2 comments/ 17167 views/ 7 favorites Kat - The Making of a Call Girl By: Scorpius1945 All characters in this story are fictitious and bear no relationship to any person, living or deceased. However, the behaviors of these characters are based on observations of behaviors of normal people in everyday life. The locations in the story are real but the activities undertaken are entirely fictitious. The attitudes, activities and behaviors described in this story are not necessarily either recommended or condoned by the author. ***** Kat finds the love of her life with extras Prologue: Elsie looked down at the gorgeous baby girl she had just pushed into the world and smiled up at her husband. "Isn't she just beautiful?" she said, "Absolutely perfect. Look at these tiny fingers and toes; so delicate and fragile yet already so strong." She gently freed her hair from the grasp of those fingers. "Yes, darling, she's beautiful, just like you," replied Stan, her husband of six years. "I'm sure she'll grow up to be just as wonderful, beautiful and intelligent as you are too. Thank you for going through this ordeal to give our baby life, sweetheart. I love you both so very much." They kissed gently and sat together as a family, together for the first time, for several minutes. "Are you still happy with the name Katherine that we chose?" asked Stan. "She certainly looks like she could be a Katherine." "Yes, Katherine will be just perfect but I think in real life I'll shorten it to Kat. Katherine sounds pretentious, good for certificates of achievement, which she will undoubtedly receive, but not for everyday use." "That's fine by me. Kat certainly sounds decisive; short and to the point." ******************************* My early memories are very vague: a comfortable home and loving parents. Of course I had no frame of reference to judge these by at that stage, but in retrospect I know it was like that. My parents set high goals for me to achieve. When I was still quite small, and certainly before I began elementary school, they taught me to count, to recite the alphabet, to read simply books, to try to color inside the lines, to run, hit a ball, kick a football, swim at a basic level and ride a horse, one of my mother's favorite activities. So I can remember when I started school that my teacher was very pleased with what I could already do; so pleased that she almost completely ignored me to concentrate on others whose parents had been less diligent. I also remember that I must have been about four years of age when we got a cat at home. She was a soft and furry tabby and her fur felt smooth under my hand as I stroked her. Mom gave me the responsibility of making sure that Missy, as she was named, had water in her bowl and had enough food each day. I would watch Missy eat and drink, patting her as she did, then watch as she'd curl up on her favorite chair in the sun or in front of the fire in winter. It amazed me that while I had to learn and do as I was told, Missy was able to simply be there and have people run after her, providing all her needs. I distinctly remember the time when I thought that I wanted to be a cat and have everything I needed and wanted provided for me. I grinned to myself as I thought that maybe that was why I had been named Kat. I very clearly remember when my Mom and Dad visited the school and talked with the teacher about my progress. They came home from that meeting very upset. I remember my Mom sitting down with me and asking in detail about what the teacher did with me in class. I truthfully told her that she did nothing really, mainly just let me read whatever I wanted while she taught other children. Mom told me that she was very unhappy with the teacher but not with me; it wasn't my fault at all and I was doing really well considering the little the teacher did for me. I liked the teacher; she was kind to me, spoke to me gently and, best of all, left me alone to do what I wanted. I didn't want her to get in trouble. The next day Mom took me to school and I think she had a talk with my teacher before school started. I know my teacher was different towards me that day, paying attention to what I was doing and giving me more interesting and more difficult books to read. She spent a lot less time with other children in class, the ones who really needed her time. It stayed this way for a few days and I thought about this situation. I had lost a lot of my freedom. I now had to show the teacher I could do things instead of just doing them and knowing I could do them. The teacher gave me tests and marked numbers on sheets of paper after I had completed them. The other children in the class didn't do as well either because the teacher spent less time working with them. I guess I felt a bit guilty about this because I was taking up so much more of the teacher's time. So after a few days of this I spoke to the teacher. I forget exactly what I said, no 28 year old remembers the exact conversation they had with their first teacher all those years ago, but I definitely remember how the conversation went. I told the teacher that I was sorry that my parents had been mean to her. (Children of that age have limited vocabulary so whenever someone says something critical to another, it is that person being mean.) I told her that I'd like to help if I could and pointed out that I really liked learning on my own. So if she could just give me pointers of what I should be doing, then I would be very happy to get on and do it myself. She listened carefully and asked a few questions, wanting to know what I would be telling my parents about what went on at school. I told her that I would be very happy to tell them that the teacher was helping me lots and I was getting really good grades in everything, so long as the teacher would tell them that I was working hard and achieving at a high level. The teacher said she would let me know tomorrow. The following day she asked me to stay after school and we had another talk. She said she would be happy to do what I suggested so long as I would cause no problems and I would make certain that my parents knew that I was achieving at the level they expected. For her part she would give me excellent reports and would write up my test results to show that I was doing very well. I agreed to her suggestion and thanked her for this. That day was the last day that year she taught me anything, and what she did teach me was the most valuable lesson I have learnt in my life. For the remainder of the year I worked if and when I wanted on exactly what I wanted at school. I had free access to the library, could ask my teacher questions when I needed (which was not very often) and my parents received glowing reports of my achievements. This seemed to me to be a win-win-win situation; I got what I wanted, my teacher could work with others who needed her, and my parents were reassured that their darling daughter was doing as well or better than they expected. Word must have spread through the school because each year when I had a new teacher he or she would have a talk with me at the start of the year, confirming that the agreement reached in my first year still stood with them. So school, for me, was a breeze. I never had to do homework, could play and learn as I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, if I wanted. At the end of fifth grade I knew I had a problem. In the new junior high school I would go to the following school year I would have several teachers for different subjects. While I was confident that I could easily keep up with the level