A High Priced Call Girl Pt. 02

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tagGroup SexA High Priced Call Girl Pt. 02

"Is there a problem at home?" the freshly showered blond asked with concern, sauntering out of the bathroom in a plush white hotel robe.
"No, no. That was confirmation that we are going out for a night cap." Alex replied, putting down the phone.
"Vraiment?" she groaned incredulously.
"The night is still young. And since I paid for 12 hours of your time…Chloe…you're still on the clock. Besides, it should be interesting."
He went on to explain that there was an opportunity for them to have a quick drink in the famed penthouse of the Four Seasons.
"Really?" she asked, interest piqued. "With who?"
"Someone who could be very important for my career. He and his partner have asked us to join them. Frankly, I thought you might be excited by the opportunity. After all, it's not every day you get to visit a place like that. I can speak with him, you can chat with her, can't imagine it will be that bad."
Passionate about design, and always keen to help her husband's prospects, she had to admit that it sounded intriguing.
"But, Alex," she complained, "I have nothing appropriate to wear. My overnight bag just contains pajamas and casual clothes for tomorrow, and…"
"Alex?" he shot back playfully.
With a roll of the eyes she corrected herself. "Well, Peter. The problem is that I have nothing to…"
"Yes, you do," he interrupted, picking up the previously discarded sexy black dress. "I'm sure the others won't mind you looking hot in this."
After a short pause, she nodded reluctantly, "Bon, OK. But let me freshen up first."
And disappearing back into the bathroom, she heard the command that underwear would not be permitted.
'Ha' she thought guiltily, if only he knew.
As the gorgeous blonde led the way back through the Four Seasons lobby, Alex admired her from behind once more. Long blonde hair, now combed straight. A slim athletic body in a sleeveless Alexander McQueen dress. Toned calves, black stockings, and killer black heels. Quite the package. All made more alluring by the fact that the dress seemed see-through at first glance because it was made of elaborate black lace with skin colored lining.
Managing to pry his eyes away, he headed towards the concierge.
"We are guests of Mr George Roberts," he announced. "Please can you tell me how to reach the Penthouse."
"Ah yes. You are expected Mr. Peter. Please follow me to the private elevator."
Alex cringed slightly at the use of his pseudonym. Though fortunately, when he turned to see his wife's reaction, she was out of earshot.
The elevator ride proceeded smoothly, ascending to the top floor where the Ty Warner Penthouse floated above Manhattan. Renowned for its floor-to-ceiling windows and 360-degree view, it was fit for a master of the universe.
"You look tense," Sophie observed, as the elevator began to slow.
But before he could answer and tell her the truth about how they had ended up on their way to the top, the doors opened to reveal an old man in immaculate uniform.
"Mr Peter and Miss Chloe," he said grandly, with an inclination of the head, "Welcome to the Ty Warner Suite. Mr Roberts is expecting you."
The surprised blonde turned to her husband with questioning eyes.
"I'll explain later," he whispered, taking her hand and following the butler.
As she was preparing to interrogate the situation further, they entered the breath-taking living room. High overhead a dramatic cut-glass chandelier bathed the room in light, causing the crystals embedded in the cream-coloured walls to sparkle. And beyond, glass walls framed the twinkling lights of the city that never slept.
"Impressive, isn't it," came a familiar crisp English accent.
Alex tracked the svelte silhouette of his wife as she glided through the crowd towards the ladies' room. Only once her blonde mane was out of sight did he scan for a waiter. However, they had all vanished, leaving the bar tender as the only member of staff within sight. Grateful for the opportunity to stretch, and discreetly rearranging a hard on, he got up and strode over.
Ordering another round of mojitos, he leaned back and took the place in. The Ty Bar at the Four Seasons was sophisticated and cool. A stylish soaring space with Art Deco inspiration and cool jazz tunes. No wonder, even on a Monday, it was filling up with a mix of New York's wealthy and the global jet-set elite.
An arrogant laugh caught his attention. It was the older gentlemen from earlier speaking to a small circle. The same one that had been trying to chat up his woman. And whatever he was saying must have been enthralling, because he had everyone's rapt attention. Studying the man briefly, Alex was immediately struck by his authority and confidence. Tall, well dressed, and sporting neat silver hair, he was a text book alpha male. And maybe he had a sixth sense to boot, because while Alex's gaze lingered, he turned, as if knowing he was being watched. Locking eyes, there was a flash of recognition. A polite nod. And then he was suddenly approaching.
