I regard myself as a professional providing a quality service to my clients. I choose my clients carefully, and like to think they've chosen me with discernment and taste, not just for the rather specialised things I'm happy do for them. That's what I was thinking as I walked to my meeting with a new client.
We'd arranged to meet in the bar of a rather smart hotel. As my high heels click-clacked across the lobby floor, I could feel men's eyes following me, exploring me from my high heels up what they could see of my sheer black nylon clad legs below my coat, to my neat blonde hair. I knew they were imagining my underwear and naked body beneath. I'm used to that.
But I wasn't interested in them, because there on one of the black leather armchairs was my client. He was mid forties with just a touch of grey in his well groomed hair, slim and muscular, wearing a typical business suit and the blue striped shirt and red tie he'd described to me. He'd told me his name was Mr Smith. I put down my briefcase and hand bag, sat down opposite him and slowly crossed my legs.
He greeted me warmly and confidently. I like confident men. He got me a drink, and we talked about this and that for a while. I could see the front of his trousers already bulging with his erection. He looked around as if to make sure no one was in earshot before he spoke:
"Did you wear the outfit I asked you to?"
I didn't say anything in reply but gave him a mischievous smile and pulled my coat up a little and spread my legs just wide enough. His eyes went down immediately. He nodded with approval and gave a little growl at the sight of my stocking tops, bare thigh above, and white panties, before he spoke.
"Shall we go up to my room?"
Click-clack went my heels as we crossed the lobby to the lift, and again I felt hungry men mentally undressing me.
His room was one of the more expensive suites, with of course a big wide double bed. There was a huge TV screen, and a laptop on the desk. He must have connected the TV to the laptop as both were showing a picture of me sprawled nude on a sheepskin rug, with my legs wide just right for a guy to mount me
"I see you like my web site" I said.
"It's how I found you" he replied, and touched the laptop.
The picture changed to my home page picture of me in a long black halter top evening dress with one long bare leg spread out through the slit high up my thigh, and my boobs all but bursting out of the deep cut cleavage. The title read "Lady Patricia", the caption beneath read "Private modelling and sensual massage. See me in and out of the outfit of your choice. Your place or mine." An icon below read "Enter - if you dare!" I like men who dare.
In the past you'd find women like me in sleazy bars or under the street lamps as you cruised the red light districts. Now we use more sophisticated methods, especially high class professionals like me.
"Shall we get down to business?" I suggested, and I took off my coat.
I was in the outfit he'd requested: a schoolgirl outfit of boob-clinging thin white blouse with a school necktie, a pleated grey miniskirt miles shorter up my black nylon clad thighs than even the skirts I wore at school, and definitely non school regulation shiny black high heels. With a bit of make up I didn't look my nearly thirty but ten years less, perhaps even younger.
I stood with my legs spread, leaning back against a chair to arch my back and stick my boobs out and rocked on my heels to sensuously sway my hips. For good effect I'd left a blouse button open, like I'd always done at school, just where it showed my beasts slung in the tiny white cups of my bra. I looked at him under my blonde fringe, and gave him a "come on big boy" smile. Then I lifted up my skirt to show him my panties.
Most of my clients ask for tiny thongs or see through lace panties, usually black. But he'd asked for white cotton high street store girl's knickers.
"Did you wear white knickers like that when you were a schoolgirl, Patricia?"
"At least until I let boys take them off me!" I said playfully. Even then I also had a tiny black satin thong and bra set I wore just for my boyfriends that my mother didn't know about.
He grinned. He reached down and touched my panties where the cotton was taut over my sex mound. Then he slipped his hand down inside my panties, cupped it over my pussy and eased a finger between my vagina lips. I gasped with the sudden pleasure: he knew how a woman likes to be touched! I thought he'd undress me or ask me to do a sexy striptease straight away. Most men do. But he had different ideas.
He touched his laptop again. After a few clicks a picture of a teenage girl appeared, with blonde hair down to her shoulders in a style similar to mine, and standing wearing her school uniform. Her white blouse looked as well filled as mine, her legs looked good in black tights, but her grey pleated skirt wasn't anywhere near as short as mine.
"My daughter Alice. She's eighteen. Do you think she's pretty?"