taught in the classes, the thought of having to sit, bored, for much of the day waiting for the 'slow kids' to catch up was not at all pleasant. Eventually, of course, the day came when I attended my new school for the first time. I was interviewed with my parents and the teacher doing the interview was impressed by the grades I had been given and the report cards from the last school. My proud parents, of course, were very pleased with these as well. I was allocated a classroom, teacher and class as my home group and the following day attended with this group for the first time. I learnt very little that day; the main learning was that 'normal' schooling did not suit me. If I was to achieve at any sort of level I had to get out of the system. After a few days we were given a test. I made sure that I flunked this by deliberately putting all the wrong answers. I made certain that I got nothing correct. Sure enough, very soon I was asked to a meeting with my home group teacher who expressed great surprise that I scored zero on a test that, according to my report card, I should have aced. The teacher asked if I had an explanation. I asked him if he could show me a copy of the test question paper, then went through this, verbally giving him the correct answer for every question. At the end of this display of my ability he was at a total loss to explain why I had flunked the original. I explained to him that in the previous school I had been permitted to learn what, where, how and when I wanted and I had obviously achieved as well as or, probably, better than others. Therefore, if he was willing to reassure my parents that I was learning well in all subjects, without me having to do tedious tests to prove this, then I was willing to keep my parents off the school's and teachers' backs by telling them how well the school was teaching me. Otherwise, if they insisted that I stay in class and nearly die of boredom each day, I would most certainly ensure that my parents would be on their case all the time. My group teacher remained silent for several minutes after this, then told me to leave it with him and he'd give me an answer tomorrow morning. The following morning he called me into his office and told me he'd talked with my other teachers and the school principal and that I had a deal. He said that my parents were very well known and well respected in the community and there was no way the school wanted to ruffle their feathers, so provided they did not cause any difficulties for the school, I had free rein to learn in what appeared to be my own unique way. I was, of course, ecstatic that I could now continue my learning myself. I was also very confident now that my manipulative way of dealing with people had once again proven to be effective. My four years at junior high, from sixth to ninth grades, were very pleasant. By the end of my time there I had learnt far more about the prescribed subjects as well as the world in general than other students who had been constrained by a set curriculum and lockstep learning, preventing their wider exploration of knowledge and the Universe, and disciplines such as philosophy, politics, economics and psychology. My parents were also really pleased with my progress especially in my final year when I received certificates of achievement at the highest level in subjects which I had never even attended a class in but which I had topped the school in the final examinations. The other thing which changed while I was at school was me. I grew up. Just as a caterpillar changes to a beautiful butterfly, I changed from a plain girl into a beautiful young adult woman. Much of the learning I did during those four years was related to diet, health and other aspects of living. I was aware of the lies promulgated as scientific research that was foisted upon people in the guise of knowledge but which was really marketing for unhealthy food and pharmaceutical products. I avoided the nasties and definitely benefited from the health knowledge I learned. I was now a healthy weight, considered beautiful by many who met me, my long blonde waist-length (strictly against school policy) hair was glossy and healthy. I found that other students were a great source of practice for developing methods of manipulating people. Missy, who had been partly responsible for me developing this manipulative behaviour, was now old in cat terms but I continued to grant her every unspoken wish. I felt extremely grateful to her for the years of freedom I had within the two schools I had attended. I had learnt all I could from her, now it was time to learn from my peers. Once I finished ninth grade in junior high, the following year I would start in high school and continue there for three years. Once again the problem arose of training a new set of teachers or suffering the constraints of the very limiting system. I followed my tried and true method; flunking the first test I sat by scoring zero, when clearly the expectations of the teacher were that I would score around the 100% mark. He, like his predecessor four years earlier, called me into his office after school. Once again I asked for the paper, told him the correct answers verbally, then explained how I had been learning and that I wanted this to continue. He looked at me as though I was from another planet, leant back in his chair and laughed out loud, then told me it was time I ceased this nonsense, that I wasn't in charge here, he was, and that I'd better shape up or my parents would be told in no uncertain terms what their darling daughter had been doing for the past nine years. It was time to be assertive or I would suffer several years of sheer hell. Without a word, I stood and sat on the corner of his desk, looking down at him as he gazed open-mouthed in surprise at my audacity. "I assume you like your job and wish to stay as a teacher here. I also assume that you like relative peace and do not want to be hassled by parents of students all the time. So I'm willing to cut you a deal. I will obtain grades in the top 10% of the class on every test and exam I am given and all my teachers will mark me present in class and ignore the fact that I don't attend. The alternative is that I deliberately flunk every test and exam and you will have my parents on your back continually. So far I have gained awards, have topped my year and have learnt far more about far more relevant subjects than have ever been taught in school. My parents expect there to be no change in this and clearly, having achieved this in the past, they will expect it in the future. So it will be completely the fault of the school, and you in particular, not of me, if I flunk my grades because I've already proven myself to be a hard-working, competent achiever. So you choose. Turn a blind eye, have me excel and ignore my absence from class, or insist I attend each boring class, while I flunk every exam I sit and you will have my parents on your back continually. Which will it be?" I stopped talking and looked at him, saw the apprehension on his face, the knowledge that he was certain that what I had said was very likely exactly what I would do; the fear of the possibility of losing the high reputation of the school and his own and other teachers' reputations as being excellent teachers; the possibility that if he insisted on my attendance in class it could possibly cost him and others their jobs here. Furthermore, he knew of my parents by reputation and knew that they would support me to the hilt and expect the school to provide the best possible education for their