Succulence (Succulent Trilogy #1) (2 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

The holidays came and passed. I flew home to see mom, dad and my brothers
during Thanksgiving and Christmas. Everyone remarked that Dallas must have been taking care of me, as I had slimmed down even further and looked really good.

My parents gave me a Tiffany pendant and earrings for Christmas, and a Nordstrom gift card for my birthday, which passed in October. I was grateful because I needed the pick-me-up, and I knew the jewelry and gift card could be used to fancify my stern professional image.

I looked good and I dressed nicely, but the truth was Dallas was doing me in. Gas prices had gone up, and that ate into my paycheck even more. Making things worse, I was denied a raise because I hadn’t met my 6-month mark at the office yet. I would be eligible to get a raise in February, if I could play my cards right.

My bills were piling up, especially because I used my holiday bonus to pay down one of my credit cards, then ran it back up by splurging on nice gifts for my parents and brothers. They all thought I was making great money, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. I needed money more than ever, and I wasn’t willing to reveal how bad my situation was starting to become.

On a brighter note, I was able to get my student loan payments reduced. I now saved an extra $500 per month in loan payments, but I wasn’t to save much of that money. I was scrambling to pay off one of my credit cards – my Nordstrom card, ironically – so that I could get enough breathing room to pay off my other cards with lower interest rates.

My sex life was still dry too. Winter was cuddle season, but my inability to find time to date outside of work only left me alone. I tried online dating, but none of the men who sent me messages were attractive. The ones who did used lame lines that quickly revealed they were players and I wasn’t interested in getting to know any of them.

Stacy and I became closer as the months passed. She tried to get me to open my perspective about the club and the bar scene, but it wasn’t my thing. She got paid to work the bars, but I couldn’t take more than an hour or two and I was ready to pack it up and go home. Sure, I got free drinks whenever I’d come to visit her, but aside of that, I really had no incentive to hang out too long. I’d instead convince her to accompany me shopping at the Galleria, or Park Lane or on a spa trip.

It was on one particular spa trip to Green Lotus that I was expressing my woes and concern over my bills. Up until that point, I hadn’t told her that she technically made more than me; just that I needed to cover my student loans and have more pocket money.

“I have a confession,” I said, as our massage therapists worked on our shoulders.

“Mmm-hmm,” Stacy groaned contentedly, eyes closed.

“I’m broke, and I need money, like ASAP.”

“Amy, don’t be ridiculous. You’re making more than I am.”

“No, actually, I’m not. You make more than I do,” I sighed.

She opened her eyes at the news. “You’re shitting me.”

I grinned sheepishly. “I accepted their initial offer of $38.5k. I had such a hard time finding work that I had to do something, so I just took the job without doing too much research on how much I needed to make it in Dallas.”

“That’s absolutely crazy.
No wonder you never told me how much you made. I’m sorry.”

“No…don’t be. It’s my fault. I have to wait until next month to see if I can get a raise.”

Stacy closed her eyes as the massage began to melt away her tension again. “Wow. Have you thought of getting a second job? I make some nice change bartending. And you’re gorgeous. You can have tons of tips by the end of your first shift.”

I grimaced at her suggestion. “No, thanks. I’m not as outgoing as you are. I actually hate being at bars for more than an hour or two. Why do you think I try to drag you here instead?” I closed my eyes and allowed the massage to relax me again too.

“But think about it, Amy. If you’re struggling, you’re in no position to be choosy. The Super Bowl is in a couple weeks. Men are going to crowd the bars and you can make money. Besides, it’s after the holidays and nobody else is hiring. Don’t tell me you’re going to put an ad on Craigslist.”

“I wouldn’t put an ad on Craigslist. Are you crazy? Didn’t they take down the escort stuff after that crazy serial killer killed all those prostitutes some years back? Besides, I’d be worth much more than $50 anyway.”

“I’m just saying. I know it can be tough financially. That’s why I work as hard as I do. Don’t be afraid to show a little cleavage at work too. Girl, men are nasty. When they get to leer at you, they are willing to pay you a little more,” she said, turning over on her back. “Dean always calls me in his office to pick up something his lazy ass drops just so he can stare at my ass. And sometimes he even asks me to tie his shoelace. I’m not stupid. I know he’s getting off on looking at my tits and ass all day. But it’s how I keep my job. Otherwise, he doesn’t need me.”

I gasped. Dean? I knew he fancied Stacy but I didn’t know he basically treated her like a sexy puppet. I was deeply disgusted and appalled to learn this and I voiced my opinion. “Are you serious? Why do you take that treatment? You know that’s not in your job description. I’d threaten harassment.”

