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This story is a collaboration with my friend and editor, Harvey. We each contributed equally to its content and we hope you enjoy it.
Reader scores and comments will tell us whether there is sufficient interest for us to continue Elisa’s adventures with additional dates as an escort, so please comment and vote.
– – – – –
I tapped my toe against the marble floor of the elegantly appointed waiting room. There was a massive 300-gallon tank to my left and the fish who were swimming lazy circles seemed to be judgingly cutting their eyes at me. I was definitely projecting.
I took another deep breath and waited. Time wasn’t just going slowly, it felt like it was moving backwards. The pretty blonde receptionist behind the massive oak desk continued to move papers around, making disturbing shuffling sounds that only seemed to add to my nervous apprehension. I was excited, but also a bit uncertain.
I know this is a good idea for me, but I keep wondering whether there’s another way …
I grabbed my little little black clutch purse and was just about ready to leave and rethink things when the phone behind the desk rang. After the receptionist answered, she looked into my eyes.
“Ms. Fields, Ms. Erickson will see you now.”
She held the door open and I stepped into the large office; the space was actually just a bit bigger than the waiting area.
“It’s Elisa, right?” said the woman from behind the even larger oak desk than the one in the reception area. I watched as her eyes traveled up and down my body as she sized me up. She looked to be in her early 50’s and of Asian descent, or maybe Pacific Islander.
“Yes … Elisa Fields,” I said while walking up to her desk. She stood and extended her hand.
“I’m Dana Erickson … it’s nice to meet you.”
She wore a grey suit with a skirt instead of pants and it fit her perfectly. Definitely not off the rack, I surmised.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I said while taking her hand in mine.
“Please have a seat,” she said while pointing at the chair in front of her desk.
After she sat back down, she opened up a file on her desk and flipped through some of the papers. “Is the information on your driver’s license correct?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said shyly.
“You’re 5’6″ and weigh 115 pounds?”
“Yes.” I actually weighed 113 pounds this morning, but I didn’t think she needed to know that.
“I like your long brown hair, don’t cut it, clients seem to have a preference for longer hair.”
“Okay, I can leave it long.”
She flipped through more of the papers on her desk. “So … you just turned 21, you’re a junior at UNLV …” she paused for a moment, then she continued reading. “What’s your major?”
“Political Science, but I’m in the pre-law program.”
She set the file down and looked into my eyes. “What are your grades like?”
My grades … What the hell does my grades have to do with this?
“I’ve made the Dean’s list every semester, and I’m in the top five percent of my class.”
“You’re a smart girl, so why are you here?”
I’ve been asking myself that question since I filled out your internet interest form three days ago, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath.
“I have an academic scholarship but it only covers a small portion of my tuition and books.” I quickly wiped away a tear that was beginning to form in the corner of my eye, “My father lost his job and he can’t afford to help me financially anymore.”
A little smile broke across her face. “I’m sorry to hear that, but you sound very motivated.”
“I am … it’s either this or drop out of school and move back home.”
“I have to be upfront and honest with you, I normally only hire graduate students.”
If she was going to be upfront with me, I was going to show her the same treatment. “You have to be smart to get into graduate school, and you made it sound like being intelligent is a bad thing.”
“No, quite the contrary … women in grad school are older, better able to hold an intelligent conversation, and more … experienced. Like any business owner, I want satisfied clients; if they’re happy with the services we provide, they’ll come back.”
She took a sip from her bottle of water and then offered me a bottle, which I accepted. She continued, “My concern is with your age, not your intelligence.”
“Because I’m pursuing a career in the political field, I’m put in a myriad of stressful situations on an almost daily basis. I’m used to thinking on my feet and interacting with a diverse set of interests, so I know I’d be a perfect fit for your company.”
I wasn’t sure how my future career would help me be a better … you know, whatever this was … but I desperately needed this job and I had to convince her to give me a chance. I had to sell myself, so to speak. Thankfully, she appeared to be buying it.
“You’re very driven and goal-oriented.” She paused for a moment, “I may be willing to give you a chance, but I’m going to ask you some very blunt questions bahis firmaları about your past sexual history; is that okay?”
