My name’s Tamara, but you can call me Tam. I’ve been working as an incall escort for just over a year; I live in a plush apartment that’s decked out like a French boudoir, and I live with two girl friends. Lacey is a beautician and helps me to always look groomed, and Carla does the same job as me. We’re not the cheap escorts London usually supplies; we are high class girls with high standards. We only accept clients on recommendation, earn a lot of cash and we both specialise in erotic massage. I’m telling you, you can’t even begin to imagine the amount of pleasure I could bring you (if you were lucky enough to become one of my clients).
Carla is relatively similar looking to me; we’re both tanned, about 5″7 with shoulder length golden blonde hair. Immaculate nails, plump lips, smokey eyes. It’s a look that men find universally attractive so it works well for us. Lacey, however, is something different entirely. Her hair is raven black, slightly wavy and long enough to cover most of her narrow back. Her eyes are greener than emeralds – in fact, if I didn’t live with her I’d swear they were contact lenses. And her skin is so pale, it looks like she’s never seen the sun. Her lips and cheeks are always rosy pink, and her movements are slender and graceful. She only moved in with us 4 months ago and she is completely comfortable with our profession. She knows that if anyone were to type ‘cheap escorts London’ into an Internet search engine, our address would never come up. We’re the best kept secret.
I’ve found that spending time with Lacey hasn’t diluted her mystique. I still catch myself watching her across the room; the way she stretches out on the sofa like a cat, the way she paces the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, and the slow strokes of the brush as she combs her luscious hair. I must admit, I’m quite captivated by her. I’m not jealous of her beauty, it’s nice just to be around her.
It was the middle of the night and I was sound asleep. I dreamed that I was on my bed, straddling a slim figure and giving one of the best erotic massages I’d ever performed. The client moaned appreciatively, and a smug smile played on my lips. The client rolled over slowly, and I realised that it was Lacey! I awoke with a start, confused by what I’d just dreamed. What did it mean? Did I want to give her an erotic massage? Was I attracted to her?
I shook my head to clear it of the confusion, but her gentle moans continued. Silently, I slid out of by bed and crept to the door. The hinge creaked slightly as I eased it open and tiptoed down the corridor to Lacey’s room. Her door was slightly ajar, and I couldn’t help myself. Crouched down, I peeked through the crack to see what was giving her such pleasure. Lacey was lying on the edge of the bed with her legs wrapped around a broad, muscular man I’d never seen before. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs as he slowly rocked back and forth, thrusting into her. Her breasts were divine – nipples the same shade of pink as her lips. Just as I was admiring them, the stranger bent down and took one in his mouth, making her groan even more intensely. She slid a hand down her stomach and began to pleasure herself at the same time, which tipped both of them over the edge. As she did, it occurred to me that I absent mindedly had my own hand underneath my silk nightie. I was mesmerised. Spurred on by Lacey’s enthusiasm, I quietly fingered myself, never taking my eyes off their entwined bodies. She began to shudder and came loudly, as I simultaneously came silently. We were shortly followed by the stranger, who grunted and collapsed on top of Lacey.
I took that opportunity to sneak away back to my room and reflect on what I’d just seen. Forget erotic massage; I think my new speciality might be voyeurism!