From Candace to CandyChapter 7
- 3 years ago
- 108
- 0
Two Can Play Ch. 11 free porn video
Rumours were rife. A take-over of Trends Radio parent company was imminent. The international consortium involved were known to be ruthless cost-cutters. Nobody and nothing would be safe. Jobs were on the line and employees eyed their colleagues with suspicion. Plotting and double-dealing became the norm with everybody looking out for number one.
After a month of uncertainty rumour became fact and redundancy notices began to be issued. Rachel knew she was doomed. Desmond had grown colder towards her with each passing day, especially since giving her a strong hint that if she played ball and let him fuck her, he would be prepared to lobby for her retainment. She had flatly refused. As a result, she was almost the first to be dismissed.
Her final pay was boosted by a redundancy payment, but it amounted to very little when the cost of living was taken into account. She needed to find another job and quickly. Her salary had never been sufficiently high to allow her to save much, especially as she enjoyed spending.
Looking through the job adverts she found very little of any use to her. She applied for a couple of jobs offering a reasonable remuneration, but to no avail. There were jobs to be found in pubs and restaurants, but the financial reward was inadequate, apart from her total dislike of any such work. With nothing better on offer she became a waitress in a pizza bar and hated every minute of it. The crunch came on a Friday when a pay packet was put into her hand and she saw just how little she received. Rachel realised that a shortfall of income over outgoings could not be permanently maintained. A solution came when she read an article in a magazine.
The author was a twenty-six year old single mother who was unable to work during the daytime because of child minding problems. The evenings provided no problem, so she began to look for a job to suit her particular needs. She tried bar work, but liked neither the environment nor the pay, and then office cleaning, which was even less to her taste. Eventually she joined an escort agency and found it to be an agreeable way to make a good deal of money.
The article set Rachel thinking and she decided to investigate. Looking in the Yellow Pages she came across Brill Escorts. She picked up the phone…..and put it down again, wondering if this was really such a good idea. Five minutes of arguing with herself that it was and she dialled the number. She was put through to a Mr Johnson who made an appointment to see her and gave her directions to their office. The first step had been taken.
When she arrived at the appointed hour, Rachel thought she must be in the wrong place and checked the address. It was right. She drove her car into a dingy yard through an entrance no longer guarded by a gate. It lay on its side amongst a pile of similar junk. There were already several cars parked there, some of them brand new models with the most recent registration.
The building was old and dilapidated, once being part of a warehouse complex which had been closed for many years. The whole area was desolate and unprepossessing. Rachel mounted an iron staircase clinging to the outside of the building and was faced by a plain white door, badly in need of paint. A simple notice indicated that this was the headquarters of Brill Escorts and gave a telephone number. The door was locked, but there was voice communication by means of a buzzer.
Rachel pressed.
‘Hello.’ It was a girl’s voice.
‘Erm….Rachel Cooper to see Mr. Johnson.’
‘Just a sec.’
A short wait then a low buzz followed by a click. Rachel tried the door and, sure enough, it opened to admit her into a narrow corridor leading to another door, this one was not locked. She entered a large office full of tables, chairs and filing cabinets. Each table held a telephone, a computer terminal and several copies of the brochure. Many of the tables were occupied, mostly by young women, but there were also a couple of men, both of them busy on the phone. Without ceasing their chatter they both waved a greeting to the new arrival.
‘Hi.’ A pretty girl dressed in tight fitting white jeans with a black lace trim top revealing her bare midriff gave a friendly greeting. ‘I’m Clarissa. Clarrie for short.’
‘Hello.’
‘Freddie’s expecting you.’
‘Freddie?’
‘Mr. Johnson. The boss.’
‘Oh, of course.’
Rachel was shown into a small inner sanctum with little furniture and a lot of disarray. One thing was for sure, Brill Escorts didn’t go out of their way to make a good impression on a visitor.
A stocky young man greeted her with a wide smile and warm hand shake. He was not what Rachel would describe as a dish, a rather long, thin nose and a mass of frizzled hair being his most noticeable features, but he had an attractive personality, which more than compensated for his average looks.
‘Ms Cooper. How nice to meet you.’
They shook hands and Freddie Johnson indicated a chair. She sat, crossing her legs. Her short skirt rode up her thighs, revealing the top of her stockings. He looked admiringly at the exposed flesh.
