1. The Third Whore, or No A for Effort


    Date: 8/17/2015, Categories: Hardcore, Author: VirgoGo, Rating: 11, Source: LushStories

    made it through tenth grade in favor of a modeling career that didn't quite pan out. Most clients never got past her sick body to realize her head was empty, and who could blame them? Sophie offered many strengths beyond intelligence. Perhaps this was the insight that would give me my bonus; the guy wanted a conversation -- a dirty, filthy dialogue -- while he put his woman through her paces. Now that I could do. I just needed to find his wavelength, and thus his topic. I was already figuring out what to do with all that money. I spent the next afternoon primping and grooming. When you're as young as Sophie or Misha, merely showing up and getting naked is sufficient to generate arousal and satisfaction in most clients. As someone who didn't find her calling until her geriatric thirties, I had to rely more on effort and artifice. Visual effects and soft lights were my friends. I put my long brown hair in hot rollers, and set about finding the ensemble that would communicate eroticism and submission. I examined my lingerie drawer and could find nothing in a soft, submissive color, so I settled on a lacy black bra with coordinating thong. I slipped on sheer black thigh highs, straightened the seams, and put on my highest, most elegant black stilettos. I towered, but the look wasn't quite right. I needed an accessory or two. Sophie had mentioned Mark's interest in her pearl necklace, so I opened my jewelry box and pulled out a multi strand pearl choker and a matching pair of ...
    pearl studs. I put them all on, and it was a look that walked the impossible line between tawdry and restrained. Next up was my makeup, where I had a choice: soft and feminine or something befitting the contrast and glamour of the lingerie? I opted for a deep, red lip and smoky eyes with extra mascara and liner. Fresh-faced 25-year-olds can go minimalist, but I was better served with the mystery and drama of more . My closet held many things that would enable me to walk into the Four Seasons without alerting security. I chose a black dress, sleeveless and form fitting, falling just above the knee. The look had a whiff of Holly Golightly, the patron saint of call girls, about it. The pearls would work well, although I'd forego the beehive. "Breakfast at Tiffany's" merited a nod, not complete emulation. I grabbed my respectable Birkin bag, and filled it with the disreputable tools of my trade: A small makeup bag filled with lubes (good for use on me or him), condoms (non-negotiable), latex gloves (because you never know where a hand might need to go), anti-microbial wipes (self-explanatory); my favorite vibrator (sometimes helpful); a few lengths of rope (self-explanatory); another small makeup bag filled with actual makeup and some makeup remover wipes (lipstick and cocks are an incriminating combination); some lightweight leather cuffs with a matching collar (bondage!); spare stockings (runs happen!); spare panties (always bring a leave-behind); a silk scarf or two (versatile - ...
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