The Limousine (closed)

[shereads]

God help anyone who used the term “call girl” around my roommate, Leslie. She was an “escort,” and she insisted there was a difference. So her reaction to my outfit that first night came as a shock:

“Are you crazy? You look like a hooker!”

Leslie had never used that word. This was serious. It was too late to change clothes.

I was already screwed and I hadn't even met the client.

Leslie had talked me into taking her place, just this one time. I would never have agreed if I hadn't lost my job, not even to save hers. You see, Leslie was on probation with the service. She'd canceled twice that year, and a third no-show would get her fired. Her boyfriend had made weekend plans for the two of them, and he'd given Leslie an ultimatum. She could cancel tonight's appointment and be with him, or she'd lose him forever.

She was in a tough spot. I'd like to say that's why I finally agreed to take her place, but it was the $1500.

$1500 for one night with one man. Not just any man, but an important client of Chicago's most exclusive escort service. Leslie had never met him and if the client had been given a description of her - or if he had requested a “type” - she and I were just close enough in appearance that I could be a match: petite, with dark hair worn shoulder length.

Everything I'd been taught, every value I'd held onto, was opposed to the idea of taking money for sex. I had only had two lovers, both long-term, and I'd been appalled when I first learned what Leslie did for a living. But in the year since we'd been sharing the apartment, her life had begun to seem so much easier than mine. More glamorous, too. I was an assistant museum curator and earned enough to pay my half of our rent with a little left over. I rarely had time for a social life, which is why man #2 had left the picture months ago. Leslie ate at the best restaurants, attended business retreats on the arms of Fortune 500 CEOs, slept until noon and had an incredible wardrobe…

…and made $1500 for one night with one man.

By the time I was dressed and ready to go, I was almost looking forward to my “appointment.” Until Leslie saw what I was wearing.

“What do you mean, I look like a hooker! You said to wear something of yours. Something sexy.”

I was wearing a red dress in a stretchy fabric that fit me like paint. I have to admit, it was the sexiest thing in Leslie's closet and the one dress most unlike my own clothes. I had been possessed by a slut-demon.

“I know, sweetie, but I would never wear that for a client I didn't already know. You always start with something slightly conservative, just in case. He might want to take you to dinner at a nice place…Oh hell, it'll be worse if you're late. Just go.”

Dammit, now I was so nervous I felt dizzy. I had liked myself in this dress. Standing in front of Leslie's full-length mirror, my hair and makeup perfect, a glimmer of silver at each ear, I had seen myself as someone men might pay for sex. For one night, I'd be someone I didn't know and never expected to see again. A sort of Prostitute Cinderella.

Waiting for the elevator and nearly ten minutes late, I just felt like a girl whose shoes pinched. Red stilettos. They hurt like hell. My stomach was doing flips. If I hadn't had a coat on over the hooker dress, I don't think I could have left the building.

The limousine was there, just as the service had said it would be. “The Doctor,” as this client was known, had requested the limo, and we were to pick him up at the Drake Hotel. I had never felt more self-conscious in my life, than I did getting into that stretch limousine. A Cadillac Deville, about a block long; inside, it wasn't as much a car as it was a bachelor pad, all leather and glitz. Very Hugh Hefner. There were little fibre lights that made the interior glitter like a nighttime sky. There was a bar with crystal decanters. There was - omigod - a mirrored ceiling.

The chauffeur wore a little cap with his uniform and avoided eye contact. I glared at him when he held the door for me.

I am not a call girl, buddy. I'm not even an escort. I'm an unemployed museum curator whose shoes hurt.

Fifteen hundred dollars…Fifteen hundred dollars.

I chanted my mantra until we arrived at the Drake. Then my mind went blank. I had never been more nervous. Nervous and scared and excited.

There was a knot of people beneath the portico, and one of them was going to pay me to let him fuck me. Or something...Oh Jesus, I remembered Leslie saying he might “have particular tastes.” I tried to think what those might be, but I couldn't think at all. A shadowy figure had emerged from the crowd beneath the portico, and our chauffer was opening the door opposite mine.