I told him, honestly, that she was. But Alice certainly didn't look like the kind of girl who left her blouse undone or let boys pull her knickers down. He clicked through a few more pictures, this time of Alice on a beach in a very respectable bikini. She had a figure and legs that would drive boys wild. I noticed how the pictures all centered on her big breasts and her bikini briefs taut over her cheeky bottom and showing the bulge of her sex mound with a prominent cameltoe of her vagina slit.
"Don't you think my daughter's got a lovely body, Patricia?"
I was starting to get the idea. He clicked again. The picture showed a bedroom, from the pink décor and fluffy toys obviously a teenage girl's. Alice was standing in it, wearing that same school uniform but with white knee length socks instead of the black tights. As he scrolled through the pictures she undressed, stepping up a foot onto a chair to slip off her socks first leaving her legs bare, with her skirt riding up to show lots of her legs. Her skirt followed, then her blouse, leaving her in a white bra and panties just like those he'd asked me to wear. I guessed he'd hidden a web cam in her bedroom. I wasn't shocked: I meet men like that and who do even filthier things every day in my job. I'm a professional. And I like adventurous men!
He clicked through more slowly as his daughter took off her bra and panties, as she strolled nude across her room to her laundry basket, as she bent over displaying her naked bottom, then even more slowly as she knelt wide legged nude on her bed combing her blonde hair unknowingly treating him to a full frontal show of her big young breasts and the young bush between her spread legs. The camera zoomed in on her virgin vagina slit peeping through her light brown pubic hair. I glanced at him and saw his trousers were bulging. It didn't take much imagination to guessed what he ogled when he masturbated! Leaving his daughter naked on his screen he looked at me.
"Go on Patricia. Strip for me real slow like my pretty little daughter. Leave your stockings till last."
I've stripped for men in striptease bars, for porn cameras, at men's parties, in business executives' offices and in hotel rooms more times than I could ever count. I know exactly what drives men crazy and strains their penises to bursting point.
I started by squatting on the bed and slowly swinging my legs as wide as I could get them to treat him to a full frontal panty peep. In school I'd learned that if I treated a boy or a teacher to an upskirt panty peep he'd do anything I wanted! I teased him by momentarily pulling aside the front of my panties to show my labia peeping out of my vagina below my light brown landing strip of pubic hair. Like innocent young Alice I dropped my skirt first. It was a wraparound so I could just unclip it and let it fall with my legs wide. Blouse next, then underwear poses in my bra and panties, then arching my back so my breasts bounced out as I unclipped my bra. Then my schoolgirl panties real slow down my legs. Then finally my stockings, laying back and folding my legs up wide to peel them slowly off. Then when I was nude I treated him to the kind of poses I'd done in strip clubs and for porn, spreading my legs, thrusting my bum and boobs and letting my tits swing.
But unlike Alice her father didn't just watch from afar. He ran his hands over my stockinged legs, my underwear and each bit of my naked flesh as soon as I revealed it: my thighs above my stockings, my bare back, shoulders and breasts, then my bum cheeks and bum crack, and my naked pussy. He got his head down between my legs to kiss me right on my pussy and ruffle my cunt hair with his tongue. His exploring hands and kisses were every bit as frantic as those boys back in the bushes so long ago. But unlike those inexperienced boys this guy really knew how to touch a woman and get her hot! His hands were all over me, but I could tell that in his mind he was playing with his daughter's naked body.
He stopped fondling me and I paused kneeling nude on the bed just like his daughter was doing on the screen, waiting for what he wanted next. But unlike Alice combing her hair I was fingering my pussy - I was getting hungry! He began to strip. Some of my more disappointing clients just get their cocks out, but he got completely naked. He was fit and muscular, sun bronzed with a hairy chest, and he had nothing to be ashamed of in the sex kit department. He had a solid looking circumcised eight incher with a gleaming shaft bending up from hairy balls to a big purple mushroom head. Even I was impressed. I wondered how often he jerked it off dreaming of his daughter. He fingered his balls and hard up cock hungrily as ran his lustful eyes all over me, then spoke.
"Patricia. Did you pleasure yourself when you were a girl ... when you were eighteen?"
I'd discovered pussy play at fourteen, and at eighteen I was at my pubescent horny peak. I told him I did.
