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Islave (Lucy)


Islave by Lucy

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Working as an escort is just a means for Stella to eventually make her dream of having her own art gallery come true. And when she gets a very generous offer to serve as an assistant for Gail she doesn't hesitate long, even when she knows that 'assistant' is quite an inadequate job description. After all, it's just a year, and she is curious about the things Gail tells her about. But then she falls in love with her employer and she isn't so sure anymore whether she'll ever be able to get out of her contract. And then things turn worse when Gail's husband is murdered and Stella and Gail find out that somebody who claimed to be their friend isn't a friend at all. In the end Stella has to go deep undercover and endure pain and humiliation beyond her worst imagination to save her own past, her future and her love.

Product type: EBook    Published by:     Published: 10 / 2010

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 52550

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Moderate -    Fem Dom - F/F, Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  MS Word  Text  RTF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Current all-time sales ranking: #2809


Excerpt..

Intro

The girl on the giant screen kneels motionless, her posture impeccable, the expression on her face proud yet humble. The only visible movement, although barely, is the slight rise and fall of her firm breasts with every breath she takes. She is naked but for a padded steel collar with a chain dangling down between her breasts right to her mound and leather cuffs on her ankles and wrists. Her pink sex is clearly visible between her spread thighs. The long blond hair is pulled into a tight ponytail high up on the back of her head. She seems to be of average height, her toned muscles on her slim body undoubtedly the result of countless hours of exercise.†
Her grey eyes, framed by long lashes and dark eyeliner, the only visible make up, look straight ahead into the distance. Glossy lips slightly parted, showing a row of perfectly white teeth, the fine jaw-line delicate as are the cheekbones which give her face a hint of a Slavian. She's good looking, but not what some people refer to as a stunner. Still, she would be looked at in a crowd, because she has a way to carry herself that attracts attention.

She doesn't move as a man in a black tuxedo walks up to her. Nor does she flinch as the evening's host bends over now and takes her nipple between thumb and index finger, slightly pulling on it, teasing it. But she does flinch ever so slightly when he suddenly pinches the nipple hard, giving it a twist to increase the sharp pain that shoots through her breast. Her mouth opens for a gasp just as the camera zooms in on her pussy.
"As you can see by her reaction, ladies and gentlemen, she enjoys this. Like all our girls and like every good slave girl should, she gets off on pain." Indeed, her cunt lips, which now fill the screen, start to glisten with the wetness of her growing arousal. The man in the tuxedo still holds her nipple, pulling it harder now, her cunt getting wetter with every moment, the sight of her glistening lips and a hint of pink flesh between them projected onto the screen for everybody to see.
"Her name is Sam, by the way, but of course as her owner you are free to call her any way you want. She will react to it as if it had always been her name."†
The picture changes again and the screen shows the host as he lets go of the nipple, the girl's face tensing ever so slightly as the blood flows back into the sensitive flesh.†
The man walks to the front of the stage, the camera zooms out, revealing the scene. On either side of the kneeling girl another naked young woman comes into the picture, then two more, then even more as the camera zooms out until the screen shows the whole scenery over which it is hung on the wall. Seventeen beautiful naked girls, all kneeling in the same position, all motionless, all of them were wearing a collar and cuffs. They kneel in a semi circle with the host being the centre, their eyes fixed on him without moving their heads.
"These, ladies and gentlemen," exclaims the host now, motioning at the girls behind him with his left arm, "these are the best trained slaves you can find anywhere on this planet. And at the same time they are blank canvases for you to paint your own picture upon, so to say." He pauses, looks into the dark ahead of him, waits a couple of seconds for effect before he continues, with a louder voice now. "They are lustful, obedient and skilled creatures of lust and desire. They are what every dominant person dreams about. And tonight, ladies and gentlemen, tonight you can make that dream come true."
Chapter 1 Ė Finger Puppet

"I'd like to have your ass," was written all over the guy's face as she passed him in the hotel lobby. A couple of years, or even months before she'd have stared back at him, maybe flipped him a finger. But not anymore. Not that she didn't mind to be leered after by some jerk, but today's jerk could very well be tomorrow's client, and she figured they didn't like to meet the girl which had shown them the finger the day before. Not at the rates they had to cough up to be with her anyway. So all the girl did as she passed him was giving him a flattered smile and an extra swing of her hips. She felt his eyes on her, or, to be precise, on her ass, as she crossed the lobby and went into the bar. It was one of those modern hotel bars with lots of stainless steel and chrome and glass, dimly lit by indirect light, several modern paintings hanging on the wall. The pictures weren't too bad although the girl didn't think they fit well into this place. Too wild and too colourful for the geometric surroundings. Anyway, she wasn't here to give her opinion on the interior designer's taste in modern art.
The girl's eyes scanned the room and she made out her customer immediately. They were usually easily recognizable because normally they were the only ones who didn't stare when a beautiful woman enters the room, either because they're too shy or because they think they have to play it cool. But a few of them looked straight at her and beckoned her over, self-assured and easy about it.†
Today's client was one of them. She walked up to him, sporting her best smile. That smile was one of the nicest things about her, always had been. Even on pictures of her as a little child she had had that smile, and boy did she know how to put it to good use when she was in trouble. It was such a beautiful smile because it was genuine, not one of those faked Hollywood smiles.
He got up from the barstool as she approached him and pulled out a second stool for her. "Dave Zimmermann. You look gorgeous, my dear."
"Stella Pausini. Thank you," she replied curtly and sat down on the chair. She saw him glancing down, probably to see whether he could catch a glimpse of her flesh, but there was no skin showing between the hem of her skirt and the stockings. There never was. She made sure to never cross the line between sexy and slutty, or even whorish.†
"What do you want to drink?"
"White wine, please." The girl looked him over as he placed the order with the barman. Tall and lean, about 6'4'', maybe even a bit more, full dark hair, a prominent jaw with a hint of a stubble, narrow eyes, thin lips. He wore an expensive, although a little bit old fashioned suit, cuff links and a tiepin which would pay at least a month's rate of the flat she shared with a friend. But what caught her attention most were his shoes. She had a soft spot for guys wearing good shoes and he wore the best money can get. She judged him to be in his late thirties, early forties. Rather on the young side, usually her customers were at least ten years older. He looked OK, handsome in a rugged kind of way, not exactly good looking, but that didn't matter too much. He was a customer, and that was all that counted.†
Sure, it made the girl's job easier if she wasn't repulsed, but so far she had only been repulsed once and that hadn't had to do with how the guy looked but how he behaved. And the professional relationship had ended pretty soon, too. Exactly when he slid his hand up her skirt in the bar after ordering drinks.†
There is a time and place to go between an escort's legs for her pussy, if that's what a customer wants. In full view of the barmaid in the middle of a crowded cocktail bar is neither the right time nor is it the right place. After all, they had a job to do and that job would very likely bring them back to this place again and hotel staff tends to frown upon girls who openly behave like whores.†

