Please enjoy a “free peek” inside the first few chapters of Part 1 of The Spicy Secrets of a Jet $et Temptress
For the Audiobook “free listen” please CLICK HERE For Audiobook Previews to enjoy Lantana Bleu narrating the first chapters of the book.
Otherwise read on…
Preface, Quotations, and Author’s Note
This is a highly-embellished story based on the real-life experiences, loves, lusts, and intimate musings of a modern-day (and literary) courtesan. The “Spicy Secrets” contained within, although entertaining, are intended as tiny lessons or reminders, should you wish to come under the tutelage of a jet-set temptress.
Perhaps you wish to become a consummate professional companion yourself. Or, much more likely, you simply wish to enhance and spice up your life with the unique knowledge and techniques of temptresses. Whatever your intention, I hope that while being entertained with Melisse’s story, you will also turn her sweet, funny, and wise teachings to your advantage.
Please allow me to take your hand now and lead you on the wild journey of Miss Melisse, a woman who may sell her time, charms and sensuality for a high price, but whose heart is decidedly not for sale.
Lantana Bleu, Author
“Every man who knocks on the door of a brothel is knocking for God.”
—G. K. Chesterton
“Ten men waiting for me at the door? Send one of them home, I’m tired.”
“The prostitute is not, as feminists claim, the victim of men but rather their conqueror, an outlaw who controls the sexual channel between nature and culture.”
“I believe that sex is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome things that money can buy.”
For entertainment purposes (so as not to interrupt the flow of action) the use of condoms in certain erotic scenes is not explicitly stated. Please assume that in each and every instance of sexual contact, the proper precautions were indeed taken.
A Conversation Between Sugar and Spice
The two women sat together in a small, cozy living room on the top floor of a brownstone on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. The room was warm and welcoming, its walls covered in old landscape paintings, the furniture draped in plush fabrics, with black-and-white framed photos of earlier days sitting on every surface.
The older, elegant woman, known as GG in “the business,” gracefully poured them tea from the silver Moroccan teapot, as her young companion, Melisse, wearing racy red lingerie under a long, see-through red lace robe, watched.
The tea was delivered into two delicate porcelain cups. After taking a long, refreshing sip of fine Noblesse tea, GG (whose “real” name was Gillian Gladly) began.
“I’ve been feeling a bit…shall we say…concerned about you, Melisse. The clients say you’re a shy one. Now don’t get me wrong—they think it’s charming now, but still, my dear, you can’t go on like this. You’re going to need what I call ‘an opener,’ especially as you get more involved in The Life, with dinners, the overnights, the traveling, and all the rest.”
“An opener?” Melisse wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “I don’t understand…”
“Yes, a conversational opener. Something to help you break the ice, or to use when things get boring, or if the client is shy, or when you have no idea what the hell to say to each other.”
“I see. Hmm…I suppose I do need something like that. Any ideas?”
“Well,” GG replied hesitantly, “I’m actually a bit reluctant to share mine with you. You see, it was my conversational opener, one I used all my professional life. It was my anchor whenever I wasn’t sure what to say or do, and let me tell you,” she smiled, remembering, “it always got things going in the right direction.”
“Do you have a copyright on it, GG?” Melisse teased as she sipped her tea, eyeing the other woman over her cup. She had never tasted such delicious tea!
“Not exactly.” GG smiled. “It’s like chicken—you can cook it up in many different ways.”
“And are you sure you want to give it up?” Melisse asked innocently.
“Do I look like I still need it? The last time I turned a trick was thirty years ago!” The older woman was clearly fishing for a compliment.
“You do look like you still need it, and I know you’re still seeing clients up here when nobody’s looking! But I’d love to have it now. I think I need it more than you do, GG! You can talk to anybody.”
“Oh, thank you, darling. Yes. It’s…” GG hesitated. It was a game of hers, stopping midsentence so people would listen to her with their complete attention.
“All you do is say to your client, ‘Tell me one of your spicy secrets.’”
“‘Tell me one of your spicy secrets’? That’s it?”
“Yes, dear, but you need the variations. Like, ‘Tell me all your spicy secrets…’ or, ‘I know you’ve got some spicy secrets and I want to know all about them,’ or, ‘You look like you have a spicy secret! What is it?’ Melisse, I could go on forever…because everyone has a spicy secret or two!”
“It’s genius!” Melisse breathed in appreciation.
“Isn’t it?” GG agreed, taking a long, sensuous sip of the Noblesse tea.
“Can I have it?”
“I confer it to you, but you must…”
“Keep it a secret!” GG giggled, as her nearly empty teacup almost fell off its saucer.
Spicy Secret: Create your own distinctive and sexy “opener.” Use it to quickly plumb the depths of your client/conversation partner’s psyche. It allows you to quickly bypass small talk (which bores him and you) and engage him at a level that reveals his sensual tastes, preferences, and longings.
The Present: Introducing “Miss Melisse”
When Miss Melisse emerges from the passport control area and into the terminal at JFK airport in New York City, a casual observer would never guess that she’s a jet-setting, modern-day courtesan, or, as they say these days, “a VIP companion.”
In other words: she is a high-priced hooker who discreetly turns expensive tricks for the horny movers and shakers of the world who put a high value on her charms.
Spicy Secret: If you don’t place a high value on your own time, body, mind, and charms, nobody else will, either.
Here’s how Melisse was once described by a client, who was extremely impressed with her ability to please him:
“She was blonde, cool, and gracious, I’d guess in her late twenties, a petite version of Grace Kelly. But she was definitely lustier, with sparkling eyes, pouty lips, rosy cheeks, and outrageous curves all packed into a slender, but stacked, body. And, my god, she was a sexual athlete, which I hadn’t expected! I guess if I’d seen her in a bikini, I might have suspected it… She reminded me of a modern pinup girl, with plump thighs, a small waist, and a flat stomach sloping way out to a very round bum. She covered it beautifully with expensive, elegant clothes… And just thinking about her and the way she talks, with that high, breathy voice, and the way she walks, with those twitchy hips, really gets me going.”
Spicy Secret: Packaging and perception are nearly everything in the business of high-priced temptresses. Flashing designer labels and wearing trendy clothing are meaningless and a waste of money to the type of gentleman you ultimately wish to cultivate. Dress as you wish to be paid and perceived (even if you buy your things secondhand): a timeless, ageless, classically feminine goddess who deserves to be conferred with big cash, big gifts, and most importantly, big respect. Invest more in your beauty and education instead. He should be admiring YOU, not your clothes!
Melisse knows she makes an impact on her clients, and part of the reason is that she’s as feminine as they come. She loves to wear vintage ’40s designs or modern-day renditions, all custom tailored to fit her tiny frame perfectly in soft, luxurious fabrics. Yet, despite her beauty, she’s surprisingly modest, and despite her dramatic (and often energetic) activities in the bedroom, she prefers not to draw attention to herself unless she truly wishes to do so.
Spicy Secret: In the seduction business, it is not necessary to be drop-dead gorgeous or to have a beautiful face or body in order to succeed. While men may think they’re seeking beauty (and women buy into that idea, too), what men actually fall in love with, treasure, and want is your femininity.
Guard the femininity, enhance it, gilt it, show it off, perfume it, and publicize it. The closer you are to being his direct opposite, and the more he perceives you as a woman (by looking feminine, doing womanly things, using feminine gestures, speaking in a feminine way, and living in a womanly space), the more he’ll want you, pay you, and go out of his way to be around your deliciously feminine self.
It’s almost impossible to read her from her body language alone. While she might be having tea and dessert at a European café or restaurant (she speaks fluent French and Italian, by the way), she could easily be perceived as the pampered, untouchable fiancée or wife of a powerful, wealthy man.
Spicy Secret: “A woman can look both moral and exciting—if she looks as if it was quite a struggle.” —Edna Ferber
But this petite gal isn’t dependent upon just one man (to her mind, that would be kind of stupid—like an investor having an undiversified portfolio!) so she’s taking care of herself via “friendships” with many.
