Authors: T.J. Hamilton
I pour each leg into the lace top stay-up stockings and decide to go with midnight blue lacy
La Perla lingerie with Brazilian-style panties. I look down as I pull my underwear up and quickly realise that I have more hair growth down there than I thought.
Shit! How did I miss that important part in all the primping and pulling?
I poke my head around the door, “Hey Kel. Do you think you could give me a quick Brazilian wax?”
“Yeah doll, just let me get the pot on. Give me ten minutes.” Kelly calls back from the salon.
My favourite bedroom is adjacent to the salon. It’s one of six that lead off of the main circular landing to the top level. Each have their own marble en
-suite that looks more like it should be attached to a luxury day spa than a bedroom. There are usually only five or six girls on per night, so we usually have our own room. This is my home for the next four nights while I’m working in and out of bookings. I found out very early in the piece here at the Agency, that there is a pecking order with the bedroom selection. If you choose someone else’s room, prepare for an all out bitch attack of the third dimension! I love these girls, they are like family to me in this lonely city, but get on their bad side and they can be your living nightmare.
An involuntary quiver
rolls over my body as I recollect the time I found a dead rat in my toiletries bag. I had just started here and accidentally took someone else’s room. I couldn’t bare the thought of that stinking, decaying vermin being on any of my personal products. I had to throw out the lot. Including my beloved but now nauseating, Louis Vuitton make-up bag. I knew exactly who it was. Mega-bitch Carmen. She’s been at the Agency the longest, and she’s at least thirty-eight the old hag, but looks more like she should be in her forties. Probably is? You never can tell anyone’s real age in this game, and you never can tell if the game has just aged them either. Carmen, with her raven-black hair, cut to perfection in a harsh bob, falling silkily around her head. It’s too bad her haggard face doesn’t match the nice look of her hair. Her pasty thin skin is almost translucent around her thick, raised veins. Unfortunately men still book her. Who in their right mind would fuck that old bag of bones? She must have some amazing tricks up her vulva, is the only conclusion that I can come up with. Miss Stephanie knows not to put us on the same shift anymore. Not after I decided to attack her head-on. She was on the treadmill in the Agency’s gym when I entered the room. I knew immediately that this was my opportune time to strike. I quickly left the room to retrieve what I needed to fix that bitch. Sally was on the elliptical bike next to her, later telling me that Mega-bitch was quite smug with herself when I hastily left the room. Muttering,
“That’s got you, you silly little bitch. She knows not to cross my position in this place again.”
Sally stared at her, having no idea what she was talking about. Both of them were completely absorbed in their cardio session… and the flat screen in front of them when I re-entered the room, weapon of choice in hand. I stared that bitch in the eye, grabbed her hand and before she knew what had happened, I’d secured her left wrist to the side of the treadmill. Thanks to my favourite, shiny handcuffs, she had nowhere to go but forward. The handcuffs were illegally obtained of course, from my twin brother who works in private security overseas. I stroll around to the other side of the treadmill and grab her other weak, bony wrist. Her brief struggle against my grip was futile. Her bright blue eyes, widened with astonishment before quickly becoming desolate with fear seeping over her ashen face.
“Now what am I going to do with you… you ol
d hag?” I speak in a low voice.
From the corner of my eye, I see Sally move from her bike. Unbeknownst to me at the time, she too had the same sentiments about mega-bitch, so gladly stood watch at the gym door.
“Let’s take this pace up a notch shall we?” I ask in an equally low and calm voice.
I increase the treadmill’s speed up to sixteen. Her toes briefly touch the conveyer belt before they’re violently spat off again.
“You wouldn’t…” She pants, unable to finish the sentence.
“
Wouldn’t what? Keep you here like this?” I snap back, before she draws another breath, “Well… that just depends if I ever have to speak… or even think, about your haggard, has-been, bony ass again?” I replied slightly louder due to the noise of the screeching conveyer belt below.