"Good evening," came the crisp English accent as the man stepped away from his group. "Terribly sorry about earlier, I had no idea…"
"Oh. It's fine. Really," Alex assured, waving it away.
"Our greatest weakness lies in giving up," the Gentlemen chuckled. "While the most certain way to succeed…is always to try just one more time."
Alex looked a bit confused by the sudden profoundness.
"Thomas Edison. A philosophy to live by. But never mind, I am prone to rambling. At least let me buy you a drink as an apology."
"There's no need, really, I just ordered a round of mojitos anyway."
A pause.
"Yeh, Chloe likes mojitos."
Referring to his wife's pseudonym came so naturally that Alex barely realized he had done so.
"Chloe, indeed. I love French women," the man reminisced, almost speaking to himself, "so alluring…so open-minded…so…"
But he caught himself and stopped.
"I know exactly what you mean," Alex chuckled in agreement, "there is something about them."
And they were both momentarily lost in memories.
"It seems we have similar good taste," the gentlemen finally observed, offering a hand, "George."
"Peter," came the lie.
Hiding behind a false name gave Alex confidence, like wearing a mask, and he shook the old man's hand with strength.
"Have you and Chloe been together long?" came the enquiry.
He thought for a moment. Opening up about the kinky role play to a complete stranger wasn't an option. But equally, it felt weird to explain that she was his wife given their previous behavior. Instead, he opted for the safe middle ground, saying it was a relatively new relationship. But the lie was pointless. George had seen the envelope exchange. He had seen the exhibitionist antics. He already knew a version of the truth. In fact, he often did. Because of all the gifts that had made him rich, his ability to read people was the most valuable.
"How did you meet?" he probed, testing the fabrication.
"A mutual friend."
"Indeed…indeed…quite so. And does your 'mutual friend' often introduce you to such attractive woman?"
The bluntness caught Alex off guard. The inference was clear. But rather than being embarrassed, might have been the case in normal life. Protected by his adopted character, a knowing smile formed at the corner of his mouth. He might have been busted, but it was quickly obvious that he didn't care. In fact, his reaction was that of someone who was happy to indulge in their own pleasures, regardless of societal norms. Someone who didn't care about the judgement of others. It was a sentiment that George knew all too well, and for a second, he saw himself in the younger man.
"It's quite all right," the older gentlemen winked, leaning in conspiratorially.
"Between us…I also indulge in the finer sex from time to time."
"Do you now?"
"Indeed." George continued, "It is my sole weakness. Especially beautiful blonde ones…like your Chloe."
Alex blushed.
"I imagine she is costing you a bob or two."
"$8,000," he boasted.
"My word. For how many days?"
"Days?" came the laugh, "Just the night."
"Strewth," the older man coughed. "And I thought I had expensive taste! It seems I may have underestimated you my dear boy. But is she worth it?"
"I'll know in a few hours," he winked, emboldened by the flattery.
And they chuckled like old friends. Neither one of them bothered by the dehumanization of the woman, like she was nothing more than a prized racing horse. Least of all Alex, who felt like the new hot-shit jockey at the hippodrome, exchanging tips and stories with one of the local legends.
"Unfortunately, I head back to my side of the pond tomorrow," George rued. "Perhaps you could give me her contact details for when I am back."
"Sorry George, if it was any other girl…but I can't…not with Chloe."
"Be a sport," he winked. "One connoisseur to another."
"Afraid not…it's…complicated."
"Look, Peter," he fussed, demeaner suddenly serious. "You seem like a smart fellow. I don't know what line of business you are in, but I run a very successful hedge fund. Here's my card. It might behoove you to get to know me. To have me…owe you a favour as it were. Whatever line of business you are in, I am sure I can be of huge help. All I'm asking for…"
Adrenaline surged through Alex as he read, and then immediately re-read, the card. He knew the name alright. Who in finance didn't? Which meant that the man standing in front of him was a billionaire. A certified member of the exclusive three coma club. Turning the card over, he couldn't help but fantasize about landing some of his business, what it would mean to the firm, to his career.
