer.

  We find an alcove in the corner near the front door that’s big enough for all of us. It’s the best we can do to make ourselves feel less conspicuous, but it’s hopeless really. A dozen glamorous trainee hookers, dressed up as if they’re hitting London’s clubs, are like an alien landing party in this kind of establishment.

  I wonder if the regulars here know? We’re about a 20-minute drive from the house. Country people love to gossip. They know things. And if someone from the school is picking up our tab, surely the landlord here must at least wonder…I try not to think about it.

  But I struggle not to think about it. How embarrassing it would be if these people know that we’re a bunch of professional sluts in training! I gulp my wine faster than usual, and somehow feel glad I’ve wedged myself into the corner with Sarah, Alyssia and Latifa.

  These are the girls I’d choose to hang out with, and with my back to the wall, I feel a tiny bit shielded by them. Before long, with a glass of wine on top of my shot, I’ve forgotten that this is supposed to be awkward. Conversation is flowing nicely between the four of us.

  “So, what’s up between the two of you?” smirks Latifa suddenly, giving me a wink.

  My stomach jumps, but Sarah grabs my hand under the table and it calms me. I hate quizzes like this, especially from sharp people who can spot the glow and chemistry between us a mile off.

  “Nothing much,” Sarah smiles, “we’re just getting to know each other, aren’t we Em?”

  I nod in exaggerated fashion. Good answer, Sarah! And the four of us burst out laughing.

  “I’ve slowly started to take your advice on board, guys,” I admit to Alyssia and Latifa, feeling myself blush furiously. “Thanks…”

  Alyssia offers me a high-five. Are we turning into boys, with celebrations like this? But I guess, come to think of it, a bit of a male attitude to sex is just what’s needed around here.

  “And Emma’s moving in with me,” Sarah goes on, jerking her head at the far end of the table, where my Bulgarian friends are camped out as usual. “She’s much better off without all that negativity around.”

  Everyone nods in agreement. The thing with Petra isn’t just me, after all. Nobody likes her. But I’ve had the worst of it as her roomie.

  The four of us really begin to gel as we get stuck further into the wine. It’s really good to be away from the house, tittering as we compare notes on the week. Sarah gets into dramatic mode as she recounts how she felt during the chess game, and has us in stitches. Latifa and Alyssia don’t hold back as they tell of their sex adventures, though even they keep their voices down.

  Then it’s my turn. And it’s hard, even with the alcohol loosening my tongue. I skip over how I got jealous about Rupert – they’ll laugh at me, surely! I twist the story of beating him and Petra accordingly, and everyone likes the part where she gets lashed. Then I admit that I felt kind of left out during the chess game.

  “I could see it in your eyes, girl. I was watching you!” says Latifa. Dammit, she reads me like a book.

  “Well, it’s been good since then,” I admit. “It took a while but eventually Sarah…well, she’s good! Mind you, I had a bit of pain first.”

  “Oh really?” chime Latifa and Alyssia as one, leaning forward, eager for more.

  I recount the story of how I got caught eavesdropping, and thrashed by Carrie, whose eye I’ve studiously avoided catching all day. I’m not really mad at her. I figure she’s got a role to play. And she played it well. But it seems a bit much to actually be chummy.

  “Really?” says Latifa, eyes wide and shiny. “Wow, we’ve not had any of that beating stuff, have we Liss?”

  “No…but I’ve not done multiple blow-jobs like Sarah,” I reply. “I mean, we’ve all had quite different assignments, haven’t we?”

  “Hmm,” says Alyssia, “I guess we wouldn’t be very good at that submissive stuff. Maybe they don’t think it’s for us at all, so they don’t test us on it?”

  “Could be,” says Sarah. “I think it may look pretty random, but there’s a fair bit of thought gone into it. They’re clever, they are…”

  “They are,” I add, “but then why did they make me do stuff I’ve never done and have no idea about?”