Wow. Shoulders.

He was big and powerful and dressed all in black. As he ducked his head to get in the limo, our eyes met and I quivered.

For Leslie's sake, he needed to think I was a professional escort. I definitely should not have quivered.

~ ~ ~

My name is Jill. I'm a 29-year-old art history major from Kansas. This is the story of how an ordinary woman became a high-priced call girl, met the Doctor, and changed her life. What happened was inevitable, from the moment he joined me in the limousine.

 

[shereads]

The Limousine:

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Ten minutes late.

He wasn’t an impatient man, but he didn’t like being made to wait, especially not for a service he’d paid for, and he didn’t anything that was inefficient or unprofessional. This escort service had come with the very highest recommendation: the girls were said to be beautiful, intelligent; unusually creative and accommodating, and although the limousine was an extra service and unrelated to his escort, it didn’t seem like an auspicious start to his evening. He clutched the valise in his gloved hand and craned his neck to look down the crowded street

He spied it at last, the hotel lights gleaming in the black finish as it glided majestically to the sidewalk in front of him, moving like a whale through a sea of minnows. It was absurdly long, low, and ominously black: ostentatious, and he hated ostentation. It didn’t help matters that the driver jumped from his seat and ran obsequiously to the curb to open one of the doors for him, obviously contrite at being late. Thank God he didn’t make matters worse by apologizing.

He stood there head bowed, holding open a door large enough to admit a Mac truck. “Chez Paul, Doctor?” he asked.

The Doctor stood with one foot in the car. The scent of warm leather emanated from the car, and the smell of some subtle perfume: the scent of a woman. He glanced inside and saw the soft glow of colored lamps, the sparkle of Baccarat crystal. On the nearest bench he saw a woman.

“Not just yet,” he said to the driver. “Just drive. Take the long way.”

“As you wish sir.”

The door closed behind him and the Doctor sat down, placing his valise on the floor next to him.

She was wearing a red dress, and wearing it well, filling it out without making it look the least bit cheap. Her legs were encased in smoky nylons, her calves as shapely and lethal as daggers, and she had one arm draped over the back of the seat in an air of studied nonchalance. The look she gave him was one of expectation and intelligent curiosity, and maybe just a touch of fear, enough so that he wondered if she might be an amateur. He was aware that some of the top escort services prided themselves on supplying their clients with amateurs, but, again, he was used to dealing with professionals.

“You must be the Doctor,” she said in a low smoky voice. “My name is Jill, and I’m delighted to meet you.”

“You’re late,” he said shortly.

“I know, and I do apologize. It was all my fault, but I did want to look my best for you. I want everything to be perfect.”

As an appeasement it wasn’t half bad, and the Doctor settled back in his seat as the limo whispered away from the curb.

“Can I make you a drink?” she asked. “They seem to have everything.”

“I think a martini would do. Not too dry.”

She nodded approvingly and sat forward. Apparently she knew her way around, for she opened the mini fridge and took out a bottle of ice-cold Tanqueray and broke the seal.

The Doctor studied her as she mixed the drinks. Her hair was lustrous brown; her lips red and parted as she worked, and almost as shiny as the surface of the limo. The street lights shining through the smoked glass windows played over her face and glinted off the crystal decanters.

The interior of the limo was absurd, a kind of pimp heaven, and the only thing that kept it from being downright vulgar was that everything inside was of the highest quality: the sofas of rich, white leather, the trim gleaming chrome and polished walnut. he might have hated it, but the fact that they were closed off from the eyes of the world outside made it bearable, even luxurious.

She handed him his drink and picked up hers, saluting him. “Cheers,” she said.

He raised his drink and tasted it. He was very fussy, but the martini was perfect, and the cleanness of the gin seemed to wash away some of the grime he still felt from his trying day.

“Tell me, Jill,” he asked. “Did the service tell you what I expect?”

She sipped her drink.

“Whatever you want, all you have to do is ask, Doctor.”

