Flying First Class - Part 1 of 2
"We are now ready to board our first class passengers for flight 1302 to New York's Laguardia airport..."
The flight was on schedule. That was good. I would have plenty of time to make my New York connection to Paris. As the young gate agent scanned my boarding pass, he seemed to stutter a bit as he looked up at me to repeat his robotic "have a nice flight" speech. His eyes locked on mine for a brief second and I could almost feel him blush. I could sense his reluctance to release the boarding pass as he handed it back to me as if he was indulging himself in a fleeting fantasy that would only be measured in milliseconds. I smiled a knowing smile as he finally released his grip on the document and proceeded down the jet way to board the flight.
Even though I get that reaction a lot, I never tire of it. It is what I live for. I relish this power to inflict anxiety upon men. I love exposing their weaknesses as they lust over me. Exploiting those weaknesses has been very rewarding; however, the events of the last three months exceeded anything that I could have ever hoped for. And it was so easy.
Before taking my window seat, 4A, I placed my Louis Vuitton handbag on the 4B aisle seat while I carefully removed my bright red Forzieri leather trench coat. Recognizing the high-end quality with a hint of envy, the flight attendant immediately offered to hang it in the forward closet. I smiled and thanked her. I took my seat and retrieved my compact mirror from my handbag for a last minute makeup check. Out of habit, I refreshed my lip gloss and then tucked everything away under the seat in front of me. As I was getting situated, the passenger assigned to the aisle seat next to me arrived. He was a forty something fit business type and rather good looking. We exchanged nods and smiles and prepared for takeoff. As we taxied to the runway, Mr. Businessman pretended to be engrossed in his magazine but I was keenly aware of the stealth glances he was stealing of my legs which peeked through the frontal slit of my skirt. I'm sure the black leather stiletto heeled boots added to his uncontrollable urge to check me out.
At liftoff, I turned my head toward the window and reclined my seatback. I thought that Mr. Businessman in 4B kind of reminded me of Scott, or should I say the old Scott before he met me. It would be about a six hour flight from Los Angeles to New York. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander back to the beginning.
It was during the summer after my second year at UCLA, that I decided to join the escort service. I did so at the urging of my friend, Lydia who claimed she was easily making $5000 or more per week. That was more than I would make during the entire summer at my part time job at the Macys makeup counter.
"Gabriella," she had said. "Guys go crazy for hot Latina girls. You could make a killing."
How could I know, just how prophetic Lydia's words would be?
I decided to give the escort thing a try. This particular service was high-end and as such it was extremely selective about who they hired. The base hourly rate of $500 pretty much guaranteed upscale clients. Overnight sessions typically brought in $2500 to $3000.
My first client was an outcall at a posh hotel in West L.A. The client wanted a one hour session. It wasn't anything special - just plain vanilla sex. He paid the $500 agency fee which I explained was just for my time and companionship. By the time the session ended, he had shelled an additional $500 tip, which meant I cleared $750 after the agency's cut for an hours work. "Not bad," I thought.
There was no shortage of work. The professional glamor photos that the agency posted of me on their website elicited plenty of responses. In no time, I was the most requested girl on the site. My tips got larger and the sessions longer as I quickly honed my seductive skills.
Surprisingly, I encountered very few creepy disgusting types. Most of the clients were well groomed upstanding businessmen in their forties and fifties craving the thrills and excitement that they weren't getting at home. My petite toned and tanned body and cover girl looks were enough to make them abandon any guilt issues that they may have had.
As my new career flourished, I began to experiment with and indulge in one fetish after another, each one with a little different twist. It was the fetish of Financial Domination, that really started to pique my interest. Granted, to most men the fantasy of relinquishing control of their assets to a beautiful seductress was just that - a fantasy. Once they had their orgasmic release, they typically came to their senses and limited the drain on their finances to a few hundred dollars and went on their way. In less than a month as an escort, I was clearing over $7000 a week.
It was in early August when I first met Scott. He requested a two hour session at a residence that was located within an upscale gated country club community in the San Fernando Valley. He said he would notify the guard shack that I would be arriving which would allow me access through the security gate. Normally my sessions took place at hotels which provided some level of security. However, when it came to outcalls at a private residence, it was recommended that I use an agency supplied driver as an extra precaution.
