Going Up and Going Down (18 page)

I couldn’t understand
what Anthony was up to. I’d been puzzling for a couple of weeks. He’d said he
was officially unemployed when the receivers closed the doors on my father’s
business, and yet he was still going out every morning before me. Sometimes he
was dressed smartly in a suit, at other times he was smart casual – expensive
jeans and a sweatshirt.

He was also
arriving home after me each evening, as he usually had done. He never
volunteered any information and I didn’t want to ask him. I couldn’t ask, in
case it gave him the impression that I was interested. The truth was, I didn’t
really care what he was doing. The only thing that concerned me was that it
looked like it would be down to me to pay the mortgage and bills until he was
earning. I knew he would be expecting some statutory redundancy pay, but that
wouldn’t go far.

I had expected
him to be depressed, but unless he was an extremely good actor, which I
sincerely doubted, he didn’t appear to be down in any way. We still didn’t
communicate, unless it was to snap at one another, but he seemed cheerful;
whistling and even singing at times. It crossed my mind that he was maybe
spending his days at his parents’ house. I couldn’t come up with an answer for
the suit and tie though, unless interviews were on his agenda.

I sat at the
kitchen counter drinking my coffee, lost in my thoughts about Anthony and his
new found unemployed status when something came flooding back into my mind. The
envelope in the greenhouse! With everything that had happened recently, the funeral,
grief, my O.C.D., my job at the hotel,
and
my new sideline, it had not
occurred to me to keep checking the greenhouse. I knew that he had probably
only used the greenhouse as a last resort emergency hiding place when I arrived
home early, but would
he
think it to be less likely that his goods would
be discovered in there than in the house? He didn’t know that I’d found them…so
maybe.

I got up and
rifled through one of the kitchen drawers where I recalled seeing an old
notebook. I went out to the patio and checked the pots in the greenhouse –
nothing! I had made a note of the dates the first envelope had arrived and
disappeared, as they were firmly imprinted on my brain. I added today’s entry
and I would keep checking
every
day and log my findings. I felt positive
that, whatever Anthony’s involvement was with the envelope, it wouldn’t be a
one-off. I even started to wonder if drugs were maybe his new career move. I
hated being suspicious in case I was totally wrong…..but his behaviour didn’t
inspire much confidence.

A call from the
estate agent affected my mood later in the day. It was pleasing in a way, to
hear that my parents’ home had been attracting a lot of interest, with more
than sixty viewings, but an incredible sadness caught me in its grasp the minute
I ended the call. The home where I’d spent my childhood, my parents’ dream
home, would sometime in the near future be occupied by strangers. They would
change things for sure, as anybody would want to. I could understand that, but
the very thought of it sickened me. I was toying with the idea of forcing
myself to make one last visit, but I was worried about the effect that it would
have on me.

My mobile phone
rang at six o’clock one Sunday evening. Anthony was at home, getting pissed and
nodding off to sleep every few minutes during a ‘Top Gear Special,’ and getting
on my nerves as always. I walked out into the garden to take my call. It was a
new client, my sixth, and I had been expecting his call around eleven that
morning. Simon had called me the previous day to ask my permission this time,
the guy was a television presenter. I’d seen him fairly regularly on a
particular programme and had never much cared for him but…business is business.
Simon had called him ‘a good man,’ so…

After I’d answered
the call, he greeted me politely and introduced himself, but in a manner that
seemed a little offhand, or perhaps I was being judgmental because of my
limited knowledge of him. I noted he was well-spoken, but I had already
discovered in my short time as a call girl, that that didn’t mean a thing.

“I’m booked
into the Kensington Suite at your place of employment and would like to use
your...um…services tomorrow morning if at all possible.”

I wasn’t
particularly happy about doing the session during my working hours at the hotel,
but he insisted that he already had a very busy schedule for his time in London. I explained that I couldn’t guarantee a time, as we had certain routines at the
hotel that must be adhered to. Our appointment would depend on how much work
was involved in the first three suites and Kensington would be the last suite.
He sounded a little disgruntled.

“I will wait
until two o’clock and no later. I have somewhere to be by four.” It sounded
like he thought
he
was doing
me
a favour, not the other way
around. Irritated, but keeping my voice steady and polite I asked,

“Would you like
me to bring anything special along, Sir?”