He stared at her for a moment. There was something different about her. She wasn’t like the other girls he’d engaged in the past. She lacked their hardness and superficial gloss. There was something real about her.

“Come here, Jill. Next to me.”

She slid next to him and he took her drink and put it down on the bar. The car had stopped at a light, and now the light turned green and as they accelerated away he said, “There’s something I think we should get out of the way right now. It’ll make things easier.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, and felt her start in surprise. Her surprise faded quickly as he kept his lips pressed to hers, and he could feel her soften as his tongue came out and traced slowly along her lower lip.

Her lips parted as if waiting for his tongue to plunge into her mouth, but he held back. Instead he tasted her. He savored her mouth, inhaling her scent, and she was aware that he was taking all sorts of unexpected information from her kiss, things she would never had told him herself. She’d never been kissed like that in her life, in such a seeking, inquisitive way.

When he stopped and sat back and looked at her, she hardly knew what to think.

 

[shereads]

"Did the service tell you what I expect?"

He was my boss.

I was actually relieved that our positions were being made clear from the start. If he had expected some pretense of romance, he was going to be disappointed. I could act the role of bartender, and I knew my way around executives and rich people. And there was no great mystery to sex. I could do it. But I couldn't pretend there was anything personal about this.

It was a good sign that he wanted to keep things formal. That, I could do.

"Whatever you want, all you have to do is ask, Doctor."

I heard myself saying it, so it must have been me. I needed a drink. There was one in my hand. So far, so good.

It was a perfect martini, as I'd known it would be. Mixing our drinks had calmed my nerves and helped with the expected small-talk: my rehearsed introduction, the sincere-but-not-fawning apology for arriving late. My hands weren't shaking perceptibly. My voice was low and modulated.

This might be easier than I'd expected. The Doctor was an attractive man.

"Come here, Jill. Next to me."

Easy wasn't the word for it. There were no words to describe the little thrill that shot upward through my body, as unexpected as a jolt of static electricity.

There was something in this man's voice and manner that commanded me, bypassing my brain and speaking directly to my body. I slid across the bench and was beside him almost before I processed the request.

His eyes. Beautiful, unreadable.

I was staring at him. I wanted to touch his face. Who was he?

"There's something I think we should get out of the way right now. It will make things easier."

My veneer of sophistication heated and cracked and I felt it slipping away from me, leaving vulnerable flesh.

Then he kissed me.

"They never kiss," Leslie had told me once. "Kissing is more personal than fucking." Leslie had a theory about men who could have any woman, but preferred to pay for one. "They don't have to seduce me. They don't have to kiss me. They don't have to invite me to spend the night."

The Doctor was kissing me. I had been kissed by men who wanted very much to seduce me, and this was more intense. He was tasting me, teasing me. I opened to him immediately, wanting to please him, but he didn't take advantage. He was savoring me.

I felt precious to this stranger. It was absurd, and I knew it, but it was impossible not to feel cherished and adored when he was so gently sipping, sampling, as if he found me delicious and wanted me to last.

I was stunned. The Doctor's kiss contradicted everything Leslie had told me about her clients. What's more, I was beginning to kiss him back with genuine feeling. It felt fabulous. And dangerous.

Fifteen hundred dollars.

For the first time since I'd made the decision to go through with this, it struck me that it might not be worth it. To be kissed like this for the first time, by a man who thought I was a prostitute...I was a prostitute. Even if it was just this once.

I reluctantly let him pull away, missing his mouth immediately ~ and wondering if he knew what had happened inside me. Until he'd kissed me, I hadn't felt even a hint of erotic desire in connection with this night. I felt more than a hint of desire now, and wasn't sure I welcomed it.

He leaned back against the plush leather bench, and I was conscious of our surroundings as if I'd just awakened from a dream. We were in traffic in downtown Chicago, and I felt exposed to the world. Nobody could see in, but in such a naked moment it was hard to think logically.

The Doctor's impersonal demeanor was back. It was as if the kiss had been an experiment, and he had learned what he needed to know.

He looked at me appraisingly. My eyes. My mouth. He glanced down at my breasts.

