Business Model

I regard myself as a professional providing a quality service to my clients. I choose my clients carefully, and like to think they've chosen me with discernment and taste, not just for the rather specialised things I'm happy do for them. That's what I was thinking as I walked to my meeting with a new client.

We'd arranged to meet in the bar of a rather smart hotel. As my high heels click-clacked across the lobby floor, I could feel men's eyes following me, exploring me from my high heels up what they could see of my sheer black nylon clad legs below my coat, to my neat blonde hair. I knew they were imagining my underwear and naked body beneath. I'm used to that.

But I wasn't interested in them, because there on one of the black leather armchairs was my client. He was mid forties with just a touch of grey in his well groomed hair, slim and muscular, wearing a typical business suit and the blue striped shirt and red tie he'd described to me. He'd told me his name was Mr Smith. I put down my briefcase and hand bag, sat down opposite him and slowly crossed my legs.

He greeted me warmly and confidently. I like confident men. He got me a drink, and we talked about this and that for a while. I could see the front of his trousers already bulging with his erection. He looked around as if to make sure no one was in earshot before he spoke:

"Did you wear the outfit I asked you to?"

I didn't say anything in reply but gave him a mischievous smile and pulled my coat up a little and spread my legs just wide enough. His eyes went down immediately. He nodded with approval and gave a little growl at the sight of my stocking tops, bare thigh above, and white panties, before he spoke.

"Shall we go up to my room?"

Click-clack went my heels as we crossed the lobby to the lift, and again I felt hungry men mentally undressing me.

His room was one of the more expensive suites, with of course a big wide double bed. There was a huge TV screen, and a laptop on the desk. He must have connected the TV to the laptop as both were showing a picture of me sprawled nude on a sheepskin rug, with my legs wide just right for a guy to mount me

"I see you like my web site" I said.

"It's how I found you" he replied, and touched the laptop.

The picture changed to my home page picture of me in a long black halter top evening dress with one long bare leg spread out through the slit high up my thigh, and my boobs all but bursting out of the deep cut cleavage. The title read "Lady Patricia", the caption beneath read "Private modelling and sensual massage. See me in and out of the outfit of your choice. Your place or mine." An icon below read "Enter - if you dare!" I like men who dare.

In the past you'd find women like me in sleazy bars or under the street lamps as you cruised the red light districts. Now we use more sophisticated methods, especially high class professionals like me.

"Shall we get down to business?" I suggested, and I took off my coat.

I was in the outfit he'd requested: a schoolgirl outfit of boob-clinging thin white blouse with a school necktie, a pleated grey miniskirt miles shorter up my black nylon clad thighs than even the skirts I wore at school, and definitely non school regulation shiny black high heels. With a bit of make up I didn't look my nearly thirty but ten years less, perhaps even younger.

I stood with my legs spread, leaning back against a chair to arch my back and stick my boobs out and rocked on my heels to sensuously sway my hips. For good effect I'd left a blouse button open, like I'd always done at school, just where it showed my beasts slung in the tiny white cups of my bra. I looked at him under my blonde fringe, and gave him a "come on big boy" smile. Then I lifted up my skirt to show him my panties.

Most of my clients ask for tiny thongs or see through lace panties, usually black. But he'd asked for white cotton high street store girl's knickers.

"Did you wear white knickers like that when you were a schoolgirl, Patricia?"

"At least until I let boys take them off me!" I said playfully. Even then I also had a tiny black satin thong and bra set I wore just for my boyfriends that my mother didn't know about.

He grinned. He reached down and touched my panties where the cotton was taut over my sex mound. Then he slipped his hand down inside my panties, cupped it over my pussy and eased a finger between my vagina lips. I gasped with the sudden pleasure: he knew how a woman likes to be touched! I thought he'd undress me or ask me to do a sexy striptease straight away. Most men do. But he had different ideas.

He touched his laptop again. After a few clicks a picture of a teenage girl appeared, with blonde hair down to her shoulders in a style similar to mine, and standing wearing her school uniform. Her white blouse looked as well filled as mine, her legs looked good in black tights, but her grey pleated skirt wasn't anywhere near as short as mine.

