Melissa double checked the room number. It definitely said forty-two, on the fourth floor of one of the most decrepit buildings in East London, Balfron Tower. It wasn’t the prettiest site, but then again, neither were her clients these days.
At forty-two, Melissa was getting on a bit; having entered into this shadowy profession in the last three years. At thirty-nine she found herself at a crossroads; one that said carry on with your current sexless and going-nowhere relationship or get out and go for something new. Melissa chose the latter, and so with very little money and a costly divorce, she found herself analysing her options.
Actually, analysing wasn’t the right term as there were only one or two options open to her, and when her friend Sarah suggested that she earnt some money and had sex at the same time, Melissa more or less jumped at the chance. Prostitution would not have been her fist choice, but it was the only one left open to her.
Sarah was good enough to put Melissa up in her two bedroomed flat to allow her enough time to get settled and it all worked out for the best.
Except, as she stared at number forty-two, she was having second thoughts. The place smelt musty and there was mould growing all around the windows that let in a small modicum of light into the narrow hallway. Melissa looked at the piece of paper. Shit! It definitely said number forty-two. She stood facing the door, contemplating the artwork of peeling paint, scratches and marker pen that criss-crossed the wooden door. There must have been several layers of paint and every one of them gaudy; ranging from bright orange, purple to lime green. The latter colour was trying its best to take control.
She reached out to knock on the door and hesitated; studying it hard in order to know where to knock. Did she really need this money; the resounding answer was, unfortunately, yes. Melissa read the note again, five hundred pounds, ask for Denis. At the end of the sentence was an emoji giving Melissa a wink.
Melissa cocked her hand and searched for a part of the door that would not collapse inwards when her knuckles knocked on it.
Tap… Tap… Tap.
Melissa wondered what the fuck Denis would look like? What kind of person would live here? She built up this image of a bloke that had stubble from not having shaved in a few days. He would be wearing a string vest, covering his torso that would be splattered with the after effects of beans or spaghetti hoops and the traditional ill-fitting Adidas jogging pants; the ones that would be half way down his backside and showing a sizeable builder’s cleavage. His pot belly would be hanging over the cord that was struggling to hold up his trousers, and he would sneer at her in a filthy and disconcerting way as soon as he opened the door.
And then she would have to have sex with him. Fuck this game, she thought, but it was five times her usual wage after all.
Melissa started to turn to leave; having waited the statutory minute. Relief flooded her whole body, but was soon to be extinguished when the door creaked open.
The owner pulled it once, then twice. Melissa could see that the top corner of the door had swollen and had become stuck in the frame. Finally, it released and the door flung open to reveal - Denis?
Melissa went into work mode.
Disgust and Anxiousness – Off.
Professionalism and Loveliness with interest covering her face – On.
A waft of floral perfume punctuated the air and Melissa quickly gulped some in. At last, she thought, the musty smell from the corridor had some competition. A warm and orange light emanated from inside and the fuzzy hair of the owner was backlighted by the sunshine streaming into the flat from the setting sun.
Melissa turned and stood upright; she smiled and nodded at the thirty-something lady in front of her.
“Hi, I’m here to see Denis?” She smiled hiding the paper in her tiny handbag that was draped around her body.
The lady smiled back.
Melissa was right on one count, the lady did have a string vest on and it did have orange and yellow on it, but those colours were not from egg or beans or spaghetti. They were vibrant and sassy. The string vest strained to hold in the woman’s bare breasts and her nipples protruded through the fabric. Melissa wondered whether she had just come from dangling them over the chest freezer as they were indeed huge and erect. Her shorts were of the same colour and continued down to just above her knees.
Melissa tensed her anus, causing her pussy and her stomach to clench in unison. She couldn’t help but let her tongue protrude out from between her lips as she waited for a reply.
Another waft of scent skimmed past Melissa when the woman moved to one side to motion her inside the flat. This time, it was sweat mixed with a little perfume.
Melissa walked into the lounge and tentatively looked around her without noticeably moving her head. She was getting good at covertly surveying a client’s place. At one end of the room was the kitchenette area, half hidden by a small dividing wall and next to a small corridor that must have led to the bedroom. In front of her was a comfortable sofa that faced the window and which was bathed in light. To the right of the sofa, along the wall, was an exercise bike.
“I’ll just be five minutes, make yourself comfortable,” said the lady as she pointed to the sofa.
She got back on the bike and started to turn the pedals.
Melissa took a seat, crossed her legs and looked at the lady cycling away to herself. She wondered whether Denis was in the bedroom or on his way home. She wondered whether she was going to service both of them, she smiled and looked forward to whatever was in store.
The lady was getting up speed and soon was leaning over with her hands outstretched on the extension bars in front of the dropped handlebars. Her heavy breasts swung beneath her and were periodically squashed by her thighs as her legs pumped away. Gears clicked upwards and Melissa could see she was sweating once more.
The lady had occasion to glance in Melissa’s direction a few times. Once when she sat upright and took a drink from the bottle and the other when she was pumping her thighs flat out on the bike, like it was her final sprint. She would have caught Melissa looking at her breasts as they swung to the motion of her sprinting down the imaginary one hundred metres to the line.
Melissa caught herself staring not only at her breasts but at her ample bottom that was perched atop the very narrow seat. It wobbled as her legs pounded the pedals and Melissa caught herself wondering how her pussy was feeling; squashed like a tomato on that slim saddle.
The lady shot upright causing Melissa to look in her direction. She took a long sip of water from the bottle and climbed off the bike. Once more, she smiled at Melissa.
“It’s Denise,” she said between deep breaths and taking another squig of water.
“Sorry,” said Melissa biting her lip, smiling and letting her head rest to one side.
“That’s OK, most people make the mistake.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have,” Melissa responded. “Unprofessional of me.”
“So tell me, what have you got for me?”
Melissa understood the question perfectly. She got up and slipped her handbag over her head and dropped it on the table close to the wall. She unbuttoned her coat, pulled it apart quickly and let it slip off her shoulders to the floor.
Denise stood in front of her with her hands on her hips and nodded. A smile crept over her lips and one of her hands came up on her nipple; grasping it easily between the strands of the string vest and squeezing it tightly, before rounding it with her fingertip.
The warmth from the exercise and the sun heated her nipple underneath her touch.
“I love sex after a good exercise – don’t you?”
Melissa nodded.
“Get on, I want to watch you ride.”
Melissa walked over to the bike and swung her leg over the bar; she only just made it despite being as tall as Denise. She stood up on the pedals and started to ride. Her breasts bulged into the blue string vest that she was wearing and she tried her best to push the pedals around but had to drop down on the gears in order to do so. Melissa was not as fit as Denise, that was evident, but she really wasn’t here for the exercise anyway.
Denise flopped on the sofa and pulled her lycra shorts off; throwing them on top of Melissa’s coat. She watched as Melissa’s legs turned the pedals and her breasts heaved against the thin cotton vest that she was wearing. The only difference in attire between the two women was the colours they wore.
Melissa did think it strange when she was told to arrive at number forty-two, wearing the clothes so neatly packaged and sent to her house. They had arrived the day before and Melissa ripped the packaging open, hoping to find sexy lingerie. She was disappointed when she pulled out the cycle shorts and string vest. But now it all started to make perfect sense.
Melissa cycled as instructed. Head down, legs pumping and hands straight ahead. Her breasts wobbled as she pushed as hard as she could. She let the bike slip down another gear making it easier for her to turn the pedals. Melissa was breathing heavily. She glanced over towards the clock on the wall to see how close she was to finishing, but she had only been there for ninety seconds; far less than the instructed ten minutes she had read in the letter.