darling daughter. I continued after a few seconds of silence. "So, are you willing to reconsider your position on the means by which I learn in this school or will you allow your decision to stand and accept the possible consequences?" Needless to say he made the decision which was best for both of us. Word spread quickly around the school and all teachers marked me present on their registers regardless of where I was. I did attend many classes and I did sit all the examinations, always topping the class and usually scoring percentages in the high nineties. I figured that so long as I kept scoring highly, made no trouble for teachers and kept presenting wonderful grades to my parents I had little to be concerned about. Those three years drifted quietly and pleasantly by. Once again I topped the school in my twelfth grade year, once again my parents were extremely proud and had no idea of the methods I used to achieve my goals. By this time Dad was in a top administrative position and Mom was very happy entertaining the social elite. They had little time for me, and I for them, and so long as my results were satisfactory, they were happy. I made sure I kept them far more than happy. My private life was also flourishing. At social events attended or hosted by my parents, I was able to meet many of the sons and daughters of the social elite with whom my parents associated. I found it an interesting diversion to practise my manipulative skills on these peers and many of them 'bought' my friendship with presents of jewellery and other baubles. They appeared to overlook the fact that I never reciprocated; apparently being able to call me a friend was sufficient reward in itself. Looking back on it, I realize that in those days I must have been a prize bitch. After graduation at the top of my high school, I could select almost any university I chose for further study. Instead of choosing any of the top universities, I chose the local University of Massachusetts Boston due to the fact that there were many advantages in living at home including having everything done for you and the opportunity to socialize with the offspring of the social elite with whom my parents mixed freely. Obviously, with my school record, UMass Boston was very pleased to offer me a place as an undergraduate. I enrolled in a BA degree in sociology and psychology, considering this to be the best subject choice to advance me in my chosen 'career' in the manipulation of people to my own desires. A week before I began university I had my 18th birthday, largely uncelebrated as my parents were very busy with their own lives at that stage. I took to university life like a duck to water. It was, after all, the way I had been learning all my life. I selected the interesting lectures, obtaining notes from others that I chose not to attend from classmates. I was soon considered to be the most desirable date by all the 'in' guys, although my reputation as a tease also soon spread. This, however, didn't seem to deter the poor persistent hopefuls, each of whom seemed to think that they could achieve what others could not. They were wrong. Attaining the age of 18 had made no difference to my private social life and I was determined to 'sell' my virginity only to the guy who really swept me off my feet and was also able to offer something substantial in return. However, I had a great deal of fun, accumulated many gifts, including a car, and never needed to buy or do a great deal for myself. I found university very easy and with very little effort I achieved top marks in each course and was soon known as the person to beat, if that was possible. I was slightly disappointed that I didn't need to bribe or blackmail any of the staff, but I still honed these types of skills on my never-ending supply of dates. I graduated with the degree Psychology/Sociology, BA three days after my 21st birthday. My parents, of course, put on a big party, inviting all their friends as well as the children of their friends. I didn't need a date; I had the choice of nearly a hundred eligible young men to choose from to take my cherry, if I so chose, as the rumor had been spread by some of my female friends that tonight was the night. The subdued level of excitement at that possibility, if someone played his cards right, was almost tangible to the young people there, although the older group was completely unaware of this. There were, of course, almost an equal number of young women as young men present, many of whom I was firm friends with and many of whom also probably had their virginity intact, at least, that's what they inferred in polite conversation. The night of the party was warm and pleasant, the party taking place on my parents' property on which a large marquee had been set up for the drinks and food. It was a buffet meal followed by dancing, then late supper. Two dance bands were engaged to supply the music, one for the oldies playing tunes with which they were familiar and to which they were happy to dance, and the other was a currently popular band with young people to play their type of dance music. Fortunately there was plenty of space on the estate to find places away from the throng of people and the beat of too loud music. The trees on the estate also provided a degree of intimacy for those who desired this. Kat - The Making of a Call Girl I was well aware of the effects of alcohol, having drunk it frequently and in moderation over the past few years. In aspects such as this my parents were not at all remiss. Mom was also not remiss in having the obligatory girl talk about sex, pregnancy, contraception, relationships and other matters. When I turned 18 my Mom and I had visited our doctor and I went on the contraceptive pill in preparation for any possibility that this would be required. My parents were focussed on furthering their careers and social standing and were therefore largely unaware of my dating activities and manipulation during the past few years, although it had been a little difficult to explain the gift of a car, but I had not been swept off my feet by any irresistible Romeo so I retained my cherry intact. I had also decided in my own mind that the loss of my cherry would be preceded by a wedding ring, an unusual decision in this day and age. Otherwise, my parents were highly successful, down to earth people who had no concept of the manner in which their darling daughter was able to manipulate people for her own advantage. I was determined that this was how the situation would remain. Needless to say, the line of young men seeking a dance with me at the party was almost endless. I was very fortunate that I had studied health and fitness at school and continued my training while attending university, so I was reasonably fit and could keep up with them all. I was danced off my feet, each time asking myself whether this was the guy who should take my cherry, and each time reaching the same answer: no. As the evening progressed the line of young men thinned and in a lull in the music an older gentleman, whom I didn't recall meeting before, introduced himself as Ron and asked if he could dance with me during the next dance, which was an older dance designed for the oldies. I agreed and was very soon being guided around the floor, my body pressed firmly against him by the pressure of his hand on my back. I had never danced a waltz, which he told me this was, but he danced so well it felt like I was dancing like a professional. Unlike the boys I'd been dating, Ron made me feel safe and secure in his arms. He treated me like