  Latifa’s reply is instant: “Because they see your potential. You can do absolutely everything, Emma, even if you don’t believe it yet. People like me and Liss, we’re a bit one-dimensional. They’re probably happy that we stick to our strengths. Maybe we’re too vanilla, huh?”

  I flush bright red, and hope this nook’s gloomy light hides it. God knows why I care in present company. Sarah’s hand squeezes my thigh. “Maybe you’ll be top of the class come next week, huh Emma?”

  “Don’t know about that! Hey Latifa, how do you know? You’ve only seen me in action, what…once?”

  “I have a sense about these things, Emma. You’re a wonderful little all-rounder. And as for seeing you in action, I hope I’ll be seeing you perform more very soon…now that you’re a randy little bi lady like the rest of us!”

  Her foot’s up my skirt! She’s quick as a cat! She sits back and takes a sip of her wine as she wiggles her toe deep between my thighs. And she doesn’t seem to care if anyone knows. In fact, she’s looking at Sarah, and grinning.

  I feel a bit bad, like I shouldn’t exclude Sarah from something like this. I’m probably overthinking things again. We’ve licked each other out once, that’s all! But anyway, I grab her hand and guide onto the bulge under my skirt, just so she knows.

  And I’m relieved to see her grin right back at Latifa.

  Still, it’s getting a little out of hand. I’m starting to squirm. We’re supposed to be having a break from all this tonight.

  Latifa senses it’s enough for now, and pulls her foot away. I puff out my cheeks and sigh. Sarah withdraws her hand. I feel curiously naked.

  Chapter XXII

  The wine does wonders for that self-consciousness of ours. Another bottle arrives, and then another. We forget how out of place we are, and the giggles keep coming as the honest tales from the week begin to flow. I can almost see the release as our tension ebbs away into the room.

  This may not have been our venue of choice, but a few drinks are exactly what we all needed. Few of us have been much good at being ourselves this week. Most of us have played as cool as we can, but, apart from maybe Latifa and Alyssia, we’ve had a hard time of it. It’s been intense on so many levels.

  It’s been difficult to be friendly when we’ve felt there’s an element of competition about things. I suppose nobody actually told us we were up against each other, or that diplomas were limited or anything. But it’s a bunch of girls living together, being graded on how they satisfy a handful of strong men, while some of us still don’t want to admit just how ‘liberated’ we’ve become. I guess civility is about the best you can hope for, come to think of it.

  And that’s before you add the sparks of lust that have been flying between some of us girls. I shake my head and wonder how any of this can be real. It all seems so unlikely, so not twenty-first century. I’ve been without my phone for a week, living in a house where everything’s an antique! As for what I’ve been getting up to, well…I really didn’t expect it to be as wild a ride as it has been. No wonder we’ve all turned up here a little
dazed.

  Now, though, alcohol is doing its magic, and we’re learning to laugh at ourselves and each other. For tonight, at least. It strikes me that so much of this week would have been easier if we could have pulled together a little more. Easier said than done, of course. I promise myself I’m going to spend a bit more time around the drinks cabinet in the lounge. I feel so much looser tonight, and I like it.

  I spend some time getting to know Simone and Carol. Both pleasant girls, and beautiful in their own very different ways. Simone is tall and Dutch and confident, and I can totally see her living this life. But Carol really impresses me, because I can tell she’s naturally demure, and this has been a big step for her. She’s got that Asian flush going now, thanks to the booze, and giggles shyly when Simone points it out. I can see how appealing the little Singapore sweetie might be. I wonder if she’s too nice for this game.

  Though there is much hilarity, I’m impressed with how we manage to keep our voices down. A handful of honest, plain country women have joined the early-evening male drinkers since our arrival. When I steal glances around the room, which still smells of smoke after years of cigarette ban in England – all I can detect is disapproval from the women and eager curiosity from the men. After a while I have to admit that I quite like the feeling.

