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But it’s not just the sex. I want to drink coffee with her in the kitchen every morning. I want her smile to be the first thing I see when I walk through the door at the end of the day. I want to wake up in the mornings to her sleepy smile before claiming her with a passionate kiss.
Who’d have thought that this would happen? I swear, Curves is the best thing ever because it’s brought me Prim. Of course, I still have no idea why she was an escort in the first place because I don’t believe her bullshit story about needing money. My girl uses fancy shampoos, and has clothes from expensive stores. Even more, she’s got the social graces that go with the upper class set, and knows how to behave at formal balls, not to mention expensive restaurants. This isn’t a street urchin masquerading as a princess. This is the princess herself, although I don’t know why Prim is so vague about her past.
But everything will reveal itself with time. Right now, I just want her to move in, and I’m going to ask as soon as she exits the shower. She’ll say yes, right? After all, right now she’s still living in some random place in New Jersey. Moving into a Manhattan penthouse should be a definite step up.
At that moment, the shower water turns off, and I grin. My sweet girl will be appearing soon enough, and then I can pop the question. But then something buzzes under the pillow and I sigh. I swear I hate technology because there are so many intrusions into our daily lives. Can’t a man get some peace? But I swipe beneath the pillows and sure enough, reappear with Prim’s phone in my hand.
Glancing at it quickly, I notice that the caller is just a friend named Chrissy, and then the screen fades, indicating that Chrissy’s hung up. But then a photo of our smiling faces fills the screen and I grin. We’ve been taking a lot of snaps recently, and randomly, I scroll through a few. There we are strolling through Central Park hand in hand on a sunny day. Prim didn’t want to take a ride in a horse-drawn carriage, and I’m glad we didn’t because my girl looks so carefree, walking while enjoying the breeze.
Then I laugh as a photo of us at the Met pops up. It’s Edvard Munch’s The Scream in the background, but Prim stands in front of it, imitating the dreaded scream with both hands on her cheeks while her mouth opens in a silent shriek. Very droll.
There’s another snap of me biting into a burger at Five Guys. My eyes bug out as the burger nears my mouth, and you can practically see my tonsils as I open wide, trying to look funny. I snort. Obviously, I’m not funny at all. But then the next photo comes on screen and my eyes squint. This isn’t a photo at all. It’s a video and looks blurry, but I click on it anyways.
Suddenly, the blood drains from my face and my heart’s beating so fast that I’m getting chest pains because in the video, Prim’s on her knees, utterly nude with her back to the camera as she gives me head. I’m moaning while gripping her hair, maneuvering her mouth all the way to the base of my shaft as she chokes.
Then, we’re fucking, Prim and me. I’m pounding into her as she holds her ankles in her hands, both legs spread in a wide V. Those big breasts bounce and she’s screaming my name as I grunt. Right when she’s about to explode, I pull out and shove my huge cock into her ass. Fuck fuck fuck. The nastiness continues and I grow hard. Even more astonishing, I recognize the setting because the silver and grey décor of the Hotel Steele is unmistakable in the background. There are the silvery drapes. There are the five hundred count dove-grey sheets. Shit, there’s the dark grey towel I used to gently clean her up after one particularly explosive ejaculation.
“What the holy fuck?” I say out loud.
But the video goes on, spooling through the different positions we hit that night. It seems to continue for hours because every single moment of our first night together is reflected here, and even worse, I had no idea I was being recorded. What the hell? Why would Prim do this? Doesn’t she know it’s a major invasion of privacy?
My stomach drops and bile rises in my throat as I watch. I thought our nights together were special. I thought we had a connection. I thought I could trust her, so why would she videotape us? For what purpose? I literally feel nauseous from the shock. Is she trying to blackmail me with this video? So many feelings are coming to the surface. Anger. Hurt. Outrage. I’m devastated at this betrayal because again, I thought we had something special but clearly, I’m an idiot. There’s nothing special between us because I’m a client, and she’s the escort whom I hired. She’s mine to use and abuse, but somehow, the tables have been turned, and I’m the laughingstock of this story now.
