His Personal Call Girl 3 (eBook)

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  • 14,150 Words
  • 35 Pages


With her boyfriend back in town,
Catherine puts her prostitution on hold. Tom agrees without argument, but for
some reason Catherine can't stop thinking about him. He's satisfied her in ways
no other man ever has—and he's the one who's been paying her! Backdoor fun,
lewd phone calls, and a threesome with Sara are all in her future. But which
man does she truly love, Bobby…or Tom?


~~~~~ Excerpt
~~~~~


Where I was conflicted before I was now
much less so. I still considered myself with Bobby but I saw my arrangement
with Tom more and more as another job, one I happened to actually like. Don't
get me wrong, I wasn't about to sell myself on the street. But it's pretty hard
to dislike having a man massage you, make love to you, then pay half a grand
and be on his way without pushing any other agenda. When I thought about it
like that I almost felt like Tom was getting shortchanged. But then again, I
was what he wanted, and I did what he wanted.


Case in point, it was near the end
of January and I was sitting at home in a tight green apron that I'd found in
my mother's closet. It was small, and very old, but it suited the purpose I had
for it. I watched myself tie it around my naked body in the mirror, making sure
that it was as knotted as it could be (Tom didn't want it to be too easy),
taking note of the generic floral print running over the borders and the way it
faded and frayed at the edges. I smoothed it over my front and stomach. The frilled
bottom just barely covered my upper thighs. I checked myself on the sides. The
round slopes of my breasts were clearly visible between my arms and the apron
front. After that I sat down and applied makeup. More makeup than I would have,
than any girl would have past, let's be honest, 1955.


I read in the paper the other day
that when men and women get depressed, they tend to get more sexually active
(something about wanting to pass our genes on while survival seems low). That
could have been it. I didn't like my current career; and while I didn't expect
to be a secretary my whole life, and was almost certain that, somehow or other,
I'd eventually get to graduate school, and then a real career, it was all still
so far away (it seemed). And I didn't like it. In fact, I hated it. That I took
pleasure in what Tom and I were doing was a relief to me. So, when he'd
mentioned the apron and the makeup, I went to the gym earlier in the day and
came home to prepare. I told him to come by at the usual time.


When the doorbell rang, I blew
myself a big red kiss in the mirror. Working a little more wiggle into my hips,
I traipsed to the door and opened it slowly…



With her boyfriend back in town,
Catherine puts her prostitution on hold. Tom agrees without argument, but for
some reason Catherine can't stop thinking about him. He's satisfied her in ways
no other man ever has—and he's the one who's been paying her! Backdoor fun,
lewd phone calls, and a threesome with Sara are all in her future. But which
man does she truly love, Bobby…or Tom?


~~~~~ Excerpt
~~~~~


Where I was conflicted before I was now
much less so. I still considered myself with Bobby but I saw my arrangement
with Tom more and more as another job, one I happened to actually like. Don't
get me wrong, I wasn't about to sell myself on the street. But it's pretty hard
to dislike having a man massage you, make love to you, then pay half a grand
and be on his way without pushing any other agenda. When I thought about it
like that I almost felt like Tom was getting shortchanged. But then again, I
was what he wanted, and I did what he wanted.


Case in point, it was near the end
of January and I was sitting at home in a tight green apron that I'd found in
my mother's closet. It was small, and very old, but it suited the purpose I had
for it. I watched myself tie it around my naked body in the mirror, making sure
that it was as knotted as it could be (Tom didn't want it to be too easy),
taking note of the generic floral print running over the borders and the way it
faded and frayed at the edges. I smoothed it over my front and stomach. The frilled
bottom just barely covered my upper thighs. I checked myself on the sides. The
round slopes of my breasts were clearly visible between my arms and the apron
front. After that I sat down and applied makeup. More makeup than I would have,
than any girl would have past, let's be honest, 1955.


I read in the paper the other day
that when men and women get depressed, they tend to get more sexually active
(something about wanting to pass our genes on while survival seems low). That
could have been it. I didn't like my current career; and while I didn't expect
to be a secretary my whole life, and was almost certain that, somehow or other,
I'd eventually get to graduate school, and then a real career, it was all still
so far away (it seemed). And I didn't like it. In fact, I hated it. That I took
pleasure in what Tom and I were doing was a relief to me. So, when he'd
mentioned the apron and the makeup, I went to the gym earlier in the day and
came home to prepare. I told him to come by at the usual time.


When the doorbell rang, I blew
myself a big red kiss in the mirror. Working a little more wiggle into my hips,
I traipsed to the door and opened it slowly…



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