The wine arrived and they clinked glasses. "To an interesting evening," he toasted and she reciprocated. She was glad he wasn't one of the timid ones so she didn't have to keep a conversation going. It was always a bit difficult in the beginning when they didn't say anything and barely managed to look at her. But he wasn't one of them, quite to the contrary. After a little bit of small talk he wanted to know whether she enjoyed operas and when she said that yes, she loved it, he flashed her a smile and went on a speech about how much he liked Puccini and that he thought that Verdi was too pompous. The girl didn't know that much about operas, having been to just a few of them and generally preferring to go to rock or classic concerts, but she still managed to say 'yes' and 'I agreeí or 'really? That's amazing' in the right moments.†
Then they finished their drinks and he led her to a restaurant she didn't know yet. A small Italian osterža†with only a few tables covered with red and white checkered cloths.
"I hope you like Italian cuisine," Dave said.†
"Yes I do, very much so. I don't get to cook often, but when I do it's Italian."
"Perfect. So you know about cooking?"
"Not too much. I have an Italian grandmother who has shown me a bit." The girl thought of Nonna Carla and that she hadn't seen her for ages. She should take a vacation and visit her soon. And gain a couple of pounds in no time because her nonna's food was simply irresistible. Furthermore, whenever Stella said that she had eaten enough her nonna would pinch Stella's arm and say that she needed to eat more, that she was just skin and bones and that a woman needed to have a bit of flesh to her. And a woman also needed to have kids. Two at the very least. Stella agreed on the latter but her opinion differed on the former. She was pretty fine with her 5'7'' and 128 lbs.
Dave wanted to know about her grandmother and soon they were talking about Tuscany, its cities and why Stella liked Volterra better than Florence or Siena. All in all it was easygoing, relaxed and the food was indeed fantastic. The†osterža was run by a couple in their sixties, the woman cooked, the man served and there wasn't a menu to order from, you just had to eat what the woman had prepared.†
"I'd like to go dancing, but I'm getting a bit tired after a long day in meetings, listening to boring managers," Dave said as soon as the two were standing on the curb outside the†osterža.†
"If you want to go back to the hotel that is perfectly fine with me," Stella replied and hooked her arm in his. She kinda liked this guy, he was attentive, intellectual yet fun and he had good manners even with an escort.
The night was still warm after a hot day as they walked back to the hotel. In the lobby he hesitated, took hold of Stella's elbow and pulled her to the side.
"I think I go up and catch some sleep. Thank you for a very nice evening, my dear."
"But you have paid for the whole night."
"You want to stay?" he grinned and she smiled back at him. She loved the dimples in his cheeks when he grinned like that.
"To be honest I don't care too much either way. It's just that you won't get a refund."
"Yes, I know. But tell me, would you like to stay? Have a last drink? Or shall I tell the concierge to call you a cab?"
She thought about that for a moment. Staying here meant probably sex, yet another night in a hotel, whereas going home would mean a bath with a glass of wine and a book, playing with herself and wake up in her own bed. But staying with him would also mean to get to talk to him some more, and he certainly was an interesting person.
"Let's go up and have that drink," she finally said.
"Thank you, my dear." He led her to the elevator and they rode up to the 12th floor and into his suite. He took off his jacket and went to the mini-bar. "What will you have?"
"Just tonic water, if you'd be so kind. Excuse me for a moment, please," she added and headed for the bathroom. When she came back five minutes later he was sitting on the couch. Or lying on it, rather. Stella sat down in a single seat, facing him as she took off her shoes.
"May I ask you something, Stella?"
"You may ask me everything you want. However, I might choose to not answer." She just hoped he wouldn't ask her why she was working as an escort. That was always kinda freaky. After all, nobody ever asks a pilot why she is a pilot, or an accountant why he is an accountant. It's simply a job, like being banker or lawyer. You do it because you like to do it; because you're good at doing it, because it is well paid, because you can't find another job ... there are lots of reasons. In Stella's case it was mostly the money, plus she liked getting to know people, finding out what exactly they wanted from her and trying to give them exactly what they expected before they knew themselves. It was a bit like being a psychologist, except the payment was better and it involved more sex.
"Fair enough." Stella looked up at him and thought about what to tell him if he asked her the dreaded question. Maybe she should just tell him that she loved to have sex. Good sex. That would work with him; he was self confident enough to believe that he could provide good sex. But then again, most guys believed that and very few lived up to their own expectations. Which was not a problem; after all they didn't pay Stella to enjoy herself.
However, his question was not what she had expected. "Would you consider going to Verona with me for a weekend, to go to the opera?"
She didn't hesitate for a second. "Yes. Of course." With the right guy, those weekend trips often were great. She got to see new places, stay in the best hotels, sometimes a bit of shopping was thrown in and usually the clients had some business or other to do, so that she got some time on her own.
Dave looked at her for some time, his eyes wandering over her body. She wondered whether he still was feeling too tired for sex when he told her to undress. Stella looked at him for a minute, then she got up and pushed the straps of her dress over her shoulders, letting the dress falling to the ground. Knowing that there wasn't anything she needed to be ashamed of she stood naked, relaxed, just doing her job and doing it good, waiting for him to motion her to come to him. He didn't, though. Once again he looked her over.
"You're really gorgeous," he finally said. "Sit down again, please." She was beginning to wonder what this was all about.
"So, what would you say if my wife was on that weekend trip too?"
Uh oh. Wives were not good. Not a good topic to talk about with a client and not good company for an escort. Stella knew that most of the guys had a wife somewhere and when she had started escorting the thought of those guys cheating on their wives had troubled her. But then she had learned to push that thought away and not make it her problem.
"I don't think that's a good idea. Wives tend to make quite a fuss when they learn their husband has been cheating on them with an escort." It had happened before with a regular client. His wife had eventually found out with whom her husband spent every other Wednesday and had ended up calling the agency about twenty times a day, demanding to talk to the filthy whore who had tried to take away her hubby. For some time Stella had contemplated calling her and tell her that all they had done was go out and talk, that it had never come to sex except for a couple of hand jobs and that she had no inclination to alienate him from her, but she figured she wouldn't have believed her anyway.
"I'm not cheating on her. She knows I'm meeting you. As a matter of fact, she was the one who picked you." That came as quite a surprise and for a moment Stella was at a loss for words, which didn't happen very often.
"I hope you're OK with her choice," she finally said, not sure what to think of that, picking up her glass from the table and sipping some tonic, just because she needed to do something.
"Yes, very much so. She's got good taste when it comes to girls. To be honest, you'd be mostly with her on that weekend. But no sex unless you want to."
"No sex with her or no sex with you?"
"Neither. That is, if you feel like having sex with one or even both of us we would both be very happy and honoured." He smiled a very nice smile, open and honest.
"I need to think about that for a moment," the girl said and got up again to go to the toilet. A weekend in Verona, then she'd take the train to Florence, call her cousin to pick her up and spend a week at her grandma's near Volterra, maybe a stopover in Florence or Milan on her way back for some shopping, that would be great. She had made up her mind when she wiped herself but didn't tell him when she came back to the suite.
His eyes were on the girl as she crossed the room again. "You're pure erotic and sex when you walk, you know that?"
"Yes, I've been told as much."
"And I like your panties. Hate those strings. A girl shouldn't floss her butt. And most of them don't have the butt to wear them."
Stella chuckled. She didn't like thongs either, although she was vain enough to think that she had the ass to wear them. Which was an entirely correct assumption.
"I bet you're incredibly hot when you're playing with yourself. Do you mind showing me?"
Stella didn't have to think long. "Yes, I do mind and it won't happen." That was one of her complete no-goes. There were things she just wouldn't do and masturbation with an audience was one of them.
"Too personal?"
"Uh huh." She paused for a moment, unfolding her legs and sitting up in the chair. "Now, you made up your mind? Should I stay or should I go?" Singing that last part, off key, but the Clash song was still recognizable.
"Stay. And come to me."
He took her hand as she stood in front of him, made her straddle him, her legs spread wide, the thin red silk of her panty outlining her mound and her slit.
"What if I make you cum? That OK?"


