Dirty Sexy Daddy by S.E. Law
2
Simona
I’ve been working with City Girls for about three years now, and it’s a little depressing when I think about it. Making a living as an escort isn’t the type of life any girl dreams of when she’s growing up, and yet here I am.
But what led me to this profession? Certainly not my childhood, which was pretty idyllic. I grew up in a leafy suburb of New Jersey as an only child to two older parents, and I had a goal: to be a children’s book author when I grew up. I’ve always wanted to tell stories about cute little balloon animals who live in a balloon village and do fun things like pop each other unexpectedly (okay, maybe that’s a little too much). But drawing and writing are activities that I enjoy, and it’s sad that instead of becoming an author, I’m paying my bills by seeing men for money.
Even more sad, I went to college in the hopes of getting ahead. After graduating from Hunter, I tried my hand at various gigs while submitting my writing to multiple publications. I was a barista, a waitress, a ticket-taker at the movie theater, and I even sold popcorn at Yankee Stadium once, I was so desperate to make ends meet. But it just wasn’t enough to cover my bills, and so when a friend introduced me to City Girls, I jumped at the opportunity.
Now, I make loads of cash. Men pay exorbitant sums to enjoy the “girlfriend experience,” which usually means dinner and drinks. The agency makes sure that the clients understand we’re being booked for companionship, but I think everyone knows the real story. And I’m not ashamed to admit that if the client is handsome and a decent guy, then I’ll provide some extras at the end of the night, all for an exorbitant fee, of course.
So City Girls has me for now. And I do mean, for now. I don’t want to work as an escort forever because what woman wants to be forty years old and still putting out to make ends meet? Oh god, that would be so horrible. The ideal situation would be what happened to my friend Patty. She went out on an assignment, and happened to meet a rich, handsome billionaire. Then, they fell in love and got married! It was a real Cinderella ending, and she had a fairytale happily ever after.
Of course, I’m happy for Patty because she’s my friend and she’s worked hard her whole life. But in my darkest moments, I burn with envy when thinking about my buddy. Isn’t that so horrible? I’d hate for Patty to know that sometimes I huddle in my bed, turning green with jealousy as nausea churns in my stomach. Patty’s met her man, and I desperately want to meet mine too.
But what are the chances that that’s going to happen while I’m working as an escort? I want to quit, but I’ve become a little addicted to the lifestyle. It’s not that I’m living high on the hog because I’m not. My apartment is painfully humble, and my clothes come from mid-tier stores. But I’ve gotten used to paying my rent on-time, and not worrying about little luxuries like going out for coffee each morning. How can I go back to my former life of penury?
As a result, I’m going on a date tonight at the Roosevelt Hotel. My heart feels heavy, but the client offered a pretty penny, and when my manager called, she flat-out told me I’d be an idiot to refuse.
“It’s just one date,” Margaux stated. “Don’t be dumb. You’re going to be fine, Simona.”
“But why me?” I asked in a whiny tone, staring at Margaux’s face on the screen. She’s a middle-aged woman with a sharp brown bob who always looks perfectly made up. I’ve heard that Margaux was an escort once upon a time, but with her hard edges, it’s difficult to believe. I sigh again. “There are millions of girls with the agency, so why would the client choose me?”
Margaux’s demeanor turned into that of a scolding mother hen.
“Because you’re pretty, vivacious and sassy,” she said. “Besides, this client requested something special.”
“Oh really?” I asked in a dry tone. “Like what? A girl without crazy fake eyelashes that are a mile long? Or one who won’t fall out of her chair when he tells the same story for the millionth time?”
Margaux’s voice grew sharp then.
“You need to be more grateful for what you have, Simona,” she said in a biting tone. “A lot of women would love to work for City Girls, but we chose you and that’s no small thing. You could be working for Stix or Saucy Pie, but you’re not. You’re here and that’s a good thing.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, my tone repentant. “So what’s the client’s special request? Please tell me it’s something normal.”
Margaux’s voice grew airy.
“Don’t worry, he’s very normal and very wealthy too. Even more, Mr. Montlake has offered to pay triple your rate but with a caveat.”
My heart dropped because these “extras” are always the worst. This is where they reveal they have ugly facial tattoos, unstoppable flatulence, or a drinking problem that’s still being addressed. But instead, Margaux’s voice drops and becomes conspiratorial. “Mr. Montlake says he wants a girl who’s naughty.”
I’m silent for a moment.
“Okay, but most guys want that. What does that even mean?” I venture. “A spanking? Toys? Or something else?”
Margaux merely shrugged and smiled.
“I don’t know but I’m sure it’ll be something fun. You can handle it, Simona. Just go and enjoy yourself, and by the way, let me just stress again: Mr. Montlake is going to pay triple your regular rate.”
With that, she hung up and I sighed. I don’t want to go, but then again, triple is a lot, and the date would only be a few hours. As a result, here I am now, getting ready for a big night out. Oh god, I hope the customer is a relatively benign guy. I hope he’s not secretly a member of the Italian-American mafia based in Red Hook because those customers are the worst. They actually believe the hype about themselves and are always humming the melody from TheGodfather. I grimace. Well, that’s life.