"My daughter Alice. She's eighteen. Do you think she's pretty?"

I told him, honestly, that she was. But Alice certainly didn't look like the kind of girl who left her blouse undone or let boys pull her knickers down. He clicked through a few more pictures, this time of Alice on a beach in a very respectable bikini. She had a figure and legs that would drive boys wild. I noticed how the pictures all centered on her big breasts and her bikini briefs taut over her cheeky bottom and showing the bulge of her sex mound with a prominent cameltoe of her vagina slit.

"Don't you think my daughter's got a lovely body, Patricia?"

I was starting to get the idea. He clicked again. The picture showed a bedroom, from the pink décor and fluffy toys obviously a teenage girl's. Alice was standing in it, wearing that same school uniform but with white knee length socks instead of the black tights. As he scrolled through the pictures she undressed, stepping up a foot onto a chair to slip off her socks first leaving her legs bare, with her skirt riding up to show lots of her legs. Her skirt followed, then her blouse, leaving her in a white bra and panties just like those he'd asked me to wear. I guessed he'd hidden a web cam in her bedroom. I wasn't shocked: I meet men like that and who do even filthier things every day in my job. I'm a professional. And I like adventurous men!

He clicked through more slowly as his daughter took off her bra and panties, as she strolled nude across her room to her laundry basket, as she bent over displaying her naked bottom, then even more slowly as she knelt wide legged nude on her bed combing her blonde hair unknowingly treating him to a full frontal show of her big young breasts and the young bush between her spread legs. The camera zoomed in on her virgin vagina slit peeping through her light brown pubic hair. I glanced at him and saw his trousers were bulging. It didn't take much imagination to guessed what he ogled when he masturbated! Leaving his daughter naked on his screen he looked at me.

"Go on Patricia. Strip for me real slow like my pretty little daughter. Leave your stockings till last."

I've stripped for men in striptease bars, for porn cameras, at men's parties, in business executives' offices and in hotel rooms more times than I could ever count. I know exactly what drives men crazy and strains their penises to bursting point.

I started by squatting on the bed and slowly swinging my legs as wide as I could get them to treat him to a full frontal panty peep. In school I'd learned that if I treated a boy or a teacher to an upskirt panty peep he'd do anything I wanted! I teased him by momentarily pulling aside the front of my panties to show my labia peeping out of my vagina below my light brown landing strip of pubic hair. Like innocent young Alice I dropped my skirt first. It was a wraparound so I could just unclip it and let it fall with my legs wide. Blouse next, then underwear poses in my bra and panties, then arching my back so my breasts bounced out as I unclipped my bra. Then my schoolgirl panties real slow down my legs. Then finally my stockings, laying back and folding my legs up wide to peel them slowly off. Then when I was nude I treated him to the kind of poses I'd done in strip clubs and for porn, spreading my legs, thrusting my bum and boobs and letting my tits swing.

But unlike Alice her father didn't just watch from afar. He ran his hands over my stockinged legs, my underwear and each bit of my naked flesh as soon as I revealed it: my thighs above my stockings, my bare back, shoulders and breasts, then my bum cheeks and bum crack, and my naked pussy. He got his head down between my legs to kiss me right on my pussy and ruffle my cunt hair with his tongue. His exploring hands and kisses were every bit as frantic as those boys back in the bushes so long ago. But unlike those inexperienced boys this guy really knew how to touch a woman and get her hot! His hands were all over me, but I could tell that in his mind he was playing with his daughter's naked body.

He stopped fondling me and I paused kneeling nude on the bed just like his daughter was doing on the screen, waiting for what he wanted next. But unlike Alice combing her hair I was fingering my pussy - I was getting hungry! He began to strip. Some of my more disappointing clients just get their cocks out, but he got completely naked. He was fit and muscular, sun bronzed with a hairy chest, and he had nothing to be ashamed of in the sex kit department. He had a solid looking circumcised eight incher with a gleaming shaft bending up from hairy balls to a big purple mushroom head. Even I was impressed. I wondered how often he jerked it off dreaming of his daughter. He fingered his balls and hard up cock hungrily as ran his lustful eyes all over me, then spoke.