‘Very nice.’ Johnson flicked a chair round, so it faced away from Rachel and straddled it, putting his arms along the back. ‘This reminds me of the scene in ‘Basic Instinct’. Are you familiar with the film?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sharon Stone is taken to the police station for questioning and she sits facing a group of detectives. She crosses her legs…..’ he indicated Rachel. ‘…just like that, and they all go pop-eyed. During the course of the interview she changes her position, crossing them the other way. As she does so you see up her crotch. She’s not wearing knickers and you can see her slit, just briefly. The trick is to stop the DVD at just the right moment and then you get a really good view. All is revealed.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m wearing panties.’
‘Um.’ Johnson slowly nodded his head. He suddenly assumed a more business-like manner. ‘Let me explain how all this works. I run a small, but up and coming escort agency. This may not look much, but we don’t need fancy offices because our business is done on the telephone and computer. Clients are not invited to pay us a visit, so we keep it plain and simple.’
He popped a small sweet into his mouth. ‘I’ve given up smoking, but it’s devilishly hard.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘You’ve never smoked?’
‘No.’
‘Very wise.’ Johnson rolled the sweet around on his tongue for a few moments. ‘We’re nothing more than an information service. We publish a catalogue of the escorts, both male and female, on our books.’ He picked one up and flicked through the pages. ‘A client asks for one of these, chooses someone he – or she – fancies, and gives us a ring or sends an e-mail. We then inform the escort who contacts the client and makes arrangements to meet. The firm gets a fee for the introduction using a credit or debit card. We don’t get involved in those arrangements.’
‘This may sound naive, Mr Johnson…..’
‘Call me Freddie.’
Rachel smiled. ‘….Freddie, but what exactly is expected from an escort?’
He spread his hands. ‘Just that, as far as we’re concerned. If a girl, at the end of the night, charges a client extra money for extra services, that’s up to her. We’re not profiting from those services or from that money.’
‘What do I get for being an escort?’
‘Fifty pounds an hour. There are all sorts of clients, with different expectations. The ages of our escorts ranges from eighteen to forty-five and they can earn between two and three hundred pounds a night. Sound good to you?’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘Are you ready to join our happy little band or do you want more time to think about it?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t need more time.’
‘You understand that as far as I’m concerned you’re an escort, pure and simple.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re at liberty to refuse a booking and whatever happens between you and the client is completely your business. Sex is not on the menu unless you decide to put it there and Brill Escorts has no financial participation.’
‘You’ve already made that quite clear.’
Johnson smiled. ‘I’m reiterating it so there’s no misunderstanding. Were you asked to bring photographs?’
‘Yes.’ Rachel reached into her bag and brought out half a dozen pictures, including a couple from her magazine shoot.
Johnson’s eyes opened wide as he saw them. ‘Wow! These are quite something.’
‘They were taken for a magazine.’
‘Very nice. Unfortunately, they’re too explicit for our operation. Also, they’ll be subject to copyright.’
‘Yes, of course. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘These are better. Privately taken, I assume.’
‘Yes. By my husband.’
‘Um. Not bad. But I don’t think they’re quite suitable.’ He rose, went over to a filing cabinet and pulled open a drawer. He handed her a sheet of paper. ‘On the top you’ll see the address of a photographer. She does all that kind of work for us. Knows exactly what we want, so you don’t need to do a thing except sit there and look pretty, which won’t be hard.’
Rachel smiled at the compliment. ‘Thank you, Mr Johnson.’
He wagged a finger. ‘Aa, aa, aa! Freddie, remember. There’s no formality here.’
‘Right.’
‘Fill in the form with basic background and personal details. Come back with the photo and we’ll have you on-line in no time.’
There was nothing seedy about the photographer’s studio, entered through a shop where an assistant took bookings, ushered in the clients and issued the finished result. There was an impressive array of cameras, lights, backgrounds and props, capable of coping with most requests.
‘A straight forward head and shoulders,’ said the female photographer. She was thin-faced, quite small and in her forties. She revealed little in the way of personality and lacked warmth, giving nothing but business-like efficiency. ‘Take off your blouse and bra.’
Rachel looked surprised. ‘Take them off?’
‘I want bare shoulders. Put on this black frilly top.’
The photographer handed it to Rachel, who felt strangely embarrassed at revealing her breasts. She turned her back to make the change. She needn’t have bothered as no attention was being paid to her by the other woman, who was busy setting up her cameras and moving a white wooden chair in front of a screen.