a person, rather than a sex object. I felt he wanted friendship, not just a trophy to brag about to his mates. Between dances I asked a bit about him. He told me he was 34, an experienced criminal defence attorney and partner in a prestigious Boston law firm. He admitted he had been married and was recently divorced and had two children, the reason being, according to him, that his wife had run off with another man, probably, he thought, because he spent so much time away from home. My level of alertness increased. I had become cynical about stories told to me by men, although most were told by those about my own age. I had also developed an automatic response to men to assess how useful they could be to me. That probably sounds horrible, but it was true. Kat behaving like a cat, focused entirely on how this situation could be turned to my advantage. He seemed like a real nice guy, a pity really. I found myself wondering if this was the guy to whom I should give, no, sell my virginity. The oldies band started up again and Ron whisked me onto the floor in a foxtrot, another dance I had never danced before. He focused on making me dance really well; I focussed on the erotic feel of his hard cock pressing through his trousers against my virginal crotch. The dance ended and I could feel my juices running down my legs. I felt so sexy, I really needed to clean up. I excused myself and visited the ladies' room, wiping myself with tissue then spending a few moments caressing my clit until I came. Pressure relieved a little, I returned to Ron. He suggested a walk in the gardens to cool off so I let myself be led outside to a quiet secluded alcove. We wasted little time in talking. Instead we turned toward each other and kissed deeply. He was a very good kisser, compared with the kisses I'd received from previous hopefuls, and I sank into his arms, our lips glued together. Eventually we broke the kiss and he whispered to me that he had to have me, now. I pushed him away, reiterating my vow of chastity until after the ring. We talked for a while, kissed several times, but never as breathtakingly as that first time, then returned to the party. We parted for a while, both dancing with others but, as I found out later, both enamoured with the other. Eventually the party ended and I was alone in the house with my parents and a few overnight guests from out of town. After sitting making small talk for a short time I yawned, excused myself and headed for bed. I lay awake for a while, thinking of the evening and of Ron and wondering how far I could push our relationship; how far did I really want to push our relationship? I didn't know. I did know that he was the best chance I had met for achieving the goals I had set for my life, so I figured I should just go along for the ride and see where it went. Why paddle against a current when it's already taking you in roughly the direction you want to go? Ron phoned me a few days later and invited me to dinner and dancing at an exclusive hotel. I accepted, apparently reluctantly; not good to seem too keen. The evening was enjoyable, conversation was enlightening, food exquisite, dancing enjoyable and all in all I had a good time. I also managed to get across to Ron that I was determined to hold onto my virginity until I had a ring on my finger. We went on several more dates during the next few weeks, eating at top restaurants and dancing the night away to old time bands playing waltzes, foxtrots, maxinas, Latin American and similar dances which involved holding each other close. Each date ended in frustration for both of us; he because he was really keen to take my virginity and carve another notch in his belt, and me because I realized how sexy he made me feel as I danced with him, our bodies pressed together with only a very few thin layers of fabric between us. At this time I was also considering what I was going to do with my degree. I was offered several positions in local businesses, usually in marketing and social awareness, and I also had the option, and no small amount of pressure, to return to UMass Boston to study toward a Master's degree with the possibility of a PhD to follow. However, deep in my being I knew that none of these options would be as beneficial as the one I had chosen many years ago, so I vowed to follow my original instincts and persevere with Ron. Three months after my graduation party, Ron proposed. As we watched the moon rise out of the ocean on the promenade of Winthrop Shore Drive, the moonlight casting a shimmering trail across the slightly rippled water, Ron went down on one knee, opened a small box and held it out to me, then asked me to be his wife. I looked at him and then at the ring, a beautiful platinum ring set with a huge diamond, certainly the largest I had ever seen. What to do? I thought about it for a microsecond then flung my arms around his neck and kissed him, whispering 'Yes' over and over in his ear. When we separated, he carefully placed the ring on my finger and I looked at it by the light of the moon and the widely spaced street lamps. It positively glowed, reflecting the lights from its many facets and looking for all the world exactly what it was: my key to another world, another life. We kissed and hugged in the car for well over an hour that night. I allowed Ron to caress my bare breasts and finger my naked pussy lips, both for the first time. I also performed oral sex on him for the first time, amazing him (and me) at my prowess for a first timer. He then took me home, asking if I would let him make love to me properly. I reiterated that when I said that would only happen after I had a ring on my finger, I meant a wedding ring, not just an engagement ring. He took that setback in his stride, commenting that we'd better start making plans for the wedding then. The following day I took the ring to a jeweller and was told it was a high quality diamond, princess cut, almost flawless and colourless and with the platinum ring was worth around the $160,000. I was stunned. I hadn't realized that Ron loved me that much. So that was the price of my virginity. Wow. I showed it to my parents who were equally stunned and almost disbelieving that anyone would give their little girl such an exorbitantly expensive engagement ring. I refrained from telling them that I was worth it, and a lot more, and that I already had quite a collection of jewellery from past hopeful boyfriends, though nothing at all like this ring, of course. That evening we again went out and started making plans for our wedding. It was scheduled for May the following year, a spring wedding followed by a honeymoon in the south of France and Spain. Ron had travelled extensively but never to France or Spain; I had not travelled very far from Boston but I had studied conversational French, Spanish and Italian as part of my self-imposed curriculum in school. The next few months went by slowly as fall changed to winter, with spring seemingly reluctant to make an appearance. As a winter surprise Ron flew us both to Whistler for a week-long ski holiday in January, staying at the luxurious Four Seasons Resort which was pleasantly heated against the bitterly cold temperatures outside. We were both novice skiers so had great fun during the day learning to ski, and great fun at night swapping stories of our lives as we sat with other residents beside the roaring log fire. Each night we slept together, and each night I resisted Ron's romantic advances, limiting him to some manual and oral stimulation of my breasts and clitoris, which culminated in very