She appears to be behaving herself with her genteel, to-the-manner-born bearing as she delicately savors her tea and nibbles on a dessert, never letting her fork scrape the plate.
Spicy Secret: “One of the marks of a feminine woman is refinement, which implies good social breeding. This means to be tactful, courteous, diplomatic, considerate, sensitive to the feelings of others, and the picture of propriety, good taste, and graciousness. A refined person is careful to not offend anyone, is never rude, impolite, inconsiderate, crude, coarse, or vulgar.” —Helen B. Andelin, Fascinating Womanhood
In reality, she’s probably fantasizing about the adorable waiter who just served her dinner. She can visualize inviting him upstairs to the hotel room for some funny chatting, giggles and a good shagging.
Of course, it’s impossible when she’s sharing that hotel room with a flabby, pale boor who ejaculates in thirty seconds, and then spends the rest of the time he paid for her lying there, fast asleep. But that’s his prerogative—to use his costly time with her any way he likes.
Spicy Secret: Let boors be boors and let sleeping men rest.
And anyway, she knows her fantasy about the waiter must remain just that—she would never think of cheating on a client while she’s still on his clock (unless she was 1,000% sure she could get away with it)! Ethics, professionalism, and discretion are the pillars upon which she’s built her life as a modern-day courtesan.
Spicy Secret: A long-standing code of ethics and standards of behavior for professional temptresses (and many other professions) has existed since the beginning of time. Don’t try to rewrite the rules. Instead, work with them and respect them. They are there for a reason, and ultimately your friend.
No, indeed, you’d never guess to look at this stunning blonde that soon she’ll be propping her stomach up on a big, soft pillow, pushing her bottom up in the air, and breathlessly demanding, “Just do it. Doggy! Now!”
Spicy Secret: This doesn’t apply to all cases, but in general the more powerful the man is outside the bedroom, the more he likes to be told what to do in bed. And the more powerless he feels outside the bedroom, the more he’ll want to tell you what to do in bed.
Likewise, a more relaxed man craves intensity in the bedroom, while the more intense man craves relaxation. Whatever he needs or wants, you’re the shimmering chameleon who can provide it.
She’s learned that the world’s richest and most powerful men (and even the occasional politician, lawyer, or doctor) love to hear that “Do it now, doggy!” command, and they comply every time. Her clients also wait for her to give them a loving hug good-bye after a passionate interlude, never imagining that, as a part of her respect for their privacy, she’s trained her brain to forget about them completely until they contact her again.
Forgetting is easier now than it was in the beginning. It took years to learn that most men she met for business didn’t give a damn about her—not really, not deep down. So she’d learned to feel comfortable swimming in the shallow pool of their short-term needs and fantasies. Long ago, she’d stopped trying to share any part of her real self, or to establish friendships with guys who turned out to be unworthy shitheads who could care less about her as a person. This wasn’t everyone, of course, for there were some truly special, precious people in her life, and she had the hard-earned discernment to know exactly who was who and to treat them accordingly.
Spicy Secret: Know your proper place in his life and happily stay there until he shows you with his actions (and/or his money) that he’s willing to treat you otherwise. Talk is cheap. So ignore the words and read only his actions.
She knows that most of the clients who pass through her life for a time will probably end up dumping her at the earliest sign of a maturing face or a sagging body, so Melisse beats them at their own game by a) being obsessed with anything and everything “anti-aging” to keep herself in play, b) making sure most of the guys are just “mental history” even before they’re out the door, and c) accepting the aging/maturing process is actually a gift that lifts her market value—like the ascension of fine wines into ultra-desirable status as they age.
Spicy Secret: The mature escort (even one with a few well-earned laugh lines) is actually in high demand as long as she’s super-fit, has a fresh, rested face and an even fresher attitude, and treats her older patrons like kings. Her look, style, experience, and sophistication can be highly desirable to certain men who don’t want to play around with kids. A wonderful, beautiful woman can literally “work it” at any age, as long as she’s honest in her promotions that she’s mature, with all the wonderful things that go along with it.
As Melisse emerges into the bustling terminal, she gratefully sniffs the sooty spring air wafting in through the revolving doors and knows, once again, that she’s exactly where she belongs. Manhattan is her home, and she’s now just a short ride away.
“Need a ride?” someone beckons, one of the usual drivers illegally hawking rides into the city.
She shakes her head no. I don’t take rides with strangers…hmmm…well, that’s not true…I take other kinds of rides. She giggles to herself as her eyes scan the horizon for a suited man who should be holding a sign with her name on it.
Spicy Secret: You are precious cargo. Treat yourself accordingly and handle your life, business dealings, and relationships with this in mind.
This time, she’s just returned from London, sitting in coach instead of first class, as she often did when clients invited her on a trip across the Atlantic. They’d often assumed she’d settle for nothing less (which wasn’t true).
Spicy Secret: Where you sit on a plane for eight hours of your life (or what kind of car you drive, etc.) does not define your worth as a person. Get over pretentious temporary displays of wealth to impress people you don’t really give a rat’s ass about.
Save that money and go for the true signs of wealth that come from investing wisely: your financial, emotional, and personal freedom, a.k.a., true prosperity.
Spicy Secret: What is one way to define prosperity? “Prosperity is the ability to do what you want to do at the instant you want to do it.” — Raymond Charles Barker, 1954, in Treat Yourself to Life
Malcolm, her London client (and one of those who’d revealed himself to be a true friend as well as client) loved to indulge her. This time, when she requested that he book her for a return seat in coach instead of first, he had chuckled with delight, at first believing she was just being coy.
“Really?” he asked. “Why?”
Melisse had pressed a hand gently over his and asked lightly, “Malky, I know you want to spoil me with a comfortable flight home and that is soooo lovely of you…but do you think it would be OK if I just flew economy and kept the difference in the cost of the first-class ticket in, ummmm…you know…?”
Spicy Secret: With paying gentlemen friends, always evade the subject of actual cash whenever possible. Refer to it as anything but “money” or “cash.”
“In cash?” Malcolm asked, pretending to be shocked.
“Yes, in, uh…you know…that pretty green stuff…”
“Pretty green stuff? You mean, money?” he laughed.
“Malcolm! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard that word before… Money? But I like the sound of it! Hmmmm…” Melisse smiled gently, rubbing his shoulders as he reached for the phone to call the concierge who would charge his mysterious black card and then have an envelope of cash delivered up.
“You know how I am…I’m always on a budget.”
Spicy Secret: You are always “on a budget” when you’re with a benefactor. Never let him see you blowing his (now your) money on frivolous things—that is, if you want to receive more of it later.
Though he didn’t refer to it again, when it was time for her to leave he’d handed her an envelope filled with thousands of dollars, along with a handwritten note that said, “Fly with the masses and live with the classes! I like your sense of economy. Have a safe trip, little Lisse. I loved seeing you, as always!”
Cash was always nice, of course, but the handwritten notes from clients to say “thank you” always touched her. It was almost as good as winning a million bucks. Well, almost. And the thousands in her plane fare envelope would combine with the “entertainment fee” she’d been wired by Malcolm for her to come for four days, to be wined, dined, shopped, and spa’d in London. And, of course, the fee was compensation for the completely unrushed time she’d spent expertly indulging him in acting out his very favorite fantasy sequence.
Melisse would put it in a special savings account, with a 10 percent “tithe” back to wherever Melisse was receiving spiritual support at the time (or her favorite charities or people in need, like a foundation for eradicating the sexual enslavement of women, or to support a no-kill shelter for homeless cats, and so on).
GG, her beloved mentor, had taught her well. Tithing, she had explained early on, provided divine protection that kept her girls safe and out of trouble. And Melisse had GG to thank for introducing her, five years earlier, to sweet Malcolm: rich, well connected, and missing a woman who could accept and work with his kinks. And when you were in The Life, every lucrative introduction counted.
Spicy Secret: Your endgame as a high-class professional is to have a large stable of “regulars.” The “regular” client is a recurring source of income and (usually) provides a more anxiety-free experience (compared to meeting new people). Treasure, cultivate, pamper, and spoil your “bread and butters,” but treat each new contact as if he, too, will one day join that category.
