Escort Stories - A whole new world - Part one

As you all probably know I was an escort for many years. I quite a few years ago but last year I began seeing a few, select clients (some of who are subscribers to minxxx!). It's been wonderful esocrting again, but this time, utterly on my own terms.

This story is the first part of a recollection of how I began that journey.

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As I approached the discreet black door—three small steps above the pavement—my heart raced with anticipation. A single buzzer awaited my touch, and for a moment, I paused, surveying the quiet, well-heeled street that stretched out before me. Elegant Victorian houses stood proud, their facades painted in muted tones, no doubt the interiors elegantly decorated in chic Farrow & Ball shades—Elephant’s Breath, Lamp Room Yellow—names as luxurious as the lives lived inside. Mercedes, BMWs, and Audis lined the pavement, glittering beneath the streetlights. This was a place for the “comfortably off,” where wealth hummed softly under the surface.

I didn’t belong here, not really. Six months into my first year at university, I was already floundering. Not academically—my mind had always been sharp, and I thrived on the challenge of my course, soaking up every moment of my newfound freedom. But financially? I was sinking fast. I’d grown up knowing what it meant to go without, in a cramped rented house where my mum worked tirelessly, yet still struggled to keep the cupboards stocked and the bills paid. University had been my escape, my way to carve out a different life. But even with a full loan, the costs had piled up—tuition, books, the steep rent for my student flat. I worked at a local pub, pulling pints until my feet ached, yet I still barely scraped by.

I was fortunate in some ways. My friends—kind, generous—never let me go without a drink in hand, happily covering my tab when my bank balance hit rock bottom. But pride is a stubborn thing, and I hated the feeling of always being indebted, of never being the one to stand at the bar and say, “This round’s on me.”

And so here I was, fingers brushing against the buzzer, standing on the doorstep of this unremarkable house in well-to-do Hove. I was about to step into a world I barely understood, where sex and money were inseperable. Where I was soon to become a commodity, paid for by the hour by those who could afford me.

I pressed the buzzer. The response was immediate, a woman’s voice through the intercom, soft yet firm, authoritative with just the slightest edge of curiosity.

“Hello,” she said, her tone sending a shiver down my spine. “Can I help you?”

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. This was it—the threshold between two worlds. On one side, the well-heeled respectability of this quiet street, its elegant houses gleaming with success, even if they felt worlds apart from my reality. On the other side, behind this nondescript door, lay a world I was about to step into—a world that felt dangerous, exciting, and completely unfamiliar.

But let me explain how I ended up here. Working at the bar had been my life just a few weeks ago. I liked the job well enough, but it wasn’t enough to keep me afloat. Even with five shifts a week, I was barely scraping by. Balancing work and university was hard enough, and I knew it would only get worse as the year went on. I needed more. 

So when I heard that two of the girls from the bar had left for jobs at a strip club, claiming they were earning double the money for half the work, it caught my attention.

One of the girls, Kelly, had become a friend, so I asked her if she could help me out, maybe get me an interview. A few days later, I found myself sitting across from the club manager, a slim, forgettable man with a Turkish accent. He offered me three nights a week at more than double my current pay—and I wouldn’t even be stripping. My job was to work behind the bar and “work the floor,” flirting and chatting up the men, coaxing them into spending more money on dances from the girls.

At first, it seemed like an easy gig. But after just three weeks, I was desperate to leave. The job itself wasn’t physically demanding, but the emotional toll was something else. The strip club felt like a pressure cooker of misery—both from the men and the girls. The guys were usually drunk, sad, and desperate for attention. The dancers, almost without exception, hated every second of it, their disdain for the men only thinly veiled by forced smiles and sultry glances. And nearly every night, I found myself having to fend off a guy who didn’t understand the meaning of the word “no.”

As for the two girls who had left the bar to work here, one had already gone back to her old job. The other was just as miserable as I was. 

It wasn’t that I was a prude—far from it. I had no moral objection to strip clubs; in fact, before I ever set foot in one as an employee, the idea actually turned me on. When I applied for the job, I’d secretly entertained fantasies about becoming a dancer, imagining the rush of performing, the seductive power of swaying my hips under the lights, wrapping my legs around that cold, steel pole, feeling the heat of all those hungry eyes on me. I even pictured myself in a little white thing, white hold up stockings and a pair of white stilettos, gyrating for the punters, letting their gazes undress me, one tantalizing layer at a time.