“Of course,” I said nonchalantly.
“Okay then, tell me about your sexual history.”
Hmmm … how much detail should I give her? I’ll be a little vague at first, I thought. “Well, I started out the usual way, I guess. I started dating and … I first had sex when I was 18.
“Did you enjoy those activities?” she probed.
I sure did. Once I got started, I didn’t want to stop. “Yes,” I said shyly, but she apparently saw something in my face that gave me away.
“How many different sex partners have you had in the past three years?”
Uh oh, I thought. Should I be honest about this? I really wanted this opportunity, I needed the money very badly, so I decided to fudge my number a bit. “I’d guess it’s been around … 30 or so.” My real number of sex partners was about half the number I’d claimed.
“So you’ve been pretty slutty.”
I tried to look offended even though I really wasn’t. “I’ve always enjoyed sex, but I’ve never had any real long-term relationships,” I said defensively. “Academics and my grades have always come first, and relationships just get in the way of that.”
“What’s the age range been of your sexual partners?” she asked next.
“They’ve ranged from 18 to 35,” I told her. That was a another lie; I’d had sex with the father of one of my girlfriends after his divorce when I was 18 and he was probably close to 50. However, the majority of my partners were always about my age.
“I need you to be more specific,” she said next. “Did your foreplay include oral sex?”
“Yes, both giving and receiving,” I replied. And I love them both, I didn’t add.
“Have you had anal sex?” she asked.
“Yes, with a few partners.” That’s another thing I enjoy; I really just love having sex any way I can.
“Based on what you’ve told me, I think I’ll give you a chance.”
I breathed a little sigh of relief. “Your website doesn’t really go into specifics; can you fill in the blanks for me?” I asked.
“I offer my clients the girlfriend experience. Many of them are older and have a large amount of disposable income.” She looked me dead in the eye. “Have you ever been to bed with a married man?”
“No, I haven’t,” I said indignantly.
“Climb down off that high horse, Elisa,” she said sharply “Many if not most of our clients are married. Some of them like variety in their sex partners, others want experiences they can’t have at home. So, to be blunt about it, fucking married men is part of the deal. So what will it be?”
God, sex with a married man? It definitely was a concern because it was something I’d never done before. I’d never even considered it. But if I answered honestly the interview would be over. “I … I understand. If that’s the way things are, I guess it’ll be okay.”
“My clients are looking to make a connection, not just physically but emotionally.” She paused for a moment. “If they were only looking for sex they could find that elsewhere for a lot less money.”
I was curious about how much money I could hope to make; it was why I was there, of course. Nonetheless, I thought it best to let her broach that subject later in the interview.
“Does every … ummm … date … lead to sex?”
“Not always; sometimes the clients are just looking for conversation, a night out with a pretty girl who’s not their significant other … but they’re men and most of them want sex.”
I took a sip of my water while she continued speaking.
“It’s important to remember that you will always have a choice. If the prospective date is with a client you’ve seen before, we’ll tell you who it is. If it’s a client who’s new to you, we’ll describe the client in general terms. In either case, you’ll be told what services the client will want. You can always decline a date, but if you accept the engagement you’ll be expected to perform as required.”
“What about my safety?” I asked.
“The safety of my employees is my utmost concern. All of our clients undergo an exhaustive background check. When you first meet a new client, it will always be in a public place. You’ll have a drink, talk, and begin the process of getting to know him. What happens next will depend on what you’ve agreed to.”
“What do you mean?” I didn’t want to sound ignorant, but this world was very new to me, and I was very interested in knowing what a typical date would be like.
“Some clients will want to take you to dinner, then maybe take in a show or movie, possibly dancing.” She paused for a moment. “Other clients will want you to go back to their room.”
“What would I be expected to do … ummm … sexually?”
“Again, that’s up to you. We’ll tell you in advance what services the client will expect. But keep in mind that the more time a client spends with you, the more money you’ll make. The objective here is to make a connection, create a ‘spark’ and build a rapport. If that happens, it can lead to a much more lucrative arrangement.”
My eyes kaçak iddaa got wide. “How do you mean?” This was all so new to me, and I was hanging on her every word.
