Escort Unleashed (Emma Book 2) Read online

  I scan the faces of my friends as I ask what I hope are casual questions about his lordship, who has thankfully always been a regular conversation topic amongst us. Not least for his dictatorial ways, but also for the unavoidable reality of his knockout looks.

  I’m hoping I’ll spot any signs that the girls are keeping something from me as we discuss him. I can’t see anything in their eyes. Good. And it figures. I didn’t think Spurring could give me away without giving himself away.

  Come to think of it, I’m still getting a salary from my old job. The bank notification for that deposit paled into insignificance in the face of that text following my night with Charles, but nonetheless it came as a surprise. As I sit there with my friends, the thought crosses my mind that Spurring might very well be more worried about me knowing his activities than the other way round. Maybe my ongoing salary is him trying to keep me away from making any trouble about my departure.

  Then again, maybe Accounts just screwed up. It wouldn’t surprise me, they’re fucking useless after all. So I’m still none the wiser about whether Spurring knows or not. But at least my ex-colleagues don’t. Yet. Thank God.

  I know that if I tell one of them, I’ve as good as told them all. Again, I can imagine a time when I might carry this ‘escort’ label with the pride it deserves, and tell them the lot of them. I know at least half of them would be envious, though they’d never admit it. I really shouldn’t be holding back, but my Englishness makes me keep my other life secret. For now, anyway, I’m sticking to my line that I’m meeting agencies but I’m not in any hurry. I’m even dropping hints that I might go travelling.

  Not a bad idea, that, actually. I could just tell everyone I know in London that I’m going round the world for a couple of years, while in fact I stay home and ply my trade. But then, knowing my luck, I’d bump into somebody on the tube. Even in a city of close on nine million people. It happens.

  It’s not that I’m not dying to talk to someone about it. In many ways I feel it should be Martin. But not just yet. He wants to meet me, of course, but I’ve been honest in telling him I need a couple of weeks. The thing with Martin is that he knows too much. He’s aware that I’ve serviced his friend Charles. He won’t press me for much detail, I dare say, but if I meet him I’ll feel obliged. We’ve always shared everything.

  I’m just not ready to talk to a man about all the finer points yet, even if it is the man to whom I owe everything for sending me down this path. He’s almost infuriating in how understanding he is. Frankly, I’m a bit pissed off with myself for not seeing him right away. I owe him more than a few drinks, and what’s more, he’s the one person I don’t need to lie to.

  Yet the person I eventually contact is Sarah. Who better to share things with than a girl you shared a room – and bodily fluids – with in training? She’s still living outside of London, but I text her a few days after my début night.

  Hey Sexy! My God, I did it! First client last week. So hot. Looks like I’m going to stick at this. Want to tell you all about it. When you coming to look for work in London? Come get wet and rich with me! Xx

  She’s thrilled for me, of course, though I feel bad for wanting to gloat about how much I made. I know she’s struggling financially. Then again, maybe she needs some motivation to join me on the dark side. I know she needs a confidence injection to really go for it, even though she passed training.

  Ooh, smoking news! Good money, huh? Well, that should get me off my ass, huh! That, and kissing you again ;) How about next week, then? Xx

  I’m thrilled to think of her coming to London. She’s been on so much of this journey with me, and it would be great to have her around for these exciting first few weeks. Plus, I love the thought of sleeping with her again.

  Just say when, gorgeous! You’re staying with me. I’ll move over in my bed…but only a little ;) And I’m paying for everything till you find work. Xx

  It’s funny what a good, giving mood all this has put me in, but there’s no reason I can’t be generous now. Especially to my first girlfriend, or whatever she is. I’ve really begun to miss her. I wondered if the whole thing with her was just an experimental holiday fling, but it doesn’t seem like my heart has bought into that.

  Sarah’s visit arranged, and with Latifa and Alyssia also making noises about heading to the capital soon, I have even more reason to be cheerful as I take on my second and third clients. They’re not quite so lucrative, but it’s all relative. Three grand is still decadent pay for a couple of hours’ work! Still well above what I used to clear for a month.