  It seems we’ve all had that whole discretion thing impressed upon us rather well. And most of us have it in-built anyway. I don’t suppose the school could expect a group like ours not to attract attention – all we can do is carry ourselves in a way that offers more questions than answers. Come to think of it, that would probably make our stock go up. A vision of a cattle auction musters in my mind’s eye, and suddenly I shudder. And then I laugh as I whisper my thoughts to Carol.

  I don’t talk to Jane, because I still don’t like her fake, awkward way. I try and chat to Diane a little, because we really haven’t spoken this week. The American redhead seems nice enough, but doesn’t offer much. I’m not sure she’s all that smart. She doesn’t navigate conversation all that well, but maybe she’s just shy. I wonder if I was like that at the start of the week. I’m quite certain I’ve changed. I think most of us have.

  Even Carrie speaks to me for a while, offering me a rare smile as she slides into a seat opposite me. I can’t really hold her eye, and I just cough and nod as I look down at the table. What do you say to a woman who only a few hours ago tied you up naked in a fireplace and tanned your hind quarters? I’m suddenly aware that there’s still a tingle in my bottom.

  “Hey, Emma,” she says with a warmth I didn’t know she was capable of, “you know that thing I do is part of a persona I work with, right? I don’t hate you or anything.”

  I look up at her, encouraged by the words but still unsure what to say. I notice she’s only drinking lemonade.

  “Actually I quite like you,” she chuckles. “You really turned me on in Miss Jackson’s office.”

  I raise my eyebrows, curious now. “Er…I turned you on? Isn’t it…I mean…”

  Christ, I know so little about her world.

  “Of course you did! A dominant like me gets a kick out of the power and the caning, but only when she has a super little submissive to give her the right vibe. You, darling, are a super little submissive. And from what I hear, you can go the other way too.”

  Oh. I guess she must be referring to my caning session with Rupert and Petra. She’s giving me a knowing look that tells me, as if I didn’t know already, that nothing stays a secret for long around here.

  “As for your treatment of Miss Jackson,” she goes on, “all I can say is that it made me want to scream with jealousy! You weren’t the only one who was wet after your beating, you know. But I didn’t want to overstep her authority. Hopefully my act had you fooled, but I’m still a student here and can only do what I’m told. For now.”

  She winks and I soften, even while blushing. So the lemonade-drinking Carrie Stafford is yet another one who isn’t quite what she seemed, and clearly it’s not alcohol talking. What next? Am I going to find that Petra turns into an angelic, cheerful kitten tonight? No, that seems a little too far-fetched.

  I’ve forgotten about her for the last couple of hours. Last time I checked, she was keeping herself to herself – herself and Lilia, that is – at the far end of the table. No interest in talking to any of us. Nothing new there.

  I glance across to my left again, and this time something has changed. My eyes go wide at what I see.

  Petra and Lilia are deep in conversation with two men. They’ve moved away from us to a neighbouring table. Neighbouring, but most definitely separate. Carrie and a couple of the others follow my gaze. It seems none of us noticed this happening. Too busy sharing salacious tales and getting drunk.

  What the actual fuck? The men are both about thrice their age, I’d guess. Both are drinking pints of dark ale and dressed in country style. There’s a hint of tweed about both of them, and neither is particularly groomed. One’s rather red-faced, the other has hair growing out of his ears. They’re model customers for this place.

  Even if this were a pub for pulling members of the opposite sex – and it most certainly isn’t – I can’t think of a less likely match than these two and those two. What in the world could they possibly be talking about? Even the dog at the bar is looking on in astonishment.

  Petra and Lilia are both leaning in, resting on their forearms, but neither of them are smiling. They seem unaware that a couple of us have started watching them. I exchange a glance with Sarah, who shrugs as if she doesn’t much care. I shouldn’t care much either. I mean, these are not men to be jealous of! And yet…I’m dying of curiosity again. Sharing a room with her has twisted my perspective.