Mega-bitch’s face progressively grows beetroot in colour. The lactic acid build up in her body intensifies to an unbearable point. Her legs spin faster and faster. I hear Sally chuckle over at the door. Mega-bitch stares with a look I can only describe as utter panic, as if death himself had come knocking. Her bony legs spin wildly out of contro
l, scarcely holding her upright and stumbling as they spin.
“Now. Do I have to deal with you again hag?” I slowly repeat my request.
She hesitates, and looks me dead in the eye, fear now pursing around her body.
“No.” She manages to puff.
Each breath she draws becomes shorter and shorter.
“What was that bitch? I didn’t hear you properly.” I say while baring my favourite impenitent smirk, knowing full well I have her right where I want her.
“No!” She yells as loud as she possibly can in her state of exhaustion.
“Good.” Releasing my grip on her right hand and step back from the treadmill.
I chuckle at the sight of her strugg
ling to keep up with the speed. Mega-bitch desperately tries to stretch her arm out to reach the speed button. When she finally does, the treadmill slows to a point and she staggers across the conveyer belt, bouncing from side to side and gulping in as much oxygen as possible. The other girls in the Agency heard her cry out at me. They too stand along side Sally at the doorway, wide-eyed and gasping in disbelief at mega-bitch still attached to the treadmill via shiny handcuffs. The conveyer feeds her limp body onto the floor in one big sweaty heap. Her arm still stretched above her head, the handcuff ensuring her fatigue is prolonged. I grab the water bottle out of the machine’s holder and throw the contents at her already drenched body. “Clean yourself up will you? You look like fucking shit.” I laugh, reaching into my pocket for the keys. I unlock the cuff from her arm and it flops to the ground. I unlock the other end to free it from the treadmill. Defiantly, I turn on my heel and make my way to the door, momentarily pausing to glance back at the heap of skin and bones left heaving and gagging in pain on the floor.
“Remember…
never
deal with you again.” I loudly remind Mega-bitch.
I
continue on my way through the sudden clearing of shocked girls that are slowly parting at the doorway. Smiling unapologetically to myself, I make my way towards the stairs… and my newly claimed bedroom.
“Hey… crazy girl!” I hear Sally’s voice call out from behind, “Tha
t was some performance in there. We’ve all been waiting for someone to put that evil self-centred troll back in her place. Thank god you came along. You have to teach me some of that crazy ninja shit! I’m Sally by the way…” She says with a grin.
I feel my cheeks tingle from the flash of embarrassment
that threatens to creep across my face. “Thanks. Pleased to meet you Sally, I’m Mi - Miranda.”
I’m suddenly pulled
from my daydream.
The ripping sound of my pubic hair being torn from their happy home in my nether region startles me.
I’ll never get used to that pain.
“All done?” I ask with
a hopeful raised brow.
“All done. You barely had any hair down there doll.” Kelly assures me.
I return to my room and fussily choose an outfit for my arrival to the hotel. A navy high-waisted pencil skirt and slightly sheer white blouse, with a navy blue collar and gold buttons. I always like my booking’s arrival garment the most. I prefer to look more business like and less yes-I-am-a-whore when I arrive. Although, most of the hotel staff in the city know exactly who we are and what we’re there for. Nonetheless, I love surprising my clients when they see me standing at the door, expecting to see slutty, but receive sophistication instead.
Once dressed,
I pack my small Louis Vuitton
suitcase with all my toys and outfits needed for the night and head for the door.
“Night girls, see you later maybe?” I say to the three girls still seated at the dining table.
All accept Maricel look up to meet my farewell.
“Wow chick.
You never look the same when you come back down for a booking.” Paris says, admiring my metamorphosis.
“Yeah,
feels nice to lose yourself doesn’t it. So what jobs do you girls have on tonight?”
“Ah… Well I’m still waiting for my favourite little politician to fly back in from Singapore tonight. He said he would call when he gets in. I just hope he does. I really could do with a nice fuck instead of all the soft lovemaking bullshit that I’ve had to endure lately!” Sally says while twisting her hair between her fingers.