My nipples were stiff as pencil erasers. The thin fabric barriers of Leslie's skin-tight dress and my white silk bra did nothing to hide the sharp protrusions. I crossed my arms over my breasts, hiding the evidence even though I knew it wasn't the response of a professional call girl. Escort. Whatever I was supposed to be, she shouldn't have been blushing.

Apparently, my body didn't understand the role or care about the money.

My voice sounded surprisingly calm, I thought, considering that I felt like an actress who had forgotten her lines in the middle of the first act.

"What's going to happen tonight?"

He raised an eyebrow, as if my question surprised him.

I opened my mouth to say more, and thought better of it. There was still a chance to recover my equilibrium and resume the role. I just needed to let the Doctor take the lead. And stop asking questions.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a test, a probe, a questionnaire and an exposure, and it contained more than a hint of a threat. The leather seat creaked softly and her dress rustled as the Doctor pulled away from her and looked at her face to gauge her reaction. A smokiness in her eyes that rapidly gave way to a look of veiled surprise, maybe even shock, before she nervously reassembled the elements of her equanimity.

He knew she hadn’t expected to be kissed. He’d taken advantage of her vulnerability, and used the opportunity to let her know that he was not to be just another john. He wasn’t going to be satisfied with just being milked like a Guernsey cow. He wanted more from her than that.

“What’s going to happen tonight?” she asked.

As she reached for her drink he saw her fingers trembling ever so slightly. Good. The first thing that had to go, even before he opened the first button on her dress, was that façade of imperviability that was the usual prostitute’s stock in trade. He was a man of refined tastes and he knew that bodies came cheap. It wasn’t just her body he was after. That’s not why he’d paid fifteen hundred dollars for an evening with her.

“I thought we’d have dinner, where we can get to know each other,” he said. “Do you know the Chez Paul?”

Yes, she knew it, and dinner would be lovely. Whatever he wanted to do was fine with her. They sipped their drinks and made small talk: Chicago, the weather, where she lived (she was evasive without being rude), the service she worked for, although here she smiled demurely and said she never discussed business and preferred to keep her personal life to herself. She was sure he’d understand.

He finished his drink and placed his glass on the mirrored bar, amused to see that she didn’t finish hers. He appreciated professionalism, wherever he observed it. Or could it really be her nerves?

The kiss still hung in the air between them with the menace of a thundercloud. He decided to provoke the weather.

He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned over her so that his weight forced her back into the luxurious cushions. His face was inches from hers, and he could smell her scent, wafting through her clothes on the heat of her body.

“I like to kiss, Jill. I hope you don’t find that unusually rude or objectionable? I know that it’s not a common practice in a situation like this.”

What could she say? He was paying for her, and she could hardly say no to such an innocent request, despite Leslie’s warning. Let him kiss her to his heart’s content; she simply wouldn’t respond. As his mouth came down on hers again she purposefully opened her eyes and gazed at the lights sliding by outside the limousine window, trying hard to figure out just where they were, trying to remember the order of streets. Anything to ignore what he was doing with her mouth.

His tongue down her throat or his fingers thrusting between her legs would have been easier to ignore than what he did to her, for he kissed her as one who truly loved the feel of her lips against his, the sensual give and softness. She had no choice but to put her arm around his shoulders, and as he kissed her she could feel his muscles seem to relax as if he were melting into her. His weight pressed them both back into the soft leather cushions and Jill cast her eyes about frantically, like a drowning woman looking for something to hold onto.

She was soft and she was sweet, and beneath her brave exterior he felt a delicious female neediness and vulnerability. The thought passed through his mind that she’d probably done this with countless men, that countless men had already had her and been where he was now, but that didn’t bother him in the least. To him she was a virgin, and he knew from experience that no one had ever done to her the thing she was going to do. He would have her soul on a platter or he would have nothing. Despite what she pretended to be, there was a woman in there, and he felt her stirring.

“You do like to kiss, don’t you?” she asked as he released her.

Without taking his eyes off her he keyed the intercom.

