Most of my clients would treat me like a piece of meat, but I knew Carina, my latest client, wasn’t like that. She had hired me to pose as her fiancé at her high school reunion.
Carina seemed so sweet – which surprised me, since most girls as hot as she looked didn’t always have a good heart to match – but she told me over text that she had been incredibly shy around boys in high school and she had also been bullied and now, nothing seemed to work for her in the relationship department and she would, apparently, rather die that attend this thing single.
I understood and agreed to take the job. I wanted the money, but I also wanted to help. The poor girl thought she needed a reputation boost, but I could tell she also needed a confidence boost.
Not that she had any reason to be. Carina had sent me a photo, so I could recognize her when we met up, and from what I saw, she had the looks of the perfect girl next door. With a heart shaped face with pink cheeks and bright blue eyes, I didn’t get why she was alone.
But really, it wasn’t my problem, I kept having to remind myself. This was just a job.
Working as an escort also made me reevaluate my past carousing. The love ‘em and leave ‘em Leo was far in the past now. After getting a taste of my own medicine, I understood what it was like, so I figured, for now, it was best to be single.
The night of the reunion, Carina and I first met at my hotel’s bar. She had gotten me a room a few blocks from her school. It was the perfect place.
If anyone saw us together, I could just explain that I was staying there for the reunion. As her fiancé, I was supposedly bi-coastal, flying back and forth for business.
Getting to the bar a few minutes early, I took a seat on a barstool and asked the bartender to bring me over a scotch. While he was working on that, I took a look at myself in the mirror behind the bar. Every hair was in place and my suit looked crisp.
The night was starting off well and by the end of it, I would be fifteen-hundred dollars richer. The thought made me smile. It was easy work.
Movement in the mirror caught my eye. Someone was coming in behind me. A woman with dark brown hair and the perfect hourglass figure walked into the bar. She started looking around.
My breath stopped as I looked over the way her full bust and narrow waist curved. That kind of figure could make a man crazy.
That was when I noticed her face: adorable and sweet, like the perfect girl next door. She had such a kickass body to boot. And she was my client.
I just wanted to bend her over my knee and spank her for feeling insecure about her high school reunion. I’d play with her pussy until she was begging me to fuck her. Maybe she’d let me grab ahold of her juicy ass and pinch her nipples while I thrust my cock into her wet pussy.
I told myself to stop thinking this way. I had a job to do and I didn’t want to be distracted.
I was very rarely turned on by any of my clients. I kept my career life and my personal life very separate and compartmentalized things as part of my job. But with Vicki, I couldn’t help thinking about how much I’d like to be with her for real – not just as her fake high school reunion date.
Carina saw me at that moment and briskly walked my way. The movement of her well-formed legs made that full chest jiggle and her hips sway. It was hard to take my attention off her and the little black dress that I wanted to peel off of her.
“Why didn’t you say something?” she immediately demanded once she got close to me.
It took me a moment to collect my thoughts, but even then, I stared back dumbly. I had no idea what she was talking about. “What? What do you mean?”
“Jim Howell?” she whined while rubbing at her forehead. “You didn’t mention you were friends with Jim Howell.”
She slumped onto the barstool next to me.
“I didn’t know that was an issue,” I replied. “Wait, how do you know him?”
“Vicky, my best friend is married to him!” she said, looking stressed.
I gestured to the bartender to slide me my drink. He did so. Carina grabbed it and slugged it down. I shrugged. Guess she needed it more than me.
“This is a disaster,” she said after the scotch was gone. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You never mentioned who your friend was married to or that you knew Jim Howell,” I pointed out.