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 – 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
agree’ 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 osterìa 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 osterìa 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 osterìa.
"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?"
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