There was
silence at the end of the phone as he considered his answer. I cast a glance
towards the house and noticed Anthony watching me from the kitchen window. I
hoped he would stay where he was whilst I was on the phone.

At the other
end of the phone he finally snapped his answer at me, “Like what for instance?
Just your presence will do!”

Still polite,
but getting rattled by Anthony’s presence at the kitchen window, I asked, “Do
you have details of the cost of the transaction, and you know that the payment
should be in cash?”

“I have
everything that you require, young lady, just be sure that what I need is there
no later than two, please.”

His manner had
completely riled me and I was beginning to wish I’d said I couldn’t do it. I
assumed he would want sex, so what would he do for his fuck if I failed to turn
up before two o’clock? Go to the street corner where he may end up with more
than just getting his leg over? Go back home to his frigid or frumpy wife to
try to get what she doesn’t normally give him? That’s exactly why these guys
want a hooker, isn’t it? Because their wives don’t want sex, or perverted sex
at least! Sixty percent of the time the sex wasn’t the least bit perverted,
some guys just needed company, or so I’d been led to believe. These thoughts
rumbled around in my mind and I felt half inclined to ring him back and cancel.

I was more than
a little nervous the next morning as I made my way into work. I’d decided when
I woke up that I would go ahead, but I’m always wary with new clients, you just
never know what ideas they’ve come up with - what they could inflict on their
whore. Another reason for my apprehension was the dangerous game I was playing,
again – being a whore to some of the hotel’s very important clientele
and
during my working hours. It was the very presence of this type of prominent
client that made staff very reluctant to cause more intrusion than was
absolutely necessary. It was very unlikely that even my superiors would come to
check up on me.

My first two
suites that morning were easy. In ‘Garden’ there was nothing to do. The bed had
not even been slept in. Clothes had been deposited in the wardrobe by its
occupant – female, who loved her designer clothes. I took a peak into the
bedside cabinet drawer and half concealed under ‘The Holy Bible’ was a gigantic
(9 inch) black cock vibrator with quite a sizeable girth. Hell! My eyes started
watering and I was just
looking
at the bloody thing. There was quite a
little stash of other interesting sex toys, some of a type that previous
clients had used on me a couple of times. Carefully shutting the drawer lest I
disturb anything, I started tiptoeing towards the bathroom. Tiptoeing? Guilt! I
had just invaded the privacy of this faceless person – someone who liked big
dicks. I sniggered to myself and went about my business as usual without the
tiptoeing. The bathroom had clearly not been used, clean towels still neatly
folded on the rack provided. Perhaps this female had got lucky the previous
night. I felt quite horny. I’d stared at the black cock and other paraphernalia
for a few seconds too long. It had been a long fortnight.

I caught the
very distinguished looking gentleman in ‘Thames’ just as he was about to place
the ‘Do not disturb’ on his door knob. He was wearing an expensive silk
dressing gown, and had a twinkle in his eye. He didn’t look the type who was
about to take part in extra-marital sex. He pressed £20 into my hand and
winked,

“We don’t need
cleaning today, pet. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

I smiled at
him, touched by his gesture.

“Sir, I don’t
want your £20, enjoy your...morning. I still have plenty to keep me occupied,”
I said, pushing the £20 note back into his hand.

He gave me a
final wink, closed the door and (I assumed) disappeared back to his wife.

I filled the
rest of my time by cleaning and re-cleaning ‘Tower’ quite a few times, which
helped feed my O.C.D. needs for the day.

My client in
‘Kensington’ was already naked. He had stepped aside as he opened the door, out
of view of the main corridor. I wheeled the trolley in ahead of me and his hand
came around the door to pass me the ‘Do not disturb’ sign to hang on the door
knob. He must have seen my eyes bulge out when I noticed the size of his cock!
I hardly noticed anything else about him. The black dick vibrator I’d spotted
earlier must have been an omen. This guy’s cock almost matched it, both in
length and girth. I could hear my own gulp and a sudden constriction in my
throat.

I felt an
overwhelming desire to run - utter panic at the thought that this cock would
never get inside me. Not a black cock this time, but a purple veined variety.
It was already at full stretch - the credits still rolling on a ‘Pay per View’
movie. He’d obviously been preparing for me. I’d hardly had chance to close the
door when he leapt on me and planted his lips firmly over mine. I quickly
turned my head to the side, already on edge,

“Don’t kiss
me!” I gave more than a hint of warning.