"Patricia. Did you pleasure yourself when you were a girl ... when you were eighteen?"

I'd discovered pussy play at fourteen, and at eighteen I was at my pubescent horny peak. I told him I did.

"I know Alice masturbates. Through her bedroom wall I can hear her bed rocking, then she cries out when she comes. I've never watched her."

I could see where this was leading. When I was eighteen I realised my father was watching me as I played with myself, through my bedroom curtains which never closed properly. From him I discovered masturbation was so much more exciting with a man watching. Not much later I discovered it was best of all with a naked boy jacking his cock as he watched me. I knew what was coming before he asked.

"Go on Patricia. Show me how you played with yourself at eighteen."

I'm a woman. Unlike a man I don't masturbate on demand. But he'd got me so hot with his roaming hands, lips and tongue I was bursting to go!

I lay back on the bed with my legs spread wide. I haven't changed my technique much since that glorious first time at fourteen. I don't use toys unless men ask me, just good old fashioned fingers. I put on as good a show for him as I did for my father, playing with my breasts and licking my aroused nipples, sliding my hand slowly down my front, tickling my navel, through my bush, gasping and thrusting my hips as I stroke my labia till I'm dripping with juice, then slowly, smoothly, rythmically stroking my labia and that delicious spot between my vagina and my arse, involuntarily writhing and moaning with the waves of pleasure even before I close in on my clit with a fingertip as I feel my orgasm begin to rise.

I've faked orgasms during sex and for porn, but I certainly didn't fake that orgasm! I bucked and kicked and squirmed and squealed as the ultimate pleasure exploded between my legs and filled my body. On my web site you can watch me masturbate and see how my big breasts bounce as I buck with the pulses of my climax and my legs fold up like I'd wrap my legs over you and pound your bum with my heels if you were on top of me pumping me with your cock.

I lay there panting for a while afterwards with my eyes closed holding my hands over my cunt enjoying my throbbing afterglow. Then I felt his hand on my thigh.

I opened my eyes to see him standing next to the bed with his cock sticking straight out in front of him. I saw he had something in his hand: a pair of girl's cotton panties, with a pattern of little pink flowers and embroidered hems. There was a slight yellow stain just where they would have covered a girl's vagina. It didn't take much imagination to guess whose they were. He hung Alice's knickers on his hard up cock.

"Did you give boys at school hand jobs, Patricia?"

I thought I'd play with him and tease him by being coy.

"Mr Smith! Really! A girl's got her secrets!"

But my smile must have told him what I wanted him to know!

"Don't be shy Patricia. Tell daddy about how you were a naughty girl and played with boys."

I'd lost count of the hand jobs I'd given boys at school, usually in the bushes in the park on the walk home. I told him how If I fancied a boy I'd treated him to lots of "accidental on purpose" downblouse glimpses and upskirt panty peeps of my schoolgirl panties so he was wild and knew I was in the mood. Then in those bushes he'd be frantic to see my cunt. I was proud of my fresh new neat little brown bush that told everyone who was interested that I was ripe for sex. I'd lift my school skirt to let my boy pull my knickers down and then hold my skirt up with one hand for his hands to explore me while my other hand jerked his stiff young cock. I still remember boys' grunts and how hard they'd grip my bottom as they came, and the sound of their semen splashing onto the leaves.

Men love it when a woman "talks dirty"! As I told my story Mr Smith fingered Alice's knickers and brushed them over his cock and balls, and fondled my bottom and boobs. When I'd finished he spread his legs wide and thrust his cock forward. I guessed what he wanted next even before he spoke.

"Is this how boys stood in the bushes when Alice ... you wanked them?"

"Just like that. Would you like me to show you what Alice would do with a boy in the bushes?" I asked. The question was hardly worth asking!