satisfying orgasms each time. I reciprocated by manually and orally satisfying Ron's needs in turn. We returned to the relative warmth of an Atlantic storm as it lashed Boston towards the end of January, then he resumed his work and I resumed my social events, meeting and cultivating friendships with the society wives and their grown children in the local community. You never knew when such contacts would be useful and I was about to enter this society as the wife of a prominent attorney. After a final burst of last minute things that just had to be done, our wedding day arrived. I had the final dress fitting a few days prior, I had spent a great deal of time and Ron's money assembling my high fashion wardrobe for the honeymoon, including some really sexy nightwear and two tiny custom fit bikinis costing in excess of $500 each. The value per square inch of fabric in those was greater than the same area of the highest priced land in Boston. Incredible! I had long ago selected my bridesmaids, as had Ron selected his best man and groomsmen. They were all fitted out in matching and complementary outfits, the cars, venues, catering and wedding night accommodation was all booked, as was our honeymoon accommodation and travel. The wedding vows we said had been tailor-made for us, omitting such things as me having to obey Ron and taking out the 'forsaking all others' part of the vow as we both considered this to be offensive because naturally we loved each other so wouldn't even look at other partners. The other consideration which Ron's attorney had suggested, and which I insisted upon, was a prenuptial agreement, bearing in mind that Ron was extremely wealthy while I was comparatively impecunious. I insisted on this agreement also so there could be no possibility of Ron's first wife moving in on what I considered to be rightfully mine in the case of Ron's premature death. In the agreement I was to retain complete and total ownership of the mansion in which we would live as man and wife, and would receive a lump sum payment of 50% of Ron's estate before any further disbursements and divisions took place. I considered this to be fair and, with the current estimated value of his estate being over $100 million, I thought that it would keep me in the style to which I would become accustomed until I was able to sort out another man to maintain that lifestyle. At last the great day arrived, warm, dry, calm and sunny. I looked wonderful, so everyone said, and my bridesmaids, Ron and his groomsmen and best man all looked terrific also. It was one of the weddings of the year for the local society and the paparazzi were there in force to ensure that no little kiss, nudge or wink went unnoticed. Once the service was ended, we were photographed nearly to death, then the reception was held in a marquee on my parents' land, right where Ron and I first met less than a year earlier. The speeches went well, I threw my bridal bouquet, which was caught by my senior bridesmaid, we danced for several hours then departed for our secret location, the local police ensuring that we were not followed by errant paparazzi. It was with relief that we entered our suite and closed the door on the rest of the world. We held each other tenderly and lovingly for several minutes, gazing into each other's eyes. Lovingly, Ron removed the tiara from my hair and undid the clips holding my hair up, allowing it to fall in blonde waves cascading about my shoulders. I kicked off my oh-so-high-heeled shoes and sank down several inches, tilting my head to keep looking into Ron's eyes, then loosened his tie and removed his jacket. Over the next half hour we stripped each other, caressing each new piece of skin that came to light, Ron admiring my lacy lingerie as his trousers tented over his rapidly inflating manhood, which I partially released from its captivity. Eventually he was standing in a pair of briefs, the head of his cock protruding above the elastic, while I was naked to the waist, wearing a garter belt, stockings and thong panties. Ron picked me up easily and carried me into the bedroom, placing me on my back on the king size bed. He removed my thong and his undershorts and straddled my body, bending forward to kiss my lips as his fingers found my nipples and squeezed, caressed and gently twisted them, sending jolts of sexiness straight to my crotch. He spread my legs wide, moving his knees between them, and prepared to take what he now considered to be rightfully his own: my virginity. He gently pushed his hips downward and forward and I felt the head of his cock against my pussy lips for the first time. It was a strange yet very arousing sensation. I spread my legs further, opening them as wide as I could as he pressed his cock into my sopping wet vagina, stretching the walls apart further than they had ever stretched before, pressing forward, encountering no opposition from my hymen, which had long since disappeared due to my use of tampons. Slowly he pushed further into me until I felt the root of his cock press against my clitoris. I bent my knees, wrapping my legs around his waist, embracing my new future with wide open legs. We moved together, slowly at first but with increasing speed and pressure. The feelings I was feeling were amazing. I had cum many times from clitoral stimulation, but nothing had ever prepared me for this moment. I felt my orgasm building, slowly, faster, then it was there; washing over me as I screamed out my orgasmic joy and writhed on the bed under his weight. He slowed then stopped, looking at me with smiling eyes as he watched me in the throes of ecstasy. Gradually I came back to earth and kissed him deeply, thanking him for taking my pesky virginity, thanking him for being such a wonderful lover. After a few moments he resumed his movements. There was more? He hadn't cum? Oh goody. We continued where we'd left off, his cock like a rod of iron inside me as he pummelled my newly non-virgin love tunnel. Slowly once again I felt myself approaching orgasm. My breathing quickened, became more ragged and I closed my eyes, focusing on the wonderful sensations. Then I felt it: a spurt of hot liquid at the end of my tunnel as Ron stopped, pressed himself hard into me and came deep inside me. The sensation was like no other I've ever experienced; so sexy, so stimulating. It pushed me over the edge and I came hard, again, mewling a high pitched wail and trying to roll about under Ron's weight, which held me pinned to the bed. It was all over in about twenty seconds. Ron relaxed, collapsing on top of me then taking his weight on his arms as I returned from heaven. We gazed into each other's eyes, lost in love. We slept, cuddled together in the huge bed, then awoke in the morning and made sweet gentle passionate love once again. Breakfast was brought to us at 9am as ordered and we luxuriated in the bed and each other for a further few hours before showering together, dressing in our travelling clothes, packing our wedding clothes to be collected by my parents and packing our cases for our honeymoon. We checked out and were taken by cab to Logan International Airport where we boarded the jet for Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris, settling into our first class seats and sipping at the complimentary champagne. The flight was uneventful. We slept for some of the way, talking quietly for the remainder of the time of our plans and hopes for the future. Once at CDG we transferred to the TGV train and were whisked through the charming countryside to arrive in Marseille, from whence we