He bit hard on
my neck instead, and shoved his hand straight in my panties. Three fingers shot
into my pussy. I winced, he was hurting me. After five minutes of his finger
nails stabbing at my vagina he tried to shove his dick in the side of my
knickers and stuff me, stood right up against the door. Being much taller than
him there was no way it was going to work. Grunting to himself he stuck his
fingers back in my hole even more roughly than before, and with his other hand,
was rapidly trying to tug my panties down at one side.

In his
desperation to get at me, he didn’t seem to comprehend that it was his poking
hand that was preventing the undies coming off. I pulled his hand away from my
crotch and rolled them down for him.

“Shouldn’t I
get undressed before you go any further?” I suggested.

He shrugged
impatiently. “Just the knickers and skirt, leave the rest.”

“No bra? Don’t
you want to see my breasts?” I offered.

“I want to fuck
this” he said, grabbing at my fanny again, “not look at two useless pieces of
muscle – tits don’t do anything for me.”

I felt a sense
of foreboding, beads of moisture forming on my forehead. With all my lower
clothing removed, he grabbed my arm and lowered me to the floor, just behind the
door. I wasn’t even two metres into the room. Just as I had feared, he
struggled to get his cock into my pussy. The pain was excruciating, even with
his lubrication. I had felt its slime on my inner thighs before he tried to ram
it in, his seminal fluid having already dribbled steadily. Minute by minute he
made more progress, inching his way further in until that was it, he wasn’t
going to get it in any further. I was already sore, stinging. My natural lubrication
had dried up completely.

Once it dawned
on him that he couldn’t get anymore in, he started thrusting violently at me,
but it wasn’t going in and out at all. With every bit of force he put into his
thrust he was just moving me further along the carpet, and I felt the burn on
my back, just another thing to strengthen the regrets I already felt.

After fifteen
minutes of me feeling nothing but pain, and him pushing me round the floor with
his dick, I put my arms around his shoulders and rolled him onto his back,
determined to get something from this other than pain and money. I lowered my
body over his and rode him, stimulating my clit expectantly, the first bit of
pleasure I’d felt since stepping through his door. I was finally producing some
lubrication - his dick was moving freely inside me and…I was tingling and ready
to come. A sharp stinging slap to my left cheek took me by surprise.

“Stop trying to
finish me off, you bitch. I’ll come when I’m fucking ready to come!” he
snapped.

I was furious,
my eyes filled with tears, I lashed out back at him with my tongue,

“Who’s trying
to make
you
come? I’m trying to make myself come, which you seem
incapable of doing!”

The second blow
came, the other cheek this time, but I’d turned my head slightly before contact
was made, the stinging not quite so severe.

“I’m not paying
you colossal amounts of fucking money so
you
can come – I get the fuck,
you get the fucking money, got it?”

With that he
rolled me onto my back again and resumed fucking me around the suite ….I lost
track of time, but after what seemed like forever he pulled out and rolled me
face down. His finger edging into my anus, I snarled at him,

“DON’T EVEN
CONSIDER IT!” and he must have thought better of it. After pushing his
dribbling tool back into my hole, he reached both arms around my hips and rubbed
at my clitoris with his fingertips whilst he rammed into me like a man
possessed. I came just in time before his dick twitched and he grunted like a
pig as his seed exploded into me.

He brought a
cup of coffee and some of the complimentary chocolates to me as I washed my
private parts in his bathroom. He actually held some ice to my cheeks and
apologised for his exuberance, both with his dick, and his slaps. Sitting on
the edge of the bath, he watched as I tried to cover the redness on my face
with some products from my satchel. As he handed me an envelope containing the
cash he muttered,

“Could I…call
you again please, Helen? I’ll be in London again in a couple of months.”

I couldn’t
resist a dig and the words came readily to me.

“Wife
neglecting you these days?” He rammed his hands into his pockets and gave me
such an icy look, so I quickly added,

“Sorry. That
was out of order. Yes, by all means ring me, but I can’t use the hotel again.
You will have to meet me elsewhere.”

I checked my
appearance carefully before leaving his suite. I’d made a decent job with the
make-up. I couldn’t resist calling Simon later that day and telling him I
didn’t think much to his idea of ‘a good man.’