Today, in the terminal, Melisse is greeted by a well-dressed chauffer from an elite car service, holding a little sign with her name on it. He actually seems to light up when he sees her coming through the main door of Arrivals as she gives him a knowing wink and a slight nod. It says, “You’re mine. You’re the one for me (at least the one who will be driving me home).”
Spicy Secret: Men the world over, from every walk of life and in even the most casual circumstances (from the grocery bagger to the banker signing your home loan) all love receiving the little smile/nod/wink combo. Even though it may feel strange and outrageous to do it, it’s harmless and reads as fun/flirtatious to most men on the receiving end. What they do next with it is entirely up to them. Try it some day!
Apparently of Middle Eastern descent (her personal favorite among the varieties of men populating the earth), the chauffeur reaches out to help her with her cart. It’s heavy, filled with her suitcases containing her “working wardrobe for London” —and a few choice new dresses and hats Melisse picked up shopping in Knightsbridge with Malcolm.
As she gratefully ducks into the black car (another perk of traveling on Malcolm’s tab) and eases into the soft leather seat, she sees the driver’s eyes watch her settle in. She feels a slight pulse inside her silky Sabbia Rosa panties after looking up at his dark eyebrows and the midday stubble shadowing deep dimples.
The thought of the two of them in bed together flashes across her mind. At the same time, she definitely needs some sleep as jet lag begins to set in.
“Miss Melisse? Are you comfortable back there?” the driver asks her.
“Oh, yes, just fine. What is your name?” she asks conversationally.
“Hakim, Miss. I have some cold water for you in the little case back there.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you, Hakim.”
The water tastes very refreshing, and again she breathes a sigh of relief. Home at last. But tomorrow evening she’ll be on the road again, stopping just long enough to pack before turning around and getting on yet another flight. This time, it will be a private jet out of a small airport in New Jersey. It will make a couple of stops and then land in Dubai.
Damn, I could have just left directly from London for Dubai! But if I did, then Sheik Jazzy would know I was probably with another man in London, and I’d risk hurting or offending him and possibly losing him as my best client. So I’m crossing an ocean just to avoid offending someone…Oh, well, we do what we have to do…
God, another week of Jazzy, she groans inwardly. But Melisse turns her thoughts away from the approaching demands of Sheik Jazzy and tries to stay “in the moment.” She ponders who among her “Category B” friends she might invite over for some personal relaxation. Breakfast in bed tomorrow morning is probably a good place to start!
Melisse defines “Category B” as her small collection of casual boyfriends. Well, let’s be honest, lovers. They’re the furthest type she can find from her usual genre of privileged, spoiled clients, and Hakim is a prime example of a potential Category B candidate: he’s cute, looks great in his suit, he’s short, solicitous, swarthy, and from a different culture. He also works hard in a service profession, just like she does.
As they get closer to Manhattan, Hakim looks in the mirror and asks her, “Do you have a preference for how I should get in?”
Melisse stifles a smile as she considers images of him “getting in,” then says, “Ummmmm…I’ll let you choose. Whatever you think is best today. Maybe the tunnel…” she offers, giving him a quick wink.
Spicy Secret: “She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket.” —Raymond Chandler
Melisse’s clients are usually much older than she is, and most of them lack real skill and physical prowess as lovers. Many don’t even engage in full-on sexual intercourse, opting rather for other activities. Some are afflicted with odd fetishes, addictions, cluttered minds, messed-up marriages, and—not surprisingly, given the era in which they were raised—many have had little variety in sexual experience, (given that they married their high school or college sweethearts), apart from their sexual experiences with hookers (and hookers don’t count).
All this has created in Melisse a keen craving for simple, long-lasting, lustful, joyful sex. As far as she’s concerned, pure sex without love is just fine! (But wouldn’t it be amazing to have both? she often sighs to herself.) She always welcomes opportunities with friendly, healthy, normal, fit, unspoiled men who won’t complicate her life—just like Hakim.
Spicy Secret: Collect some yummy “Category B’s.” Most single men are tickled pink to be compartmentalized—if you let them know exactly where they stand, don’t lead them on, and take good care of them sexually. Their special presence in your life keeps you juicy. And your obvious satisfaction actually has the power to magnetize and attract other great men to you!
You’ve heard of the principles in the book, The Secret? Well, there’s a Spicy Secret or two out there, too, and these are the sexy “Laws of Attraction” that can manifest some real pleasure in your personal life. Who needs a new car to magically appear when you can conjure up a hot guy to drive you in his!
But often enough, she wonders—with all this compartmentalizing of men into categories—whether she has also locked her heart in one of the boxes somewhere, and forgotten where she put it.
In London with Malcolm
As Melisse and Hakim make their way home in traffic, Melisse thinks of her time in London seeing Malcolm.
Malcolm is in another special category: he’s a “Near and Dear” (her term for longtime clients she is so comfortable with, she can actually allow her real self to show through once in a while). But even though they have a beautiful rapport , Malcolm is still a handful—literally!
The first time Melisse ever met Malcolm was at the Four Seasons Hotel in Manhattan, where he often arrived from London to do business as a “consultant” to “people who had been taken advantage of, or compromised, financially,” as he put it. Her first visit to him had taken place when she was just starting out in The Life and was being trained by GG, probably the world’s nicest madam and now an old friend.
GG’s luxurious, discreet bordello was on a quiet, leafy street on the Upper East Side. It was an entire town house unto itself, with suites on every floor, each featuring a beautifully decorated bedroom and en suite bathroom, real wood-burning fireplaces, a full-time housekeeper tidying up after the girls, and a plush parlor where the gentlemen made their selections before heading upstairs with their “dates.”
Melisse had met Malcolm when she was 26, just when GG’s place was beginning to feel very limiting. GG had sensed that Melisse was getting restless and might be preparing to go out on her own, or “going independent.” That meant Melisse would get her own apartment and begin screening and seeing her own clients, which GG preferred not to happen. She’d come to love Melisse almost like a daughter, and felt that going independent carried risks Melisse might not be ready or trained properly to handle. But because she knew going independent was probably inevitable for Melisse, she decided to begin preparing, or “polishing,” Melisse by sending her out to “minister” to a very special client, a substantial man, a VIP staying at the luxurious Four Seasons Hotel (whose posh rooms could tell many a story).
When Melisse arrived at Malcolm’s room, she realized why GG had referred to her visit as a “ministry.” Malcolm was enormous, and wasn’t about to walk into a bordello’s living room to face a couch full of beautiful women—most whom would find his near-freakish weight disgusting! And he was certainly not capable of huffing and puffing up three long flights of stairs for a quick lay.
No, Malcolm required someone “just right,” “totally sweet,” and “a little spinner”(all his own words) who could stay up all night and talk if he wanted, and who would do exactly what he needed, to the letter.
Melisse had arrived that first night knowing what to expect, having been prepared by GG, and had fortified herself for the task ahead by drinking five cups of strong green tea, followed by several swallows of a caffeine drink strong enough to keep dozy truck drivers awake all night.
When he opened the door, Malcolm had smiled devilishly, his dimples disappearing into his fleshy jowls. He wore beautifully detailed pants in a gigantic size and a dress shirt of fine cloth stretching like a sail across his massive body.
Spicy Secret: True professionals look into the eyes of their clients and seemingly give no mind to their bodies (except to comment on something nice about them, which they’ll gleefully discover when he undresses—i.e., his hairy chest, his big balls, a strong back, or the perfectly shaped head of his cock).
“Hello, there!” Malcolm welcomed Melisse as she stepped into his suite, and she found herself liking him almost instantly. Over champagne and small talk, he outlined just how he wanted his favorite fantasy scenario to play out.
Melisse was to play his wife. They would be traveling together in New York, and she had just come in from shopping to find him in bed with a woman he’d picked up at the bar downstairs. She would be furious—jealous to the point of insanity, and proceed to shove the blonde out the door!