“Well, let’s hope he calls for you then babe.”
As I make my way out of the dining room
I wonder what ‘lovemaking’ would actually feel like. I wouldn’t know the difference. I start to feel my cheeks prick again at how little I actually know about making love, despite what I do for a living. All I know is some clients like it hard and some clients like it soft… and some like it any way they can get it. When it comes to love, well I’m no pro there.
CHAPTER 2
I collect the
hotel room-number from Miss Stephanie and make my way out the door to my stuntman, Michael Stephenson.
I read the post-it note in my hand. The Westin hotel, on Pitt Street, in the heart of Sydney CDB… Not bad. Ben ushers me to the Range Rover Sport parked in the building’s basement garage and drives me -as usual- to the hotel. We pull up in the hotel’s valet area. I quickly complete a last minute makeup check in my compact mirror while Ben makes his way around to my door.
Yep… still too much makeup.
There’s no resemblance of the real me in the mirror, and it suits me perfectly.
Show time girly
. Like a snake shedding its skin, I too shed the last remnants of whom I was off and hop out of the rear of the four-wheel drive. I have been to the Westin a few times, so I know the foyer layout thoroughly. The elevators are just past the concierge desk and to the left. I head straight for them with Ben in toe. The hotel staff and I hold a fleeting glance, and nod in acknowledgement to one another as I pass the reception desk. I continue on my way toward the elevator, wheeling my Louis Vuitton suitcase full of tricks behind me. Room 2207, should be an end room, overlooking the historical clock tower for the old Sydney General Post Office building at Martin Place. I knock on the door to room 2207 with a light tap. Ben patiently leans against the hallway wall and repulsively picks at his fingernails with the car keys. Michael, a rugged looking man in his late thirties to early forties, casually opens the door. His dark hair is wet and unkempt. Wearing nothing but a pair of navy sweatpants, he welcomes me with a broad grin. I appreciate his strong, mocha toned torso and happily remind myself of how his unusual occupation must keep him in fit shape. He usually has more hair on his body than I care for, but I smirk to myself, noticing that he has gone to the effort of clipping his chest and stomach hair. Last time I did make mention that ‘I wouldn’t need to floss for days’ after kissing him all over. I attempt to conceal my amusement at his willingness to please, and hope that I pass it off as being pleased to see him. He
is
a nice change from the usual scrawny, old, business-type clients that I deal with. Leaning against the door with an upstretched arm, he makes a whistling sound through his front teeth, his eyes already undressing me in the hallway.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again Miranda.” He says with a smooth southern American drawl.
“It’s nice to see you as well, Mr Stephenson.”
I glance to my left at Ben, still waiting patiently, his usual absent look upon his face. I’m sure he’s seen this time and time again in his years of service at the Agency.
“I’m not far away Miranda. Good evening Mr Stephenson... Enjoy.” Ben coolly says with his low smoked-too-many-cigarettes voice.
“Thanks pal. Miranda, come in.”
I give Ben a nod and enter the suite. Immediately, I recognise that Michael has the sweet voice of Adele singing
He Won’t Go
in the background. Most of the lights are off in the suite. A few lamps are on creating a nice glow over the room to ‘set the mood’… I guess. The room is fairly basic, but he is only staying in an executive suite. Mustard and cream coloured décor is smeared across the unremarkable interior. The lounge area greets you as soon as you walk in. The bedroom, a separate room to the left. I roll my suitcase straight into the bedroom and instantly notice the filled bathtub, its steam softly licking the air above. The bath overlooks the city from the window’s edge. I unzip my suitcase and place tea light candles around the edge of bathtub, ready for lighting later. I pour in my favourite sweet smelling oil into the water. Supposedly it promotes sexual activity, not that these men ever need it.
“I took the liberty of running the bath for you sugar. I figured it’s what you liked from last time.” Michael says.
I’m drawn back to the memory of last time he booked me. We spent at least two hours fucking in the tub and I had a pretty spectacular climax from the friction of the water while I was straddling him.
Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all.
I try to convince myself once more.
“Thank you Mr Stephenson, you make my job easy.”
“Please call me Michael Miranda.”
He’s now sta
nding a little too close to me and grabs around the side of my waist. I move toward the hotel phone, releasing his attempt at an embrace. He looks slightly incensed, but relieved once I pick up the hotel phone receiver.
“May I?”
“Oh I knew there was something else you did last time… of course.” He tips his head to the side as he sizes me up.
I turn to try and ignore his eager ogling and speak to room service on the other end of the line.
“Yes. A bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, a bowl of strawberries and cream, and half a dozen oysters to room 2207 please.” I request, totally in control of what’s about to transpire for my stuntman.
When I turn back he’s standing right up against me again. I can smell the slight odour of hard liquor on his breath.
Boy this guy is keen.
“Did Miss Stephanie get my test results?”
“I’m here aren’t I?” I softly breathe inches from his mouth as he pushes up against me.
Every client is screened with
health checks before they’re allowed to book any of the girls. Miss Stephanie then repeats the same checks every four months. The rules are much stricter for the girls who work there, with checks due every month. No test, no work... her rules.
“So what have you got planned for me tonight Miranda?” He asks in a low voice.
He brushes the back of his index finger across my right nipple, triggering it to stand to attention through my thin layers. It sends a sensation down to my toes and creeps back up to my groin, and it feels good.
“Well Michael, seeing as you have only booked me for two hours, I’ll have to put my original ideas on ice until another time.” My lips faintly touch Michael’s and I hear his breathing change in rhythm.
“Call Miss Stephanie. I want you all night Miranda. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the last time we… I haven’t been with anyone else since I was with you. Here. Feel.”
He grabs my hand and pushes it down onto his bulging erection that’s pushing hard against his underpants. I cup his tight package i
n my hand and tug down slightly.
“
Ah
… Miranda, you have no idea what you do to me.”
“Well let me call Miss Stephanie and you will have all night to show me what I do to you.” I sneer, thinking that Michael is yet another mere male powerless to the force of my sexual prowess.
It’s just too easy to make money in this game.
After organising the
extension details on the
booking, I turn my attention back to my poor horny stuntman. He’s now setting out the delivery of oysters, strawberries and champagne on the ledge of the window-hugging bathtub.
“So Michael, we have
all
night now.” I stand with my hands on my hips, toe slightly pointed out in my best red-carpet pose, looking as coy as I possibly can.
His burning eyes can’t stop gawking at every inch of my body. I see his muscular chest expand as he inhales and holds it for a moment.
Batting my lashes I say, “If you’ll excuse me Michael, I need to slip into something more... comfortable.”
“I want to see what you have under this first Miranda.” He smirks his crooked smile and waves his hand up and down in the air towards me, obviously not wanting me to leave his sight just yet.
“Very well Michael… Sit.” I point to the chair that’s pushed up at the side desk.
Its wooden armrests on either side are perfect for what I have in store for him later on. Slowly, I unbutton my blouse, keeping watch of Michael’s wide eyes that refuse to leave my body. His breathing is becoming more like a pant with every button that I pop open. I slowly slide my blouse off my shoulders. The material rubs against my nipples as I do so, causing them to push through the lace of my bra. I see his chest expand once again as he notices my overactive nipples. I unzip the back of my skirt and slide it down my thighs, exposing my matching underwear and lace top stockings. My stockings remain perfectly in place around the middle of my thighs
thanks to the sticky strips on the inside. I let my skirt drop to the floor once it gets past my knees and step out of the crumpled remains on the ground.
“God you are fucking sexy.” He growls, shifting his chair.
I pick up my clothes, walk towards him, and put them in my suitcase
that’s next to this quivering male. While I’m bent over, he takes the opportunity to run his hand up the back of my thigh and over my left butt cheek, before slowly sliding back down towards my private parts. I allow him to feel my outer lips that bulging against the lace of my underwear, letting him linger there just enough before I abruptly slap his hand.