  Lucy assures me that I’ll have plenty of big nights again in the future, and pay will vary. She’s easing me in with ‘vanilla’ clients, and that’s part of the plan. “You’re doing straight sex with easy customers on these first few calls,” she explains on the phone. “So they’re paying a fairly standard fee. Once you get into servicing groups, intense anal and bondage, for example, you might be looking at even bigger sums than you got from Charles.”

  I feel a little tingle down below when she mentions intense anal and bondage.

  “And once word really gets around about you – and believe me, it’s happening already – then even straight sex could result in bidding wars. On certain weekend nights, for example, a few clients might want you, and then we’ll send you to whoever offers the most. And you’ll be surprised how silly these men become when it comes to a fat-wallet competition. All of which has you and me laughing all the way to the bank!”

  Although I only have a couple of clients in the couple of weeks after my thrilling, erotic debut with Charles, Lucy is in constant contact and she keeps me busy with some of the other things she mentioned.

  We establish a highly flexible availability diary, which allows me plenty of holiday time as long as I give her two weeks’ warning. She lines me up with a personal stylist, Hannah, who will take care of everything from my pussy patch to my nails to my eyebrows on a weekly basis. She works at the same parlour I visited ahead of my first assignment, and it looks like that’s where I’ll be spending my Tuesday afternoons from now on. Not much of a chore, especially since Hannah does massage, too, and Lucy insists I book one whenever I want loosening up. And it’s all on the agency’s account.

  It’s amazing how life goes. After all these years, the moment I can afford to pay for massages is the moment I get told they’re all on the house. I feel like fucking royalty. The notion of giving all of this up starts to make less frequent appearances in my head.

  I pass on the gym for now, but I use my leisure time – of which I have plenty – to take long strolls along the river. It keeps me vaguely active, and reminds me just how much I don’t want to go back to spending my days sitting in a chair in front of a screen.

  I do have an interesting meeting with the dietician, just so I don’t do anything silly. I’m getting into thinking about food a little more, especially now that I’m able to afford all those ridiculously expensive little delicatessen touches that go into recipes. My kitchen is already filling with things I never contemplated before: Himalayan rock salt, truffle oil, saffron and pine nuts. Maybe I’ll try making Martin dinner when I finally feel ready to see him.

  The nude photo shoot is enough of a thrill that I have to go straight home and use my vibrator afterwards, especially as the dreamy, long-haired photographer catches my eye several times while I expose myself to him and his lens. If Lucy wasn’t there directing matters, I’m not sure something wouldn’t have happened between me and the photographer. But the whole thing, which involves a lot of lacy lingerie changes, is empowering, sexy and a lot of fun.

  More so because I trust Lucy to guard the photos with her life. Even clients, she assures me, are required to meet her and view prints if they want to see photos that show my face. The digital versions would never be sent anywhere, so the chances of a leak are slim to none.

  Lucy also puts me through my paces with three of the other girls on her books: Tracy, Samantha and Carla. She doe
s it properly, renting a hotel room and supplying plenty of champagne. Tracy, an American blonde with what must be the most kissable lips on the planet, seems to hit it off with me. Lucy is impressed with our natural intimacy and how we make each other come more than once. She especially likes how we both completely forget the audience.

  All this seems even easier than I could have imagined after the challenges of the school. It seems like no time at all since I would have been desperately apprehensive in these situations, but the school and my homework is beginning to bear fruit. As for an attraction to women, I’m beginning to suspect it’s always been there. It’s just that now I’m allowing it out. Thanks to Sarah, I guess.

  Am I cheating on Sarah, though? It crosses my mind…but the thought is a silly one, really. Whatever we want to call our relationship, we’re both going to be fucking a lot of other people if all goes to plan. It’s work. Even if it feels a lot like play.