Excerpt..

Intro



The girl on the giant screen kneels motionless, her posture impeccable, the expression on her face proud yet humble. The only visible
movement, although barely, is the slight rise and fall of her firm breasts with every breath she takes. She is naked but for a padded steel
collar with a chain dangling down between her breasts right to her mound and leather cuffs on her ankles and wrists. Her pink sex is clearly
visible between her spread thighs. The long blond hair is pulled into a tight ponytail high up on the back of her head. She seems to be of
average height, her toned muscles on her slim body undoubtedly the result of countless hours of exercise.†

Her grey eyes, framed by long lashes and dark eyeliner, the only visible make up, look straight ahead into the distance. Glossy lips
slightly parted, showing a row of perfectly white teeth, the fine jaw-line delicate as are the cheekbones which give her face a hint of a
Slavian. She's good looking, but not what some people refer to as a stunner. Still, she would be looked at in a crowd, because she has a way
to carry herself that attracts attention.



She doesn't move as a man in a black tuxedo walks up to her. Nor does she flinch as the evening's host bends over now and takes her
nipple between thumb and index finger, slightly pulling on it, teasing it. But she does flinch ever so slightly when he suddenly pinches the
nipple hard, giving it a twist to increase the sharp pain that shoots through her breast. Her mouth opens for a gasp just as the camera
zooms in on her pussy.

"As you can see by her reaction, ladies and gentlemen, she enjoys this. Like all our girls and like every good slave girl should, she
gets off on pain." Indeed, her cunt lips, which now fill the screen, start to glisten with the wetness of her growing arousal. The man in
the tuxedo still holds her nipple, pulling it harder now, her cunt getting wetter with every moment, the sight of her glistening lips and a
hint of pink flesh between them projected onto the screen for everybody to see.