“I’ll start with the basics. Our starting base rate is 500 dollars per hour, and your base rate will increase as you become more popular with our clientele. You will receive half of that base fee. We maintain a high-class service, so the client pays us and we make sure you get your share, which is 50 percent of the base fee. Clear so far?”
My eyes got wide, “You take half?”
“I find the clients, interview them, and ensure they pass the background check …
those are expenses I bear to ensure your safety.”
I didn’t like the idea of giving her half of that fee, but what she said made sense. I’d never entertained the idea of meeting a complete stranger and … you know. However, because she carefully screened the clients and I could meet them in a public place, the risk to my safety was minimized and acceptable. In the end, I relented; 250 an hour to go on a date that’d involve sex, I figured I could handle that.
“Okay, that’s acceptable,” I said.
“The things you’ll always be expected to do are fellatio and vaginal intercourse, both with condoms. You will also be expected to accept cunnilingus if the client desires to perform it on you.”
Uggg, I hate condoms, I thought. They taste terrible and they reduce the sensations I feel. But I guess it’s a necessity.
“We’ll maintain two files on you,” she said next. “The first is your internal profile, one that only I and my staff have access to that contains your personal information. The second is the public profile of you as an escort, and it will contain some facts about you and the sexual activities you’re willing to perform. Still clear?”
Additional activities? “Sort of. Can you be more specific?”
“Certainly. We have what we call add-ons, additional sexual services that some escorts are willing to perform, and each of those add-ons has an additional fee. Your share would be 75 percent of any add-on fees. The more you’re willing to do sexually, the more financially rewarding this will be. Would you like me to describe our add-ons?”
“We require our clients to provide proof of a negative STD test taken within the two weeks prior to each date, and they know what will happen if they get one of our escorts infected. So would you be willing to take a client bareback? The add-on fee for that would be 300 dollars an hour.”
Damn! I’d get an extra 225 an hour to do what I’d prefer anyway? Of course I will!
“I would do that,” I said confidently.
“That includes the client coming in your mouth or inside you, are you still okay with it?”
Hell yeah I am. I’d never had a problem with the taste of cum and a man coming in my mouth has always been a huge turn-on.
“Yes, it is.”
“All right, next. How’s your gag reflex?”
“Ummm … I don’t really have one.”
“That’s great, because if you’re willing to do deep throat you can get another add-on fee. This add-on is 200 per hour, so you’d get an additional 150 an hour for that date.”
“Okay, but what if …”
“If you are unable to do the deed because he’s too long or too thick, you may stop trying and there will be no negative repercussions. The client will receive a rebate of the add-on fee.”
I’ve never met a cock I couldn’t take all the way down, but I suppose there’s always a first time for everything. “Thank you for explaining that,” I said.
“Now for the big one,” Dana said. “The add-on fee is a thousand an hour if you’re willing to do anal with a client. Same as with the deep throat, if you can’t accommodate the client there will be a rebate and no adverse reviews.”
Seven-fifty an hour for anal sex, something I enjoy anyway? “I’m willing to try that with a client,” I said.
“Great,” Dana said. “That means your potential client fee is now 2,000 dollars an hour, and your share if the client wants it all would be 1,375 an hour. How about that?”
“That’s incredible,” I said honestly. “I can’t wait for my first date.”
“Not all dates will be that lucrative,” she cautioned. “But I’m sure there will be some clients who want to sample all your charms and talents.” We exchanged knowing smiles.
“In addition, some clients may offer tips for exceptional performance. You are not permitted to solicit tips, but if one is offered you may accept it and keep all of it.”
I know how to give exceptional sex when I want to, I thought, so maybe I can get some tips on top of everything else. This was turning out to be a very profitable gig.
“After being with you one or more times on a regular date, a client may want you to spend the night or a weekend with him. Clients may even request to go away with you for a weekend getaway. The more time you spend with a client, the more money you will make, and I can’t stress enough that it’s all about the connection you make.”
“Okay, I have a better idea now of what’s expected. But if a client wants to spend an kaçak bahis extended period of time with me, those fees over the course of a day or a weekend would really add up.”