‘Sit, but turn to look at me over the back of the chair.’ Rachel did as instructed. ‘Pull the top down a little more. I want to see all of your shoulders, but not too much of your tits. That’s better. Lean on the back of the chair and tilt your head slightly.’ The camera clicked rapidly three or four times. ‘You’re looking too solemn. Lighten your expression. I don’t want a cheesy smile, but relax your face muscles, especially round the mouth. It’s too tense.’ Click, click, click. ‘Angle your head a little more. Not too much. That’s better.’ Click. ‘A half smile.’ Click, click.
The photographer stood for a moment, camera idly swinging in her hand.
‘Your neck’s too bare.’ She went to a cabinet and opened a drawer. After rummaging around she brought out a necklace. ‘Tat, really, but it’ll never show on the photo and that’s all that counts.’
‘Thanks.’ Rachel put the necklace on. It was glittery and reached down towards the cleft between her breasts.
‘Good. Better. More pleasing to the eye.’ Click, click. ‘Put your elbows on the chair back and cup your chin in your hands. That’s it.’ Click, click, click. ‘Bigger smile. No, no, too much. Soften it a little. Less obvious. It’s an invitation to a man to fuck you. Just a hint of shyness. Men adore shyness.’ Click. ‘You’re getting there. A slight angle of head.’ Click, click. ‘Hands away from face and out of sight.’ Click, click.’ ‘Great.’ Click, click, click, click. ‘Last one.’ Click. ‘That’s it. Get dressed.’
‘When will the photos be ready?’ Rachel removed the necklace.
‘Not long. Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. There’s some magazines on that table.’
‘Right.’
She was out in less than an hour with a portfolio of photos from which Freddie Johnson could choose. He was delighted with the result when she returned to the office of Brill Escorts and quickly flicked through them.
‘These two for the brochure and this for the Internet.’
In all three she was wearing the necklace and in one, to be used in the brochure, she gave her shy smile of invitation with her hands were cupped round her chin.
‘I’ll be turning bookings down because you can’t cope.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘No doubt of it. You’re going to be a very popular young woman and earn lots of money.’
*****
‘You’ve what?’ Kate shrieked, who had changed her mind about settling in Amsterdam. Since Rachel’s move to London the two friends had not seen much of each other, but more frequently talked on the phone.
‘Joined an escort agency.’ Rachel took a sip of coffee she had made before settling down for a chat.
‘My God! I know I advised you to play the field and not get involved, but becoming a prostitute is going too far.’
Rachel laughed. ‘I haven’t become a prostitute. Not really.’
‘Yes, really. What else is it all about?’
‘I found the agency in Yellow Pages, for God’s sake. How much more respectable can you get than an entry in Yellow Pages?’
‘You’re selling yourself.’
‘But I don’t have to, the choice would be mine. Let’s face it, I fuck lots of guys I know nothing about just once and then never see them again. So, if I’m an escort I do the same thing but get paid for it. What’s the difference?’
‘There’s a difference, believe me. Screwing men for money is a mug’s game, whether you’re on the street, in a flat or a so-called escort.’
‘You did it once. On the street, too.’
‘That was only a game. Playing the dare-devil. I didn’t plan on taking it up as a profession.’
‘Neither did I, but needs must..’
‘Surely you can get a decent job.’
‘You haven’t been in the market place recently.’
‘You’re a fool.’ Kate sounded at her most severe and disapproving. ‘Playing the field is one thing, but doing it for financial gain leads to physical ruin, prison or worse.’
Rachel laughed off her friend’s warning and changed the subject, but at the end of the call she was left feeling there had been another breech in their relationship.
*****
Freddie Johnson was right. Rachel proved to be a very popular escort and much in demand. There was, in fact, too much work and she quickly found the art of being selective. Her first five clients were a mixed bunch, one being a total bore, two lacking any colour or personality, the fourth too repulsive and the fifth pleasingly companionable. This last was the only one of the five to be offered sex. However, he declined the invitation, much to Rachel’s chagrin.
‘Bit too pricey, I’m afraid,’ he murmured.
That put her in her place and no mistake.
The sixth one proved to be a dream. Ray Mosby was an actor, mostly in films.
‘Have I seen him?’ Rachel asked.
‘Quite likely,’ said Freddie, ‘if you frequent the movie houses. I haven’t been for years.’
‘I go occasionally. If there’s something I really fancy.’
‘I understand Mosby’s up and coming. The next hot property, as they say. Apparently his new film is his best role to date. He wants you to meet him in the foyer of the Savoy at seven thirty. Evening dress.’
