Call Girl Meeting A Client

My skirt fits tight. It’s leather. It’s shiny and black. It shows the curves of my hips and how plump my butt is. I wear a tight fitting shirt. I have a beautiful, eye-catching figure and I select clothing that displays this figure beautifully. My breast are sensuous. It is evident in this shirt. I fix my hair nicely. I line my lips with a pretty lipstick and add blush to my cheeks I feel like I look presentable and I am off to start my day.

Meeting clients is what I regularly do daily. I do take at least one off day a week. Sometimes clients get picky about what day they want me. Call me what you want. An escort. A call girl. Maybe you’d title me as a hot model who chooses to make their money this way. My name is Marylebone and I work as an escort offering services to clients.

I look younger in age than what I actually am. Some may think I am still a teen. Though I can pass for nineteen or so, I am actually in my mid twenties. I keep myself up well. I am specific about how I handle business. I am not your average call girl. A client must pay up front. I do not just let anyone be my client. I only work with specific men who can afford me.

My client is married.He has a family. We are very discreet about our affairs. When he comes to pick me up, he always drives a different car. He dresses different as well. He does not need to be detected by anyone who may know him. We don’t meet at public places. There are too many eyes here to watch us. Too many people here in London know him. Instead, he pulls over and parks. I just happen to be arriving at this time. I quickly slip into the vehicle with him and he drives off.

As I mentioned before, I am picky about how I handle my business affairs. For sexual services, we either return to the agency or to a room. This client has an apartment here in London that no one knows about. Not even his wife. In the car ride, we make small talk. I ask about his day. He asks about mine. He repeats the same line most of these clients utter. He discusses the loneliness he feels at home. He goes on and on about the void he carries inside of him. We arrive at his apartment.

We go into this apartment. I am familiar with the place. I have been here many times before. I make myself at home. I take off my shoes. I wander into the kitchen. I pour us both a glass of wine. We talk for a little while and finish the bottle of wine. As more alcohol flows, we become more swept away in the night. The sex lasts longer than usual. He pays. At the end of the night, he discreetly drops me back off like how he picked me up. I get home safely. We plan to do this again.