“The financial terms for an extended date are agreed upon in advance. We will negotiate with the client on your behalf and you’ll have the opportunity to ask for more than the discounted fees that are proposed to you. After a while, you’ll know what your time is worth.” She took a sip of her water. “How often would you be willing to work?”
“Between going to class and homework, I have a very hectic schedule, but I could try one evening a week, preferably on the weekend.”
“That would be perfect, weekends are our busiest time.”
We each took another sip of our water and there were a few moments of comfortable silence. But my head was spinning and I found it almost impossible to form a coherent thought. In a scant half hour I’d gone from considering the possibility of being an escort to actually agreeing to do it. God, this was scary as hell.
“I know this is a lot to take in and process, but do you have any questions for me?”
“Not right now, but I’m sure I’ll have questions later.”
“When you do just let me know, and I’ll answer them.” She changed the subject again. “Do you have nice clothes, evening wear?”
I looked down sheepishly. I was wearing a short little club dress and heels, an outfit that I thought she’d want to see me in … but definitely nothing I’d wear on a nice evening out, especially one like she described.
“I like your outfit and it’s perfect for a night of clubbing,” she said somewhat more snidely, “but it’s not what I’d expect you to wear on a date with a client. They’re paying a lot of money to spend an evening with you, so I’d expect you to wear something more elegant, a nice cocktail dress, something along those lines.”
“I understand,” I said sheepishly.
“Do you have clothes like that?”
Time to lie again …
“I have a lot of nice evening clothes, plenty of things to wear.”
“Good, having a large wardrobe is essential, you never want to let a client see you wearing the same outfit twice.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I said confidently.
It was actually a huge problem. I did have a closet full of clothes, casual clothes. Jeans, jean skirts, t-shirts, work-out clothes, and club outfits like the little dress I was wearing … nothing suitable for a nice evening out. Luckily, I did have one credit card that wasn’t maxed out, just enough to buy a couple of outfits and a pair of shoes, enough to get me started.
She closed my file and then looked into my eyes. “The next thing we need to do is take some photographs.”
“Why?” I said incredulously.
“For our website, the clients need to know what you look like.”
“I’m not comfortable having my pictures on the internet, especially where they could be seen by anyone.”
“Your pictures and bio will only be visible to our clients, and that’s only after they pass the background check and meet with my approval.”
“What kinds of pictures are you talking about?”
“Swimsuit and lingerie photos, similar to what’s in a model’s portfolio.”
I still didn’t like my pictures being on the internet, even if it was on a closed and secure website. However, I could tell this was a condition of employment. My stomach began to nervously churn. Unbelievable. It appeared as if I was not only going to be putting my image on the internet, but I’d be half dressed when I did it. This entire arrangement was getting worse and worse. Even though I was very hesitant, I reminded myself that I needed this and I didn’t have any other option. She must have seen my uneasy expression and she shot me a stern look.
“It’s not a problem, right?”
“No, it’s okay,” I said sheepishly.
She pulled a large, expensive-looking digital camera out of one of the drawers of her desk. “Are you ready to get started?”
“I’m ready, but I didn’t bring any other clothes.”
“No problem, I have some things you can wear for the pictures, let’s pick something out for you.”
She stood up and I followed her to a small room within her office. When she opened the door, my jaw dropped. There were racks of all types of clothes that ranged from very sexy little cocktail dresses to some very revealing bikinis and lingerie. She gave me a once-over.
“You’re size six, right?”
“Yes,” I said shyly.
“So we’ll try a size four.”
She pulled some dresses off the rack along with some lingerie and bikinis. She also gave me a pair of four-inch Prada pumps. “You can change in my bathroom, put on whatever dress you like best.”
I went into her bathroom and tried on all four dresses, and I decided on a purple Bodycon sequined cocktail dress. The short little frock had a deep V cut, which exposed a lot of my breasts, and the hem fell several inches above my knees. Because she’d picked a dress that was a size too small, it hugged every curve on my body. After I fixed my hair and make-up, we spent the next hour taking pictures. She took at least a hundred photos of my face and full-length pictures of my body in the little dress. Once she was satisfied, I changed into one of the other little cocktail dresses and we repeated the process.
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