Now, I hesitate at the entrance to the Roosevelt Hotel’s bar. I know I look good. My long, curly brown hair is swept enticingly over one shoulder, and I’m wearing a sexy yet modest cocktail dress. It’s a snug royal blue number that emphasizes my tiny waist and large rear end. The sweetheart neckline shows off just the right amount of décolletage without being skanky, and a high-low hem flutters flirtatiously around my knees. Okay, it’s do or die, so I take a deep breath and step into the darkened bar. Hopefully, the client’s here already and we can get this show on the road.
I run my tongue over my lips as I scan the lobby for a man who meets the description Margaux provided. Then I do a double-take when my eyes settle upon a tall figure at the end of the bar because if this is my client, then he’s a veritable Greek god. He’s wearing a perfectly-cut dark suit which highlights the breadth of his shoulders and the width of his chest. A blindingly white dress shirt contrasts with his bronzed tan and as I gape like a dumbstruck schoolgirl, those blue eyes glint, taking in my reaction. Quickly, my mouth snaps shut. Mr. Montlake asked for a professional, and my behavior was definitely more of a teenage groupie than a seasoned working girl.
Slowly, I cross the room to greet my new customer, taking in his strong jaw and raven-black hair. Goodness, I had no idea they even made men like this anymore. He takes another sip of his drink, those electric blue eyes meeting mine over the rim of his glass, and my heart speeds as I feel faint.
Stop it, the voice in my head chides. You’ve been on dozens, if not hundreds of dates, Simona, and this is just another customer. Don’t get carried away.
The voice is right, and yet I can’t help the way my pulse is racing, and the warm flush that decorates my cheeks. Finally, I’m standing in front of the handsome man and extend my hand.
“Hi,” I say in a dulcet tone. “You must be James. I’m Simona.”
He nods and takes my palm, enveloping it in his huge one.
“Nice to meet you, Simona. Please, take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the empty stool next to him. “Can I get you something to drink?”
I think for a moment.
“Yes, just white wine please.”
James nods at the bartender, and the older man immediately springs to action. As I slide myself onto the bar stool, prickles of delight run up and down my arms. I’ve never been so aware of a client before, and it’s as if I can feel him touching me, although of course, he’s a few inches away. I inhale deeply, feeling dizzy once again. Mr. Montlake smells like male musk and sandalwood, with a hint of evergreen thrown in. If I’m not mistaken, he’s maybe thirty-four or thirty-five, with a knowing look in those blue eyes.
He catches me staring and smiles again.
“You’re very beautiful, Simona,” he says in a low voice. “Your pictures don’t do you justice.”
“Thank you,” I say with a flirtatious smile. “I like a man who recognizes quality when he sees it. But those photos were taken by a professional, and if they’re not up to par, I’ll have to tell the agency that.”
James immediately raises his brows.
“Oh they’re good enough,” he says. “It’s just that I like to see a little more, that’s all.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“More? What do you mean?”
James merely shrugs with a grin.
“In your snaps, you were wearing a dress and heels, kind of like you have on now,” he drawls. “I’d like to see more. Maybe in a bikini or lingerie.”
I giggle.
“Oh you! You mean that kind of more. Okay, I’m sure we can find something to meet your needs. I mean, City Girls likes to keep things classy, so I’m not sure they’d let us put up boudoir photos because it’s a little risqué, but I’m sure if a client puts in a request …”
James grins.
“Oh really? A request? I’ll definitely have to talk to them about it then.”
I giggle, the tone melodious.
“Please do. My manager has a stick up her butt, so she never listens to my suggestions. But if it came from you, I think the response would be really different.”
He grins in return and nods.
“I think you’re right,” he drawls. “I’ll make sure it happens. But enough about the photos because you’re much more beautiful in person,” he compliments as those blue eyes gleam. “Tell me about yourself, Simona.”
I smile sweetly and rattle off my regular getting-to-know-you spiel that I use with clients. It’s just the normal things, such as the fact that I’m from New Jersey, and that I love and appreciate art. Maybe some things thrown in about my fitness routine, and my affinity for dogs too. Nothing too revealing, and nothing too crazy either.
“Do you have a gallery in the city?” James asks, arching on eyebrow inquisitively. “I certainly appreciate a woman who likes art.”
My laugh is immediate.
“Do you mean a gallery that represents my work, or do I own a gallery?” I ask, caught a little off-guard.
He shrugs with a smile.
“Either.”
I giggle again, a little in disbelief.
“Oh goodness, no to both options. I meant that I like to write and draw, when I was saying I like art. I want to be a children’s book author someday, but as you can see, I’m still doing this with City Girls. A gallery would be out of the question, given my finances,” comes my rueful tone.
James nods.
“My apologies, I guess I was presuming too much. I just assumed that an incredibly bright and talented woman like yourself would have representation or be looking into gallery ownership. I can help you with that, if you like,” he offers casually. “I have some friends in the fine art world, and I’m happy to see what they can do.”