I remember one night, after I’d gotten the call saying I was hired and would be starting that weekend, I spent hours in bed, fingers trailing over my body, losing myself in that fantasy—teasing the men, leaving them desperate, and reveling in the control I’d have over their desires. It was erotic, intoxicating even. Or at least, the idea was.

The reality? That was a different story. The strip club wasn’t glamorous or sexy. The heat, the desire, the thrill I’d imagined—none of it existed in that dingy place. Instead of power, I found indifference. Instead of sensuality, I found sadness. The money wasn’t even that good. It was all a disappointment.

But then, one night, an avenue opened up.

I overheard three of the regular dancers talking, their voices low but tinged with excitement. They weren’t just chatting about another night at the club—they were discussing something much more intriguing. They were talking about their “other job.” As I eavesdropped, it became clear: they were being paid to do more than just tease men. These women were escorts, and they weren’t just stripping for tips; they were being paid to fuck.

And the way they talked about it—well, it wasn’t just the money that had them excited. They seemed to genuinely enjoy it.

If you know anything about me by now, you’ll understand that the idea of getting paid for dirty, delicious sex definitely piqued my interest. More money than I’d ever made, all while doing something I already loved? My pulse quickened at the thought.

With a mix of curiosity and boldness, I decided to join the conversation.

“Hey,” I began casually, “what are you girls talking about?”

“Escorting, honey,” said Talia, a statuesque Brazilian with dark, flowing hair. She gave me a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Why, you thinking about trying it?”

Her words were met with a soft giggle from the blonde Eastern European girl beside her, who was idly picking at her nails.

“Is it good money?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heart was racing.

“Way better than here,” Talia replied, leaning in a little closer. “But it ain’t for virgins.”

Another giggle from the blonde.

I felt a slow, wicked smile curl at the corners of my lips. “Well,” I said, feeling the rush of excitement flood my veins, “I’m definitely no virgin.”

“Ooooh, I know a man who would love to meet you, sweetheart,” purred a voice behind me. I turned to see her—an older Black woman with an air of sensuality so thick, it practically enveloped the room. I had only glimpsed her once before, but that brief moment had been enough to slip her into my dreams more than once since then. She was the kind of woman who made you wonder how anyone could exude that much raw, effortless sex appeal.

She stepped closer, her gaze roaming over me slowly, taking me in from head to toe like she was sizing up something she wanted to taste. She wore simple underwear, no doubt her opwn, she was yet to change into whatever outfit she'd be working in tonight. but the simplicitly of the cotton lingerie suited her and the brief glimpse of her tattoos burned into my brain.“I’m Michelle,” she drawled, her voice as smooth as velvet. Her hand extended toward me, slender and toned, with skin like silk and nails tipped in perfect French polish, gleaming under the dim lights.

I took her hand, surprised by how cool her touch was against my skin. “Sara,” I introduced myself, smiling as her eyes lingered on me. “Nice to meet you.”

Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she gave my hand a soft squeeze. “You too, honey,” she replied, her voice low, teasing, making my pulse quicken. “So, you serious? You really wanna escort?” Her eyes raked over me again, slower this time, like she was savoring the sight of me. “Because the guy I work with? He’d love you.”

The way she said it, the heat in her gaze—it wasn’t just a suggestion. It was an invitation to something darker, more thrilling, and I could feel the pull of it deep inside me.

Two days later, I found myself at a local Starbucks, the familiar scent of roasted coffee beans filling the air, my cappuccino warm in my hands. Across from me sat Jay, my soon-to-be employer, and he was even more captivating in person than I’d imagined. 

Mid-thirties, short dark hair, an athletic build that hinted at regular workouts, and that wicked, devil-may-care smile. He had the kind of casual confidence that made him hard to ignore. Despite the scruff on his jawline, his middle-class accent was as polished as his appearance. It made me wonder how someone who clearly came from privilege had ended up running an escorting business, but maybe I was just being naive. Perhaps my perception of the whole industry was outdated, stuck in some misconception of prostitution.