It was around 9:00 PM when I arrived at the residence. The driver and I thought that it would be rather conspicuous for him to be waiting curbside for me in this neighborhood for two hours, so we agreed that it would be better if he waited in the clubhouse parking lot where he could blend in with the other cars. The standard drill was for me to call him within 5 minutes after entering the house to indicate that everything looked OK. If he didn't hear from me, that meant trouble and would be the signal for him to return to investigate.
The front of this spectacular house was well lit and meticulously landscaped. I proceeded up the stone covered walkway towards an open archway that led to a courtyard that was flanked by tropical-themed landscaping and soft flowing water features. As I moved through the courtyard, the clicking sound of my stiletto heels on the stone surface seemed to echo loudly and would most surely announce my arrival even before I reached the front door.
Scott opened the door within seconds of my ringing the doorbell. He introduced himself as Robert and invited me in. It would be much later that I would learn that Robert was not his real name. He was a good looking man appearing to be in his late forties or early fifties. He looked a little nervous as he led me to the main living area of the house. It was a beautiful setting with a wide expanse of glass overlooking an illuminated pool framed by a full view of the golf course in the background. There was dimly lit accent lighting and a few scented candles strategically placed around the room. He offered me a glass of wine which I accepted and we were then seated on the L-shaped leather sectional to begin the pre-session conversational dance.
Scott described himself as the typical Alpha male businessman. Judging by the appearance of our surroundings and the Rolex watch on his wrist, it seemed that he must be doing very well. He admitted to being married and had one grown son that just graduated from USC. The house, with all of its professional decorating touches and magnificent views was actually a second residence that he used when he was in the L.A. area. His permanent residence was up north just outside of San Francisco.
Finally after five or ten minutes of small talk, my cell phone range. I realized that I had forgotten to call my driver with the all-clear signal. I excused myself as I answered my phone to assure the driver that everything was OK. After I disconnected from the call, I looked directly into his eyes and asked him what he was looking for in our session.
He told me how he craved the affections of a young Latina woman and how he longed to adore and worship the right one. His cravings and desires had become an obsession. He had been with a few girls before, through escort services, but none fit the bill. He needed to find that one special Latina Goddess that was confident in her sexuality and its power it could have over someone like him. I didn't say much but I eagerly took in every word. Now it was my turn.
Up until now there had been no discussion of money or any overt actions or suggestions of sexual favors. Before things went too far, I reminded him of his request for the two hour session and that the fee was considered a donation for time and companionship and needed to be paid in advance. He immediately opened a drawer from the end-table and pulled out an envelope and tossed it on the coffee table in my direction. I picked it up and counted ten $100 bills which was the agreed upon fee for our two hour session.
Next came the standard escort ritual that we go through with all new clients to detect a law enforcement prostitution sting operation. I moved closer to him and placed my hand on the inside of his knee. He responded by reaching over and touching my breasts. He then took my hand and moved it closer to his crotch. He was hard as a rock.
Now that he had made the first move, that all-important sexual advance, the coast was clear to let the party begin. He slid off the sofa and kneeled in front of me and began to kiss my legs starting at the ankles and started to work his way up to my inner thigh when I pushed his head back. I kicked off my stiletto heels and pointed to my feet. He took the cue and eagerly began sucking on my toes.
"God, you smell good," he said. He started to move his mouth up to the area between my thighs. "I need to taste your pussy."
"You do?" I said with a slight giggle. "What's it worth to you?"
"You tell me. I need it so bad. I want to worship you and taste your sweet juices."
"I think another five hundred dollars, is fair, don't you?" I said.
"Yes, yes, oh my god!"
With that, I leaned back on the sofa and lifted my skirt and reached down to release the snaps on my black lacy thong that turned into a crotch-less model when unsnapped. He quickly buried his face in my pussy and began to lap up my juices. His tongue darted up and down, pausing periodically to suck on my clit. It felt divine. I came in about five minutes but I did my best to suppress my excitement of the orgasm. I wanted to keep the balance of power on my side and I didn't want him to know that he could make me cum so easily.
I suggested that we retreat to the bedroom and Scott agreed. We both disrobed and he began fondling my breasts as we moved onto the bed. I had him lay on his back. I propped up on my knees straddling his face. He began to masturbate while I continued to tease him with my bare pussy.
"You are so beautiful," he repeated over and over as he was stroking his cock. "I would give anything to make you happy. You are a girl to die for."
Clearly the lust of the moment was influencing his words. Once a guy has his orgasm, he usually comes to his senses and forgets his outlandish promises. I was sure that would be the case. Or would it?
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