spontaneous encounter with an escort sat on sofa provocatively

A Spontaneous Encounter

Jemima pulled herself elegantly out of the taxi. The only thing that hinted at the slightest hurry was the mislaid curl that was sitting loosely from her otherwise-immaculate locks.

She smiled at the driver as he pulled away to park somewhere a little less conspicuous. She glanced fleetingly at the block of flats she was about to enter, pausing only for a short second to look at the first-floor window, which was the only one illuminated by the glow of a landing light. He’s there, she said to herself smugly, and she climbed the stairs to a small but well-presented London apartment.

The moments between the knock on the door and greeting her new host were always the most exciting for Jemima. As an experienced London escort girl, she knew that the thrill of the unknown was waiting for her on the other side. She didn’t know what her new man would like; what his kicks were… but she sure as hell knew that she was going to suss out his kinks pretty quickly.

Footsteps hit the floor. The handle turned. A well groomed but slightly nervous-looking young man peered inquisitively from the hallway.

“Thank you for meeting me so late,” he said quietly, as she stepped into the flat. “I don’t know why, but something made me call. I suppose I didn’t fancy being on my own just yet.”

Jemima smiled. It was a warm smile, mostly, with the slightest twist at the lip that indicated she knew she was going to be in charge tonight.

“Well, I’m not one to worry about the ‘whys’, darling,” she purred. “I’m more concerned with the ‘whats’ and the ‘hows’.”

The man looked confused. He’s either had a few tonight, or he’s genuinely new to this, Jemima thought to herself. There was no lingering smell of alcohol, so she decided to stick with the latter. Fresh meat. A new challenge. That all-too-familiar tingle of excitement began to snake up from her thighs.

The two of them stood, suspended in time, her with her jacket in her hand, he with his thumb in his jeans pocket. The silence was deafening. The air of anticipation was unbearable. Neither of them said a word as Jemima, with expert precision, placed her belongings gingerly on the nearby shelf, then stepped slowly towards him. He backed into the wall, unsure whether to offer her a drink or make idle chit chat before getting down to business. But after a few moments, his gaze softened as he realised Jemima wasn’t interested in small talk.

I’d be taller than him, even without my heels, Jemima mused as she pinned his arm gently to the plaster and hooked her fingers around his hips. She felt him shaking. She felt him growing. She smiled that knowing smile, pulling his pants down with seasoned ease. This one won’t take long.