“So,” Jay leaned in, his voice low, intimate yet teasing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sara, but why would a smart, beautiful girl like you want to get into escorting?”

His tone was gentle, caring even, but there was something else beneath it—a subtle, mischievous curiosity. The kind that made me feel like I was about to be tested, my desires weighed against his expectations.

I took a breath, eyes momentarily dropping to the smooth surface of my coffee, though I’d been rehearsing my answer for days. Michelle and the girls had warned me that this was always how the conversation started, and I was ready.

I met his gaze, my voice soft yet steady. “Honestly, Jay? I love sex. I’ve been with all kinds of men—older men, younger men, guys you’d never look at twice, and ones who could walk straight off a runway. I love it all… anal, oral, being tied up, having my mouth used.” My voice dipped, a soft, breathy whisper, aware of the other patrons sipping their drinks around us. “I love giving long, slow blowjobs, taking my time, and seeing how much I can turn a guy on. And I’m single, happy with that. But I’m broke. So if I can do what I already love and get paid for it? Well, that sounds like the perfect job to me.”

I let the last part hang in the air for a moment before adding, almost as if confessing a secret, “And between you and me… the idea of getting paid for it? It really turns me on.”

I kept my eyes locked on his, my pulse quickening as the words left my lips. I could feel my confidence building with every sentence, and something else, a soft heat stirring between my legs. The thrill of saying it aloud, of owning my desires, was as intoxicating as anything I’d ever felt.

As I spoke, a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. He leaned back slightly, studying me with renewed interest, and I could sense that this was only the beginning.

And so I found myself here, on the doorstep, pushing against the front door as the sharp, metallic buzz of the door release sounded and the door swung open.

I quietly shut the door behind me, the soft click echoing through the hall. Ahead of me were two doors and a grand staircase, a rich red Victorian patterned carpet stretched up ahead of me.

“Up here,” a voice called from above, the same one from the buzzer.

My pulse quickened as I climbed the stairs, each step a mix of nerves and excitement. The thudding of my heart contrasted with the rush of anticipation coursing through me.

At the top, a sumptuous room opened up—dark red leather sofas, gold-trimmed wallpaper, lush green plants and shelves lined with books. It felt like stepping into a decadent period drama, though the two women lounging on the sofa contrasted with any suggestion of innocence. Both dressed in exquisite black lingerie, they exuded raw sensuality.

The cute blonde closest to me, with her shy smile and friendly “Hi,” immediately drew my attention. Her white, lacy hold up stockings showcased her slender legs.

Beside her, a sultry brunette sat like a queen. Long dark hair, smokey made-up eyes, ruby-red lips, and the curves of her enhanced breasts barely restrained by her black lacy bra. She looked up at me sharply, appraising me like an intruder in her domain. Her hand rested possessively on the blonde’s thigh, a silent warning that I was under suspicion and far from welcome in her eyes.

“Ah, Sara?” came the voice behind me, startling me from my thoughts.

I turned to face an elegant woman in her early forties, wearing a pale grey cashmere sweater that clung to her curves, paired with sleek, expensive jeans and black mid-heeled shoes. She was elegantly beautiful, her dark blonde hair soft and perfectly styled, framing a face that radiated warmth and subtle allure. She smiled, a playful and inviting smile, which sent a surge of anticipation through me.

"I'm Helen," she said, extending a manicured hand that felt soft and warm in mine.

"Hi, Helen. Nice to meet you," I replied, feeling a bit more at ease in the luxurious atmosphere, my confidence slowly returning.

She turned to the two women on the sofa. "Girls, this is Sara," she said with a knowing smile. "Sara, meet Alex and Asha."

The blonde, it turned out this was Alex, rose rom the sofa, her green eyes locking with mine as she approached. Her shy, friendly smile was irresistible as she padded silently in her stockinged feet across the room. She extended her hand, and when our fingers touched, the warmth of her skin sent a shiver up my spine.

"Nice to meet you, Sara. First night?" she asked, her voice soft, but full of curiosity.

"Yeah, first night. Hi, Alex," I replied, my smile widening as our hands lingered in the handshake.

The other woman, Asha, remained seated, her hash gaze fixed on me. She was stunning, but her air of indifference made it clear she had no intention of making this easy.