"Her name is Sam, by the way, but of course as her owner you are free to call her any way you want. She will react to it as if it had
always been her name."†

The picture changes again and the screen shows the host as he lets go of the nipple, the girl's face tensing ever so slightly as the
blood flows back into the sensitive flesh.†

The man walks to the front of the stage, the camera zooms out, revealing the scene. On either side of the kneeling girl another naked
young woman comes into the picture, then two more, then even more as the camera zooms out until the screen shows the whole scenery over
which it is hung on the wall. Seventeen beautiful naked girls, all kneeling in the same position, all motionless, all of them were wearing a
collar and cuffs. They kneel in a semi circle with the host being the centre, their eyes fixed on him without moving their heads.

"These, ladies and gentlemen," exclaims the host now, motioning at the girls behind him with his left arm, "these are the best trained
slaves you can find anywhere on this planet. And at the same time they are blank canvases for you to paint your own picture upon, so to
say." He pauses, looks into the dark ahead of him, waits a couple of seconds for effect before he continues, with a louder voice now. "They
are lustful, obedient and skilled creatures of lust and desire. They are what every dominant person dreams about. And tonight, ladies and
gentlemen, tonight you can make that dream come true."

Chapter 1 Ė Finger Puppet



"I'd like to have your ass," was written all over the guy's face as she passed him in the hotel lobby. A couple of years, or even
months before she'd have stared back at him, maybe flipped him a finger. But not anymore. Not that she didn't mind to be leered after by
some jerk, but today's jerk could very well be tomorrow's client, and she figured they didn't like to meet the girl which had shown them the
finger the day before. Not at the rates they had to cough up to be with her anyway. So all the girl did as she passed him was giving him a
flattered smile and an extra swing of her hips. She felt his eyes on her, or, to be precise, on her ass, as she crossed the lobby and went
into the bar. It was one of those modern hotel bars with lots of stainless steel and chrome and glass, dimly lit by indirect light, several
modern paintings hanging on the wall. The pictures weren't too bad although the girl didn't think they fit well into this place. Too wild
and too colourful for the geometric surroundings. Anyway, she wasn't here to give her opinion on the interior designer's taste in modern
art.

The girl's eyes scanned the room and she made out her customer immediately. They were usually easily recognizable because normally
they were the only ones who didn't stare when a beautiful woman enters the room, either because they're too shy or because they think they
have to play it cool. But a few of them looked straight at her and beckoned her over, self-assured and easy about it.†

Today's client was one of them. She walked up to him, sporting her best smile. That smile was one of the nicest things about her,
always had been. Even on pictures of her as a little child she had had that smile, and boy did she know how to put it to good use when she
was in trouble. It was such a beautiful smile because it was genuine, not one of those faked Hollywood smiles.

He got up from the barstool as she approached him and pulled out a second stool for her. "Dave Zimmermann. You look gorgeous, my
dear."

"Stella Pausini. Thank you," she replied curtly and sat down on the chair. She saw him glancing down, probably to see whether he could
catch a glimpse of her flesh, but there was no skin showing between the hem of her skirt and the stockings. There never was. She made sure
to never cross the line between sexy and slutty, or even whorish.†

"What do you want to drink?"

"White wine, please." The girl looked him over as he placed the order with the barman. Tall and lean, about 6'4'', maybe even a bit
more, full dark hair, a prominent jaw with a hint of a stubble, narrow eyes, thin lips. He wore an expensive, although a little bit old
fashioned suit, cuff links and a tiepin which would pay at least a month's rate of the flat she shared with a friend. But what caught her
attention most were his shoes. She had a soft spot for guys wearing good shoes and he wore the best money can get. She judged him to be in
his late thirties, early forties. Rather on the young side, usually her customers were at least ten years older. He looked OK, handsome in a
rugged kind of way, not exactly good looking, but that didn't matter too much. He was a customer, and that was all that counted.†

Sure, it made the girl's job easier if she wasn't repulsed, but so far she had only been repulsed once and that hadn't had to do with
how the guy looked but how he behaved. And the professional relationship had ended pretty soon, too. Exactly when he slid his hand up her
skirt in the bar after ordering drinks.†

There is a time and place to go between an escort's legs for her pussy, if that's what a customer wants. In full view of the barmaid
in the middle of a crowded cocktail bar is neither the right time nor is it the right place. After all, they had a job to do and that job
would very likely bring them back to this place again and hotel staff tends to frown upon girls who openly behave like whores.†



The wine arrived and they clinked glasses. "To an interesting evening," he toasted and she reciprocated. She was glad he wasn't one of
the timid ones so she didn't have to keep a conversation going. It was always a bit difficult in the beginning when they didn't say anything
and barely managed to look at her. But he wasn't one of them, quite to the contrary. After a little bit of small talk he wanted to know
whether she enjoyed operas and when she said that yes, she loved it, he flashed her a smile and went on a speech about how much he liked
Puccini and that he thought that Verdi was too pompous. The girl didn't know that much about operas, having been to just a few of them and
generally preferring to go to rock or classic concerts, but she still managed to say 'yes' and 'I agreeí or 'really? That's amazing' in the
right moments.†

Then they finished their drinks and he led her to a restaurant she didn't know yet. A small Italian osterža†with only a few tables
covered with red and white checkered cloths.

"I hope you like Italian cuisine," Dave said.†

"Yes I do, very much so. I don't get to cook often, but when I do it's Italian."

"Perfect. So you know about cooking?"

