Madame B - Ecstasy

"You and who else?" I managed.

"Most of the junior staff," she said, matter-of-factly. "Just for a couple of years, until we can live off our regular salaries. Just a few nights a week, and you can clear up your debts in, say, six months."

"I had no idea!" I said.

"You can see why it's not something I advertise," she said, curtly. "And I'm telling you this on the condition that you keep it to yourself, just like I won't tell anyone what you've just told me. But I might be able to help you out. Stand up."

I did as she said, feeling ridiculous as Annabel circled me, inspecting my figure. Under the harsh strip lighting of the office restroom I felt naked under her gaze.

"Good tits," she said, "and you're exotic-looking-you can get more money for that." I felt my pale skin blush as Annabel held a tendril of auburn hair between her thumb and forefinger.

"Okay," she decided. "I wouldn't recommend you if I thought we'd be in direct competition. I think Mark can get you work. He's my, ah… we work for Mark. He finds clients for us. Anyway. Just go see him. He's a nice guy, not a monster. He'll talk you through the way it works, how much you can charge. If you don't like it or if you get freaked out, just make your excuses and leave. There's no pressure." And she handed me a business card with the name Mark Lenster embossed in silver letters on a stiff cream background and a fashionable Tribeca address.

For the rest of the day, I kept the card in my pocket, my fingers tracing the raised letters. What if? I wondered. What if? I was certainly highly skilled in the bedroom, although I'd never thought about it in money-making terms before. I'd wrapped my pale pink pout around dozens of grateful cocks. Every man I'd ever gone down on told me it was the best oral he'd ever had. One guy even cried with pleasure, saying he'd never known a woman's mouth could make him come that hard. But I gave head because I loved it. Doing it to some stranger in return for a stack of dirty dollar bills was a different story. I went back to my dark little apartment, stuffed with clothes and shoes I'd bought with borrowed money. My heel spiked an offical-looking debt collection letter that had landed on my doormat. Suddenly it seemed as if I had little choice.

I made myself a strong vodkatini, curled up in my only chair, and punched Mark Lenster's number into my cell phone. The voice that answered was clipped, old-money, educated New York, but he was warm and welcoming rather than intimidating.

"Hello, Mark," I said, emboldened by the drink. "My name's Kerry. I'm a friend of Annabel's."

"Hello, Kerry," purred Mark, "I've been waiting for your call. Annabel tells me you're interested in working for me."

"Yes, I am." And as I said it out loud for the first time, I realized I was very interested in working for Mark, for reasons other than the money. Now that I was speaking with him, now that it was real, I started to feel the first faint stirrings of arousal.

"Well, why don't we meet for coffee? You can't possibly consider working for me until you've met me." He named an exclusive hotel bar, and asked me to meet him there after work tomorrow. The following day, at lunchtime, I had a manicure, a pedicure, and a blow-out, hoping that my credit cards would cover the cost, and they did-just about.

Mark was waiting for me in the bar. His appearance matched his voice. He was tall, well groomed, and wearing head-to-toe black Armani. Although his face was young and unlined, his hair was shot through with a dark, steely gray, like George Clooney's. This gave him an air of authority that had me instantly at ease with him. The hand he held out to greet me was manicured, and the cheek that brushed mine when he air-kissed me was soft but peppered with the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow.

Mark drank mineral water while I sipped on a long herbal tea. As we spoke, he outlined the terms and conditions. His polite, well-articulated manner was at odds with the explicit nature of his words.

"The fee is two hundred dollars an hour. That includes straight sex, oral, or a hand job. Whether you do anything else is up to you. Most of my girls charge five hundred for anal penetration, threesomes, or a little light bondage. You can say no to any of these extras. They're entirely optional." I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral, although the twin thrills of money and sex were turning me on. Big-time. "You provide your own condoms, lingerie, and any other extras you need. I take fifty percent of whatever you make," Mark continued. "If the client gives you a tip, it's all yours. I vet all my clients and have an elite network of men who use my services. They expect discretion and an immaculate appearance. You will call me once when the client picks you up and then every ninety minutes until you finish the job."

As Mark spoke, I lost myself in a reverie of sucking cock in expensive hotel rooms. The thought of having a rich man's dick between my lips, making him come, was a thrill. I was going to give the best blow jobs money could buy.

"You'll need to be an actress. You'll need to pretend you're having a good time even if you're not. But if you do get horny-which can happen-you must never lose sight of the fact he's paying you to pleasure him. He's in charge. You do it the way your client wants. Think you can handle it?"

I nodded.

"Well, that's the first part of your interview over," said Mark, discreetly settling the tab with the bartender and leaving a ten-dollar tip. "Shall we go upstairs?" Annabel hadn't warned me that the interview would involve a tryout, but now it seemed obvious. Mark would need to sleep with me if he was going to hire me. From his point of view, there was no point paying a girl a grand a night if she was going to lie motionless and cold.

I just nodded, scared that my voice would waver and betray the nerves (and arousal) I was feeling. I wanted to keep this as cool and businesslike as I could. A porter called the hotel elevator, and we headed for the tenth floor. It was just the two of us in the elevator. Mark's expensive aftershave filled the tiny space and made my head swim. "If you come to work for me, you'll get to know this building," he said as we climbed the floors. "I keep three rooms here year-round. Clients often prefer a neutral space, and if the room is included in the booking it won't show up on a credit card bill. And, needless to say, not all of my girls have apartments that are the standard my clients have come to expect." We walked down a dimly lit corridor to a white door. Mark took a key from his pocket and ushered me in. "Plus, I need somewhere appropriate to audition girls. Make yourself comfortable."

The room was fashionably furnished in black-and-white furniture with a chessboard carpet and a huge gold rococo mirror hanging directly over the bed. While I took in my surroundings, Mark disappeared into the bathroom. I began to undress, anticipation growing and bubbling. By the time Mark came back I was down to my lingerie, stockings, and heels.

"No." Mark stood in the bathroom doorway, looking disapproving. "Always undress your client first or allow him to undress before you take your own clothes off. It gives you more control, and he can make himself hard while you strip for him."

So I perched on a chair and watched while Mark took off his clothes, folding them neatly on the back of a sculpted black leather chaise longue. Naked, he was magnificent. Broad, tall, gym-honed and rock solid, he had the physique of a quarterback. His tight, well-developed chest had a smattering of black hair. He was the most masculine man I'd ever seen. He must have been twice my weight. I began to imagine how it would feel to have those chunky arms wrapped around my waist, supporting me as he fucked me from behind, and the faint stirrings of sexual arousal grew into something stronger. Mark walked across the room, displaying a short but thick dick that was slightly darker in color than the rest of his body. As he sank back into the pillows of the bed, I focused on that dick.