Then, Melisse—as “wife”—would go after Malcolm with a belt she’d conveniently pull out of her shopping bag, supposedly a gift she had bought for him but would now use to punish him. In their struggle, she’d push Malcolm to the floor and begin whipping his balls with the belt. After that, she would grab his balls, pull down as far as she could, and then twist them with one hand as hard as possible.
“You are to alternate between twisting my balls,” he explained, “and then whipping them, spanking them, hitting them or flogging them with the belt, your hands, or whatever else you can get your hands on. I will not fight back.”
Melisse absorbed all this without comment, implying this was not at all unusual. But it was—for her.
“When I finally crawl up to the bed, beat up but horny as hell, you’re to jump atop me and ride me as hard as you can. And I like nasty names thrown at me while you’re doing it, until I come.”
Hmmmmm… At this juncture, Melisse had wiggled her nose ever so slightly. “Don’t worry, Melisse,” Malcolm said. “There’s nothing you can do that will hurt me. I love it all. Now’s your chance to vent any frustrations of your own, and the harder you hit, the bigger I’ll tip!”
Despite the lure of more money, deep inside Melisse was not happy with the scenario he’d just described. It just wasn’t in her nature to treat someone so badly. But this was what he wanted, and as a budding professional she knew she had to listen and then provide exactly what was requested.
Spicy Secret: Like an actress, draw on past experiences of lust, love, anger, or otherwise in order to enhance your performance. Then, let them “have it!”
Melisse had had no idea how exhausting S and M could be, but she was beginning to learn that people who were supposedly masochistic were actually very controlling when it came to organizing their sex play. This was blatantly obvious when Malcolm gave her such intricate details about how he wanted to be dominated.
During their first meeting, after the hard part was over (the furious screaming, the belt beating and ball twisting), Melisse had indeed jumped on top of Malcolm. She’d propped his vast butt up on some pillows, and once she lifted away his disgusting “panis” (the veil of fat hanging down over an obese man’s penis), she put on his condom and sat down to pound on his hard cock. She’d half expected him not to be hard at all, but his cock had somehow responded to the excitement of his being “caught in the act,” complete with a punishment. She looked into a mirror beside them and saw herself resembling a tiny bird sitting on a huge sculpture.
“Sorry, I’m a bit of trouble…” he said as he grabbed her hips.
“No, not at all,” Melisse said, and then, back in character, “You’re a world-class asshole! How dare you talk to me like that! I can’t believe I caught you fucking around with another woman up here, you little slut monger!”
“That I am,” he whimpered eagerly.
“What an asshole you are! I think I should beat the living shit out of you again with my belt!” Melisse growled convincingly, with the desired results.
“Oh, slap me, honey, slap my face! I deserve it.”
Melisse hesitated. Should she?
“Go ahead,” Malcolm encouraged her, out of character for a brief moment. “You can do it.”
SLAP! “You sure do deserve it, assfucker.”
“That’s the way! Ohhhhh!” He turned the other cheek for more.
SLAP! “Take that, Motherfucker!”
They were now rocking together and Melisse felt an enjoyable hardness rising up inside her. She rather liked Malcolm’s lively personality and he seemed incredibly gentle and kind. The man was a Casanova trapped in the body of a whale.
What would she say if she really were his wife?
“You choose the trashiest, sluttiest, easiest little cunts you can find and fuck them because you have a real woman for a wife, and you can’t handle it. You know you don’t deserve a goddess like me, so you have to go out and get trash! Is that it?”
Malcolm was straining, working for his orgasm, sweating buckets.
“Yes! You are my goddess! I’m sorry, and I will never see her again. How glad I am that I get to finish up with you, lovey, instead of that little piece of ass, although I was enjoying fucking her…” he chuckled.
SLAP! Melisse reached back and slammed her right hand back and down on his balls and gave them a twist.
“Yowwww!” The slap caused Malcolm to buck up his hips, which drove his cock deeper into Melisse, and together with the friction of his stomach rubbing against her, she came…and he came from the excitement of seeing her come…
“Ohhhhhh…” they sighed together.
He collapsed and struggled for air. “My god, that was nice!”
She couldn’t believe she’d just come from a little bit of friction with a fat man’s belly! Oh well, that was Melisse. So I like sex—I like what I do for a living. That’s a good thing!
Spicy Secret: Sometimes having an orgasm while working is inevitable (And that’s OK!)! Have YOU ever had an orgasm you didn’t like (even just a little)?
Melisse delicately extricated herself from Malcolm while letting the condom stay on, grabbed it away expertly with a tissue, and brought him a warm, wet towel.
Spicy Secret: After sex, make a habit of bringing your man a warm, soapy towel and spoil his cock with a mini sauna (but not too hot, eh)? He’ll think he’s died and gone to geisha girl heaven.
After a few moments of calm, Malcolm said, “Now, let’s get to the food!”
Melisse was glad she could finally stop for the evening. Up until now, she’d rarely been required to use such cruel, filthy language in her newfound profession. But it wasn’t so bad because she really liked Malcolm and realized it was all part of the theater the two of them were putting on. Her cheerful nature restored, she realized she was starved, and put on one of the hotel’s posh robes and slippers before indulging in a gluttonous meal with her huge new friend.
They ordered delivery from a famous steakhouse nearby, a rare treat for Melisse. She carefully perused the menu and chose some delicacies she’d never make at home.
They dined on a huge feast of crab legs, petit filet mignon, mashed potatoes, and creamed spinach, followed by molten chocolate cake. As they ate, Melisse and Malcolm talked about many subjects that interested them both, but nothing from the heart—not yet, anyway. That would come later, after years of knowing each other, when Melisse would learn that Malcolm had married one of GG’s ex-girls, but that it had deteriorated into an exercise in romantic futility on his part, and a money grab on the part of his wife.
Spicy Secret: For high-strung working girls and those with tummy troubles, here’s a tip: steer your regular clients to eating after your sex date, not before. It’s just better for your digestion and you can “pig out” more when you’re not worried about performing later.
Sated with sex and food, Malcolm sipped from a flute of champagne and sucked the last bit of the delicious crab out of a crab leg. Then he asked, “Melisse, we’re friends now. If you don’t mind my asking, how ever did you get to working with GG?”
“It’s a long story,” she replied, stalling. She’d been warned that he would want to stay up all night talking, and she wasn’t sure how much of their relationship should be fantasy. She could also see that her new client was trying to go “behind the fourth wall,” as they say in the theatre, and usually she preferred keeping her fourth wall up. And yet, Malcolm, with his exotic history of travel and secret missions, seemed capable of respecting her personal revelations.
“First, please tell me your real name,” he asked.
“It’s Melissa. But please continue to call me Melisse.”
Most of the self-absorbed men she had met passing through the bordello didn’t even know her real name, but she liked the French sound of “Melisse” and had made it her “working” name.
Also, she had reasoned, if she was ever recognized by a client outside of work who called her by the name “Melisse,” it wouldn’t sound too different from “Melissa,” and therefore it would be less of a giveaway to whomever she might be with.
“Start at the beginning, Melisse,” Malcolm said. “When you really started thinking about this as a career option. You know, if I were a thin, beautiful woman, it’s what I would be doing. So please, allow me to live vicariously through you…”
“Oh, Malcolm…I don’t think…”
Spicy Secret: Appointments with clients are not therapy or “spill” sessions. No matter how much clients may probe to know more, the inner workings of your heart, mind, private life, and childhood are not to be fodder for their entertainment or curiosity.
“No, tell it. I want to hear every detail. You know, I believe we’ll be good friends, and I want to understand you, just as you’re beginning to understand me.”
And hearing those words, Melisse tried to find a way to skip to the good parts, the light and spicy parts that a client would like, and not the sad parts that would only drag the evening down.
“Well…” Melisse began… “I was barely eighteen years old…”
“First, had you been abused as a child?” he interjected, a bit too much like a talk-show host looking for a juicy tidbit. But she let it go. He meant well. He was just repeating that old familiar assumption that many people made: that every call girl had been abused in one way or another as a child.
But how to not answer without appearing rude?