"Not too much. I have an Italian grandmother who has shown me a bit." The girl thought of Nonna Carla and that she hadn't seen her for
ages. She should take a vacation and visit her soon. And gain a couple of pounds in no time because her nonna's food was simply
irresistible. Furthermore, whenever Stella said that she had eaten enough her nonna would pinch Stella's arm and say that she needed to eat
more, that she was just skin and bones and that a woman needed to have a bit of flesh to her. And a woman also needed to have kids. Two at
the very least. Stella agreed on the latter but her opinion differed on the former. She was pretty fine with her 5'7'' and 128 lbs.

Dave wanted to know about her grandmother and soon they were talking about Tuscany, its cities and why Stella liked Volterra better
than Florence or Siena. All in all it was easygoing, relaxed and the food was indeed fantastic. The†osterža was run by a couple in their
sixties, the woman cooked, the man served and there wasn't a menu to order from, you just had to eat what the woman had prepared.†

"I'd like to go dancing, but I'm getting a bit tired after a long day in meetings, listening to boring managers," Dave said as soon as
the two were standing on the curb outside the†osterža.†

"If you want to go back to the hotel that is perfectly fine with me," Stella replied and hooked her arm in his. She kinda liked this
guy, he was attentive, intellectual yet fun and he had good manners even with an escort.

The night was still warm after a hot day as they walked back to the hotel. In the lobby he hesitated, took hold of Stella's elbow and
pulled her to the side.

"I think I go up and catch some sleep. Thank you for a very nice evening, my dear."

"But you have paid for the whole night."

"You want to stay?" he grinned and she smiled back at him. She loved the dimples in his cheeks when he grinned like that.

"To be honest I don't care too much either way. It's just that you won't get a refund."

"Yes, I know. But tell me, would you like to stay? Have a last drink? Or shall I tell the concierge to call you a cab?"

She thought about that for a moment. Staying here meant probably sex, yet another night in a hotel, whereas going home would mean a
bath with a glass of wine and a book, playing with herself and wake up in her own bed. But staying with him would also mean to get to talk
to him some more, and he certainly was an interesting person.

"Let's go up and have that drink," she finally said.

"Thank you, my dear." He led her to the elevator and they rode up to the 12th floor and into his suite. He took off his jacket and
went to the mini-bar. "What will you have?"

"Just tonic water, if you'd be so kind. Excuse me for a moment, please," she added and headed for the bathroom. When she came back
five minutes later he was sitting on the couch. Or lying on it, rather. Stella sat down in a single seat, facing him as she took off her
shoes.

"May I ask you something, Stella?"

"You may ask me everything you want. However, I might choose to not answer." She just hoped he wouldn't ask her why she was working as
an escort. That was always kinda freaky. After all, nobody ever asks a pilot why she is a pilot, or an accountant why he is an accountant.
It's simply a job, like being banker or lawyer. You do it because you like to do it; because you're good at doing it, because it is well
paid, because you can't find another job ... there are lots of reasons. In Stella's case it was mostly the money, plus she liked getting to
know people, finding out what exactly they wanted from her and trying to give them exactly what they expected before they knew themselves.
It was a bit like being a psychologist, except the payment was better and it involved more sex.

"Fair enough." Stella looked up at him and thought about what to tell him if he asked her the dreaded question. Maybe she should just
tell him that she loved to have sex. Good sex. That would work with him; he was self confident enough to believe that he could provide good
sex. But then again, most guys believed that and very few lived up to their own expectations. Which was not a problem; after all they didn't
pay Stella to enjoy herself.

However, his question was not what she had expected. "Would you consider going to Verona with me for a weekend, to go to the
opera?"

She didn't hesitate for a second. "Yes. Of course." With the right guy, those weekend trips often were great. She got to see new
places, stay in the best hotels, sometimes a bit of shopping was thrown in and usually the clients had some business or other to do, so that
she got some time on her own.

Dave looked at her for some time, his eyes wandering over her body. She wondered whether he still was feeling too tired for sex when
he told her to undress. Stella looked at him for a minute, then she got up and pushed the straps of her dress over her shoulders, letting
the dress falling to the ground. Knowing that there wasn't anything she needed to be ashamed of she stood naked, relaxed, just doing her job
and doing it good, waiting for him to motion her to come to him. He didn't, though. Once again he looked her over.

"You're really gorgeous," he finally said. "Sit down again, please." She was beginning to wonder what this was all about.

"So, what would you say if my wife was on that weekend trip too?"

Uh oh. Wives were not good. Not a good topic to talk about with a client and not good company for an escort. Stella knew that most of
the guys had a wife somewhere and when she had started escorting the thought of those guys cheating on their wives had troubled her. But
then she had learned to push that thought away and not make it her problem.

"I don't think that's a good idea. Wives tend to make quite a fuss when they learn their husband has been cheating on them with an
escort." It had happened before with a regular client. His wife had eventually found out with whom her husband spent every other Wednesday
and had ended up calling the agency about twenty times a day, demanding to talk to the filthy whore who had tried to take away her hubby.
For some time Stella had contemplated calling her and tell her that all they had done was go out and talk, that it had never come to sex
except for a couple of hand jobs and that she had no inclination to alienate him from her, but she figured she wouldn't have believed her
anyway.

"I'm not cheating on her. She knows I'm meeting you. As a matter of fact, she was the one who picked you." That came as quite a
surprise and for a moment Stella was at a loss for words, which didn't happen very often.

"I hope you're OK with her choice," she finally said, not sure what to think of that, picking up her glass from the table and sipping
some tonic, just because she needed to do something.