Stacy laughed. “You forget that I’m only 20 years old with no real work experience. Where else will I find a job paying $40,000 a year without a degree? Don’t get me wrong, I want to kick him sometimes, but I put up with it because he’s the reason I’m getting paid so handsomely.”

I was silent after that. I never considered that Stacy really allowed Dean to take advantage of her for work. I was hurt and disgusted for her, but I had to admit she seemed okay with the situation. As long as his hands aren’t touching or groping her, I suppose it couldn’t have been too horrible. Dean was okay looking, but this revelation made him downright disgusting to me.

Nevertheless, I left our conversation enlightened. Regardless of the fact that I wanted to be respected and taken seriously, I needed to make money. And despite the fact that I had worked hard in school, my boss had a hot, younger secretary that was being paid more than me, simply because she knew how to flaunt her body and let him treat her like a sex object.

If I wanted to get ahead, I’d have to loosen up as well. But I’d still need money.

CHAPTER FIVE

I didn’t let her know it, but
Stacy had given me an idea with her Craigslist quip. Women made plenty of cash selling themselves on websites. Granted, I couldn’t put an ad on Craigslist. I didn’t think it was safe, and I had to be much more discreet. But, considering how horny I was, how broke I was, and how I was tired of living “J.O.B.” or just over broke, I needed to do something. Why not do something strange for a little piece of change?

First, I decided I’d look into dancing. I landed interviews based on my photos, but I didn’t have the nerve to actually show up. Then, I researched being a webcam girl, but then I saw this documentary on Netflix and decided against it. Besides, when I looked online, a lot of guys seemed to record the webcam sessions and put them on porn sites. I didn’t want my image out there like that. I wanted to maintain a high profile publicly, so I had to be careful about that kind of exposure.

That’s when the idea of escorting really hit me. Being an escort wasn’t something I would be proud of, but it made the most sense. Escorts made more money than street hookers and strippers, and they generally attracted intelligent men. I was hard up for some action and companionship as much as I was hard up for cash. As long as my identity was kept discrete and separate from this second life, I’d be fine. Those girls used different names than their real ones, right?

In my mind, I didn’t need to do this forever. I had a plan. I just wanted to make enough cash to pay off the bills I created, annihilate my school and car loans, and build a stash of emergency money. Once I got my raise, I would be able to live off my increased paycheck and relax a little more.

I spent a few weeks crunching numbers. I needed a minimum $20,000 extra per month for the next 24 months to wipe out my existing student loan, car loan and consumer debt, as well as develop a sizeable emergency fund.

This wouldn’t be easy, but it would be doable. I just had to figure out how to get started.

CHAPTER SIX

After a week of researching on the Internet, scouring sites and reading Kindle books on escorting, I decided that I was going to start work. But instead of contacting an agency, I’d do things solo. Agencies seemed to be the way to go at first, but when I looked at the back of the adult classifieds, I realized I could cut the middleman and work independently. I just needed to have a nice ad, solid image (with pixelated face and boobs of course) and ad money. Besides, discretion was essential and I could never trust giving my information to a third party who would want my ID or social security number, even if they paid under the table or through a moniker.

I know, I know. I was being really anal about my identity. I really felt I could keep an anonymous profile, and figured that if I did things in a really specific manner, I could successfully maintain said anonymity.

Anyway…

I set aside a budget. I’d invested $500 in adult classifieds, even paid a copywriter to write my ad copy for me. She cost me a pretty penny, but as I was new to this, I had to do what it took to get immediate results. The copywriter worked with several high-end escorts, and even researched the field herself, so she was able to use her knowledge to give me a little game about reeling men in. She even referred me to a consultant, who, for another small fortune, hipped me to some more game about client security and getting started.

By the time all was said and done, I put $3,000 on my credit card for startup fees, including outfits and “in-call” location setup. All these costs had to be made back in addition to my other bills.

****

I was in business before the end of January. My first client was an engineer. He had flown in for a conference at the Omni Hotel. I secured his deposit over the phone, ran his background check using the resources given to me by the escort consultant, and approved his date later that evening. I was an in-call only escort, but I booked a room at Hotel ZaZa, which was an upscale hotel with exotic suites located uptown.

I arrived over two hours early to the hotel, checking in at 6:30. He was scheduled for 9:00. I showered, paced around the room nervously, hid my identification and other personal belongings out of sight and tried to calm my nerves.