"Hey," she said coolly, her tone casual, almost dismissive.

"Hey," I responded, meeting her gaze, feeling the tension between us. "Nice to meet you" though it felt anything but in that moment.

“Come on,” Helen’s hand slid into mine as she led me out of the room and down a hallway. “It’s just the three of you tonight,” she said, her tone calm yet commanding. “Jay said he went over the basics, but let me fill you in. Don’t worry, it’s always a blur the first night. We run a good place, though. Nice clients, friendly girls. Safe, clean, and yes, we change the sheets after every session.” Her words were reassuring, all said with a clear authority.

At the end of the hallway, she stopped in front of a door labeled “Vienna” in elegant gold script. When she opened it, I was pleasantly surprised to see it wasn’t some gaudy themed room. A large, cream-painted iron bed stood in the middle of the room, covered in a plush pale grey duvet. Soft light spilled from th chandelier above, and an enormous mirror leaned against one wall, reflecting the opulence of the room.

“This is where you’ll be working tonight,” Helen said with a teasing smile, strolling toward a grand wardrobe. She opened it, revealing a tantalizing selection of outfits—black and shiny, delicate lace, even a school uniform. My lips curled into a grin.

Helen noticed and smirked. “Oh, you’ll have fun,” she whispered, with more than a trace of mischief.

She sat on the bed and spent the next few minutes pointing out the essentials, drawers that contained a variety of toys, condoms and lubes, even a selection of restraints in a drawer. The room was better equipped than I had imagined! 

She pointed to the ensuite bathroom, small but clean and well appointed. “Clients are required to shower before anything starts,” she explained firmly. “And if their hygiene isn’t good enough, you’re free to refuse them.” Her expression made it clear that she meant business.

She then showed me a discreet button under the antique dresser. “Press this if you need Andre, our security. He’ll be here in seconds.”

To prove her point, she pressed it, and within moments, a tall, muscular black man appeared in the doorway. His black suit fit him perfectly, his face serious but strikingly handsome. I was instantly attracted to him. The way his eyes roamed over me, lingering for just a second too long, told me he had noticed my reaction, my interest.

“Andre, this is Sara. It’s her first night,” Helen said, casting him a knowing look. “Make sure she’s well taken care of.”

Andre’s deep voice sounded through the room. “Nice to meet you, Sara. I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

As he left, my mind wandered, picturing him towering over me, his strong hands on my bare shoulders as, on my knees, I looked up at him, into his eyes, before I began to devour his huge, glistening cock. Craving him, desperate to be owned by him. As this thought played out in my mind I felt the heat between my thighs intensify. I knew I must be getting a little wet by now, the new environment, the other girls, this powerful, intelligent woman and now Andre... an adonis who I would willingly surrender myself to.

I was snapped back to reality by Helen’s hand on my shoulder. Her grip was firm, and when I turned to her, the playfulness was gone, replaced by something colder, more dominant.

“Now, Sara,” her voice was sharper, her eyes narrowing with intensity. “This isn’t a charity, and it’s not a game. You get paid to fuck, so you fuck. Follow the rules, and you’ll do well. Mess up, and you’re out. You give the clients a good time, make them feel like they’re the only thing in your world, and we’ll get along just fine. Understand?”

I nodded, feeling both unnerved but also deeply aroused by her authority. I wasn’t used to submitting to women, but something about Helen—the way she carried herself, the edge beneath her elegance—was stirring something inside me.

“Oh, and you’re okay with piss, right?” she asked suddenly, her voice turning casual as if it were the most normal question in the world.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered, caught off guard. It wasn’t something I advertised, but the truth was, it excited me. A fetish that had grown over time, one I’d explored at first quietly, privately. But then, as my confidence grew, one that had played an increasingly large part in my sexual experiences with others. Pee play turned me on as much as anything else I enjoyed and the thought that it might be part of my work here excited me even more.

“Good,” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “Clients seem to love it. I think you’ll be popular.”

She pointed to the bed. “It’s got a waterproof sheet under the cotton. And there’s the bathroom if you need it. Just keep it off the carpet or the furniture.”

With a final, teasing wink, she headed toward the door. “Oh, and if anything breaks, you’re paying for it. Including whatever the client breaks. Don’t get too carried away,” she laughed softly.