  And now I’ve got an excuse to stare at her.

  The glow of the wall lamp reflects sensuously on her shiny lip gloss.

  What is she doing? How did this conversation begin?

  The men’s body language is curious. They look at ease and entirely satisfied. They don’t have that desperate, over-interested way about them that boys my age tend to have when they’re trying to chat you up. Maybe age cures that? Or maybe they’re just being curious, friendly locals, wondering what this odd group of women are up to.

  And yet, Petra and Lilia seem more interested in this conversation than the two granddads are. Especially Petra. I’ve never seen her so talkative. It’s like she’s deep in discussion with a lawyer about her share of a great aunt’s estate. It’s very strange. I wish I could lip read.

  Simone offers to refill my glass, and I barely acknowledge her as I push it across the table. I’m transfixed. I mumble thanks, and, just as I raise it to my lips again, Petra’s conversation seems to come to an abrupt end. She nods, Lilia smiles, and they both stand. Without so much as a glance at the rest of us, they walk out of the pub.

  Ever so slowly, with a stretch here and a sigh there, the men rise to their feet. They stroll to the stand in the far corner and retrieve their hats. It’s still too warm for anyone to need a coat. Then, nodding politely at our table as they make for the door, they let themselves out, donning their hats as they go.

  Some of the other girls are still too busy drinking to have noticed any of this, but again I give Sarah a look. Sharp Carrie has seen it too. I’m too flabbergasted to move, but Carrie gets up, steps around our table, and parts the curtain to look out of the window.

  “They’re all getting in that guy’s car,” she says matter-of-factly, staring out dreamily. “Did they not say anything to anyone before they went?”

  “I’m pretty sure they didn’t speak to anyone all night,” I mutter, insane with not knowing what to think any more. Diane nods, and Simone shrugs. Sarah just raises her eyebrows at me.

  There isn’t much will to go after them. If they get in trouble for going AWOL…I can’t imagine too much sympathy from the rest of the group.

  But where? And why?

  And why do I care so much?

  “I’m going to look for clothes,”
I slur in Sarah’s general direction a couple of hours later. Thanks to Chris and our limousine, we’re safely back in my newly-adopted room. It must be long past midnight. Country pubs like that don’t worry about traditional closing time.

  My head is spinning. Simone made us do a couple more shots before we left, and I’m not feeling great. Yet the Petra thing is bright and bold and clear as a vivid nightmare, gnawing away at my brain.

  “Sure you are, you curious cat,” she grins. “I don’t know if she’s coming back, but go on. And then please come back.” Her grin turns to a naughty pout. I frown, unable to think about sex right now.

  Moments later I stumble through the door of what is officially my room. She’s there, sitting on the bed with Lilia. They look up, startled.

  Petra makes no attempt to hide the cash in her hand.

  I make no attempt to pretend to look for clothes.

  The addled cogs in my brain wheeze into action and start to compute. Hang on a second. She’s. Counting. Money. Holy fuck.

  Her hair’s a little mussed-up, but basically there’s only a hint of just-fucked about her. I don’t even see Lilia.

  I feel entirely intimidated again, but drunk enough that I can speak. “How much do you have there?” I ask.

  I expect her to snap that it’s none of my business, but she gives me a challenging look that has an infinitesimal trace of a smile about it. It has a superior quality, but it’s the nearest thing to a smile I’ve seen from her, anyway.

  “Three hundred fifty Pounds,” she says, her tone flat. She gives a tiny sigh, as if to say it’s not a very exciting amount of money.

  “How long have you been back?”

  “Maybe one hour.”

  Jeez, they couldn’t have done very much in that time, those two. It must have been straight down to business. There’s no glow, no flush, no sated look. Wouldn’t you be a little happier? Money and sex. I think I’d be smiling. Especially if I’d just weaselled some bonus freelancing ahead of everyone else.