by James Grey
I don’t answer, and look out of the window again. Don’t take it out on Sarah!
I’m just so irritated that he’s trying to come back and haunt me. And it’s not even the kind of lame, take-me-back sort of pleading that’s much easier to brush off. There’s a bit of intrigue there, with his ‘you don’t know the whole story’ thing. What does he mean by that?
Maybe it’s just a ruse to get me to reply. False bait. And on a Friday evening, of all times? Some cheek. That was always our night. Is it an accident that he messaged me tonight in particular? Any thought of him seems to strike deeper around this time on a Friday.
Sarah’s hand stays put, her fingers moving with the light tickle of a spider walking across my skin. It’s a magic spot that she’s discovered since we’ve gotten together. About a third of the way up my inside thigh. The tickle is nice. Very nice.
“Come on, Emma, this is our night. Think of how hot this thing is that we’re doing!”
“I know, you’re right,” I sigh, giving her an unconvincing smile. “Sorry, it’s not you. I’ll get into it once we’re there. You know I will.”
“Good,” she smiles, “because I’m going to keep touching you right there until we arrive. Look, we’re at Queensway! Five minutes and we’ll be there.”
“More like fifteen in this traffic,” I remark. This is an unusually early appointment, and the city is still busy emptying out. And while my life may have gone nuts in the last six months, there’s been no change on the London congestion front.
She doesn’t reply, just leans across and kisses me instead. I think she wants to go deeper with her tongue.
“Hey, lipstick, babe - careful! We can’t turn up looking like a mess. We’ve got to save it for when we get there.”
Sarah sighs and pulls away.
“And anyway,” I say, meeting the driver’s interested gaze in his rear-view mirror. “Our man needs to keep his eyes on the road!”
“Alright, alright,” she concedes. She catches my eye, though, and mouths the words ‘Horny. As. Fuck.’
“Me too, as always,” I wink. “And I’m glad you’re not nervous. There’s a lot of new stuff going on for both of us tonight!”
“Oh I’m all good, don’t worry about me,” she declares, as if she’s never had a moment of doubt in her life. “You’re the one who needs to get your mind on the fun side.”
I nod, take a breath and resolve to gather myself. We’ll be there any moment now. We’ve just turned through the guarded gates of Millionaire’s Row, a tree-lined, private road otherwise known as Kensington Palace Gardens. It’s full of ambassadorial and other vastly expensive houses. Some remarkable people live in this street, a fact pretty much every Londoner knows.
Even Sarah goes silent as she takes it all in. Each house here is on a dozen-bedroom scale. Buckingham Palace aside – and maybe Kensington Palace away to our left – there isn’t supposed to be room for this kind of property here in the heart of the city. Simply put, you have to be someone extraordinary to live here.
Leaving the monstrous Russian embassy on the corner behind, we glide about halfway down the dark, slick asphalt. There are few people wander about on this odd road, as it’s a poorly-lit street. By day, the tourists pass by and gawp at the opulence. But by night, it’s playtime for those millionaires.
Unsurprisingly, tonight’s client is a public figure. People would gasp if they knew what this banking executive, very much in the news for his role in re-establishing one of the UK’s leading banks following the financial crisis, was up to this evening. We googled him before coming out, which revealed a surprisingly young, clean-cut man with a penchant for blue suits. The news reporting around him is good: he’s perceived as a sensible ship-steadier.
He’s not married, of course, in keeping with Lucy’s regulations. I suppose the public assume, as they would, that he’s looking for ‘the one’. Or that he’s gay. It might never cross their minds that he’s perfectly content with the company of high-class prostitutes. Still, the indulgences of bankers is a sensitive area, and the need for confidentiality tonight is stricter than ever.
“Ready?” I ask Sarah as the car pulls up in front of an unmarked house flanked by what must be another couple of embassies, judging by the flags flying above their doors. Just a couple of lights appear to be on, with only two of the second-story windows illuminated.