travelled to Nice, where we were booked into the Waterfront Apartment Nice on the Promenade des Anglaise. Our apartment had beautiful views along the coast in both directions and received all day sun as it was facing south; a really wonderful place to spend the first half of our honeymoon at the start of our married life. We ate dinner in a local café then walked along the beach, arm in arm, to any observer, obviously in love. When we returned to our apartment it was dark and we showered together before climbing into bed and making sweet gentle love. We drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, content with ourselves and the world in general. After another session of lovemaking after we awoke, then a beautiful breakfast in a café on our way to the hire car depot, we rented a car and began touring locally, finding some beautiful beaches. What we did notice on these beaches was that most of the women were naked from the waist up. In fact wearing my full, tiny bikini I felt conspicuous so hastened to remove my top. Ron obliged by gently rubbing sunscreen onto my back and front, spending a long time on my breasts, justifying this by the fact that they were unused to sun exposure. We enjoyed a swim in the sea, the water being a comfortable temperature, and I enjoyed the feeling of the water against my naked breasts. We swam and cuddled in the shallows, caressing each other intimately while our hands and bodies were hidden from view beneath the surface. Before we headed to the shopping precinct for lunch, Ron dared me to remain topless as we walked along the street. I felt very self-conscious at the start until I noticed that several other women were doing exactly the same and they certainly didn't have the curvaceous good looks that I did. I received many whistles and second glances from amorous young French men, which made me feel proud to be able to display my obvious assets. For the sake of decency I did cover up a little in the café we selected, throwing a thin silk wrap around my shoulders and tying it beneath my breasts. It really only gave the impression of hiding my breasts without preventing them from being seen to any great extent. In fact, it could be said that it emphasised them as my hard nipples were now obvious under the light fabric. Lunch was delicious, topped off with dry white wine and a coffee. I found I was really enjoying sampling French cuisine and felt that I could certainly become used to this place. After lunch we decided we had done sufficient cooking in the sun for the first day. We didn't want to overdo it and be unable to experience these joys later in the week, and also did not want to forgo our lovemaking due to sore or sensitive skin. So we drove inland for a few hours, observing the quaint villages and orchards of the surrounding countryside, buying some cheese and wine from roadside stalls, and returning an hour before sunset. Kat - The Making of a Call Girl It was still very warm, the gentle breeze off the Mediterranean keeping the temperature comfortable, so we lazed in our deck chairs on our patio, naked, while we watched the sun sink as we partook of a glass of chilled wine and ate cheese and crackers. A delightful way to end a most enjoyable day. After the sun had set the air began to chill; we lay on the bed and gently caressed each other's body, building the tempo slowly as our response to the stimulation caused the necessary changes prior to love-making. After a short time I took control. I had spent much of the day with my breasts on show to the world and was feeling horny from the effects of this exposure. I rolled Ron onto his back and took his rampant cock into my mouth, deep-throating him slowly as I watched his face smile as the sensations washed through him. I lifted off him and straddled his hips, leaning forward to kiss him sensuously before settling my pussy over his cock, engulfing him in one swift movement. I felt his pubic bone squashing my clit, sending pulses of wanton sexuality through my groin. Slowly at first, then increasingly rapidly and with greater pressure, I began moving backwards and forwards, feeling his hard cock press alternately against the front and rear of my love tunnel while spikes of sensation, like sparks of electricity, flooded my nervous system from the pressure on my clit. I closed my eyes, fully experiencing the sensations while maintaining the rhythmical movements that were driving us both towards massive orgasms. Gradually my breathing became faster, shallower and more ragged and my body took on a will of its own, moving without conscious thought as we were both propelled on a one way journey to heaven. I came, hard, my head thrown back as I screamed my orgasm to the walls and the world. I maintained my movements and was rewarded a few seconds later by Ron's deposit of hot sperm in the end of my battered tunnel. He gripped my hips hard, slowing me to a standstill as he focussed on the surging sensations throbbing through him. After a few seconds he relaxed, slumping downwards onto the bed and pulling me down onto his body, hugging me to him, my hard nipples pressing into his chest as he kissed me long and hard. We lay together for many minutes, our breathing slowing as our pulses also returned to normal, his cock slowly deflating. After nearly half an hour of kissing, cuddling and dozing, we arose, showered together then dressed for an evening meal, our flushed faces and just fucked hair indicating we were obviously honeymooners, or lovers at the very least. We found another café and enjoyed yet more French cuisine and their delicious local wine. After a very pleasant meal and a walk along the promenade we returned to our apartment and to bed, making love sweetly and gently over a long period, lying on our sides facing each other and each cumming quietly and lovingly, before dropping off to sleep. I woke early the following morning, racked by doubts about my chosen course of action. I guessed that it was conscience coming to the fore. I again went through the steps that I would be taking on our return home but I realized that I'd really grown to love Ron, despite my resolve to simply play-act that process. There was something about him that made me feel good about myself. I tried to put the thoughts out of my mind but failed until he stirred and woke, reaching for me and kissing me. My last thought before surrendering to his love was that he did really love me, and for that I was very grateful. But it made my task so much more difficult. Ron seemed to be insatiable. We made love three times yesterday and then again the following morning before we dressed, ate breakfast at the local café, then booked a day coastal cruise. Oh well, I guess he must have stored it up for a while. We took day bags with us on the boat and spent a very pleasant day viewing the region from the calm sea. Most of the time was spent lounging in deck chairs, either sun bathing topless again or sheltering under large awnings during the heat of the day. Lunch on board was delicious with a seafood buffet washed down with more local wines. It was a beautiful day in all ways and I could feel that I was growing closer to my husband almost by the hour. My thoughts of the early morning once again crossed my mind, but I rejected them; time would come for thoughts such as those later. The days passed pleasantly with frequent lovemaking, sun bathing, walks and sightseeing until it was time to leave this idyllic location and travel to Spain. We had decided to use our rental car for this journey of around seven hours, allowing