Tag Archives: escort

Food for thought…

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Posted on byPosted bysuperadmin

Most of the time, my clients want me to be well-turned out, svelte, sexy and, well… arm candy.

I sport all my finest labels (usually within at least two seasons of purchase unless it’s vintage, of course), making sure my hair is tousled and my make-up subtle. Above everything else, I want to look good for me.

So when a client asks me to wear something I wouldn’t mind ruining, I have all sorts of visions. Extreme sports? Quad-biking? Mud wrestling…? Well, maybe not the latter, as that would usually involve two 24hr escorts and a rather skimpy bikini. So, I went for clothes I typically wear when I decorate and tied my hair up in a messy ponytail. It went against all my principles, but when clients call, they call the shots.

I arrived at his sumptuous Kensington apartment bang on eleven o’clock. Usually, my clients can hear my stilettos from a mile away, but wearing pumps meant I arrived unannounced. Jasper answered my knock promptly and showed me through his hallway to a large white room right at the back. The walls were as stark as the tiled floor, and there was a giant dust sheet covering most of the sparse furniture. Set up at the window was a tripod with a long-lens camera being tended to by a trendy young man; Jasper introduced him as his wingman, Mark.

The thing that concerned me the most was there was a long table on the left-hand side of the room. On this table were creamy cakes and tall blancmanges, all decorated with strawberries, cream and icing. They wouldn’t have looked out of place on a hostess trolley at The Dorchester; Jasper stuck his finger into one of them and licked the digit clean. “Perfect,” he said. Suddenly, a light bulb went off in my head.

I looked first from Mark, looking through the lens and adjusting his shot, to Jasper, who was watching me. With a grin, I went to one of the blancmanges and took a fistful. I lobbed it at Jasper, and the flash went off on Mark’s camera. With almost a guttural scream of joy, my client dived for the table and its contents. Within a few minutes, there was a full-scale food fight going on.

I was covered from head to toe in sponge, cream filling and jam. The floor, walls and even the ceiling had an uneven coating of patisserie goodness. I should have brought a shower cap as a whole trifle upended over my brunette locks. I felt a triple shampoo and condition coming on when I got home.

The only thing I should have had the foresight on was a change of clothes! Thankfully, Jasper lent me a pair of joggers and a jumper for my journey back to Mayfair. But my oh my, what fun!

Posted in British, Central London, Couples, Fantasy, Fetish, Knightsbridge, Naughty, Tagged Tags: , , , ,

Feeling Feisty

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Posted on byPosted bysuperadmin

One of my favourite words in the English dictionary is ‘passion’. There’s the passion you show your partner between the sheets when you just want to grab them and bite a chunk out of them; an intense appreciation for the arts or music and the passion of a couple arguing in the middle of the street (or wherever they happened to be when the first voice was raised). Without passion, the world would be a very boring place and no one would become excited about anything.

I consider myself to be a passionate girl in the most obvious sense of the word. None of my clients or past boyfriends could ever dub me an Ice Maiden. Good God, no! I put as much energy into my emotions as I do every aspect of my life. However, I’m not particularly confrontational so my newest client, Jon took me by surprise. He was a referral from a fellow London escort who was too poorly to make her date. She told me that Jon was a bit of a character but she thought I would be fine. “If you get stuck,” she said hoarsely, “text me.”

So I entered into our arrangement with my eyes wide open. Dressed for the summery weather and with a beaming smile, we met on the South Bank, outside Temple tube station. The first thing that riled me was that he looked me up and down before shaking my hand. And even though, for the most part, he as a gentleman, he kept trying to wind me up – bordering on rudeness. As the sun went behind a cloud and the wind picked up, my mood became equally as overcast. Jon started to irritate me. We walked and talked from Park Lane to Piccadilly, without holding hands and at least three feet apart. Now, being the professional I am and bearing in mind I’ve heard worse over the years, I started to reply through gritted teeth. I so wanted to be nice to him but I could have cheerfully strangled him. We ate a meal at The Cinnamon Club where the conversation was littered with insults. He criticised the food, the service, my table manners and those of all around him. Eventually I could take no more. With a slam of my napkin and a scrape of my chair, I turned on my heel and fled.