“Can’t wait,” she says, giving my leg a final squeeze as she moves to open her door.
“Leave that,” I laugh. Tonight is Sarah’s first chauffeur pickup. “The drivers always open up for us. Welcome to your new life of being treated like fucking royalty!”
“As long as we’re having sex soon,” she says. “I do have a few butterflies, but they’re only making me more turned on.”
“I’m sure it won’t be long,” I tell her as the driver lets me out. I give him a fifty-Pound tip. This being a Friday, and a unique double act cleared for anal, we’re on seven grand each tonight. If he were a kinky sort, you could probably double that, but Lucy has rightly taken the view that there’s enough new stuff going on for both of us this evening.
The driver thanks me, lets Sarah out, and we step across the pavement. We have to ring a buzzer at the gate, which stands a few yards in front of the house. Even in this wealthiest nook of wealthy London, there’s not much room for an elaborate front garden.
There’s a silence after I hit the button. Both of us fixate on the tiny camera that’s watching us. I hope he likes what he sees. I’m wearing minimal make-up as usual, but I’ve gone for a dark lip gloss that might emphasize the wickedness of what we’re going to do. Sarah’s gone a little bolder, with red lipstick and blue eye shadow. Her skin is glowing.
We were sent clothes for this assignment, which happens at least half the time and means I’m already equipped for just about any party I want to go to. And tonight’s selection must make us a colourful sight. I’ve been required to wear a tight, figure-hugging purple dress that ends just above the knee. I also received specific instructions to ponytail my hair, keeping it tight and neat.
Sarah had the same instruction, which was a challenge for her chaotic mop. Fortunately Lucy saw that coming, and had Sarah sent for a serious styling and straightening session before the photo shoot. After emerging slightly blonder, she looked a million bucks. Almost like a new woman. Tonight she’s in a looser-fitting dress, bright red, with a lower cut that shows off her appetizing cleavage, though not to excess.
I suppose our client might not want obviously tarty women to be seen turning up at his door. But tonight, of course, he wouldn’t have much to worry about. We’re wearing coats.
After a few seconds, we’re buzzed in without a word. The front door gives a mechanical click just as we’re about to knock, which I take to mean we’re supposed to push that open, too. My heart’s beating heavily now, all of my attention focussed on this next adventure. My first with Sarah.
There doesn’t seem to be anybody around. A couple of candles flicker in the entrance hall, but that looks like the only sign of life. I shut the door cautiously behind me, wondering what we’re supposed to do. I’ve never arrived at a client and not met a person before!
“Look,” whispers Sarah, pointing to a small whiteboard easel at the bottom the stairs that begin just in front of us. “Do you think that’s for us?”
Leave your coats on the rail behind you and climb the stairs, holding hands. Move slowly as you go. When you reach the top landing, proceed to the left, then to the left again. Enter the first door on your left. Continue holding hands, and do not talk. Do not look around. Move directly to the bed and proceed.
I smile. The games these guys like to play! Well, I’m fully on board with this one. The instructions are clear enough. Actually, I love how direct and precise they are. My arousal is growing by the second.
“Oh yes, that’ll be for us,” I murmur back to Sarah. A reverential kind of tone seems the appropriate thing for this house. I look at the board again.
She grins, excited that the undressing has begun, and that I’m the one doing it. I free her from her jacket, exposing her bare shoulders to the flickering orange light, and then she takes mine. We turn together and turn to face the staircase, with its red carpet and oaky smell. I notice more candles placed on the steps, at regular intervals. The effect is alluring and erotic already.
“This is going to be hot,” I tell her, quite unnecessarily. It’s still very early days in her career, and I just want to make sure she’s protected from any late rash of nerves. I kiss her very lightly on the neck, and, as usual she purrs. “Here, babe, take my hand.”
She slips her left hand into my right, and it feels like a glove. We’re a very, very long way from having to act tonight, I feel.