Before she left, she turned back one last time. “You’ve got a client in 15 minutes. His name’s Mark, early 30s. Been coming here for a while, so treat him well. He’s a nice guy, should be a pretty easy gig.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving me with a racing heart and a simmering heat that was impossible to ignore.

I took my time undressing, savoring each moment as I slid out of my clothes and into the lingerie Jay had suggested for my first night. We'd discussed this for some time when we first met and his words had rung in my ears during the hours I;d spetn trying to work out what to bring with me, quickly realising I;d need to pay a trip to Anne Summers to get the right outfit. "You're young, you've got an innocent look, let's play on that." He smirked as he said this. "I've got plenty of cotton knickers and bra sets, is that the sort of thing you mean?" I asked.

He coughed, then laughed. "Jesus, I can only imagine! No. I know there are pelnty of guys who'll go for that, don;t worry, you're gonna be so popular. But no, for this first night, let's go sexy girls next door. Lace, silk, fine mesh, stockings... that sort of thing. not black or red, try and stay away from overly slutty colours." And so in my bag, I carried a brand new pair of pale purple mesh, full back knickers, a matching mesh top and tie up suspender belt and a pair of white lacy hold ups.

After fastening the stockings to the suspenders, I paused to admire myself as I stepped into the panties, feeling the smoothness of my bare pussy against the soft fabric. At this point in my life I couldn’t imagine being anything but completely smooth down there—I had started shaving almost as soon as I had become sexually active and progressed from there to waxing. This has been the suggestion of my first female partner who introduced me to it personally. And, whilst it hurt like hell, nothing beat the smooth, soft feeling that waxing gave. 

I stood up, slipping my fingers into the panties and running my fingers between my ample labia, spreading them and pulling the knickers tight againt my moist butterfly, imagining how delicisous this must look. I let my hair tumble free from the ponytail I’d arrived in. The lingerie, soft and almost virginal, contrasted with the thoughts in my mind and the burning intensity in my pussy. I felt I had achieved exactly the look Jay had envisioned.

“You’ve got a great vibe,” he had told me, his words cutting through the hum of conversation in the busy coffee shop. “Outwardly pure, inwardly filthy. Does that sound like something you can convey?”

I remember thinking that in one sentence he’d pretty much summed up how I wanted to be seen, how perfectly those words captured the duality I’d always craved. I had smiled, knowing I could deliver exactly that. And now, staring at my reflection, I knew I had nailed it. Sexy, innocent, and with just the right edge of filthy—a look that begged to be devoured.

I carefully folded my clothes, tucking them into a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe, my mind racing as I took one last look around the room. How would the night unfold? I opened the drawer with the toys in, next to the bed. I needed to kill the time, to take my mind of the minutes that seemed to be stretching ahead of me. I both wanted the door to open but also I was terrified of what would happen.

I absent mindedly pulled out a pink, cock shaped vibrator. I found the on switch and played with it in my hands momentarily. Then without thinking, I switch off the vibrations and brought the toy to my lips. I just needed to feel this cock in my mouth, needed to feel my lips around it. I was so turned on. I imagined Andre's cock there instead and reached a hand down to my spread pussy, feeling the lips pressed against the sheer fabric.

Before I could spiral any further, there was a soft knock on the door.

My pulse quickened, and an unexpected wave of nerves washed over me. This was it. No turning back now. A thousand thoughts rushed through my mind—what if this Mark was awful, ugly, fat? What if, despite all my fantasies, the ones that had kept me up at night with my fingers slipping between my thighs, as a succession of mysterious men entered me, I froze when the moment came?

I swallowed, my chest tightening. Stood and stuffed the toy back nto the drawer, closing it softly. What should I do? But before I could spend any longer in this state of anxiety, a quiet, almost breathless voice escaped my lips: “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and I held my breath.

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Look out for part two coiming soon. In the meantime, please let me know what you think of this post. I try to capture what these experiences were like as I think (from what so many of you ahve told me during our chats) you really like hearing about them. Occasionally, I have to try and rememebr what happened so I can;t guarantee this is 100% accurate, but it's pretty much reflective of the experience. Lots of love, Sara xxx