He described himself as tall, dark and handsome, but I didn’t believe him. If that were the case, I figured, why would he need or want an escort? He could easily spend time wooing a girl at a bar and convincing her to go back to his hotel room.

My nerves were so bad. My palms were sweaty and I worried about what I was doing. I remember thinking to myself, “Was this really what I had to do to become debt-free?”

You understand, don’t you? It’s just I never imagined that I would go to school, get good grades at an Ivy League, take two years to land a job after graduating and
still
struggle – so much so that I was hustling my looks to get paid.

I had never sold my body before. I never thought I would ever have to sell my body to get ahead, at work or on the side. Yet, here I was, primped and prepared, wearing a fresh face of makeup and seductive perfume from Nordstrom in an enticing and elegant outfit, waiting for my first arrival.

Three amaretto sours and a shot of Patrón later, my guest arrived. Surprisingly, I was pleased to learn that he was indeed as handsome as he claimed to be. He towered over my five feet, two-inch body, standing at approximately six feet two. He had a slim yet muscular profile, and large, well-manicured hands. His eyes were dark brown and piercing. His stubbly jawline was rough and actually more of a turn on than a put off. And I’m not one to pay too much attention to men’s fashion, but he was dressed pretty impeccably for an engineer.

“Hey there, honey,” I smiled, using my sexiest voice possible. I was still nervous, but the drinks had made me a little saucy. I remember the consultant and ad writer both telling me that the key to being successful was to remember some clients were going to be more intimidated and nervous than I was.

“Hello, how are you?” he asked, smiling playfully. His smile was dazzling and rakish, a hint of danger skirting around it. He stepped through the door as I moved to the side, allowing him in. He was clearly interested in the Girlfriend Experience, which meant I was to behave as if I were a girlfriend, not an escort. “You’re looking lovely as ever.”

He took the initiative to be bold from the beginning. He took the hotel’s Do Not Disturb sign and hung it on the door before closing it, locking the second latch. I didn’t realize this was something you don’t allow the client to do, so I didn’t challenge it at this time.

“Don’t act scared now, sweetie. Give me some sugar,” he said, pulling me in for a hug. His strong embrace warmly wrapped me in the scent of his rich, woodsy cologne. I recognized it to be the same Green Irish Tweed my ex-boyfriend used to wear so much. For some reason, his scent, coupled with our obvious chemistry and his warmth, comforted me and made everything much more cozy for us.

Breaking our embrace, he reached into his back pocket, pulling out the remainder of my fee. I looked at the wad of cash incredulously. He chuckled. Picking up the room’s phone, he glanced over and said, “Go ahead and count it, I’m going to order us a bottle from room service.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I thumbed through the wad of hundreds he had handed me. He graciously tipped me in advance, adding $1,000 more than my $2,000 evening fee. I hadn’t even had sex with this man and he had already given me $3,000. I was aroused, excited, shocked and grateful. This was like, my entire month’s salary in one night!

Morals and nerves aside, this was motivating.
I could get used to this,
I thought.

We spent the major portion of our time getting acquainted and having conversation with one another. I guess I should say it was more so as if we got “re-acquainted,” because he refused to treat this experience like we had never seen each other before. His fantasy indulged this idea that he was seeing me again after a long business trip as opposed to the first time ever. He straddled me on his lap, kissed me with lots of passion, and indulged me in affection I hadn’t felt in months.

I felt like I were actually reunited with a long lost boyfriend, not a john or client. Our conversation involved lots of intense eye contact. As he grazed his hands along my hips and thighs, and rested them on the small of my back, we discussed sports, politics, his family and travel. He asked me if I had been on any trips out of the country lately, and I countered by reminding him that I couldn’t just up and leave Dallas after just getting here. “Honey, you know it takes me a minute to get used to a new city. I’m not as bold or adventurous as you are.”

He laughed and looked into my eyes. “Maybe one day we’ll change that, huh?”

He kissed my chin. His hands never left the small of my back, except between sips of his D’usse and or his glass of ice water. He offered me a sip, but I declined. I wasn’t a fan of D’usse. I was already lucky all that amaretto I had before wasn’t wreaking havoc on me.

“You have the most gorgeous eyes, baby,” he said, cupping my jaw with his hand, piercing me with his gaze. “Have I ever told you that?”

“You’re so sweet, baby,” I cooed, giggling. “Actually, you haven’t.”