“Slowly, remember,” I remind her. “Slow and sexy wins the race…”
I’m pretty sure we’re on video right now, or at least under some kind of observation. Otherwise why would we need to hold hands and walk in a certain way? Whoever is waiting for us up there – our client, I presume, although I’m learning never to jump to conclusions in this game – wants to enjoy the build-up, I guess.
After what seems an eternity of placing our high heels on each step more deliberately than we’ve ever done in our lives, we arrive at the silent, candle-lit landing. There’s a strong smell of masculinity in here. The ornaments I can see on the wooden side cabinet match that. Model ships, leather bellows, antique paper weights. This place is way more of a throwback than I expected from a modern banker.
I wonder if he actually lives here. After what Martin said about Charles not owning that house, I’m starting to wonder if there’s some kind of weird house-swapping game going on in London at the moment.
Okay, NO MORE Charles thoughts.
The left turns leave me pretty sure we’re not heading for the front windows we saw lit up from the street. Probably for the best, if he wants to keep things as private as possible. It’s likely that Kensington Palace lies over the fence out back, which I suppose is preferable. I’m sure we could trust William and Kate to be discreet if they saw anything through a window.
I lead Sarah by the hand through the door, tingling with anticipation. The bed is the first thing I see, diagonally across the room. It’s a four-poster, a bit like the one in the ‘Rupert room’ at Cranleigh.
And it’s basically in a spotlight.
We’re not allowed to look around, and we’re not supposed to speak. So I dare not try to explore the room with my eyes. We’re being paid more than enough to do as we’re told, after all. I catch a seated figure out of the corner of my eye, though. It must be our banker. There’s no evidence of anybody else being in the room, but then everywhere apart from the bed is dim.
As we get closer, I realise that the lights are actually built into the bed posts themselves. They’re far from industrial – actually they’re tasteful little bulbs – but they’re close enough to create quite the illumination.
I’m guessing he wants to see everything.
And now, per the instructions, I stop at the foot of the bed and motion Sarah to sit on the edge of it, facing out into the room. I sit down next to her, elbow to elbow.
What was the next instruction, again? Oh yes: ‘Proceed.’
I think I know what that means.
Sarah looks at me with wide eyes, a trace of uncertainty in them. Okay, I really need to take the lead, and remind her that all we need to do now is ‘proceed.’ And do what we do best.
We’ve discussed only the broadest brush strokes of what has to happen tonight. Nobody wants to watch something forced. We just need to be aware of roughly where our audience is, that’s all. As any stage actor knows – and Sarah’s got plenty of knowledge there – you don’t want to turn your back on them without a very good reason.
Apart from that, we just need to go for it. And to take our time. This is a show. Not the kind of quickie we might have at home.
I stroke her cheek gently with my right hand, and smile at her with my eyes. I initiate the kiss, feeling slightly forced about it at first. But the moment her tender lips meet mine, I know we’re going to be fine. She kisses me back with the kind of soft, slow desire that’s perfect for tonight’s erotic show. Now we just let it all flow.
I keep cupping her cheek as we explore each other’s mouths a little deeper, then pull her closer to me by the base of her head. I can feel her new pony tail tapping gently at my knuckles, and I love the sexy brush it gives me. Our clothed breasts pull towards each other too, even as I disengage now and then to kiss her around the ear, or lightly trace my lips across her neck.
Have we ever made love this slowly before? Ever undressed each other quite this way? It’s an amazing experience as we progress from sitting on the edge of the bed to kneeling in the middle of it, kissing more and more urgently now. Normally I’m the more passive one, but the switch in me is coming out in my role as senior prostitute tonight. That in itself is a massive turn-on, and before I know it I’m lying on top of her, having directed her to get underneath me with our heads facing the foot of the bed.
It’s rare for me to be on top, and rarer still with us fully clothed. I like both feelings. We need to try this at home.
I lock my fingers into hers and pull her arms above her head, making it quite clear who is showing the way here. I can feel her relaxing into it, her breathing getting heavier as I hold her wrists there with one hand and attend to her mouth with the other.