I was absolutely raging as I arrived home. My neighbours must have wondered what all the commotion was about as I slammed my front door shut and kicked a chair across the room. How dare he! And I was so annoyed with my colleague for giving me such a vile client. I text her and asked why she thought I would enjoy a date like that. I got no reply but Jon text me the next day and explained that he arranged dates with our 24 hour escort agency to have a really good fight with the lady. He was aroused by a fiery woman and I had left him speechless. Although when I didn’t come back he had worried that I’d been briefed before agreeing to stand in. Well, that explained it and after that I stopped giving him a hard time. So, slipping into character, I made my voice as petulant as I could and asked what the hell he thought he was playing at being extremely rude to me and his voice immediately animated. Before I knew it he was yelling all sorts of obscenities and asking if I spoke to all my boyfriends that way? It was rather surreal but oddly satisfying.

Now Jon wants to book my company at least once a fortnight so we can really scream at each other – in a completely controlled environment, of course. He says he enjoys the company of the other escorts at the agency but that I really get into the spirit of things. I told him he should see me with PMT!

Posted in 24hr, British, Clerkenwell, Fulham, Naughty, Role Play, Tagged Tags: , , , , , ,

Patience is a virtue

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Posted on byPosted bysuperadmin

Women can be manipulative—even those who say they aren’t having a more subtle approach to the art. As long as there is no element of de-masculation, where is the harm? My mother used to say, “Ask, don’t get; don’t ask, don’t want.” I disagree.

I’ll be sure to set the scene for you…

This weekend, I spent the day at Westfield Shopping Centre, ten minutes from Paddington, with a rather delicious companion named throngs of shoppers and designer stores; I managed to do a lot of my shopping Victor, among t. I love shopping dates because I usually don’t get to spend a day queuing among other commoners, preferring to “add to cart” on Amazon.

So there we were, fingers entwined, our arms full of branded carrier bags. Victor had dragged me into practically every man’s clothes shop there (who says men aren’t fussy?), and I was longingly thinking of Kurt Geiger up on level one. I desperately wanted to slip my foot into the multi-coloured glitter stilettos that had been whispering lovingly to me from the website. As he tried on his fiftieth jumper, I was mentally itemising my wardrobe to justify £150 while subtracting the balance of my MasterCard from my credit limit.

Sensitive to others’ needs, I am adept at situations before they get out of control and Victor gets frustrated. I wanted my shoes, and he wanted a change of scenery, so I suggested Pret a manger, which was “coincidentally” on level one. Smelling the lure of coffee and fresh sandwiches, Victor offered me a smile as we ascended the escalator, at diffusing a, and I mentally calculated that it would take 30 seconds to pass my beautiful shoes once we were nourished.

A man with a full belly is a happy man – and a man open to bribery. Near the cafe was a huge Apple store with plenty of shiny laptops and iPads murmuring sweet nothings. Attention diverted from Fair Isle knitwear, Victor swung his hips through the door and took a lungful of Broadband. A London escort such as me must have patience as a virtue: the patience to accept her needs comes after those of her date. I watched Victor dribble over a MacBook Pro and counted down the minutes until I could lick the heel of that display shoe.

And then… a boom! Victor kissed my forehead and said, “Darling, you have been patient with me today. Let me buy a present for my beautiful girl. Shall we look at something for you?” I could have wept. “Oh, you don’t have to do that…” I said through my lashes. He made a pooh-pooh noise, and we fell into step… right past Kurt Geiger. And there they were… in the window, dazzling under the lights as I knew they would be… my shoes. Ten minutes later, I had a shiny gift bag dangling from my arm, and my date looked very pleased with himself as I let him “choose” a pair, though I can’t say product placement didn’t play a part.

Call me manipulative, then, if you want, but you can’t say that my gentleman friend wasn’t pleased to make me happy. The date had, as always, been about him and a trip to W12. I’m a big fan of West London, especially now that I know where Kurt Geiger has a fantastic store!

Posted in Agencies, British, Central London, City, Escort, London Agencies, Outcall, Tagged Tags: , , ,

A British BBQ

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Posted on byPosted bysuperadmin

What was I saying on Friday about not wanting to do this barbecue on Saturday? I couldn’t have been more right.