I gasp a little, choking for air. Clearly, my date is wealthy and refined, not to mention the fact that he lives at a completely different level than what I’m used to. Mr. Montlake likely goes to charity benefits where plates cost a thousand dollars each, and where women swan about in designer gowns from Neiman Marcus, and not the sale rack from Loehmann’s.
“Oh thanks,” I manage in a small voice. “I’d appreciate your help so much. Thank you again.”
But then I decide to be bold, and turn the tables on the handsome man. “So what brings you to City Girls?” I question. “You’re clearly a man of resources and taste. Why would a master of the universe like yourself need an escort when I’m sure, you have your pick of the litter?”
“Oh, really? You think?” James asks devilishly. “It’s my good looks, right? They make me irresistible.”
I laugh despite myself. James obviously has a sense of humor, and it helps lighten the atmosphere.
“Yes, it’s your good looks,” I acknowledge with another giggle. “But you could walk into a bar like this any night of the week and crook your finger at any woman in the room, and they’d run so fast their heels would be burning.”
James smiles.
“I guess so, although I guess I haven’t tried that particular party trick. But it’s a good question, sweetheart. I guess you could say that I have … ah, very particular tastes, which require a professional.”
I quirk a brow at him, curious.
“What do you mean?”
The handsome man shrugs.
“I guess I should just be open. I’ve been traveling non-stop for the past year or so, and it’s expanded my horizons a lot. And I wasn’t celibate during my travels. I was with the best and most beautiful women from many countries, including Moldova, Vietnam and Niger, to name a few. I’ve indulged in the brothels of Amsterdam, as well as on the beaches of Phuket. I’ve had two, three, and sometimes even four women at once. As a result, I’m not sure that New York can handle my … ah, proclivities, shall we say.”
My eyes widen in spite of my effort to keep my expression neutral. James doesn’t know it, but beneath the table, my thighs squeeze together in anticipation. So he’s that kind of client, hmmm? The kind that likes things wild with no-holds-barred fun, and fortunately, the man is in luck. I’m the right woman to satisfy his needs, and this evening is going to be delightful for us both.
Nor am I surprised by his requests, to be honest. After all, men often come to professionals for this exact reason. Their wives or girlfriends are boring, and are disgusted by certain acts the women consider taboo or frankly, just nasty. As a result, my clients need a woman of the night to keep them satisfied. They need someone lush, curvy, and accepting, who will take it any which way.
Even more, I just happen to be that woman. James’s words, spoken in such a deep, low tone, make my pussy quiver. In my years working for City Girls, only a handful of men have satisfied me the way I crave, and it’s never been an issue because I’m a service provider and I understand that my desires aren’t a priority. But it sounds like my new client wants to play in a whole new ballgame, and I feel myself going moist with anticipation.
“So that’s how you like it, hmm?” I purr throatily. But before I can ask more, the bartender comes around again, his expression inquisitive. James orders a rum and Coke, and I request another glass of Pinot Grigio. Once the bartender departs, I turn back to my handsome client.
“So you were saying?” I murmur with a coy smile. I feel warm thanks to the wine, and my guard is lowered. I lean closer to the handsome man, and his blue eyes flash as he presses his lips to the space just above my ear, his breath warm against my sensitive flesh.
“I haven’t said,” he growls. “But you, little miss, are gorgeous and just my type,” he whispers. “If you’re ready, I’ve got a room upstairs with a reward for you inside.”
My giggle is melodious and light.
“Oh really? A reward? And pray, what could that be?”
He chuckles low in his throat and smiles again, those blue eyes glinting.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks. “Let me just say it has something to do with this,” he says, brushing one large-knuckled hand over my protruding nipple. Immediately, I gasp and look around. Fortunately, the bar is dark and we’re relatively sheltered behind some tall palms, so no one can see. But the moisture begins to gush between my thighs, and to my embarrassment, my nips grow even more stiff and prominent beneath the thin fabric.
“But Mr. Montlake,” I whisper breathlessly. “You have to tell me a little at least. It’s not fair keeping me in the dark like this.”
His blue eyes go hard then.
“Sweetheart, don’t push your luck,” he growls in a tight voice. “You’ll learn that as we get to know one another. But because this is our first time tighter, I’ll reveal this: I want to tie you up and play with your body. I want to have you at my mercy as I thrust my cock wherever it fits. I want to test all of your holes, honey. Over and over again until you’re screaming.”
My breath catches, and I start trembling with anticipation.
“Yes,” I whisper, getting up from my seat as the fire between us dances. “Yes, Mr. Montlake. I think I want that too.”
His stare is direct.
“Can you handle it, Simona?” he demands, the air between us sizzling with heat now. “This isn’t too much, is it?” I merely shake my head coyly, taking his large hand in mine before leading him through the bar.
“Oh, I can handle it,” I mewl before shooting him a seductive smile over my shoulder. “Trust me. You don’t have to worry about that at all.”’
His answering growl makes my insides quiver and go hot because this is going to be a night to remember. And despite the fact that I’m being paid, I don’t care anymore. I want to see what James Montlake has as he takes me for a sensuous ride like I’ve never experienced before.
