Discreet Professional Service

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I didn’t know what to expect when I ordered her to my room. I’d been in London for almost a fortnight, cooped up in the expensive hotel I was staying in on company dime. I was being well looked after, I’m an important asset to the company after all, but the days were long. I could feel the stress building up inside my brain. By the middle of the second week I was sure that my work was getting sloppy as a result. Back home I might have called up an amorous friend for a little stress relief but in London I knew nobody.
It occurred to me to ask the concierge for a discreet professional service. The pretty woman on the front desk smiled and told me that she had just the number for me to call. I told her that if the service could introduce me to a woman half as pretty as her then my evening would be made. She blushed and I wondered whether I should bother calling the agency or if I should just try to convince her to join me in my room.
I was too tired for courtship, so I called.
“Cleopatra’s, London Escort service” A sultry voice purred at me down the phone.
“Hello. I’d like to make a booking for tonight please.”
“Did you have a girl in mind?”
“No. Just send over someone with experience, blonde if you can, money is no object.”
I provided my details and set the time for 8pm that evening.
When she arrived I was surprised. She was stunning, but not in the way I expected. I supposed I still had this idea that women who were paid for their company would stand out as women who are paid for their company. I expected a dress that was too tight or makeup that was a shade too dark.
She looked like a Victoria’s Secret model on a day off. She told me that her name was Anette.
She shut the door and asked me how my day was, I told her that it had been long and tiring.
“Do you need me to help you relax?” she asked softly, smiling seductively.
“Please.” I nodded, sitting down on the bed and finally loosening my tie.
Anette dimmed the lights and shook out her hair. She moved towards me, swinging her curvaceous hips in a way that could only be described as sexual. She undid her sheer blouse, one button at a time, occasionally making eye contact with me and smiling. When she got to the final button she winked and let the soft cloth fall off her shoulders, leaving her standing there in a blue lace bra. She did a small twirl and shimmied out of her black business skirt . Her body far exceeded my expectations.
Anette came over and sat in my lap, breathing in my ear and pressing her soft breasts against me.
“Are you ready to have the night of your life?” she whispered.
I was. This would be my first, but certainly not my last, experience with a London Escort.