"…she really is a magnificent creature," an increasingly frustrated George declared, looking longingly over the younger man's shoulder, who, catching the final words, and following the gaze, caught sight of the blonde weaving through the crowd in the distance.
"Yes, she is," he agreed, slipping the business card into his pocket and then reaching for the cocktails that were waiting on the counter.
"Sorry…I've got to run, but I have your card."
And on that note, he hurried back to the table somewhat flustered, ignoring the gentleman's final plea.
"Bonjour Chloe," George crooned, approaching close enough to kiss both her cheeks.
"Hmm," he added, inhaling deeply. "Eau de Organge Verte, if I am not mistaken."
He was right. But still in shock, Sophie found it hard to say anything. Instead, she looked back at her husband in confusion.
"And Peter, of course," he added, extending a hand, "You did the right thing to call."
The full weight of the predicament finally dawned on the younger man, who had called the number on the card because it was the business opportunity of a life time. After all, it wasn't every day that one of the world's most important financiers stumbled into your life. However, to his shame, he had dangled 'Chloe' as bait to secure the out of hours meeting. And now that they were there, with his wife's confused look, and George's misunderstanding, it all seemed like a really bad idea. A giant clusterfuck.
However, before he could say anything to correct the situation, the butler returned holding a tray with three whiskeys and a mojito, accompanied by another distinguished looking older gentleman.
"Ah, Jules, so nice of you to join us," George beamed. "Peter, Chloe, this is Julian, my longtime business partner,"
"Julian?!?" Alex said in awe, moving to shake the second legends hand.
Aware that he had mistakenly assumed that 'partner' had meant 'woman', Alex couldn't have cared less. Because instead of meeting one billionaire, he was meeting two, and any thought for his poor wife's predicament quickly vanished.
Sophie's mind was racing. But no matter how she tried to join the dots, none of it made sense. How did her husband know the older man from the bar? Who was he to be able to afford such a place? And if the second man was his 'partner', was there no other woman to talk to? How did he know their pseudonyms? How could he know that mojitos were her favorite drink? Sipping the sweet cocktail for support, she looked at her host and blurted out a few of the questions…although obviously not the one about their pseudonyms.
"How rude of me my dear Chloe," he answered. "In my excitement to see you
I have failed to comply with proper decorum. I am George. George Roberts. It is a pleasure to meet you…properly."
And with that he kissed her cheeks again, lingering longer than was necessary each time.
"As to the rest. It is simple. When you left the bar at some point earlier this evening, Peter went to the bar to order mojitos, and I was standing right there. We began talking, and it turned out we shared some of the same…interests. I liked him. Gave him my business card. And here you are."
The way he looked her up and down when uttering the last sentence made the hairs stand on the back of her delicate neck.
'Men!?!' Sophie thought, shaking her head and blushing with false modesty. But, if she was honest with herself, being desired by a wealthy man, especially one that looked like Harrison Ford's younger brother, was doing wonders for her ego.
Joining the others, she feigned interest in the rapt discussion between her husband with Julian. However, as their conversation continued on financial topics that were of little interest, and realizing a quick exit wasn't on the horizon, she left the large room and ambled over to the glass railing at edge of the terrace. Leaning over, the hectic movement and flow of the streets far below seemed a world away from the quiet sophistication of the penthouse.
"Quite the view," George commented, approaching from behind.
"Oui," she agreed, as he squeezed in unnecessarily tight alongside.
"The advantages of success I suppose," he said lazily. "Although, after a while one begins to take most things for granted. And then it takes a little something extra special to get one excited."
"Is that so?" she asked. "Like what?"
"Oh," he whispered. "I think you know."
And before Sophie could respond, a self-assured hand ran across her shoulders, sending goose bumps down her spine. Knowing this was an important juncture in her husband's career, and feeling guilty for having sent the wrong signals earlier in the evening, she decided to tread carefully, lest cause offense.
"Look George, I don't know what you think you know, but please don't get the wrong impression based on what happened earlier. It's not what it looked like…I was just having a bit of fun…I…"
"Were you now?" he mocked, enjoying the sensual contour of her back. "Are you sure that's all it was?"
Alex watched it all out of the corner of his eye. The old man cozying up to his young wife. The adventurous hand, stroking her like a pet. Her seeming acquiescence. And although he knew it was wrong, he couldn't deny the stirring in his loins. Especially as the hand briefly caressed her cute little rear. The same rear which, less than an hour before, had been pumped full of cum.
