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The other girls stare at me in shock, but I don’t care. I continue screaming epithets while kicking and banging against the door. It’s such a ruckus that after a few seconds, I’m not surprised when the door opens and someone forcibly hauls me out of sight. Obviously, me causing a scene was bad for business, given that quite a few girls were probably hoping to close a deal tonight.
But it’s worth it. I’m worth more than a couple of bucks, and although they may not know it, City Girls has met its match because Angela Richardson is not someone who gives up just like that.
3
Peter
I can’t believe I showed up to this thing because honestly, I don’t have to pay for my women. With my charcoal hair, deep blue eyes, and athletic physique, the ladies are following me and trying to pique my interest using every asset at their disposal.
But somehow, City Girls got me here. They promised it would be a “show unlike any other” and “one for the ages.” But nothing really caught my interest. Sure, it was exciting to be led into a darkened viewing room where they promised that only the best young ladies would be put on display, but I didn’t see anyone noteworthy. At least, not until I spied the curvy girl who was downing fried chicken like no tomorrow.
After all, I appreciate girls with junk in their trunk. These days, skinny women are in vogue, but they’ve never held my interest. I don’t love getting poked in the ribs by a sharp elbow, nor do I enjoy sleeping next to a sack of bones. Instead, I prefer women who are lush and generous, with sugar down there to spare, and this particular brunette checked all the boxes.
She waltzed in as if she had no idea there were men watching from the other side. Her Double Ds jounced temptingly in that low-cut décolletage, and her ass swayed as she made her way over to the food table. Then, she heaped a plate high with fried chicken and began eating enthusiastically. I almost laughed, intrigued by the woman before me. I’ve never known an escort to eat much, and yet this woman was taking huge bites of chicken like a starved refugee.
But then, things got really interesting. The buxom brunette began talking with another woman, and paused mid-bite. They continued whispering, and suddenly, the woman threw her plate down.
“I’m not a prostitute!” she screamed.
I sat forward in my seat to get a better look, as did every other man in the viewing room. We watched, astonished, as the woman literally stormed over to the door and began screaming and pounding on the locked doorway, demanding to be let out.
Holy shit. Up until now, this event was totally predictable. It was a few rich men getting their rocks off watching half-naked girls play with themselves through a one-way mirror. The billionaires act like Arabian sheiks. They’re going to view the harem before selecting one to take to bed, paying handsomely for the experience of course. But now, things have taken a left turn with the sassy wild cat.
I watch, astonished, as the woman continues to raise a ruckus. Judging from her screams, she was duped into coming here, and that’s surprising for a high-end escort service like City Girls. Usually, the women in their employ are totally willing, seeing that they’ll be paid a pretty penny for their time.
But this woman just won’t stop. She’s banging on the door, demanding they let her go before she has everyone arrested, and suddenly, the door’s opened and she’s yanked out of the room, disappearing from view. Then the door is shut, and everyone pauses in astonishment. What the hell was that?
But soon enough, the women on display go back to stroking themselves, and quite a few progress to the next round: they’ve shed their dresses entirely and are now completely nude, toying with their sensitive spots with looks of desire on those pretty faces.
But I’m not having it. Standing, I motion for Margaux and she scampers over, her heels going clickety-clack.
“Yes, Mr. Wilshire?” she asks, glancing towards the mirror into the room of women. “Did you see a woman who piques your interest?”
I nod.
“The woman in the violet dress who was screaming. That’s the one I’m interested in.”
Margaux’s eyebrows go up.
“Really?” But then she catches herself, because the agency is here to provide. “Of course, sir. We’ll get her ready for you. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to one of our VIP private suites in the meantime.”
I nod, gathering my jacket, and then follow Margaux down a long hallway before doing a few turns. This place is a fucking maze, with its drab, beige-colored walls and low ceilings. But then, Margaux stops in front of a door, and swings it open.