She looked away and flashed back to her childhood for a few seconds. It was very simple: Everything that troubled her about her home life as a girl had bred in Melisse a deep thirst to escape to beautiful places with lots of creature comforts. Best of all, she’d wanted—and now had—the security of earning her own money, however it was earned.
She was a butterfly who’d managed to fly away with some magical dust still left on her wings. And if the wings had been dusted off initially, they were now double-coated with magical sugar from her sugar daddies. Lifting off was an easy pleasure and she even had enough sweet stuff to now sprinkle around on others.
And it felt so delicious to have so much control over the men in her life—or at least how much time she had to spend with them.
And she would never turn back, or go back—mentally, at least. She’d been to plenty of expensive psychoanalysts. She likened the process to scratching at sores so they never healed. She’d moved on. So instead of handing over her hard-earned dollars to a shrink every week, she’d treated herself instead to lunches out, facials, and new dresses. Her idea of “transference” had become transferring her cash in exchange for some girlish fun.
“No. I wasn’t abused. I just wasn’t exactly a ‘daddy’s little girl.’”
“Better off for it. At least you’re not a spoiled brat.”
“Yes, at least I’m not a spoiled brat.” Melisse smiled, but knew she’d way overcompensated by spoiling herself and letting the portfolio of men in her life spoil her.
Spicy Secret: Clients aren’t paying to be burdened with your baggage, but they are paying you to burden you with theirs. Keep yours hidden, and open and close theirs with care. And the same rules apply to those non-client, attention-challenged men in your life: serve up your pain in mysterious, manageable sound bites or not at all (except to your therapist, whom you’re paying to listen) lest they get overwhelmed by your confessions.
Melisse artfully turned the conversation back to Malcolm for the rest of the night. Malcolm shared stories from his “thin” days, when he was a brilliant young academic with both a law and accounting degree, rising quickly in a Swiss bank, but seeking more excitement and greater financial rewards. After being contacted privately by a client of the bank to help with some special projects, he turned soldier of fortune, acting as a bounty hunter for the world’s rich and famous.
He chose to work with those who had been embezzled, defrauded, or otherwise screwed out of their money. With cunning and zest, he tracked down the criminals through clever investigations, forensic accounting, and hacking and bribing insiders. He then retrieved his clients’ stolen money through threatened or real violence, all without the expense and red tape of his clients having to take the criminal slime balls to court. Sometimes it was criminals going after criminals, and that’s when things got messy.
This had been during Malcolm’s youthful career. He called them “structured settlements,” and his crisp British accent lent a gentlemanly veneer to it all.
“Sir, if you could kindly make my client whole again, I won’t have to torture you or dismember certain members of your family,” he had said more than once. He’d been based in Monaco, where most of the top financial criminals of the world lived, banked, or eventually passed through.
“Ah, Melisse, those were the days. I had a permanent tan and I was getting laid a lot back then,” he mused. “Now I just find my salvation in a good filet and a fine claret. And hopefully, in someone like you.”
Melisse had not yet visited Monaco in this early stage of her career as a jet-set temptress, but later she would be invited there to “minister” to the same financial criminal types he was describing.
That night before going to sleep, Malcolm embraced Melisse and said simply, “Thank you, dear. You don’t know what a comfort you are to me. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
Spicy Secret: The wealthy, lonely man is often acutely aware of the inestimable value of that rare woman who can provide emotional comfort, physical satisfaction, and discretion in one beautiful package.
The expense of your time is of little consequence to a man aligned with these priorities.
They fell asleep dreaming of the smoked salmon, Eggs Benedict, and banana pancakes that room service would bring around the next morning before Malcolm took off for his flight home.
When he came back through New York from the UK, he immediately requested that GG send him Melisse for the whole night. GG was pleased and so was Melisse.
GG said, “My dear, you’ve obviously got a knack for taking care of these VIPs, the needy ones. I’ve never seen Malcolm ask for the same girl twice. This is a miracle!”
Melisse shrugged, but was secretly pleased. “He likes my stories…and we both love to eat!”
GG added, “I’m told it’s more than food and stories that he likes when you’re around!”
“What can I tell you, GG? I have a lot of pent-up anger and I’m good with his belt. Call it therapy.”
And thus began a tradition of Melisse’s visits to see Malcolm in New York, and eventually in London. Their visits never deviated from the “getting caught in flagrante delicto” fantasy complete with the ball-twisting and slapping, the cursing sex with her on top, excellent and copious “destination” meals, and all-night true confessions.
In London, her visit always included half-day spa treatments at the Barclay Gardens Hotel in Belgravia, where Malcolm liked to stay with Melisse, just down the road from Harrods, the incredible department store.
Melisse loved the Barclay for its gorgeously decorated hotel bar. She usually discovered someone famous, or at least notable, hiding out there in the evenings, and she and Malcolm would often have fun over their nightly port and hot cocoa as they watched everyone, making up stories about the well-heeled denizens of the bar.
Spicy Secret: A great bar or café game to play with clients (when and if things get dull) is: “What Are They Saying?” In this game, you watch two people from some distance away and take turns putting sexy words into their mouths, giving them a dialogue based on their gestures and reactions. It’s always good to get men laughing—and if you play it right, a bit turned on.
One winter night, Malcolm and Melisse watched a famous willowy blonde actress having a quiet drink with friends. Melisse was fascinated by the actress and tried to covertly watch her to learn even more about femininity from her movements and gestures.
Malcolm asked her, “So, Miss M, do you fancy yourself more of a healer or an entertainer?”
She sipped her delicious, aged port and handed her glass over to Malcolm for a taste. “I am…merely a purveyor…or a sharer…of an elixir in life that can only be experienced à deux. I need you—as much as you need me—to enjoy it, Malky.”
Spicy Secret: At every moment, he must feel appreciated and needed as an essential part of the experience you’re both having.
In Good Hands
Melisse’s thoughts return to the present as her elegant black car gets closer to Manhattan. She considers Hakim, the driver, whose presence up front makes her slightly nervous, but in a good way. It’s been only a day or two since a hunky guy had put his hands on her, and she’s already thinking about finding someone here and now for a follow-up shagging.
On her latest trip to London, while Malcolm did his consulting work from the comfort of their suite, Melisse had enjoyed several treatments in the rooftop spa at the Barclay Gardens after a dip in the pool and a long stint in the sweltering steam room. And on that occasion, she was lucky enough to encounter a rare, elusive creature: a “straight” male masseur.
She’d been feeling quite juicy that morning, just lying in bed thinking back on some of her lusty encounters with her “Category B’s.” So when Sam, her new masseur, greeted her in the massage room, he seemed too good to be true.
A formidable, dark mahogany man of Caribbean origin with a charming French accent, big hands, big biceps, and a solid body, Sam was the silent type. He greeted her politely and then left the room. She knew he was giving her time to crawl naked under the light blanket on the heated massage table and lie on her stomach, awaiting his Swedish massage.
After a half hour of his hands pressing down on the curves of her silky body, heated by his fingers and warmed oil, she felt all resolve to behave herself dissolving with every stroke, especially when he ran his fingers up and down her neck and scalp. She could feel the heat emanating from his crotch as it brushed lightly against her arms while he moved against the table, massaging from her shoulders down the middle of her back to just above her butt.
As her body melted (and her pussy overheated!) she forced herself not to cry out for him to come closer—much closer. She breathed deeply, trying to hide her arousal in this professional setting at a very posh hotel. They both knew he could lose his job if she reported him.
But he seemed to read her body, as well as her mind. While she was still on her stomach, he gently spread her legs apart and rubbed up the backs of her thighs with both hands firmly, for a seeming eternity. It had her squirming. There was no hiding her arousal now.
She spread her legs a little wider than normally acceptable when he reached the very top of her thighs. She felt something warm, like a hot breeze blowing on her pussy, and then she felt the most wonderful sensation of a big, juicy, hot tongue parting her butt cheeks and circling her asshole gently.
“Please be silent,” he leaned up and whispered in her ear.
Both surprised and excited, Melisse moaned in pleasure into her face pillow as his tongue kept circling her bottom, like a spiral going deeper inside her moist asshole.
