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Becoming the Escort
Alvin Pryce was at full attention as he watched her shimmy out of her halter top, dangling it sexily between her thumb and forefinger before letting it drop to the floor. A smile pulled at her lips as she strutted over and rubbed her hand across the rough texture of his cheek. “Mmm...” she leaned in and purred into his ear, “I love a man with whiskers...”
She swooped in for the kiss, and he returned it with passion, slithering an arm around her back to pull her close. In the back of his mind, he was still barely to grips with the fact that she was costing him five grand, but to hell with it—what good was money if you couldn’t buy a good fuck from time to time? And while she *was* expensive, she certainly wasn’t out of his price range. He could have her for a year with this month’s dividends from his investment portfolio alone, to say nothing of the income from all his real estate properties around the world.
Their tongues glided past one another, exploring all the intimate nooks and crannies of each other’s mouths. Then their lips parted. She gave him another smile, then reached down to pull off her skirt.
His hand caught her wrist before she could strip any further.
She peered at him with questioning, almond-shaped eyes. “Is something the matter?”
“Let me be the one to do it,” he said, gazing down at her. In that moment, his entire world was the trimness of her waist, and the soft sensuality of her silken black hair; the magnificence of her perfect breasts, barely-contained in that hot, leopard print brassiere—every bit as exotic as the woman wearing it.
She laughed. “Oh. You want to take off my clothes.” Then she leaned forward and whispered, in-between nibbles on his earlobe, “How would you like to be able to take off my clothes every day? Every morning and every night—and any other time you feel like it?”
“I would,” he moaned.
She kissed him again, and looked at him in a way that said more than words ever could. Then she placed her hands on his, slowly guiding them down to the waistline of her skirt. “Better get some practice in now, then,” she said with a seductive arch of her eyebrow.
What followed was one of the best nights of Alvin’s life... followed by one of the worst mornings. It started when he rolled over and felt the mattress for his partner lying next to him, only to find cold, vacant sheets. She had gone during the night.
The morning sun filtered through the penthouse window. He roused, stretching out his arms and legs—and he promptly made a face.
He didn’t feel right. The way the covers slid past his chest... it felt peculiar, like.. like.. as if he had...
His eyes bulged as when set a hand upon his chest to check, only to find the round, curvy contours of a body that was *not* his own. He shucked the covers, jumped out of bed, and gaped down in horror.
Cleavage and leopard print.
He raced to the bathroom and flipped on the light, and when he looked in the mirror, it wasn’t his own reflection that he saw, it was HERS. Her perfect slender body with her perfect slender arms, her cute little belly button, her sexy legs in her sexy stockings. Then he plunged a dainty hand down into the panties she was wearing, hoping against all hope that she would find his own familiar cock.
She didn’t, of course. All she found was the smoothness of a woman’s groin, and the entrance of a woman’s slit. And it wasn’t until she’d sunk two fingers into herself that she finally realized—
He had BECOME her! He had become his own escort!
He spent the next twenty minutes hyperventilating. Ten minutes after that, he found the note on the nightstand, penned, bizarrely enough, in his own handwriting. The note was addressed to Carmen, and signed by Alvin, and it informed him that his car keys and identification were in his purse; that he should probably be gone from the hotel room by eleven o’clock, in time for check-out; and that he ought to expect a call from the escort service around eight o’clock with the location and details of his next job. The note left off with the message that she hoped he enjoyed undressing her from now on as much as he had last night.
As he set the letter back down with trembling hands, his eyes roamed over to a stack of bills placed tidily next to the lamp. He counted them out.
Five thousand dollars.
What should he do? What COULD he do? He had no way of proving his true identity. And to be sure, no one would take the word of a high dollar hooker claiming to be the powerful Alvin Pryce.
With a sick feeling, *SHE* staggered over to the window and stood there with a hand on either side of it, still in her panties, her stockings, and her leopard print bra. She stood there, and she stared out at the Manhattan skyline.
Somehow, she had to survive like this. She couldn’t count on her fortune to keep her afloat. Her fortune had been stolen from her along with her body.
She bit her lip as she glanced over at the table, and at the leopard print cell phone which lay there beside the leopard print purse.
She hated to admit it, but deep down, she already knew. She would have to go to work. And with a body like this, she’d be earning every dollar.