Two female colleagues approached me in the bathroom while I was reapplying my makeup.
"He's gorgeous," breathed one. "If you ever get bored, I'll take him!"
I didn't tell her that he was only a click away, but he'd had the desired effect: the men were impressed, and the women were jealous. I could have left then, and I would still have made my point. But I didn't want to. I wanted him to stick around a little while longer.
Liveried servants cleared the banquet tables and pushed them against the wall, turning the long hall into a dance floor. A band struck up a slow, sexy tune.
"Now," said Olivier, taking me by the hand. "Now we make them really jealous."
And he held me tight and swayed me in perfect time to the music. He took the lead, and I let my body follow his rhythm. I felt my shoulders and neck relax for the first time in months as his strong lean arms encircled my waist and pressed my body against his. Aroused by this closeness, I felt my expensive panties begin to get damp. As the warmth of his chest against my breasts made my nipples go hard, I wondered if he'd noticed my sexual-response system crunching into gear. But he didn't keep me in the dark for long, because he proceeded to place a hand on my ass, a move that made my pussy pulse urgently. With my head on his chest, I couldn't see his expression, but his hand trailed gently over my arms, shoulders, and back with a touch as tender as that of any real lover. He began to fondle my favorite erogenous zone, the back of my neck, the one spot that's always been guaranteed to get me horny. I don't know why, but the skin around my hairline and behind my ears is like a shortcut to my clitoris. As Olivier's smooth fingers played with my earrings and caressed me there, I couldn't help but let out a low moan of pleasure.
Olivier heard that all right and drew away from me. Before he spoke, he glanced down at my eager, swelling nipples, and I blushed. "Hannah, I must say," he began.
Embarrassed, I tried to cover up my desire, although my glittering eyes and parted lips must have betrayed it. "Oh, that was nothing," I said. "I was just, um, I was…"
Olivier interrupted me by pressing a finger to my lips, a teasing gesture that foreshadowed his kiss. I wanted to take that finger between my lips and gently bite and suck it. I tried to calm myself down with some deep breaths.
"What I wanted to tell you," he said, and as he whispered in my ear, his lips caressed that area of my body behind my neck that makes me go weak at the knees, "is that if you want to take this further, that's fine. It's usual for me to offer 'extras' to a client. We charge the agency for the time we spend until now, and then you pay me in cash for any personal time we spend together. And with you, Hannah, I'd be only too happy. Would you like me to take you home?"
My mind was saying, Hannah, there's a line between hiring an escort to a function and paying a man for sex. It makes him a prostitute, and it makes you… What does it make you?
Another little voice in my head said, Oh, but how thrilling would that be, having a man whose only interest is your pleasure! And it's so straightforward: no bullshit, just there to do your sexual bidding.
But my body made the choice for me, drowning out both of these voices with a rush of blood to my head, my pussy, and my tits. I nodded meekly, and with that he took his finger away from my mouth, ran it slowly over my lower lip, and then pressed his lips to mine, gently at first, so that the kiss radiated heat and pleasure from my mouth right through the rest of my body. His hard tongue softly parted my lips and swirled around in my mouth, slowly and politely at first but then probing my own tongue and teeth with what seemed like a very real and increasingly urgent desire. So, I smiled to myself, as I pushed my own tongue against his and tasted the inside of his mouth, this goes to disprove the old saying that whores don't kiss.
"Shall we go?" he inquired. I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to midnight. The function would be ending in fifteen minutes, but there was no longer any need to hang around here. As Olivier and I disappeared into the night, I knew that my colleagues would all be talking about Hannah and her amazing new man. But although I'd hired Olivier to impress them, I no longer cared what they thought; right now, all I could think about was the effect he was having on me. As Olivier hailed a taxi in the street I noticed again his long, lean legs, shown off to perfection by that sharply tailored suit. In the backseat of the cab, he kissed me again. Tenderly. Sensitively. And worth every fucking penny.
Oliver paid for the taxi, an expense that I supposed would appear on my bill. As we rode the elevator up to my apartment, he began to take off my dress, sliding the straps over my shoulders and forcing my breasts out of the bra I wore. He held a nipple in each hand, pulling my breasts out so that they hung over the top of my dress. As I fumbled for the key in the lock, he stood behind me, a breast in each hand, supporting their weight and then dropping them, fingers lightly pinching each nipple, his face buried in my neck. I felt my legs begin to shake. My panties were now saturated with sweet warm juices, a trickle of which escaped and began to roll down the inside of my thigh. I could smell how aroused I was, and I was sure Olivier could, too.
We stepped over the threshold of my apartment and pushed the door closed behind us. He unzipped my dress, removed my bra, slowly rolled my panties down my legs and removed them. He held them to his nose and breathed in deeply before discarding them with a flick of his wrist. Then he kneeled before me like a slave to undo each shoe in turn, an intimate act I found immensely arousing. Now I was naked apart from my jewelry, which I kept on as a reminder that I was the one paying, a symbol of my status, power, and control. But the fact was I didn't feel in control at all. I was at the mercy of this sexy, sophisticated man who knew exactly where a woman needed to be touched.
I watched Olivier disrobe. Confidently, slowly, he peeled off layers of expensive clothing to reveal a toned olive body: my fantasy man from the computer screen made flesh before my eyes. He picked me up in his arms, and I felt a sizzle of desire as our bare skin touched for the first time. Burying his face in my chest and taking a hardening nipple between his lips, he carried me into my bedroom and sat me on the edge of my bed. With one hand inside each thigh, he pushed my legs apart as far as they would go. Then he pushed them a little bit farther, so that I felt a buildup of tension as my muscles stretched out. I could feel his breath on my waiting pussy for a few seconds before he planted a light, butterfly kiss directly on my clitoris. He hooked my knees over his shoulders, so that my legs remained splayed, and used his fingers to part the skin around my clitoris, leaving it exposed, vulnerable, and deliciously sensitive. Next, Olivier went to work with his tongue, tracing tiny shapes on the skin around my clit, teasingly avoiding direct contact with the bud itself. Round, up, down, round, up, down, teasing me and keeping it steady until I cried out. I felt my orgasm build slowly, steadily, an arousal completely different from any I'd felt before.
He carried on working my body like the professional he was. Olivier knew just the right moment to slide a thumb into my pussy and begin exploring me inside, without his tongue ever leaving my clitoris. He slid another finger up and then another. The circling of his tongue on my clit turned to sucking, and his teeth nipped me right on my clitoris. I squealed and began to buck and writhe. Then I was coming, a harder, stronger, longer-lasting orgasm than ever before, with overpowering contractions radiating through my entire body. Olivier pulled his fingers away and hardened his tongue and thrust it into my quivering pussy so that it had something to wrap around as the waves of pleasure died down.