"Yes, very much so. She's got good taste when it comes to girls. To be honest, you'd be mostly with her on that weekend. But no sex
unless you want to."

"No sex with her or no sex with you?"

"Neither. That is, if you feel like having sex with one or even both of us we would both be very happy and honoured." He smiled a very
nice smile, open and honest.

"I need to think about that for a moment," the girl said and got up again to go to the toilet. A weekend in Verona, then she'd take
the train to Florence, call her cousin to pick her up and spend a week at her grandma's near Volterra, maybe a stopover in Florence or Milan
on her way back for some shopping, that would be great. She had made up her mind when she wiped herself but didn't tell him when she came
back to the suite.

His eyes were on the girl as she crossed the room again. "You're pure erotic and sex when you walk, you know that?"

"Yes, I've been told as much."

"And I like your panties. Hate those strings. A girl shouldn't floss her butt. And most of them don't have the butt to wear them." />
Stella chuckled. She didn't like thongs either, although she was vain enough to think that she had the ass to wear them. Which was an
entirely correct assumption.

"I bet you're incredibly hot when you're playing with yourself. Do you mind showing me?"

Stella didn't have to think long. "Yes, I do mind and it won't happen." That was one of her complete no-goes. There were things she
just wouldn't do and masturbation with an audience was one of them.

"Too personal?"

"Uh huh." She paused for a moment, unfolding her legs and sitting up in the chair. "Now, you made up your mind? Should I stay or
should I go?" Singing that last part, off key, but the Clash song was still recognizable.

"Stay. And come to me."

He took her hand as she stood in front of him, made her straddle him, her legs spread wide, the thin red silk of her panty outlining
her mound and her slit.

"What if I make you cum? That OK?"


Excerpt..

Intro





The girl on the giant screen kneels motionless, her posture impeccable, the expression on her face proud yet humble. The only visible

movement, although barely, is the slight rise and fall of her firm breasts with every breath she takes. She is naked but for a padded steel

collar with a chain dangling down between her breasts right to her mound and leather cuffs on her ankles and wrists. Her pink sex is clearly

visible between her spread thighs. The long blond hair is pulled into a tight ponytail high up on the back of her head. She seems to be of

average height, her toned muscles on her slim body undoubtedly the result of countless hours of exercise.†


Her grey eyes, framed by long lashes and dark eyeliner, the only visible make up, look straight ahead into the distance. Glossy lips

slightly parted, showing a row of perfectly white teeth, the fine jaw-line delicate as are the cheekbones which give her face a hint of a

Slavian. She's good looking, but not what some people refer to as a stunner. Still, she would be looked at in a crowd, because she has a way

to carry herself that attracts attention.





She doesn't move as a man in a black tuxedo walks up to her. Nor does she flinch as the evening's host bends over now and takes her

nipple between thumb and index finger, slightly pulling on it, teasing it. But she does flinch ever so slightly when he suddenly pinches the

nipple hard, giving it a twist to increase the sharp pain that shoots through her breast. Her mouth opens for a gasp just as the camera

zooms in on her pussy.


"As you can see by her reaction, ladies and gentlemen, she enjoys this. Like all our girls and like every good slave girl should, she

gets off on pain." Indeed, her cunt lips, which now fill the screen, start to glisten with the wetness of her growing arousal. The man in

the tuxedo still holds her nipple, pulling it harder now, her cunt getting wetter with every moment, the sight of her glistening lips and a

hint of pink flesh between them projected onto the screen for everybody to see.


"Her name is Sam, by the way, but of course as her owner you are free to call her any way you want. She will react to it as if it had

always been her name."†


The picture changes again and the screen shows the host as he lets go of the nipple, the girl's face tensing ever so slightly as the

blood flows back into the sensitive flesh.†


The man walks to the front of the stage, the camera zooms out, revealing the scene. On either side of the kneeling girl another naked

young woman comes into the picture, then two more, then even more as the camera zooms out until the screen shows the whole scenery over

which it is hung on the wall. Seventeen beautiful naked girls, all kneeling in the same position, all motionless, all of them were wearing a

collar and cuffs. They kneel in a semi circle with the host being the centre, their eyes fixed on him without moving their heads.


"These, ladies and gentlemen," exclaims the host now, motioning at the girls behind him with his left arm, "these are the best trained

slaves you can find anywhere on this planet. And at the same time they are blank canvases for you to paint your own picture upon, so to

say." He pauses, looks into the dark ahead of him, waits a couple of seconds for effect before he continues, with a louder voice now. "They

are lustful, obedient and skilled creatures of lust and desire. They are what every dominant person dreams about. And tonight, ladies and

gentlemen, tonight you can make that dream come true."


Chapter 1 Ė Finger Puppet





"I'd like to have your ass," was written all over the guy's face as she passed him in the hotel lobby. A couple of years, or even

months before she'd have stared back at him, maybe flipped him a finger. But not anymore. Not that she didn't mind to be leered after by

some jerk, but today's jerk could very well be tomorrow's client, and she figured they didn't like to meet the girl which had shown them the

finger the day before. Not at the rates they had to cough up to be with her anyway. So all the girl did as she passed him was giving him a

flattered smile and an extra swing of her hips. She felt his eyes on her, or, to be precise, on her ass, as she crossed the lobby and went

into the bar. It was one of those modern hotel bars with lots of stainless steel and chrome and glass, dimly lit by indirect light, several

modern paintings hanging on the wall. The pictures weren't too bad although the girl didn't think they fit well into this place. Too wild

and too colourful for the geometric surroundings. Anyway, she wasn't here to give her opinion on the interior designer's taste in modern

art.


