So when I was led blindfolded, barefoot, hands secured with a silk scarf behind my back, I was unprepared for the assault to my scenes. The distinct smells: cigar smoke, leather, male cologne, and the obvious smell of scotch.
The sounds: Ice clinked in a glass. Leather against pants as someone shifted or rose from an armchair. Shoes on soft carpet and the opening of a drawer. A soft low conversation from the far side of the room between one of the men in the room and Mazy, who had ‘prepared me for my date’.
Maybe I should clarify, my name is Charity Robbins and I am an escort. Not at all in the manner, depicted on TV. I went on dates with gentlemen who desired a beautiful woman on their arm. Someone who appreciated an intelligent conversation who did not pout when the gentleman left her to establish contacts, or make high-powered deals.
A beautiful accessory was what I was, and I liked it, I made a great deal of money just dating gentlemen on the weekends. These earnings allowed me to pursue my passion of photography. I had already had a substantial amount of work published and was definitely on my way to establishing myself as the go to photographer of fine art in Chicago.
I kept my profession a secret from all but my best friend Mazy and Sarge, who was the intermediary who set up the dates, checked out the backgrounds and collected payment for the services.
Sarge, Mazy and I stumbled into this occupation. Sarge had many acquaintances with bundles of money because he was the adoptive son of one of the wealthiest men in north America.
One summer while home from college, an acquaintance asked Sarge if he could help him locate girls to be eye candy for his employer, and a client to a museum opening. It was an incredibly big opportunity and seemed such an insignificant thing, so he came to his best friends, Mazy and I. We agreed, eager to see the new museum. Both of us were deeply involved in the art industry; she behind and easel and me from behind my camera lens.
The night of the celebration we ended up on the arms of two of the most eligible bachelors, not to mention the most envied men in Chicago. More and more requests for dates came in, weekend after weekend. Some dates were to events, but a considerable amount were the men who just needed an uncomplicated evening speaking with and doting on a magnificent woman.
Sarge never set us up with anyone who he did not personally know and respect. Generally, I had a marvelous time on my dates the men mostly needed a bit of attention or they needed a beautiful woman, an accessory to flash around. In most cases I was left mostly to my own devices to socialize.
One evening I felt an eerie presence. You know that feeling that someone is watching you; that eyes are boring straight into your back. Try as I might I had not been able to find the source. I dismissed it as soon as the evening was finished.
Then it happened again the next week, and again several other times. Someone was watching me I was sure of it. It had me unnerved to the point of panic. I was sure it had something to do with my being an escort.
So I resolved to tell Sarge that I would no longer be going on the dates. It was going to happen sooner or later I rationalized. My photography had really taken off and I had a very large bank account balance, primarily due to my dates.
It would have been nice to have completed my plan of having a bit more than just the down payment for the choice condo I wanted so dearly. But with careful planning, I would still be able make do. It would just mean a little less furniture and keeping my car for a few more years before trading. Yes, I could do this I made up my mind to tell Serge tonight.
But before I could talk to Serge he came to me. “We have a bit of a problem. Mazy is in really in deep trouble and you are the only one who can help.”
My heartbeat accelerated, Mazy was my dearest friend, but didn't always use the best judgment and tended to get herself into horrible situations.
“What has she done this time?” I asked.
“Let’s sit down this will take a while to explain fully. A few days ago a gentleman named Mr. Clarkson approached me. He informed me that Mazy had sold him a piece of art; a forged piece of art. I told him I would have his money returned to him by the end of the day. He said while he did appreciate that, it would not teach Mazy a lesson. And he emphasized, “she really needs to be taught a lesson.”
I volunteered, “We will just need to make sure that this guy gets what he needs to make this go away Serge.”
“Yes, but I am not sure you are willing to pay his demands Charity? He requires that you pay the price Charity.”
He said, “Mazy has had many chances to learn her lesson and has not. The only thing that may make her see the error of her ways is to have one of her friends compensate for her.”
“You are the person to pay the price, and that is all I am to tell you. The rest will be up to you and Mr. Clarkson to work out.”
That is how I found myself nearly naked in this man’s home. Now I was to find out what price my friend’s stupidity would cost me.
Mazy led me to what I assumed was the center of the room. I heard her softly crying and felt her tears as she kissed my cheek and turned to leave.
Again, the sounds: the door we entered closed softly. The tinkling of ice against glass as it was apparently raised to his lips, ticking of a clock marking time; how much I could not tell. The room was quiet for several moments, seconds, may be minutes. It was hard to tell but sometime later I felt the brush of a hand down my arm
I got the impression of someone walking behind me and this was confirmed as I felt his hand brush over my nearly naked ass.
“What do you want? Who are you? At Least tell me where I am?” Each question was met with silence, I have no idea how long I stood there, but I had the distinct impression of being watched. By how many, I hadn't a clue.
I heard the sound of slacks rubbing together, footsteps and the creak of leather as the man sat in front of me.