His passionate demeanor turned me on so much. My nervousness dissipated as the evening progressed. He was making me laugh, saying all the right things and truly getting to know me. He avoided giving his name or asking me for my “real name,” as I read
clients were apt to do. He simply kept the conversation light as he caressed my hips, grabbed my butt and kissed my neck, reminding me that I was sexy and beautiful as ever.

I was moist in his presence and found myself really wanting to feel him inside me. At the same time, I knew that I wasn’t obligated, and I was antsy about pushing forward. Sex was implied between the lines of an escort experience, and I knew this man wanted something in return for his time. However, I knew a good escort didn’t rush the client into sex; she waited him out as long as possible and then gave him what he wanted. On the bright side, I was lucky. He wasn’t pushing me into being a sex kitten; he was literally drinking me in, sipping D’usse and winding down after a crazy day at his conference.

Eventually, he let out a light yawn. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” he said, looking at his watch, then looking at me longingly. By this time, the D’usse had saturated his body. His eyes were slightly red from the festivities and he was clearly as relaxed as he needed to be.

He pushed down on my back, grabbing me closer, biting my neck softly. “Come here. I’m ready for you.” Sliding his hand up my dress, he felt for my crotch, which was damp and wet. Groaning at the moisture between my legs, he rubbed my pussy through my panties and added, “You’re clearly ready for me too.”

Horniness overpowered me. Something about him was familiar, sexy and reassuring. I hadn’t felt this close to any man in a long time. Most of all his charm and tempered aggression belied a clear sense of masculinity that oozed from his pores.

I slipped off the spaghetti straps of my dress, revealing my round, cream-colored breasts held captive in a white La Perla demi. He groaned in pleasure and shifted himself under. That’s when I felt his manhood, which had been dormant and respectful thus far, make itself known through his pants.

Reaching forward, he pressed his thumb against the top of my right breast, then my left, pushing them back, up and away, releasing my nipples from captivity. Leaning in, he began sucking my right nipple as he thumbed and caressed the left. Months of sexual frustration released itself in pleasure from moans that escaped my mouth and further betrayed my cool. I had kept a cool and united demeanor until now. I didn’t want to reveal or admit how long it had been.

“Big, beautiful titties,” he growled, pushing them together and jiggling them. “It’s about time you freed these big, beautiful titties.”

“You miss them,
sweetie?” I said, trying to stay in my role.

“Fuck, yes I do.” He pushed my nipples next to each other and licked back and forth between them, further exciting me. “I love these big, fat tits. Take my cock out.”

He sucked on them harder for a few minutes, nearly bringing me to the brink of orgasm. My pussy soaked through my panties, which were also La Perla and matched the bra I wore. My scent wafted up to his nose. “I can smell your pussy from here. You love this shit, don’t you? Take it off for me.”

I stepped back, eyes half-mast, and obeyed. I looked at him, inhibitions gone, tossing my dress to the side, and taking my bra off. I was already barefoot. He undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and freed the erection that had been straining against the denim. His penis was a sizable seven and a half inches, thick with a large vein running through it.

Stroking his hardness, he took control of the situation. “Keep your panties on. Play with your titties for me.”

Listening to him felt natural for me; his energy began to show itself as slightly dominant and aggressive, which turned me on tremendously. This was everything I wanted to experience in a man. I felt overwhelmed with gratitude and desire, and a need to express my submissive, feminine gratitude by pleasing him.

He soaked up my energy by masturbating himself to my seductive show, growling and uttering phrases of sexual approval that involved praising my “big, beautiful titties” and “gorgeous body.”

“Get on all fours and crawl to me,” he growled, low and guttural.

I obeyed him, sinking my knees onto the carpeted floor, making eye contact with his dark, gaze. He held a lustful sneer. It was primal and erotic, made even more animalistic by the way he stroked his shaft, ragged and fervently.

Spreading his thighs further apart, he opened his mouth, prompting me to do the same. I swallowed back a tiny bubble of nervousness, which I attributed to a last-second momentary reminder this wasn’t my man, but a client. An actual client who paid for me, my time, and most importantly my body. Which meant it didn’t matter how nervous I was; I’d have to push it out of my mind and satisfy him the best way I knew how.

By giving him exactly what he wanted.

I locked eyes with him as I stuck the tip of my tongue out and licked his frenulum, which I knew was the most sensitive area of the penis. I pointed the tip and circled the area just a bit as he firmly held his cock in place. He rewarded me with groans of pleasure as I worked my tongue over his terrain. I felt my clit stiffen in response. If I wasn’t already soaking wet before this point, I damn sure was now.