  As for my second and third clients, they’re not as memorable as Charles, but they’re fun outings. I’m not required to spend the full night with either of them. One is an Arab sheikh, whom I entertain at his Kensington residence, and the other is an English businessman who insists on picking me up in his Aston Martin and taking me to a weirdly cheap hotel room.

  He drives fast enough to scare me, but he’s not very demanding on the sex front. Curiously, he only asks me for a blow job, which ends with a hot gush in the back of my throat, and then he’s done. I don’t even have to undress, but the whole thing makes me so slick and horny that I ask him, blushing but shameless, if I can finish myself off. He smiles and says, “Good girl…I love your spirit. Please, be my guest.”

  And he watches me climax with my skirt around my hips, a glow on his face, before driving me home well ahead of midnight. There’s a handsome cash tip from him too.

  I think it’s fair to say I’m getting pretty comfy with the vanilla sex. The sheer naughtiness of it, plus the joy of the act itself, plus those beautiful texts in the mornings…it’s a trio of thrills that has me in love with my life right now. Can it really be this easy?

  Chapter V

  I know that we’re somewhere in leafy south-west London, but apart from that, I’m in the dark. Quite literally. We’ve been blindfolded since the moment Lucy picked up me – and then four more of her escorts – in her own car, took us to her stunning apartment overlooking the River Thames and gathered us in her living room.

  Lucy was in an unusually tense mood from the beginning of the evening. She told us this wasn’t a job in the traditional sense. She told us, with a deadly-serious face, not to even try peeking. We’d lose our fee for the night if we did. Apparently we’re dealing with a well-known personality. One who would take no chances with privacy. Hence the blindness.

  None of it made much sense to me. All I could say was that losing sight is incredibly disempowering. And I wasn’t alone in that. The girls were extraordinarily quiet as we were led to a car and taken on a half-hour ride to…somewhere.

  That was around eleven. Now it must be really, really late.

  I’m on my knees, curled up in a tight ball, my forehead on the floor and my buttocks on my heels. Oh, I’m completely naked too. We were stripped – I don’t know by whose hands – the moment we entered this place. And I have no idea where my clothes are now. For all I know, we’re all being photographed for the front page of The Sun. Powerless doesn’t begin to describe it.

  We’re being given instructions by a woman. Her tone is even and serious, almost like she’s a computer. Yet she speaks with a husky, soft voice, and has a foreign accent I can’t quite place. I’m picturing her as a kind of exotic Esmeralda. I hardly dare breathe when her commands are given close to me.

  The few clues I’ve gathered suggest that the room is a big one. Though we’re on carpet – or maybe it’s a rug – right now, we walked some distance across rough wooden floorboards to get here. At one point I felt the warmth of a fire on me, and I can still hear its crackle and spit somewhere not far away. There’s a slightly musty smell to the place.

  Though the woman I’m calling Esmeralda seems to be in charge of proceedings – and hers is the only voice I hear – I am sure others are present. I had hands steering me when I needed to move. One pair was large and male, I think. It guided me into position with a light hold on my shoulders, before releasing me upon the woman’s instructions.

  She refers to each of us by our names. Carla. Teresa. Melissa. Katarina. Emma. We’re told to take tiny steps until we’re exactly where she wants us. It appears that she’s very serious about getting us into a straight line before she instructs each of us to adopt the position I’m in now. I think that two of the girls are on my left, and two on my right. I must be centre stage.

  Esmeralda tells us we should continue to maintain strict silence until otherwise instructed. Then I hear the woman murmur something I can’t quite make out – it possibly isn’t English – and heavy footsteps begin to march away from us. The shoes beat the floor in time, like it’s the military. I’m picturing uniformed men. Why are they leaving, and what are they leaving us to?

  I hear a heavy door close behind us, and the marching feet slowly fade from my hearing. I assume Esmeralda is still with us, but there’s now absolute silence in the room. The only interruptions are the odd spark from the fireplace, and the creak of a floorboard as someone shifts their weight. I still don’t know if there might be others present. Maybe there are people who have been there since we were brought in.