I wouldn’t say I like family get-togethers. I’m forced to sip warm wine and converse with maiden aunts and weird uncles whilst scanning the room for one of my many cousins, who may rescue me. It is, as I extricate an errant hand from my behind, that I realise they managed to bow out gracefully. How is it that my excuses of actually having a life never wash with my mother?

It was my Dad’s 60th birthday, so to be truthful, I would have endured Uncle Simon’s mauling just for him. I arrived at my brother’s in Swiss Cottage with a gift basket from Selfridges and a bottle of something more substantial than Lambrini. My mum kissed me, noticed my lack of a date, and I felt for the entire world like Bridget Jones. All I needed was a turkey curry buffet and Mark Darcy in a reindeer jumper. I wanted to scream at her that I was a London escort with more admirers than Cleopatra and a more-than-attractive dowry for any suitor. However, under my guise of a £20,000 a year job in PR, I had to endure her steely gaze.

I noticed my sister hopping from foot to foot in the background, and in my haste to reach her, I was tripped up by my niece’s skipping rope and landed at the feet of her boyfriend – ‘ginger Gerry’, my ex-client. He helped me up, and as usual, neither of us looked into the eyes of the other. I’ve seen (and heard!) more than enough of him in the past for this to ever be forgotten. I said “hi” and fled.

There are four of us in our family – my eldest brother, myself, my younger sister and my baby brother. I noticed, with distaste, that my little brother managed to get out of the party unless he was late, as he often is. My mum will forgive him anything, and it makes me quite ill.

Being the “middle child”, I have always been very independent and somewhat of an enigma to my parents. The eldest brother is married with 2.4 children, an excellent job in Canary Wharf and a five-figure salary. His wife is a stay-at-home super-mum who only feeds the kids the best organic foods and comes out in hives at the mention of Wotsits or Wagon Wheels. My little sister has decided to shack up with “Ginger Gerry” and whom I hoped wasn’t about to tell me what I dread… they’ve got engaged!!!!

So the rest of the afternoon/evening/next morning was spent admiring her rock, planning colours and what would be fabulous on me as the maid of honour. It pained me to think I would soon be related to someone who has paid for my time and company, but I know neither of us will ever mention it nor burst her bubble.

On a lighter note, my thinking time kept me up during the small hours on Sunday, so I managed to finish my book – yes, it was brilliant. And I need a little BDSM to help clear my head. I have a somewhat willing client who likes to clean my toilet with a toothbrush – maybe I’ll call him.

Posted in Escort, Naughty, Tagged Tags: , ,

Sensual Sophie

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Posted on byPosted bysuperadmin

Our featured escort this week is lovely, luscious and lascivious Sophie. This 23-year-old blonde escort is of Polish nationality and spends her time in the Marylebone area- lucky London men!

Sophie is strong-willed and intelligent and loves to keep her fantastic figure in shape with regular exercise. Is it any wonder that this stunning young woman boasts 32C-22-32 statistics? Dressing them up in stylish clothes bought from her many international trips or down in designer lingerie, Sophie tells us that looking gorgeous is one of her sensual pleasures. (Topped off with a spray of an expensive eau de parfum from an admirer). Perhaps you would like to treat her to something special in the departure lounge of a London Airport as you fly her somewhere you both can be alone?

Sophie’s demeanour, bearing and upbringing make her the perfect gentleman’s choice. Culture, art and current affairs are her preferred topics of conversation, and she adores a witty man with a quick mind who will challenge her. Imagine the fun you two could have bantering back and forth over dinner in a top London Restaurant- setting the stakes high for whatever is to follow. The chemistry between you could be electric!

Sophie adores travelling all over Europe and beyond with her clients. She is rarely seen in her Marylebone apartment as her busy schedule demands her time and attention. So, to book this brown-eyed beauty, phone us well before your trip or agenda, and we will let you know her availability. Please call us on 07811 160 160 Monday to Sunday for incall and outcall escorts 24hrs.

Posted in 24 hour, Blonde, Cheap, Incall, Marylebone, New, Outcall, Tagged Tags: , , , ,