“Driver? Change of plans. Take the Outer Drive. Head south. I want to do some sightseeing. You do have a phone, don’t you? Call the restaurant and tell them to hold the reservation for half an hour.”

He returned to his kiss, and this time she let her eyes fall closed, concentrating on the feel of his lips, his male heat. Instinctively she reached up to caress his cheek, but the Doctor took her wrist in his hand and pressed it back against the seat, leaving no doubt as to who was in control of whom.

His hand went to her breast and he cupped it as if testing its weight and texture, exploring her, then slid down over her side, along the line of her hip and down her leg until he met the smooth expanse of her nylon-covered thigh. The feel of her leg seemed to increase his ardor, and his kiss became more demanding. the feel of her body inflamed him and he wanted her to know it.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered.

The limousine was still creeping through the crowded streets of North Michigan Avenue, and though the windows were heavily smoked, there were people everywhere, and it was impossible to tell what they could see or not. Still, an order was an order, and Jill forced herself to let her knees fall open, as far as they could within the snug confines of her dress.

He slid his hand up the inside of her thigh and beneath the warm tent of her skirt, playing with the baby soft skin at the top of her stockings.

It was lewd, cheap, and obscene, but it at least took her mind off the unbearably erotic sensations of his lips against hers. It was business, after all. She braced herself to feel his fingers at her pussy, and at that moment he broke the kiss and pulled back so he could stare into her eyes, looking for what he might see in her face when he touched her.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

[double post]

 

[shereads]

“Spread your legs,” he whispered.

I was conscious of headlights and the looming shape of a van in the next lane; a confusion of colors and images, a moment of embarrassed hesitation..then I opened my thighs, wide as I could within the confines of the clingy dress. For the second time tonight, I felt a stinging trickle of liquid heat dampening my panties.

Oh yes.

The first time had been when he grabbed my wrist and pinned it back. With a gesture and a whispered command, the Doctor had taken ownership of my body in a way that had nothing to do with the exchange of money. My breathing quickened, and I returned his kiss with new urgency. Some part of my mind worried that my response was predictable. I wanted him to find me interesting, for reasons still unknown. The rest of me just wanted to suck his tongue and make him press his hand to my pussy.

His hand stroked the naked skin above my stockings with teasing slowness, as if we had all the time in the world. His mouth was delicious. I was drunk on the heat and power of his presence, overwhelmingly male; it was all I could do to keep from lifting my hips, begging for his hand.

Keep it businesslike. Let him take the lead.

I concentrated on holding still, hesitant to reveal my surprising need.

He broke the kiss suddenly, and his hand stilled, an unfulfilled promise on my tingling inner thigh. Had he sensed that I was holding back? I opened my eyes and found his pinning me in place.

Why is he stopping?

My hips jerked upward, and I moaned. Distracted by the dark depths of his gaze, I had forgotten to control my response.

What the hell. Why control it?

We were surrounded by a cocoon of carnal heat. I wondered if he could smell my arousal mingled with my perfume. I should have felt ashamed of myself, but I had frankly never been so turned on in my life.

My voice emerged as a petulant plea: "Touch me. Touch my panties."

My hips made tiny, circling, seeking movements, begging him. I hadn't been touched in a long, long time.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Touch me. Touch my panties."

The Doctor looked down at her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. She was all but reclining on the soft leather seat, only her head was still against the backrest, and the hem of her dress was stretched tight between her spread thighs

“Anxious, aren’t we?” he asked. He took his martini from the mirrored tray and sipped it. “As I recall, I’m the one who gives the orders. Isn’t that right?”

She stared up at him. There was no need to nod. They both knew he was right.

The Doctor turned around and opened his case and took some object from within as Jill lay there, her legs spread, trying to keep her hips from moving in the soft leather. When he turned to her he had a small riding crop in his hands: black leather, no more than eighteen inches long. He tapped her lightly on the inside of her knee.

“Lift your dress up,” he said calmly. “All the way up. Above your waist.”