“Not yet Michael. All good things…”
“
Arrgh
… You drive me wild woman.” He rips his hand away and slumps back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, unable to contain his frustration.
“That
is
my job Michael.” I give him my wicked smile as I hand him a glass of champagne.
Placing a strawberry in my mouth I bend down with the end of it towards him, waiting for his mouth to come and claim it.
I allow my lips to stroke his and slowly enter my tongue into his open mouth. Brushing my tongue across his top lip, I deliver the strawberry into his mouth. His eyes are closed as he slowly chews on the strawberry, delighted in the moment that I’ve just bestowed upon him. I’m confident he’s squirming inside with anticipation... like they all do. This is all part of the art of being a seductress. No point just coming in and fucking them senseless. You have to build up the moment for the client to give them something that is more than just the sex and in return, you rake in the cash.
“Stay here Michael. I’ll be right back.”
He moans in frustration as I close the bathroom door behind me.
I fling open
the door of the bathroom and see that Michael is no longer in his chair.
“Sit!” I demand from the doorway, swinging my handcuffs around my black satin-gloved hand. My other hand slaps my ridding crop on the side of my thigh at the same time.
“
Wo
…” Michael is unable to finish the single syllable word.
His ashen face looking like he’s just seen a ghost.
My intention wasn’t to scare him. God is he ready for this? Too late now! His hands feverishly feel the air behind him to search for the chair, unable to peel his eyes from my body that has been squeezed into my leather corset. The corset is tight and forces my breasts to bulge out at the top. I have my leather suspenders on with black fishnet stockings attached and towering black Christian Louboutin pumps -and as directed by my madam- my leather eye-mask that curls up cat-like in the corners. To add a softer touch to my outfit, I’ve decided to don some black, French-lace underwear. A second set of handcuffs hangs from the delicate lace of my underwear. Slowly prowling towards Michael, I smile my yes-you-are-in-trouble-right-now smile. Sliding the riding crop down the back of my suspender belt, I inch towards the stunned stuntman. I guide each of his arms down to rest the chair’s armrest and attach him to the chair via the handcuffs. He looks up at me and smiles his too eager to please smile, fully giving himself to me. I take out my iPod from my suitcase, replace it on the iPod dock of the stereo and change the music over. I keep my legs straight as I bend over in front of Michael and pick Gotye’s
Hearts A Mess
, my favourite soundtrack for a moment like this. From an upside down angle, I can see Michael’s head tilted to the side through my parted legs. I take my time in choosing the song, knowing full well that I’m giving him a view of all of me… and all that he desires. He still hasn’t uttered a word. Unquestionably still in shock. The words coming from the stereo resinate my true feelings from within;
You don't get burned, 'Cause nothing gets through, It makes it easier, easier on you,
but I shake the brief thoughts and continue in my seduction of Michael, who is firmly attached to the chair.
“Time to get these off I think.” I hook my gloved fingers into the top of his sweat pants and crouch down in front of him.
S
till plagued in silence, Michael graciously lifts his rear off the chair. I simultaneously slide both his pants and underwear down his legs. It forces his erection to spring out and it’s now standing to solid attention in front of me. I’m glad he’s sitting because I can’t be too sure how much blood is left in his body. I discard his pants by throwing them somewhere in the corner of the room. I get up and lean over towards his mouth and brush his lips with mine briefly before I violently deliver my tongue into his mouth. I hear his hands strain against the cuffs as he attempts to stretch them up towards me. I rudely pull away after giving him a solid tongue-lashing. Grabbing the riding crop from my suspender belt, I crack it across his chest, causing him to jolt in his seat. Surprised from the sound of the crack, a light crimson blushes across his face. I turn on my heel and leave the room to go and get myself a glass of hot water from the kitchenette, and fill another glass with ice. Michael’s eyes grow wider in anticipation and he draws in a deep breath when I walk in, a glass in each hand.