Rosie Dixon - Confessions from an Escort Agency

‘It gives the young gentlemen pleasure, that’s the main thing,’ says a pretty blonde girl adjusting the fall line of her dress by raising it and letting it drop to the ground.

‘And it’s been going on for hundreds of years,’ says the first speaker. ‘Every time I take a tumble I feel like a part of history.’

The others nod in agreement and I feel a new excitement. What a stroke of luck. I love ritual and it looks as if I am going to take part in some.

‘You’ll have to show me what to do,’ I say. The other girls laugh and clap their hands to their mouths.

‘Lawks a mercy,’ says the pretty blonde. ‘You’re a bright spark and no mistake. You’ve no need to do anything. You just keep running, my girl. All the doing is taken care of.’

I would like to ask more questions but the door flies open and a young man with a shiny face and a glass of champagne sways backwards and forwards in front of us.

‘Right, jades! Your moment has arrived,’ he barks. ‘To the park with you and we’ll seek you out when we’ve quaffed another jeroboam of bubbly.’ He staggers across the room and unbolts a door which gives onto a flight of stone stairs. I catch a glimpse of a moonlit garden and then the exit is blocked by the escaping girls. Giggling and shrieking, they flee into the night. How exciting it all is. I can’t wait to start playing. ‘You’re slow, wench. Do you need any help to shed your garments?’

Before I can tell him to keep his hands to himself, the man has started to rip open my blouse! Like a food-crazed porker he exposes the ripe fruit of my breasts and buries his face in my bosom. I know I am probably being prudish but this does seem a little much. We have not even been introduced.

‘Hands off the merchandise, Rollo, the sale has yet to begin.’ My rescuer, for so he proves, is the good-looking man who greeted me when I arrived at the party. He seizes my attacker by the shoulders and sends him reeling out of the room.

‘Thank you so much,’ I say. ‘Tell me—’

‘Two minutes, no more,’ interrupts my deliverer. ‘Change swiftly. I can hold them back only with the greatest difficulty – myself included.’ He delivers a smacking kiss to each of my unprotected breasts and retreats from the room. A trifle forward, I think to myself, but his heart is obviously in the right place – to say nothing of another part of the body that thrust itself against me.

Deciding that I must not be a spoilsport I strip down to my panties and put on one of the robes that is remaining. I do not want to strip completely naked in case I catch a chill. These summer nights can be very deceptive.

‘Thirty seconds!!’ A great cheer goes up and I hear bodies jostling for position against the door. The whole proceedings are obviously some kind of hide and seek. I wonder if there is a prize for the last one to be caught? An untouched glass of champagne lies on a silver salver and I knock it back in one impulsive gesture and throw the empty glass over my shoulder. What fun! I have always wanted to do that. Feeling delightfully light-headed, I skip down the steps and into the garden. There is no sign of the other girls and I imagine that they must have found all the best places. Never mind. It is not winning but taking a part that matters as they say on the football specials.

The grass is long and the dew feels cold against my legs. I am heading towards a clump of trees but I catch my foot in a trailing root and sprawl full length. No sooner have I touched the ground than a great shout goes up and I hear what I remember from one of those Alan Whicker programmes as being hunting horns. ‘Tally Ho!’, ‘View Halloo!!’ I raise my head far enough to see men running in all directions. Some moving fast, some barely able to set one foot in front of the other. One man remains draped over the balustrade at the top of the staircase as if hung out to dry.

‘Got you!’

I think that the man must be talking to me but he has fallen to his knees half a dozen paces away. I see a flash of white as he roughly pulls a girl to a sitting position and launches himself onto her lips. His hands start off against her cheeks but then drop down to pull at her robe. As I watch in amazement he hobbles forward on his knees and proceeds to tug open the front of his knee breeches. The girl sinks back so that her shoulders are flat against the ground and – do my eyes deceive me!? Can this be true? Sexual intercourse is being joined! How awful. Fancy taking advantage of an innocent game to behave like that. I cannot lie where I am and watch one of my sisters being so shamefully abused.

‘Leave her alone, you brute!’ I shout, and springing to my feet race to the rescue. An instant after I have formed the resolve I am raining blows on the rapist’s shoulders but he brushes me away as if I am a fly.

‘Hold your horses, wench,’ he cries. ‘I’ll accommodate your overpowering lust in a few minutes.’

‘That’s right, you take your turn,’ says an angry female voice from beneath him. ‘There’s plenty to go round.’

No sooner have I started to puzzle at these words than there is the sound of heavy breathing behind me and two figures loom out of the darkness.

‘Spare mount,’ says one of them cheerfully. ‘Do you want to test the stirrups first, Max?’

‘I’ll watch your form, old lad,’ says his fellow.

‘Look,’ I begin. ‘Are you going to allow—’ Before I can say another word I am swept off my feet and find myself deposited on the ground like a discarded dust sheet. The descent temporarily winds me and when I try to rise I find the manoeuvre thwarted by the weight of the first newcomer.

‘Get off me!’ I shout.

‘Frisky little filly,’ observes the gent in question. ‘I’ll wager this is her first pummelling of the eve.’

‘No doubt of it,’ agrees his companion. ‘See. She still sports her wrapping.’

I imagine that the brute is alluding to my panties which have been revealed in the struggle.

‘She’s a trifle over-excited,’ says my first attacker. ‘Overwhelmed by eagerness, no doubt. Rest your knees on her shoulders so that I can prepare her for the joust.’

‘My pleasure, Rollo.’

That a man bearing the name of one of my favourite sweets could behave in such a despicable fashion is beyond my comprehension. I attempt to call out, but my robe is pulled over my head and serves to muffle my shouts.

‘Peel her, Rollo.’

I wriggle and writhe but to no avail. Powerful hands fall upon my prettily patterned panties and rip them away as if they had been made of paper. In the circumstances I wish that they had been. The cost of lingerie these days makes it difficult to absorb the loss of items destroyed in such wanton fashion.

‘Fine evening for it, Max.’

‘One of the best I can remember, Rollo, old sport.’

‘I thought the champers could have come a little sharper to the tongue.’

‘Quantity rather than quality.’

‘’Tis the same with everything, these days – and now, my little game cock!’

Quite which game cock he is referring to I do not know. My own feeling is that it is not his own organ because this, though game, is anything but little. His knees press against my shuddering thighs and I receive a monstrous injection of love truncheon that makes me suck in a mouthful of muslin and near choke myself. Regrettably, my coughing spasm is construed as a sign of enthusiasm for the sordid attack that is being made upon my person and my ravisher attempts to harness his thrusts to the tremors that run through my body. He must be a big brute because the thwack of his gonads against my posterior is like the blow from an open hand.

After what seems an eternity, my attacker releases a low shuddering moan and collapses on top of me. Regrettably, this is not the first time that I have found myself in the miserable situation that currently confronts me and I know that the beast between my thighs has discharged his responsibility to his gender.