Wednesday, February 22, 2006

When Charles called inquiring if I was available Tuesday afternoon I accepted assuming he wanted a quickie. Assume nothing. Since initiating our arrangement Charles has met me just for an hour or two over lunch and that is what I expected this would be as I had another client in the evening.

But not today, Charles wanted to have lunch at his club, one of those dark stuffy places where the food in mediocre and they seem to have a rule that female guests must be half the age of the member. After lunch I spent an hour inhaling cigar smoke and listening to these men lie to each other. After we returned to his apartment to work off our lunch.

I wore a taupe A-line dress that buttoned to the throat and black knee-high boots with stockings. Charles’ discovery in undressing me was the full slip and the body shaper with suspenders.

I finally got out of there about six and rushed home to get ready for my next date. I’ve seen Henri several times and all our dates are variations on a theme. I meet him at the airport with a car and driver, we return to his house; he fucks me in any room but the bedroom and then turns me out into the night, sometimes naked, with the car waiting out of sight.

Clients with fetishes or fantasies they want to play out are among my favorites. Normally there is nothing dangerous and the only thing I risk is feeling silly. Tonight Henri instructed me to wear a fur coat and that presented a problem as I don’t own one. When I worked for Marie I would simply borrow one from her and listen to the lecture on how I should have a client buy me one. After considering buying one for thirty seconds I decided to find some place to rent one.

So eight-thirty found me near the baggage claim at CDG wearing burgundy pumps, seamed, dark stockings and the aforementioned fur. Henri likes a little bimbo in his whore so when he appeared I waved and a let out a little squeal. Just enough so that any one who hadn’t noticed that he was being met by a woman nearly a third his age who is definitely not his secretary.

Henri is in his sixties and quite attractive. He’s the antithesis of Jacques in that he doesn’t want me to be smart and sophisticated, nor is he interested in talking about business. He wants me to be a vacuous slut whose conversation is about shopping, the shoes I saw at Bon Marche and what is on TV. If I wore undergarments for Henri, he prefer I not, they would be from Fredericks of Hollywood. But at least he’s embarrassed enough by his little desires that the worst usually takes place in private.



Anonymous VJ said...

Damn, your good girl! Very economical presentation too. Cheers & Good Luck! 'VJ'

2:05 PM  
Blogger Pete from Cal said...

You are truly good at what you do. Able to be smart & sophisticated one minute then a bimbo in nothing but a fur coat and even do a little squeal. Very attentive to your clients need! Bravo! :) *applause*

4:54 AM  

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