God, this feels fantastic! And then the tongue roved lower, circling around her labia, finding her clit and sucking at it gently. Just as she was about to burst, his tongue roved back down to the entrance to her pussy
It was on one of these trips of his tongue and lips back to her pussy that she felt a most delicious orgasm coming on. She let it take her, stifling her moans in the face pillow. Her legs went limp and she spread them further. Even while she was coming, it was just a tease: his tongue made her yearn to have something bigger inside her. Please, stick it in!
As she turned over onto her back and slid down toward the edge of the table, she reached out with one hand, motioning him to lower his pants. Wordlessly, and almost painfully slowly, he unzipped them and pulled them down to reveal a dark, meaty cock of impressive size, standing straight up, glistening in the candlelit massage room.
He took her legs—now hanging loosely off the table—and pulled her flush against his crotch. Holding his hard cock, he rubbed it over her pussy like a giant vibrator, giving them both delicious pleasure as he moved it slowly up and down over the length of her, from her asshole all the way up to the top of her clit. In delighted agony, she turned her head to one side and bit into the sheet that had come loose from the table.
In one long, delicious moment he pushed the fat head of his cock inside her and slowly let it enter, little by little, deeper and deeper. Once she felt him all the way in, she wrapped her legs even more tightly around him. He leaned down and silently wrapped his arms around her back, quietly lifting her up so he was standing with her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist, his cock deep inside her.
Soundlessly, he rocked back and forth inside her as she moved her hips to match the rhythm, burying her face in his neck. He hadn’t even stepped out of his white pants and shoes, which were down around his legs. They were both breathing heavily as she felt his cock stiffen and swell inside her as she rocked her hips and slid her pussy lips up and down on his big tool. Their movements became faster and faster as they both neared an explosive climax and she grabbed around his back tighter, digging her lips into his shoulder so nobody would hear her screaming in pleasure.
As she came hard with her lips pressed to his body, she felt his big cock exploding deep inside her, and he shuddered again and again, savoring the small shudders afterward. Then he gently laid her back down on the table.
But Melisse was not about to let this cocksman get away—not just yet. He was still hard, so she grabbed his cock and pulled him to her.
“I want to come again,” she whispered, grinning. “Can you…?”
“I can do that,” he whispered. “It will be my pleasure, miss.”
He lay down heavily on top of her as she spread her legs and he bucked his hips as quietly as he could while she strained upward, feeling the pleasure of his hot cock ramming deep inside her, not quite as hard as before but deliciously pliable as it pressed on her clit. Another wave of pleasure came over her as she felt the lips of her soaking pussy collapse around him in another pulsating orgasm.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she sighed. “That was sooooo good…Sam, you are amazing…”
Spicy Secret: When thrilled with a man’s lovemaking skills, it doesn’t hurt to state the obvious.
“Me, too,” he whispered in her ear, finally going soft and pulling out of her, then reaching back to grab some towels.
“Now slide back where you were,” he said. “I need to finish your massage. I still have your feet to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Melisse sighed breathlessly, turning back on her stomach, where it had all begun. She felt a wave of bliss come over her again as he took her small feet into his hands and rubbed them firmly with hot oil. Ah, this was heaven!
Yet, Melisse had to think straight. I mustn’t tip Sam beyond the norm, otherwise Malcolm might suspect exactly what happened in here when it shows up on his bill! I’ll just give Sam some extra cash on the side.
Spicy Secret: Discretion is your middle name. And your first name.
Melisse snaps out of her memory of Sam, the London masseur, as she and her driver, Hakim, reach the familiar landmarks of her neighborhood on the Upper East Side. Oh, how she loves these tree-lined streets.
“Ah, here we are, Miss!” Hakim announces when they reach the front of her building. He double-parks, jumps out, and opens her car door, then helps her inside her building with her luggage, where she hands him a nice cash tip.
Spicy Secret: Tipping well is a spiritual practice and just makes good sense. It makes the world go round in all kinds of places and all kinds of circumstances.
Gratefully, he places his hand to his heart and lightly taps, this being one of her favorite gestures by a Middle Eastern man. That, and the kisses on the forehead. Those always make her melt. “Thank you!” he gushes.
“Are you by any chance free tomorrow morning?”she smiles.
“Oh. Do you need a ride? You’ll have to call the company and ask…”
“No…I mean…another kind of ride…”
He looks momentarily confused. Then he understands. A sheepish grin covers his face. “Ohhhhh!” He nods. “It is my day off, actually. What time should I…?”
“I’ll be ready at 8:30 a.m. And don’t eat. I’d love to serve you breakfast. What do you like?”
Melisse loves the “anything” types. They’re so easy to please—and so easy to be pleased by…
Spicy Secret: “It is not sex that gives the pleasure, but the lover.” —Marge Piercy
Return to the Lair
Melisse’s apartment—or her “lair,” as she calls it—is in a small, slightly shabby brownstone building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It’s in a highly desirable location: a quiet, tree-lined street between Madison and Park Avenues. Around the corner are fancy bakeries and delis where a girl with a small kitchen can get a delicious lunch. And of course, she enjoys being near one of the world’s greatest art museums, where she often goes to enjoy looking at world-class works of beauty, form, and symmetry. It’s a counterbalance to the organized chaos of her lifestyle.
She also enjoys the vicinity of all the designer consignment boutiques, where she takes small excursions between appointments to browse through the cast-off clothing of rich women.
And she can’t help thinking, I screw their husbands and then I buy the wives’ used clothes! How should I feel about that?
One time, she’d been invited to a bachelorette party as a guest entertainer/educator to train some rich wives in giving “mind-blowing” blowjobs. It was being hosted by a musically talented woman famous for being married to a billionaire husband often called out in the Daily News for some naughty financial shenanigans.
At the party in the woman’s massive penthouse, her friends gathered for the show and looked at Melisse incredulously as she cheerfully gave her “blowjob on a dildo” demonstration to the increasingly inebriated women, amid giggles and lusty calls for “more!”
It all stopped when one woman said, looking around at the others, “Wait. Why do we need to do that when we’ve already bagged the whale? We’re all set now, so who cares!”
They’d all laughed hysterically and then ignored Melisse, gurgling down their champagne and turning the conversation to their offspring, possessions, and vacations. Melisse had stood there awkwardly with the dildo in her hand, feeling like quite the amateur in the company of all these calculating women. In some ways, they were the true pros, she the innocent.
What whores, she thought as she gathered her things and left, but not before sticking the “demonstration dildo” straight up in the big bowl of guacamole on the buffet table when nobody was looking.
As she exited the penthouse and the maid shut the door behind her, she giggled as she heard a woman shrieking, “There’s a cock in the guac!”
Spicy Secret: “Pros” come in all shapes and disguises.
As she follows Hakim inside her building, she lets him take her in-flight bag and wheel her suitcases over the carpeted hallway back to the small elevator where they squeeze inside together. She wonders if the enterprising women from that party (who had whined, screwed, or connived their way to lifelong financial comfort) were getting the same pleasure she expected to get from this humble immigrant.
Melisse’s instincts tell her that she’s chosen a man who will pleasure her in a way that the rich women’s money can’t buy. She can smell Hakim’s manly scent tinged with a nice cologne, and she is eager to get inside to unpack, relax, and sleep well in preparation for their next encounter.
She smiles at him after he deposits her bags at her door. “See you tomorrow morning,” She calls out as he turns to leave.
He gives her a knowing look and goes back inside the elevator. “Tomorrow,” he says with a sweet wave.
I’m finally home, she breathes in relief. She thanks her lucky stars whenever she steps over the threshold of her darling apartment. It’s the only one on the top floor, with vintage details like high ceilings, perfect wood floors, sliding French doors, and a big bedroom in the back with a vintage marble mantel fireplace overlooking a garden. It’s spacious enough for one delighted, grateful woman and the revolving door of guests she selects to entertain in her home.
An apartment like this is every New York call girl’s dream, thanks to the privacy, the posh address, and the retreat-like setting that clients fantasize about revisiting.