The girl's eyes scanned the room and she made out her customer immediately. They were usually easily recognizable because normally

they were the only ones who didn't stare when a beautiful woman enters the room, either because they're too shy or because they think they

have to play it cool. But a few of them looked straight at her and beckoned her over, self-assured and easy about it.†


Today's client was one of them. She walked up to him, sporting her best smile. That smile was one of the nicest things about her,

always had been. Even on pictures of her as a little child she had had that smile, and boy did she know how to put it to good use when she

was in trouble. It was such a beautiful smile because it was genuine, not one of those faked Hollywood smiles.


He got up from the barstool as she approached him and pulled out a second stool for her. "Dave Zimmermann. You look gorgeous, my

dear."


"Stella Pausini. Thank you," she replied curtly and sat down on the chair. She saw him glancing down, probably to see whether he could

catch a glimpse of her flesh, but there was no skin showing between the hem of her skirt and the stockings. There never was. She made sure

to never cross the line between sexy and slutty, or even whorish.†


"What do you want to drink?"


"White wine, please." The girl looked him over as he placed the order with the barman. Tall and lean, about 6'4'', maybe even a bit

more, full dark hair, a prominent jaw with a hint of a stubble, narrow eyes, thin lips. He wore an expensive, although a little bit old

fashioned suit, cuff links and a tiepin which would pay at least a month's rate of the flat she shared with a friend. But what caught her

attention most were his shoes. She had a soft spot for guys wearing good shoes and he wore the best money can get. She judged him to be in

his late thirties, early forties. Rather on the young side, usually her customers were at least ten years older. He looked OK, handsome in a

rugged kind of way, not exactly good looking, but that didn't matter too much. He was a customer, and that was all that counted.†


Sure, it made the girl's job easier if she wasn't repulsed, but so far she had only been repulsed once and that hadn't had to do with

how the guy looked but how he behaved. And the professional relationship had ended pretty soon, too. Exactly when he slid his hand up her

skirt in the bar after ordering drinks.†


There is a time and place to go between an escort's legs for her pussy, if that's what a customer wants. In full view of the barmaid

in the middle of a crowded cocktail bar is neither the right time nor is it the right place. After all, they had a job to do and that job

would very likely bring them back to this place again and hotel staff tends to frown upon girls who openly behave like whores.†





The wine arrived and they clinked glasses. "To an interesting evening," he toasted and she reciprocated. She was glad he wasn't one of

the timid ones so she didn't have to keep a conversation going. It was always a bit difficult in the beginning when they didn't say anything

and barely managed to look at her. But he wasn't one of them, quite to the contrary. After a little bit of small talk he wanted to know

whether she enjoyed operas and when she said that yes, she loved it, he flashed her a smile and went on a speech about how much he liked

Puccini and that he thought that Verdi was too pompous. The girl didn't know that much about operas, having been to just a few of them and

generally preferring to go to rock or classic concerts, but she still managed to say 'yes' and 'I agreeí or 'really? That's amazing' in the

right moments.†


Then they finished their drinks and he led her to a restaurant she didn't know yet. A small Italian osterža†with only a few tables

covered with red and white checkered cloths.


"I hope you like Italian cuisine," Dave said.†


"Yes I do, very much so. I don't get to cook often, but when I do it's Italian."


"Perfect. So you know about cooking?"


"Not too much. I have an Italian grandmother who has shown me a bit." The girl thought of Nonna Carla and that she hadn't seen her for

ages. She should take a vacation and visit her soon. And gain a couple of pounds in no time because her nonna's food was simply

irresistible. Furthermore, whenever Stella said that she had eaten enough her nonna would pinch Stella's arm and say that she needed to eat

more, that she was just skin and bones and that a woman needed to have a bit of flesh to her. And a woman also needed to have kids. Two at

the very least. Stella agreed on the latter but her opinion differed on the former. She was pretty fine with her 5'7'' and 128 lbs.


Dave wanted to know about her grandmother and soon they were talking about Tuscany, its cities and why Stella liked Volterra better

than Florence or Siena. All in all it was easygoing, relaxed and the food was indeed fantastic. The†osterža was run by a couple in their

sixties, the woman cooked, the man served and there wasn't a menu to order from, you just had to eat what the woman had prepared.†


"I'd like to go dancing, but I'm getting a bit tired after a long day in meetings, listening to boring managers," Dave said as soon as

the two were standing on the curb outside the†osterža.†


"If you want to go back to the hotel that is perfectly fine with me," Stella replied and hooked her arm in his. She kinda liked this

guy, he was attentive, intellectual yet fun and he had good manners even with an escort.


The night was still warm after a hot day as they walked back to the hotel. In the lobby he hesitated, took hold of Stella's elbow and

pulled her to the side.


"I think I go up and catch some sleep. Thank you for a very nice evening, my dear."


"But you have paid for the whole night."


"You want to stay?" he grinned and she smiled back at him. She loved the dimples in his cheeks when he grinned like that.


"To be honest I don't care too much either way. It's just that you won't get a refund."


"Yes, I know. But tell me, would you like to stay? Have a last drink? Or shall I tell the concierge to call you a cab?"


She thought about that for a moment. Staying here meant probably sex, yet another night in a hotel, whereas going home would mean a

bath with a glass of wine and a book, playing with herself and wake up in her own bed. But staying with him would also mean to get to talk

to him some more, and he certainly was an interesting person.


"Let's go up and have that drink," she finally said.


"Thank you, my dear." He led her to the elevator and they rode up to the 12th floor and into his suite. He took off his jacket and

went to the mini-bar. "What will you have?"