  I wish I could look across to my colleagues for some kind of reassurance. I am sure they must be feeling the same apprehension I am. Blindfolded and stripped, in an unknown place, nobody could feel remotely at ease. Yet I know Lucy would never, ever, send any of use anywhere dangerous. I trust her, even though she said she wasn’t permitted to give details of this unusual assignment.

  The only thing I do know for sure is that none of the other four girls in our party have done this particular call-out before. We’re all relatively new starters.

  The silence persists for an abnormally long time. Without my phone and my watch, I’m clueless as to how long we’re being kept in this foetal position on the floor. The tension builds within me as my thoughts start to wander. What perversion will we face tonight? I wonder if the crazy guy who is paying for us is already in the room, watching. Maybe that’s all he wants to do tonight. From what I’ve heard, less is more for some of these men.

  Then I hear a whirring sound, a snap and…a cuckoo clock. Coo-koo. Coo-koo. I count them. Twelve times. Midnight.

  It’s the last thing I expect. It’s so comical that it’s almost sinister. Especially when it’s followed by another few minutes of utter quiet.

  Something is happening now. The heavy door opens again, and I hear one set of footsteps. They seem to enter the room, and there’s a dull shudder as I assume the door is closed again. The steps are lighter than the boot-like sounds I heard before – or maybe that’s because there’s only one person to hear. My senses are out of balance and maybe they’re playing tricks on me. But I’m sure it’s a man. It has that stride about it.

  I’m intrigued.

  The man’s footsteps are the only sound now, and they are in no hurry. I hear them stop close behind me. There’s a long pause. The waiting is unbearable. I am ready to flinch at any moment, and I’m a nervous wreck. But no touch comes. He moves away to the right. I find myself trying to picture him.

  What sort of man dreams up this kind of scene? Short, balding and ugly? But hang on – he must be decent-looking if he’s a well-known figure. I start to think about British film stars, and that leads me to think about our mysterious and silent ‘waker’ from the school. I let my thoughts settle on the idea that it’s him now walking around in front of me.

  He’s taking his time surveying us. Or is it only me he’s surveying? Is his eye resting a little longer on Carla, or on Melissa? Is he touching them? It doesn’t sound like it. The floorboards are about the only things t
hat will speak to me here, but they’re mute. What on earth is this all about?

  He keeps pausing for a long time, taking a couple of steps, then pausing again. This feels like an inspection, plain and simple. Is he simply drinking us in, like Charles did on my first night in his service? Or is there more of a purpose to this? I’m getting antsy to know. This is an uncomfortable position to hold. Especially when you don’t know what’s coming.

  Okay, now there’s a little bit of movement. I can hear it loud and clear, away to my left. A floorboard creaks as I hear a transfer of weight. I hear the click of a bone somewhere, and a gentle thud. Then I hear a sharp intake of breath. It sounded feminine. Then it’s quiet again – but I sense something is going on still. It lasts a good couple of minutes.

  The action – whatever it is – comes closer to me now. To whoever the girl on my left is. I hear the floorboards again, a rustle of skin on carpet that hints at some kind of gentle movement. Then there’s something like a tiny whimper from her. I would pay good money to tear off my blindfold and see what’s happening. But clearly it’s not the obvious thing. The sounds of that would be far less subtle.

  What’s that sound now? I can barely make it out, but it sounds like…pencil on paper. I would swear it’s the noise of a determined writer, scrawling something. But why would he? Maybe it’s some kind of tiny instrument instead. Oh God, I feel like I am at the dentist. Waiting for a touch I don’t know. My heart is going crazy. Whatever it is, it’s coming close.

  There’s the unmistakeable sound of a man rising to his feet, and a deep sigh from my colleague next to me. I presume I’m next, and I wait with bated breath.

  But nothing comes. The feet move directly past me, to what I am fairly sure is the other end of our row. I’m surprised and taken aback. I’ve been silly again, trying to anticipate too much. I’m a terrible gun-jumper sometimes.