I swear I can hear the guy breathing too. But am I really sure? I sneak a tiny peek into the darkness, and can just about make out the form of a man in a chair. I can’t see much of his face, but he looks relaxed. His legs are spread wide open.
I pull the straps of Sarah’s dress down, kissing her shoulders and teasing her collar area, kissing as far down her cleavage as I can go. The idea hits me that sitting on her face would be fucking hot, as well as a great show. So I kneel upright and pull off my dress. I’ve gone completely underwear-free tonight.
Is that a gasp I hear from the man in the chair? Definitely a short, sharp breath. I close my eyes a moment, revelling in the knowledge of his eyes on me, drinking in my elegant body as it’s revealed to him under the hot lights. My nipples are rock solid.
Letting my base instincts rock and roll with my mind, I change tack again and lie across Sarah, holding my breast at her hungry mouth. She nips and nibbles, taking long sucks at my nipple with her lips. I’m controlling the situation, though, by holding my breast in her face with both hands. The view must be terrific.
I let her take her time with each breast, teasing each teat into an elongated nub of need. Then I pull back, straddle her face, and feel her begin to lap at me. Her hands run up my sides, and her thumbs across my nipples, which must be just above his eye level. Perfect.
I ride her face with glee, excited by her tongue, but also the idea that I’m bare before him, with my freshly-outlined patch in clear view. I try to keep my pussy just a little higher than ideal, purely so that he’ll be able to see her tongue reaching for the pinkest parts.
She’s been focussing her efforts on my clit, rather than my entrance. And her light touches there are a gigantic tease.
As I get more turned on, I get braver. I spend more time looking at him, or at least where I know his eyes are. He’ll want that, I know he will. A girl giving you come-hither eyes whilst she’s having her pussy licked by another girl? I know enough to know that it doesn’t get any better for a man.
I can see that he’s touching himself now. I can make out the unmistakeable movement, although I can’t tell if it’s inside or outside his trousers. I smile, turned on to be turning him on.
Time for a change. Sarah’s wearing too much. I motion her to raise her arms, so I can pull her dress off too. She’s wearing a delightful all-black bra and panties, which complement her red lipstick and blonde hair brilliantly. Slowing things down again, I kiss her body all over, as we writhe together on the middle of the bed, just where it’s brightest.
Holding on much longer is going to be tough. And I think it’s okay for one of us to come soon. I think it should be her. I want the cock for myself, if and when it comes to join us. I feel primed and ready.
After several minutes of teasing us all by fingering and biting her through her bra and panties – God, she’s wet now – I yank down the underwear and pull off the bra. Feeling unusually dominant still, I step off the bed for a moment so that I can grab her by the wrists and pull her up the mattress to exactly where I want her.
Her legs are now wide open to our wealthy, powerful audience of one. I toy with the idea of a sixty-nine that would give him an excellent view of the action in her nether regions, but instead run my hands up and down her body, pulling her legs wider and lingering long on her smooth, soft inner thighs. I’m looking at him more and more, as if challenging him to come over and take her.
Is that what I’m doing? What a fucking turn-on the thought is! Maybe I’m experiencing that thing where guys love watching another man take their girl. Hmm. Whatever, this particular lesbian show is teaching me some great new ideas.
I lower my torso to hers, as if thinking about the sixty-nine, but I just rub my hanging breasts against hers, wishing we had some oil with us. I’m in the mood for sliding up and down her body. I bet he has some oil in the house, but I daren’t ask. Not being allowed to talk has got its drawbacks when it comes to spontaneous ideas sometimes.
I can see his pace increasing, and I can definitely hear him breathing now.
I’ll go to plan B then. The equally sexy one in which I crouch down at the foot end of the bed, my mouth ready to give her pussy an experience it will never forget. And our banker the perfect view of me from behind. It’ll send him over the edge, surely. Or bring him onto the bed. One of the other.
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