"Just tonic water, if you'd be so kind. Excuse me for a moment, please," she added and headed for the bathroom. When she came back

five minutes later he was sitting on the couch. Or lying on it, rather. Stella sat down in a single seat, facing him as she took off her

shoes.


"May I ask you something, Stella?"


"You may ask me everything you want. However, I might choose to not answer." She just hoped he wouldn't ask her why she was working as

an escort. That was always kinda freaky. After all, nobody ever asks a pilot why she is a pilot, or an accountant why he is an accountant.

It's simply a job, like being banker or lawyer. You do it because you like to do it; because you're good at doing it, because it is well

paid, because you can't find another job ... there are lots of reasons. In Stella's case it was mostly the money, plus she liked getting to

know people, finding out what exactly they wanted from her and trying to give them exactly what they expected before they knew themselves.

It was a bit like being a psychologist, except the payment was better and it involved more sex.


"Fair enough." Stella looked up at him and thought about what to tell him if he asked her the dreaded question. Maybe she should just

tell him that she loved to have sex. Good sex. That would work with him; he was self confident enough to believe that he could provide good

sex. But then again, most guys believed that and very few lived up to their own expectations. Which was not a problem; after all they didn't

pay Stella to enjoy herself.


However, his question was not what she had expected. "Would you consider going to Verona with me for a weekend, to go to the

opera?"


She didn't hesitate for a second. "Yes. Of course." With the right guy, those weekend trips often were great. She got to see new

places, stay in the best hotels, sometimes a bit of shopping was thrown in and usually the clients had some business or other to do, so that

she got some time on her own.


Dave looked at her for some time, his eyes wandering over her body. She wondered whether he still was feeling too tired for sex when

he told her to undress. Stella looked at him for a minute, then she got up and pushed the straps of her dress over her shoulders, letting

the dress falling to the ground. Knowing that there wasn't anything she needed to be ashamed of she stood naked, relaxed, just doing her job

and doing it good, waiting for him to motion her to come to him. He didn't, though. Once again he looked her over.


"You're really gorgeous," he finally said. "Sit down again, please." She was beginning to wonder what this was all about.


"So, what would you say if my wife was on that weekend trip too?"


Uh oh. Wives were not good. Not a good topic to talk about with a client and not good company for an escort. Stella knew that most of

the guys had a wife somewhere and when she had started escorting the thought of those guys cheating on their wives had troubled her. But

then she had learned to push that thought away and not make it her problem.


"I don't think that's a good idea. Wives tend to make quite a fuss when they learn their husband has been cheating on them with an

escort." It had happened before with a regular client. His wife had eventually found out with whom her husband spent every other Wednesday

and had ended up calling the agency about twenty times a day, demanding to talk to the filthy whore who had tried to take away her hubby.

For some time Stella had contemplated calling her and tell her that all they had done was go out and talk, that it had never come to sex

except for a couple of hand jobs and that she had no inclination to alienate him from her, but she figured she wouldn't have believed her

anyway.


"I'm not cheating on her. She knows I'm meeting you. As a matter of fact, she was the one who picked you." That came as quite a

surprise and for a moment Stella was at a loss for words, which didn't happen very often.


"I hope you're OK with her choice," she finally said, not sure what to think of that, picking up her glass from the table and sipping

some tonic, just because she needed to do something.


"Yes, very much so. She's got good taste when it comes to girls. To be honest, you'd be mostly with her on that weekend. But no sex

unless you want to."


"No sex with her or no sex with you?"


"Neither. That is, if you feel like having sex with one or even both of us we would both be very happy and honoured." He smiled a very

nice smile, open and honest.


"I need to think about that for a moment," the girl said and got up again to go to the toilet. A weekend in Verona, then she'd take

the train to Florence, call her cousin to pick her up and spend a week at her grandma's near Volterra, maybe a stopover in Florence or Milan

on her way back for some shopping, that would be great. She had made up her mind when she wiped herself but didn't tell him when she came

back to the suite.


His eyes were on the girl as she crossed the room again. "You're pure erotic and sex when you walk, you know that?"


"Yes, I've been told as much."


"And I like your panties. Hate those strings. A girl shouldn't floss her butt. And most of them don't have the butt to wear them."
/>

Stella chuckled. She didn't like thongs either, although she was vain enough to think that she had the ass to wear them. Which was an

entirely correct assumption.


"I bet you're incredibly hot when you're playing with yourself. Do you mind showing me?"


Stella didn't have to think long. "Yes, I do mind and it won't happen." That was one of her complete no-goes. There were things she

just wouldn't do and masturbation with an audience was one of them.


"Too personal?"


"Uh huh." She paused for a moment, unfolding her legs and sitting up in the chair. "Now, you made up your mind? Should I stay or

should I go?" Singing that last part, off key, but the Clash song was still recognizable.


"Stay. And come to me."


He took her hand as she stood in front of him, made her straddle him, her legs spread wide, the thin red silk of her panty outlining

her mound and her slit.


"What if I make you cum? That OK?"


Best Selling Books This Year By Lucy

Islave

Islave

Islave

Islave

Islave

Best Selling Books This Year By Lucy

Islave

Islave

Islave

Islave

Islave

Author Information

If I'm not tied up otherwise I enjoy writing about those times when I'm tied up.

 


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This Site Owned By Fiction4All - Copyright 2015


 Authors Suite

 Publishers Suite   

Affiliate Program

Contact Us

Terms and Conditions

Protection Policy

Privacy Policy

Refund Policy

This Site Owned By Fiction4All - Copyright 2015