‘Where are we going?’
Johnson shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘How will I recognise him?’
‘God knows. We didn’t talk about that. He probably thinks you’re bound to recognise him. After all, he’s a movie star.’
‘Supporting player,’ Rachel corrected.
They laughed.
*****
Eveni
ng dress.
Um. She didn’t have much in the way of evening dresses. Where was she going? Really posh? Middling? Dazzling or subdued? Plain or fancy? Sexy or demure?
Men! It was all so simple for them, there were few variations on an evening suit. They had no concept of the difficulties confronting a woman. She wanted to get it right.
Flinging open the wardrobe door, Julia rapidly pulled out four evening outfits, laying them out on her bed. The first, a black tuxedo trouser suit with a satin trim on the collar, pockets and buttons, was viewed critically, frowned at and dismissed. Julia replaced it in the wardrobe and it was quickly followed by the lace dress she had chosen for dinner with Sir Hartley, his wife and Bernardo Martine. For some reason she didn’t want to wear it for another evening engagement, even though it was a different man.
Next was a cobalt button back camisole with matching loose fitting trousers. There was also a long sleeved overshirt in the same swirl design on burn-out fabric. Julia slipped out of her working clothes and tried on the outfit. Her reflection in the mirror told her she looked good but not stunning. A glance at the remaining item, a sequin dress with short sleeves, scalloped hem and flowing skirt, convinced her that nothing seemed right.
Right for what, that was the question. If only Mr. Ray Mosby had given a hint. Dinner at the Savoy? An extremely swanky place. There was a theatre adjacent to it. Could they, perhaps, be going there? Unlikely, even though he was an actor. People rarely dressed up for the theatre nowadays. A dance? Cabaret?
Oh, God! What should she wear?
*****
Rachel arrived on time at the Savoy. In fact, she was five minutes early. The reception area was busy, people were arriving and departing, others stood about talking in small groups whilst yet more sat on sofas and armchairs reading or studying the activity around them. She stood by the doors for a few moments looking for somebody who might be Ray Mosby, but there was no-one likely.
Feeling thoroughly conspicuous and ill-at-ease, Rachel headed for an upright chair and perched on the edge, nervously twiddling her fingers. A rather gross and most unattractive man walked slowly in her direction and her heart missed a beat. Surely this couldn’t be happening again? Not another Hal, only a good deal less attractive. The man gave her a lop-sided, leering smile, at least, she thought it was meant to be a smile.
‘All alone, little lady?’
The man spoke with a north of England accent, God, he could almost live down the road from her. Or rather, from where she lived with Paul.
‘I’m waiting for someone.’ Rachel felt that all eyes were upon her, though, truth to tell, nobody was paying the slightest attention.
‘Just anyone or does he have a name?’
‘Yes, he has,’ she responded.
‘That’ll be me, then. Jim Fryer.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What d’you mean, you don’t think so?’
‘It’s quite simple, Mr. Fryer, I’m not waiting for you or anyone of that name.’
‘You must be.’ He was sounding a little aggressive.
Rachel shook her head. ‘No I mustn’t.’
‘I booked you. From Angel Escorts. And I won’t stand any nonsense.’
‘You have the wrong girl, Mr. Fryer. I’m not from Angel Escorts. In fact, I’m not an escort. I’m waiting for my husband.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Well, I bloody never.’
He strolled away without any attempt at an apology. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. If Hal Arlington had been like that she would have shot him down double-quick. She looked at her watch. Twenty five to eight.
She stayed where she was as the minutes ticked away, five, seven, nine……
She saw Jim Fryer approach a newly arrived peroxide blonde with huge breasts that seemed in imminent danger of bursting out of her dress. This time there were smiles, she looped her arm through his and they went off together.
It was a quarter to eight when Rachel spotted someone who was her idea of an actor standing a little distance off. He was undoubtedly handsome. His hair was quite long, but well-groomed, and he was dressed in a smart velvet jacket with black trousers. He kept looking at his watch and studying all the women coming in, particularly those in the younger age group. The foyer was crowded – possibly playgoers assembling to go into the adjacent theatre – and she tried, several times, to attract his attention, but to no avail. She decided to take the initiative and pushed her way through the throng.
Bess
- 30.08.2020
- 15
- 0
Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
- 3 years ago
- 106
- 0
Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
- 3 years ago
- 107
- 0