us to view the countryside. We departed early, travelling through scenic landscapes and past sparkling beaches. We stopped at Montpellier for lunch, viewing some of the ancient structures in the historic city, then pressed onward, crossing into Spain mid-afternoon and arriving at our hotel, W Barcelona, early evening. My Spanish was nowhere near as fluent as my French but I was easily able to make myself understood in a combination of Spanish and English and soon we were comfortably gazing out the windows of our tenth floor suite at the ocean and beaches below us. After a drink to refresh ourselves, we found a beautiful little café for dinner, then returned to our suite and showered together to remove the dust from our journey. Tired, we tumbled into bed and made gentle sweet love together for the next hour. What a honeymoon this was! Every time we made love it seemed to be better, more fulfilling, more satisfying, more addictive. We were growing together quickly and found that already we were able to anticipate the other's needs, wants and thoughts before they spoke. We were, in many ways, acting like an old married couple, except in the sexual arena, where love was new, fresh and utterly wonderful. We spent the next few days visiting local places of interest including the nudist beach close to the city at Playa de la Mar Bella, where we both sunbathed and swam totally naked. The enlightened Spanish have no law against nudity anywhere so it is perfectly legal to sunbath or swim naked at any beach. I dared Ron to strip off completely on the main beach at Barceloneta, and he agreed to do this, but only if I also stripped off completely. To begin with we lay on the beach face down in the sun. Nobody paid us any attention. So after a while we turned over, lying on our backs feeling very exposed. Still nobody paid any more attention to us than I would normally receive as a beautiful blonde haired woman. After laying there for about half an hour we both stood up, walked as casually as possible to the water's edge and waded out to waist depth, then swam a further hundred yards or so seawards by which time the water was shoulder depth. We cuddled together, feeling the sensuous sensations of the water against our skin and each other's skin against our skin underwater. It felt gloriously freeing to swim naked, unencumbered by clothing of any kind. We then swam ashore, returned to our umbrella, dried and dressed in the bare minimum of clothing before heading to a café for a bite to eat. As with all holidays, our honeymoon ended far too soon and we found ourselves at the airport, our rental car returned, waiting for a flight home. We flew home with a brief stopover in Zurich, arriving reasonably fresh after sleeping part of the way in our first class reclining seats. A short time after we landed we were safely ensconced in our own mansion again as husband and wife. The change in status seemed strange in the familiar surroundings, but I was certain I would quickly become accustomed to it. Ron spent the Sunday recuperating and setting things in order around the house, before returning to a round of partners and clients meetings on Monday. That meant I was left alone in the house apart from the two staff. After two weeks of spending all my time with Ron, I was at a loss for something to do. Housework was taken care of by the staff, and was not something I wanted to take on anyway. I decided to visit my parents for a start, telling them about the wonderful honeymoon. They were very pleased and relieved to hear how well our marriage had begun and invited me to stay for dinner, which I accepted as I knew Ron would be working late. They told me that they had invited some guests around, old friends who had sons around my age who may be pleasant company. The Addisons and Wileys arrived before dinner for pre-dinner drinks and while the oldies talked in the main lounge, Mom asked if I'd like to take Peter and Adrian down to the summer house to show them some of the property and also we could watch some videos there so they wouldn't be bored by the conversation of their parents. I was very happy to do this and enjoyed the company of the two young men, one of whom was a few months older than me, the other a few months younger. As we chatted they asked me about my honeymoon so I told them how wonderful it was. As the talk continued while we sat on the soft sofas in the summerhouse, talk progressed to our sexual relations. I found myself blushing scarlet as I told them how often we had sex, how insatiable Ron and I both were and how I was feeling rather neglected, having not received any sexual attention today. Being of kind disposition and wishing to share, both Peter and Adrian offered to assist me with my problem. They were, of course, joking but I called their bluff and lay on the sofa cushions, spreading my legs and raising my skirt and blouse I simply told them to put their money where their mouths were. After they picked their jaws up off the floor, figuratively of course, they sat alongside me and started exploring my body. Very soon I was making the soft mewling sounds that Ron knows so well as indicating my sexual arousal. I unzipped their trousers and reached inside, finding their hard cocks and began caressing them, which drove them to ever more daring explorations of my naughty bits. Soon Peter had his hand cupping my bare pussy with two fingers moving gently inside my wet cunt while Adrian had both hands over my breasts, pinching, squeezing and caressing my nipples in a most erotic manner. It was the first time I had been stimulated by two men simultaneously and I was determined that it would not be the last. After a few more minutes I felt my orgasm approaching and told them I was about to cum. They redoubled their efforts, pushing me higher until I stifled a scream by turning my head into the cushion as I lost any control of my writhing shuddering body. Gradually I came down from my peak and they looked at me in awe, wondering, no doubt, if that was the end of their fun or if they also would get to experience their sexual release. I was not about to be a party pooper. I quickly stood, removed my skirt and lacy thong panties, then lay back down again, telling Peter first to drop his trousers and underpants and use that hard cock for its principal purpose. He needed no second bidding and my wet cunt was quickly invaded by his long, hard cock as he seemingly strove to push its head out my mouth. As with many young men, within a few strokes he came, spurting his delicious hot cum into the end of my cunt. He wasted no time, immediately removing his cock, to allow its place to be taken by an equally enthusiastic Adrian who continued fucking me from where Peter had left off. As he came, so did I a second time, wrapping my legs around him to hold him inside me until I had completed my release and I was ready to be vacated. We spent some time cleaning ourselves and the cushions up with the towels from the bathroom, removing all traces of our love making and donning and straightening our clothes, completing these tasks just as Mom called us for dinner. We looked at each other, noticing our flushed faces and just fucked hair and hoped that these would go unnoticed by our parents. The remainder of the evening passed quickly and uneventfully with Peter, Adrian and I exchanging surreptitious glances from time to time around the table. The six older adults were fully into their own discussions and paid little attention to our glances at each other or our appearance. As they left I was able to give Peter