At school the boys all knew which of us girls were "easy" and who gave the best hand jobs. I was high on both scores and I wanted to show him I still haven't lost my skill. My expert fingers on his cock and balls soon got him breathing hard and his cock almost vertical with the veins standing out on his shaft and its head glistening wet with pre-cum. In the bushes on my way home from school I'd just have time to get my boy up hard and jerk him off. These days I take my time and treat my boys to lots more - I'm not an amateur any more!!

I worked him wild first. From behind I kissed him all over his bare back while I lightly fingered his bum cheeks. He grunted and quivered with sex pleasure when I slid my fingers down his bum crack and under him to tickle his arse then his balls and shaft from underneath. I crouched down in front of him, licked his cock across its nozzle, and took his big soft knob into my mouth and sucked it and massaged it with my lips and tongue while I fingered his balls. He moaned and ran his hands over my bare back and through my hair. From above me I heard him grunt

"Alice! Alice! Want you! Jack my cock off!"

Alice's knickers were still hanging on his cock, and as I kissed and licked his shaft and balls the soft cotton of Alice's knickers brushed my cheeks and I could smell the mixture of her girly perfume and her sex juice. When he sounded like he couldn't take any more I stood and snuggled up against him, brushing my naked legs against his, getting so close to him my bush brushed his thigh and my breasts pressed against his arm

"Shall we wet your sweet little daughter's good girl knickers?" I suggested.

He braced himself for pleasure. I'd lubed my hand with the cream a professional like me always keeps in her handbag. I wrapped my whole fist round his shaft and stroked him smoothly and rhythmically from his balls to his nozzle, catching his helmet with the ring of my thumb and forefinger.

As I stroked his cock I tickled his bum crack, his arse and the inside tops of his thighs with my spare hand. He pulled me against him and ran his hands over my naked body, especially over my breasts, thighs and bottom. I showed him I know how to make a man wait and how to hold him gasping and moaning on the brink with his straining penis iron hard and ready to explode in my hand. I felt his cock suddenly stiffen in my hand, he grunted and rammed his hips forward.

The picture on the screen was filled with Alice's naked backside as she bent over to pick something up off her bed with her legs slightly spread just far enough to show her pussy peeping out between the tops of her thighs just below her bum cheeks.

"Coming! ... Coming! ... Nnngghh! ... Alice! Alice! Want you!" He grunted.

He just had time to stretch Alice's knickers in front of his nozzle before my stroking fingers sent hefty dollops of semen splashing over the white cotton, just where they were stained. I hoped he didn't yell "Alice!" when he fucked his wife.

He stood there afterwards panting, catching the semen dripping from his suddenly limp cock in Alice's knickers, while on the screen Alice slowly slipped off the knickers he'd just soaked with cum. I got a bottle of champagne and two glasses from the room's minibar.

The time I'd booked with "Mr Smith" was drawing to a close. I had another client to meet, one of my regulars. I decided I liked Mr Smith's style, and while I dressed I saw a business opportunity.

"Would you like to take Alice's bikini off, take a shower with her and have her suck your cock off, in sixty nine?"

He grinned. Of course he would! I made the appointment in my diary and added "bikini." I didn't need to tell him that my bikini certainly wouldn't be as respectable as Alice's.

A few minutes later I crossed the lobby with my high heels click-clacking on the marble floor. As before I felt men's eyes following me. This time I was in my cream blouse showing the shadow of a black bra underneath, a blue pinstripe skirt just above my tan nylon clad knees and just tight enough over my bum to show the outline of my black satin panties, with understated pearls at my neck and ears and my designer hand bag letting everyone know I've got class. My coat was over my arm and miss sexy schoolgirl was tucked away in the briefcase from which Mrs sexy executive had just come.

In the taxi to my next appointment I smiled to myself. Mr Smith had made my bank balance healthier, and I'd gladly pay my next client for what he'd let me do with him behind the locked door of his executive office, rather than him paying me! Then I'd let him take me to dinner and after that to bed, and I'd make sure I'd give him a quality service: after all I'm a professional!