Jill lifted her bottom from the seat and hiked the tight dress up. She wore stockings and garters. Her panties were black, and so sheer they might have been transparent. The mound of her sex was clearly visible and completely hairless, and the panties so snug that the flesh between her legs made a little convex bulge.

The Doctor nudged the inside of her knee with his crop again and she opened her legs wide. If he wanted to look, then he could look until his dick fell off as far as she was concerned. But when he ran the end of the crop down her slit it was more than she was ready for, and her body jerked reflexively as she grabbed hold of the whip to stop him.

Again the look of disdain and cold curiosity.

“That’s not good,” he said. “You’re not to interfere.”

“It’s a whip,” she protested.

“I made my desires clear to your agency. Is there a problem?”

Jill looked into his eyes but saw no reprieve there, so she let go of the whip and sank back down into the leather seat.

“Sit up and lean forward,” the Doctor said as he retrieved some handcuffs from his valise.

Jill looked at him, then at the cuffs, then across the distance that separated her from the driver. No one had said anything about whips and handcuffs, but she knew that Leslie’s job was on the line. Besides, what could he do to her in the limousine with the driver sitting right up front? A little kink was only to be expected. That’s what she was getting paid for.

She turned in her seat and put her hands behind her, and felt the Doctor place the manacles on her wrists. They closed with a ratcheting sound, then he turned her around again and helped her resume her position half lying on the soft leather seat, her bound hands behind her.

He reached down and pulled her dress back up around her hips and took a moment to rub his hands over her legs, over the tops of her thighs and farther up, past the tops of her stockings, to the smooth, warm flesh of her bare thighs.

Jill grunted as he touched her. She tugged at the cuffs but found that she was helpless now. There was nothing she could do to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to her.

The limousine bumped softly as it started up the ramp to the outer drive, the differential humming beneath their feet as the powerful engine accelerated. Squares of light swept through the windows from the overhead lights on the drive, gliding over her bare thighs and her pussy encased in the gauzy panties. She knew she was lubricating now. She was getting more excited than he’d thought possible, helpless before this stranger.

“Spread them, my dear,” he said, pushing her legs again with the crop.

She spread her knees wide, and the Doctor ran the stalk of the crop down her fleshy crease, holding it delicately in two fingers as a conductor holds his baton. Jill gasped, her breath hissing through her teeth as the bumpy shaft of the crop slid between her labia, pressing her sheer panties against her sudden wetness.

“Do you like to fuck, Jill?” he asked her, sliding the crop back and forth. “Do you like the feeling of a man’s hard cock in your pussy? Fucking you, stretching you out?”

“Whatever you want,” she tried to say, but with the leather-wrapped shaft of the crop sawing over her most sensitive flesh, her words were hardly understandable.

“You’re very responsive. I like that in a woman. It’s all about the response, don’t you agree? That’s what I pay for: to see the look in a woman’s eyes.”

She couldn’t speak. She just nodded her head.

The doctor lifted up the end of the crop. There was a little square of leather at the tip, and she watched as he raised it slowly and spanked it against her pussy, directly over her clit.

“Oh!” she exclaimed.

She had never been whipped before, not even in play, and the look in the doctor’s eyes told her he wasn’t playing.

She spanked her again, and a lewd and unexpected thrill shot down her spine. It wasn’t just the sensation of the leather against her pussy, it was the whole thing: the obscene position she was in with her skirt hiked up around her waist, her legs spread to make things easy for him. She’d been feeling very adult and naughty in her tight panties with the stockings gripping her thighs like a lover’s hands, and yet now the sight of the whip spanking her puffy little mound made her feel like a child, like he could do whatever he wanted to her.

He kept up his gentle spanking, the blows coming faster with the tempo of a vigorous fuck, and Jill found herself biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut, trying to bite back her moans of pleasure and keep her hips from moving in rhythm with the whip.

He grabbed her hair and turned her face to his so he could look into her eyes as he whipped her pussy, and Jill could hardly meet his gaze. He was looking into her, trying to determine what kind of woman she was, and he seemed to like what he saw.