Sophie's breathing increased as the wondering hand triggered the same recollections. Nonetheless, and damning herself for enjoying the attention, she knew it had to stop. The only question was how to do it politely.
"Canapes are served," the butler suddenly announced, granting the perfect opportunity to break off.
As Alex watched his flushed wife swiftly move inside, George strode over.
"So?" the host asked in hushed tones.
"That one is hot to trot," he winked. "I hope you already gave her a good rogering before coming here…otherwise I might have to beat you to it!"
Caught off guard by the crudeness, he looked uncertainly between them.
"Don't worry about Jules," George smiled. "He's got a sweeter tooth than me."
"Indeed, and what a treat your Chloe is," he added giddily. "George's description didn't do her justice. A true angel. Except…I'm hoping where it counts…a right devil."
While the old men chuckled to themselves like immature teenagers, Alex's memory replayed a torrid collage, and his Cheshire cat grin told them everything they needed to know. Whistling aloud, George patted Alex's shoulder and guided him towards the dining room, where they found their object of interest sampling the fare with a glass of champagne already in hand. Although calling them canapes was an understatement. Beluga caviar, St Jacques scallops, Maine lobster, and many other delicacies were on offer. A taste of extreme luxury that was meant to impress.
While tucking in Alex continued talking shop with Julian, leaving Sophie to be monopolized by George. Or maybe seduced was a better word. For while Alex was busy confirming that his firm was perfectly suited to the contract that Julian was about to tender, George was keeping the young lady enthralled. His force of personality and self-confidence undeniable. His stories and anecdotes captivating. The mutual interest obvious.
"I'm curious," George mused, topping up Chloe's glass again. "What are you wearing under that lovely dress of yours…since I have your panties?"
Standing before him, the merry blonde nearly choked on her bubbles. But before she could respond he leaned in, warm breath foreboding against her ear.
"I'm not used to paying so much. But in your case, I would make an exception."
"Unfortunately, George, you've really got the wrong idea," she blushed, stepping free. "For starters…Chloe isn't my real name."
"Naturellement, I'm not that naive."
"Bien sur," she grinned. "But did you already guess that I'm not really a call girl…and that Peter isn't my husband's real name?"
Stunned into silence, he took a few moments to process the new information.
"Touché!" he finally nodded, before turning to the others.
"Peter. Chloe says that isn't your real name. And that you are really her husband. Please explain."
The younger man stopped mid-sentence.
"My, my," Julian whistled. "I do so love an unexpected twist."
And pointing to a chair, he invited the young man to sit, before guiding his wife by the waist to the large black sofa opposite. Whereupon, joined by George, she was snugly sandwiched between the old pair.
"The floor is yours."
Alex gradually went through the story with whiskey induced candor. The call girl fantasy. The arrangement that had been struck. And finally, a new introduction using their real first names, and his sincerest apologies for the confusion.
"That is quite the story," George said, intrigued. "I'm even minded to believe you. But equally, at the bar, I saw you pass her a thick white envelope. And I also saw how you…shall we say…liberated her undergarment in public."
"You saw that too?" Sophie giggled self-consciously.
"The cash was to keep it real," Alex explained with a cheeky grin. "And the rest…well…maybe she really is call girl material."
A small sofa pillow came at him milliseconds later, accompanied by a mild profanity. But behind the action and words, the blonde didn't seem genuinely upset. In fact, she seemed to be reveling in the male attention and innuendo.
"Maybe more than you know," George agreed, theatrically removing a ball of black material from his blazer.
Which, upon unraveling and dangling from a fingertip, was revealed to be a skimpy black thong. And although its meaning wasn't immediately apparent to Alex, his guilty looking wife sat bolt upright.
"It was just a bit of fun," she quickly explained in defense. "…a souvenir…"
But her sentence trailed off as she took in her husband's growing shock, plunging the room into an awkward stillness. A stillness only broken by the swinging undergarment. The symbolism of which was not lost on any of them, especially George, whose grey matter was in overdrive as he calculated the best way forward given the unexpected turn of events. Far from being put off, finding out that Chloe/Sophie was actually married upped the stakes. For if he could pull this off, it would be one of his most impressive feats of negotiation ever.

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