Melisse guards this place with her life and avidly screens every new client to make sure nothing might occur which could lead to her losing her precious apartment. And oh, what she’s done with this place since she acquired it five years ago! It is a soft, serene, antique, almost Parisian retreat bathed in creams, pale blues, gold, pale rose, and white. Mirrored dressers, chandeliers, light marble-topped tables, and velvety fabrics recall the Belle Époque. Fluffy art deco wool rugs, poufy chairs, and old gilded mirrors complete the effect.
Her enormous white iron king bed takes center stage in the spacious back bedroom, draped in gauzy curtains. Fine linens and a floral duvet invite one to snuggle into its perfect cloud-like softness. Fresh flowers in vases adorn most surfaces, sitting on perfectly polished vintage silver platters. Everything in her home is in its place, and even the men who visit are very clear about their place there.
They know they are special friends, kept always at a respectful distance, and invited here for a time of pleasures with Melisse that exists mainly in their dreams and fantasies… But once in a while—when they choose to indulge—it is a place they can slip away to and actually visit before returning to their lives.
And now her heart melts, just as it does whenever she sees him—her Butterball. A fluffy,spicy orange tabby, Butterball is fat, fluffy, and loving. Now he’s swishing around her legs in greeting. She can hear the hum of his deep purr, and she falls into the couch for a long meet-and-greet where he alternately curls in her lap and then gets up to touch her face with his nose.
Butterball has brought her the most natural, unconditional love she has ever known. Stroking her cat’s soft fur is the most relaxing activity she can imagine, apart from what it might be like to make love with her one true love—whenever he appears sometime in the future.
But for now, Butterball is her one true love, and she can’t wait to curl up with him in her big bed and feel his weight when he sleeps above the covers between her legs.
I wish I had The One and Butterball here together, she often thinks when she’s stretched out alone in her huge bed. Is it possible?
Spicy Secret: “What greater gift than the love of a cat?” —Charles Dickens
A wave of exhaustion hits Melisse as she begins to undress. First to go: the ugly, high-pressure support hose she wears on every flight to protect her legs from varicose veins. She’s had both the reticular and varicose veins removed by a cosmetic surgeon and is determined never to have more of them. She glances behind at her legs to make sure her investment is still intact: yes, all looks fine.
Pulling out the flat stacks of cash—Malcolm’s flight money—from her money belt, she locks them in the small safe in her closet. Melisse’s First Rule of Money is: Show respect and protect your money, and it will respect and protect you in return.
She goes over to her small Hollywood Regency style desk and unlocks a drawer, taking out a beautiful, fabric-covered scrapbook with the words in a beautiful calligraphy on the cover:
“La Fantasia—My Secret Fantasy Spa for Women”
In this book are her clippings, photos, and notes for the business project that holds the highest place in her heart. She opens to a page in the back and writes down a number, then smiles with satisfaction at the total and opens to a section with pockets, the repository of all her hopes, dreams, and solid plans for La Fantasia.
She removes some swatches of beautiful, shimmering fabrics from her purse, carefully chosen while visiting a decor shop in Notting Hill during her trip to London. She tucks them into the notebook, imagining them as the future curtains for one particular guest suite at La Fantasia.
She closes the book and rubs her hand lovingly over the pale pink linen cover. She sighs a little. It will all come together. Someday.
Spicy Secret: “We act as though comfort and luxury are the chief requirements in life, when all we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about.” —Charles Kingsley
Reaching for the old-fashioned phone and answering machine on her desk, Melisse pushes the Play button to hear her messages. Although cell phones are now the norm, and Melisse certainly has the latest model (with an encryption feature installed by Malcolm for her protection), she still prefers using a landline for her calls, and for the machine to catch the calls she misses.
There’s also a sentimental attachment: GG had passed these on to her, and GG was about as “connected” as one could be in this business. Melisse never knows which interesting client or lucrative opportunity might be awaiting her on GG’s old line. Wisely, she never talks about money and sex in the same conversation, so she never worries about being listened to. She’s trained herself and her clients never to say anything incriminating during a call, and to keep any financial discussions to a terse email or two.
Spicy Secret: An old dramatist’s adage that works wonders for “ladies of the evening,” as well as women on the dating scene: “Show, don’t tell.” Your goodies are meant to be enjoyed up close and personal, so don’t give your sweet stuff away online or over the phone (by engaging in cyber sex, “sexting,” and the like). Unless you’re doing professional “camming” or phone sex (and that’s your job!) keep your mouth closed (and camera off) except to arrange your professional rendezvous (or make your “live and in person” date).
As she plays through her messages, she yawns. So far, there’s nothing pressing that she wants to respond to tonight. Overall, it’s an uninspiring lot…
Message One: “Melisse, it’s Harry Quint. I want to make sure you’re going to come back from Dubai with your virginity still intact—ha-ha! Don’t let that sheik you down—Ha, get it? Sheik you down—I know, not funny. Ha, you know I love you, kid…I’ll be keeping you in my thoughts, prayers, and fantasies. Give me a call when you get back, OK?”
Message Two: “Melisse, it’s Mr. Funsaki. Me come to New York Hotel St. Regis in two weeks. Want to have you for sushi again. Karaoke fun time. I call you with my info when I get landing.”
Message Three: “Melisse! It’s Brad, from L.A. Remember me? We met before you left! I had a great time and I want to see you again when I’m in town next week. This time I want to do the Devilish Dinner package. Let me know when you’re back so we can hook up er uh, cook up, buh bye…”
Message Four: “Hey, Melisse, it’s Kin. Welcome back. I fed Butterball double today. I wasn’t exactly sure what time you’d get back; you didn’t leave your flight number. Hope I did the flowers right—they had some good lilies at the market. Talk to you later! Oh, I emailed you the flight and hotel details for your photo shoot in Miami later in the month and I sent a memo about where you need to call in your card in order to hold the booking… Thanks, bye!”
Message Five (heavy French accent): “Ms. Melisse? Bonjour. This is Josiane from L’Immobilier in Cannes. Please call me when you have a moment. I think we have located zumthing that might be perfect for your projet. It’s very secluded, a villa outside Mougins. It needs some improvements, some cosmetics, but I think it is good…call me! Au revoir!”
Message Six: “Hiiiiiii, huuuuney…it’s your Jazzy! I am so hotty thinking about your body. I am still hot like hot fire coals after a long fire. I am feeling your sexy breasties so big in my hands this morning when I was dreaming of your visit. See you in Dubeeya in a couple of days. I call you again, huuuuneeey…big smoochies…”
Melisse rolls her eyes. Jazzy is nuts and can be annoying and even embarrassing, but he has a huge fortune at his disposal and right now Melisse is at the top of his pyramid of favorites, and has been for quite some time. If La Fantasia is ever to become a reality, his business could be a game changer.
Write him back now or make him wait?
Hmmm….The biggies have to wait. Never seem too eager. Leave them hungry for a little bit more.
She scans her emails and sees a note from someone named “Mike,” who doesn’t even use her working name, “Miss Melisse,” in his salutation. She would immediately trash it for that sin alone, but before she does, she reads his pathetic request and formulates her response.
This is Mike visiting New York and staying near JFK Airport at the Marriott. I am white, 38 years old and in good shape, 5’5”. I like your website and you seem like a nice all-around lady. Would you be available tonight? Would you accept 150 USD? Sorry but I am short on cash… Thanks. Please let me know as soon as you can, please.
Spicy Secret: A sense of humor is essential in life—especially in The Life!
Hmmmm… She thinks for a moment, grins, then taps onto the keyboard:
Thank you so much for your enticing offer to spend several hours making the long journey to and from JFK to serve and pleasure you for a ridiculously low fee. Maybe I can offer you an even cheaper alternative? At JFK near Terminal 3, lower level by the baggage storage area, there is a buffer brush machine for shining shoes. For about $1.25 in quarters you could also run that machine on your weenie. Unfortunately, if you do not climax before the machine stops, you will have to insert more coins to keep the machine going.