and Adrian each my card and a whispered message to call me for an encore sometime. After they left, I also made my excuses and returned home, having time to shower and climb into bed in my sexiest nightwear just before Ron arrived home from a long day's work. I pulled on a sheer gown over my half-cup bra, lacy thong, suspender belt and fishnet stockings and was greeted by a low whistle from my beloved husband. He quickly kissed me, then carried me to bed, where he stripped off his clothes in double quick time, then proceeded to remove my bra and thong before fucking me hard and fast, cumming quickly and forcefully inside me as I came again, achieving my third orgasm of the evening. After we parted I removed my remaining clothing and cuddled up to Ron, kissing him gently and telling him how much I loved him. My final thought as I drifted off to a contented sleep was how pleased I was that I had not vowed to forsake all others at my wedding. The next morning I awoke early, racked with guilt. I had betrayed the person I loved most, my wonderful husband who loved me so dearly. I know I had plans to betray him and to take lovers as and when I liked; that was the reason I had insisted on the modification of our wedding vows. But to have actually done this, without his knowledge and without any forethought, was devastating. I cuddled up to his still sleeping form, listening to the gentle breathing of the man I was coming to know and who I loved so much. Should I tell him? How would he react? Surely he suspected that I had wanted the vows changed for this reason, but so soon? Straight after our honeymoon? Ron stirred in his sleep and I made the hard decision; I would tell him and take the consequences. Would this end my marriage? While I had initially planned that it would be a reason to end my marriage, to take the money and run, that was no longer the case. I loved him. I had difficulty visualizing my life without him; without the spectacular sex we had experienced and which I hoped to experience for the rest of my life, at least. What had I done? He slowly awoke, responding to my gentle kisses and touches. He rolled towards me, his cock already starting to harden. He started kissing me and was surprised when I pulled away from him, telling him that I needed to say something important. I then proceeded to tell him about the previous evening and of my fears for our marriage. Once I had finished he kissed me gently, telling me he suspected something had happened because of my special efforts in dressing so sexily for bed, but that he was quite willing to accept that I'd had sexual relations with two other men. He said that he expected that someone of my age would want to play the field because I hadn't done that in a sexual way before we were married. He completely understood. I pulled him to me, kissed him hard on his lips, then burst into tears, all my fears and guilt flooding out of me onto his chest. Once I could speak again I rechecked that he was quite OK with what had happened and he said he was, completely and absolutely. He told me that just because I fucked other men did not mean I loved him any less. In fact, from his perspective it meant that his gorgeous wife was still attractive to other men and therefore he valued me even more. What was the point of having something unique if nobody else wanted it, he asked? He told me I was a gorgeous sexy woman, that he loved me dearly, and that he wasn't about to curtail my enjoyment of life just because of his own ego. I thanked him again and told him that I loved him dearly too. With the others it was just sex; with him I was making love and it would always be that way. I asked if he wanted to make love with other women. He told me he did not, stating that he'd had many years to sow his wild oats, as he put it, and now all he wanted was a steady relationship with me, as I was the sexiest woman he knew bar none. I threw my arms around him and hugged and kissed him hard. I also felt him getting hard against me so wasted no time in reconfirming my deep abiding love for him, engulfing his cock with my dripping pussy and joining him in an amazing simultaneous orgasm a short time later. As we lay there in post-orgasmic bliss, wishing for time to slow down so we could stay like that forever, I asked him if it was OK if I had sex with other men in the future. He told me it was, but asked if I would be willing to tell him about it each time, commenting that this would enhance our sex together. Of course I agreed. I then decided it was time to push the envelope a bit more and asked him what he'd think if I started my own business. He looked at me wryly and asked what I had in mind. I couldn't meet his eyes as I told him that for a long time I'd had this fantasy of becoming a high-priced call girl. Ron's jaw dropped open and he said he'd never even have guessed that was an ambition of mine, but that I certainly had all the right attributes. If that was what I wanted, then he said he would support me in my venture. He told me he had heard of other married call girls and that for them the arrangement seemed to work just fine. He also offered to discretely spread the word through his extensive network of friends if I wished. I thanked him profusely and we kissed and cuddled for a short time before we arose, showered together and dressed for breakfast, him in his business suit and me in a sheer house wrap that hid virtually nothing of my bodily charms. He couldn't take his eyes off me as we ate the breakfast our cook had prepared. He then kissed me again, fondling my breasts and pussy, and commenting that he should cancel his appointments and take me back to bed. However, he didn't, and I was left feeling sexy and frustrated. I took this out on the computer, searching the web for sites relating to call girls and escorts. I received a call from Ron a few hours later asking if I was indeed serious about becoming a call girl. I replied I was, so he told me that a colleague of his was looking for some female company for an esteemed Spanish client who was arriving tomorrow and staying for two nights in Boston. He was looking for a sophisticated young lady to accompany him to dinner and dancing and spend nights with him in his suite. Was I interested? I took a gulp of air and decided that I was, but instead of telling Ron, I asked was he happy with me doing this. He replied that he would miss me terribly but he was OK with it and he'd look forward to my account of my venture on my return. I asked him what remuneration was involved and was told $20,000. Wow! Twenty grand just for having fun with a guy! My sort of work. So I told Ron that I was interested and he said he'd let me know tonight. In my wardrobe I sorted some sexy lingerie and nightwear, two gowns for evening wear, some clothes for day wear which were titillating yet classy, and, of course, a brief bikini in case we spent time at a beach or on a hotel deck. I added to these the normal cosmetics I used and placed them all ready to pack should the need arise. I then ate lunch, noticing how wet I was between my legs from the anticipation of this erotic escapade. When Ron arrived home that evening I greeted him at the door, wearing his favorite sexy clothing, with a huge hug and kiss. I asked him to please fuck me because I'd been so wet ever since his call. He picked me up and carried me to bed, where we stripped each other and made love for over an hour. I came several times and he pumped two doses of hot cum into my pussy. After we'd cleaned up we ate our dinner, over which Ron told me my program.