“I want you to hold your hands out,” the voice a distinguished sounding man middle aged, or slightly older.
I held out my hands trying to keep them from shaking I felt a tug and the sash fell away.
“Why am I here?”
“You my dear are here in payment of a debt. I thought you had been informed. Your friend assured me you knew all about this. I have already accepted your body as payment for a very large debt. You may either stay and fulfill that debt, or I will have your friend arrested for art theft.”
“But why me?”
“Well dear it is simple; you are who I wanted.”
“So you just want me to what? Fuck you?”
“I want to possess you, to own you, body and soul. But this will be your choice. I am no rapist. To possess you, there must be a willingness on your part to be possessed.”
“But all of this for another time, I have had you a room prepared. And I know you must need time to yourself. Your attire for the evening has been set out on the bed.”
I woke two hours later as the clock on the side table alerted me to the approach of the evening meal. I had to admit to myself my captor was handsome. In any other situation I would have been drawn to him. His eyes were strikingly the richest chocolate brown pools. His barring and manners impeccable, he was refined and his features rugged and masculine.
The room he had shown me to was elegant and designed with a woman in mind; Queen Anne style furniture in ivory with floral accents. The peaceful mauve color walls with green drapes covering the floor to ceiling windows. I glanced at the clock and hurried to the adjoining luxurious bath to begin to prepare for whatever was to happen tonight.
If the outfit he laid out was any indication, he intended me to be in bed with him before the end of the night.
A super silky knee length rose gold dress that clung to each and every curve. A slit cut into the side went nearly to my hip. It was accented with a simple pearl necklace and pearl studs for my ears.
Black thigh-high stockings held in place with a white lace garter belt he left no bra nor panties. I wound my golden brown hair in a simple up do and held it in place with a long thin rose gold chopstick. My natural curls framed my face which I left makeup free. A knock on the door summoning me to dinner.
I opened the door and was surprised to find an elderly gentleman who announced that dinner would be served in 10 minutes and he was to escort me to the dining room. I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped into the pearl colored strappy five-inch heels.
The dining room was just as nicely appointed as the rest of the house. The long dining table was dressed for two and was lit with candles. He certainly had pulled out the romantic vibe for the meal.
A hand slipped around my waist and lay warmly at the small of my back. A shiver rose up my spine in response to the delicate touch of the handsome man leading me toward the table. I looked up into his eyes which was a mistake; stomach landed like lead deep in my belly. Our eyes met and for a moment I felt like he was about to kiss me. The strange thing was, I wanted that kiss. What was wrong with me? This man had basically forced me into this and all I could do was fall head over heels over one sexy look.
The meal was exquisite as I knew it would be. Michael entertained me with his wit and complete honesty. We did, however, keep from discussing the circumstances of my confinement.
He touched me as often as he could and I began to place myself in the position in order to be touched by him. At the end of the evening, as he led me to my room, my heart beat like the pace of a bunny and my mind raced like a whore in need.
I realized with a start that I wanted to sleep with this attractive, smart, enigma of a man. When we reached my door, he turned to me and softly cupped my face in his hand. He looked deeply into my eyes and leaned in. I lifted my chin to him and began to close my eyes anticipating his hot lips on mine. But then he only touched my forehead with his.
“Another time maybe,” he said as he leaned back. “Please feel free to explore the house it is old and filled with art and antiques, as this is your area of interest, I thought you might like your camera.” He nodded towards the bed where my camera and camera bag lay.
“Thank you so much, that was so very thoughtful.”
“Good evening Mrs. Robbins.” Leaning in he quickly kissed my cheek then, left before I could regain the capacity to speak from the way my body reacted to his simple kiss.
I pushed the door open and gasped the room was filled with dozens and dozens of pure white roses, one sweetly draped on my camera bag.
I woke the next morning and dressed in the bright yellow sundress that had been left for me the evening before while I was out eating, low sandals and a rose gold anklet completed the ensemble, I pulled my hair up into a pony and left the room.
I found Michael in the kitchen, he rose and folded his newspaper and lay it down beside his plate. Reaching out he took my hands and pulled me in for a sweet kiss on the lips.
“Good morning my dear Charity, how did you sleep?”
“Very well and I want to thank you for the flowers and the clothes but I am sure Mazy or Serge could bring me some of my things I hate to put you out.”
We sat as I spoke.
“I wish to give you these things, please allow me to continue it pleases me to see you in the outfits I pick out for you. I hope you will take time to look over the property today. The lawns, as well as the entire house, are yours to explore. I will be back for lunch and I hope you will be able to join me. But now I must leave I have an urgent appointment this morning.”
Michael rose, kissed me on the cheek. His lips lingering as he took a deep breath. I had a suspicion that it was me he was smelling, just as it was I who was taking his woodsy scent deep into my heart. Michael had succeeded in stealing a bit of my heart, and somehow I knew, as I watched him go, he had left me forever changed.