Safe travels, happy buffing, and thank you for thinking of me!
Melisse giggles to herself. But she doesn’t hit the “Send” button. Telling off clients in writing or even silently might be momentarily satisfying, but it’s not the best business move if you want to preserve your reputation. A true courtesan is committed to giving pleasure and seducing slowly over time, not gaining short-term satisfaction and pissing off men by saying things like, “Hey, save a hooker and go fuck yourself!”
Spicy Secret: Never hit “Send” unless your message contains something sweet. And if it’s a sour, slightly sarcastic, or even threatening message (even when well deserved) DO NOT hit Send. Wait a day. See if you still feel the same way about the offending idiot tomorrow, and if his faux pas is worth possibly losing your temper/reputation/income.
Next, she dials from her landline to a local voice mail number dedicated solely to the “straight” men in her life (straight meaning not paying clients). As usual, there are no messages for her from any of her guys in “Category B.” That’s because her unofficial rule is that she calls them when she needs them, not the other way around. Still, it would have been nice if one of them had at least left a message that he missed her, asking if he could come over and make love with her as soon as she got home!
It’s OK, I’ve got Hakim tomorrow, she thinks, anticipating how his stubbly chin will feel pressing into her face or the back of her neck as he caresses her…and then gives her the good, hard pounding she expects from him in the morning.
Suddenly, the phone starts ringing. Startled, Melisse picks up. “Hello?”
“Melisse? It’s Jan from Hospice Cares.” There’s a certain respect in Jan’s voice, as if she is fascinated by Melisse, yet afraid of her at the same time.
“Hi, Jan, how have you been?”
“Good, good! I think you just got back?”
“Yes…but it’s OK. I can talk…”
“I know this is so last minute, but the family says it’s urgent.”
“Sure. I need to stay up so that I’ll sleep all night…it’s perfect timing. Can you give me the details?”
A Special Kind of “Happy Ending”
The hospice families who call Melisse when someone is nearing the end always seem to live in nice, middle-class homes and tend to be very open-minded. Otherwise, her form of therapy would have been out of the question!
This time, she goes to a rambling apartment in a building near the United Nations. Even before she reaches the front door, Melisse picks up the scent of the man’s impending transition to the Other Side. When people have been sick in their homes for a long time, the clean smells of hospice nursing aren’t strong enough to mask the scent of a long illness, with Death just around the corner.
Hospice also reminds Melisse of her own mother, Pearl, buried now in California, who died of colon cancer under hospice care not long ago.
When Pearl’s cancer had advanced to the point where they sent her home to die, Melisse took time off from work and came home to northern California to care for her. Ironically, being a freelance call girl afforded her the luxury of spending time with family without worrying about any major financial downside or getting back to a structured job.
The hospital had pulled the plug on her mother’s intravenous meals and sent Pearl home to slowly fade, passing away in an ether of opiates.
Melisse had to give her mother anti-nausea suppositories, and when her mother apologized for needing her help, Melisse replied, “It’s OK, Mom. I’m used to sticking things up people’s butts!”
Her mother, always her daughter’s biggest fan, had winced as she chuckled. She had been supportive from the beginning when Melisse had told her she was going to become a “modern” courtesan. When Pearl saw that Melisse’s mind was made up, she had told Melisse that if she planned to go that route, “Then just be the best damn hooker you can be!”
Melisse would never forget that, as her mother left this world, her last words were: “You’re my beautiful daughter.” Growing up, Melisse had yearned to hear her father tell her that she was pretty, but the words had never come. At least her father was honest. She was really not so “pretty” as a child, but that had all changed with her “extreme makeover” many years later, and now it was a whole different game.
Now, she could never get enough compliments.
She suspected that this need to be “validated” as attractive was one main reason (apart from the cash) she had turned to men who would pay for her attentions. After all, if they paid you—and paid well and often—it must really mean you were a beautiful woman worth possessing. But “the business” had taught her otherwise: that it was really all about the character and personality.
Spicy Secret: “When a woman is tender, soft, fun-loving, lovable…who stops to inquire if she has beauty in the classical sense? Regardless of her feature or form, to most men she seems a paragon of femininity. To them, she is beautiful!…The presence or the absence of beauty is of minor consequence in the attainment of true femininity.” —Helen Andelin, Fascinating Womanhood
But no matter how much men paid and how often they praised her, Melisse never really believed them. It was her mother’s last compliment that she trusted most.
Now, Mr. and Mrs. Levy, the son and daughter-in-law of the dying man, open the door while a nurse in uniform stands respectfully behind them. They welcome her with awkward smiles, and Melisse feels Mr. Levy sizing her up even as he continues to smile graciously at her.
“It’s so good of you to come,” Mrs. Levy says. “Can we give you something for the visit?”
Melisse is slightly taken aback at the reminder that she normally does sexual things for money. In this case, that’s not going to happen.
“No, no, not at all. This is just something special I do, and I’m happy to help.”
Her husband looks shaky; he’s beginning to realize that there’s not much more time left for his father, and his face is pale, his mouth drooping. He tells Melisse, “This is my father’s last request, you know, since they took him off the food tube. He wants to spend one last time with a…beautiful woman,” Mr. Levy says as he gives Melisse a once-over. “I couldn’t deny my dad his last wish.”
Melisse nods but doesn’t smile. She looks toward Mrs. Levy and lightly taps her arm. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.”
Spicy Secret: When “off-duty,” just “turn it off” and play it straight when men’s wives are around. Nothing is crueler than flirting with another woman’s man right in front of her.
Mrs. Levy looks uncomfortable, and asks, “Can we get you something to drink, Melisse?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Just let us have our privacy and I promise to take good care of him.”
Mrs. Levy opens the door to the bedroom, and the nurse goes inside to make sure all is in order. She shows Melisse a bell she can use to call, then closes the door behind her as she leaves.
Melisse hears Mr. Levy say outside the door, “I wish I were terminal…” before getting shushed away down the hall by Mrs. Levy.
Melisse clicks the door shut behind her and sees a small man lying in a hospital bed; he turns his head toward her and looks over at her. Then a smile touches his lips.
“Hi, there! How are you doing today?” she asks cheerfully.
“I’m one big tumor,” the elder Mr. Levy replies, struggling to get the words out with a touch of humor.
“You don’t look like a tumor to me,” Melisse says cheerily. “You look pretty darn handsome. Very relaxed.”
Spicy Secret: “Angels fly because they take themselves lightly.” —Jean Cocteau
The room is somewhat dim and has been lit thoughtfully with scented candles placed between clusters of bouquets. Melisse reaches for a lamp and puts the light up a notch. She imagines he won’t want to miss what she is about to do.
“My name is Melisse, Mr. Levy.”
“Hi, Melisse. Thanks for coming. Call me Sy.”
“Sy…would it be okay if I get more comfortable?” she asks, coming closer, slowly easing off her trench coat.
Spicy Secret: “Remember that a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.” —Dale Carnegie
Under her trench, she’s wearing nothing but a beautiful short silk slip in a bright pink shade. She gives Sy a few seconds to admire this vision, then slides it over the top of her head and stands before him completely nude.
Spicy Secret: Never deprive your date or loved one the exciting vision of you slowly undressing for him (and possibly asking for his help). But leave the re-dressing part for the privacy of the restroom (unless he expressly offers to help with that because he enjoys it, as well).
Then, Melisse slides off her kitten heels and sees Sy come alive a little bit more as he realizes what is going on. His eyes widening, he says, “Ohhh!”
“I’d love a hug,” Melisse tells him. “Can I get into bed with you?” At his nod, she gently folds the sheets back and gets in the bed next to him. Then she puts her arms around him, cradling his head against her breasts. He wraps his arms around her waist and sighs as she kisses him on the forehead.
She is suddenly aware that this is all he really wants—just to be held. His face crinkles with a big smile, and Melisse hugs him closer and places his hands on her breasts. And there, in a dying man’s arms, she finally succumbs to her jet lag and sleeps the sleep of the dead.
As she snores like a small lion, Sy hugs her closer and listens to the sweet sound of a warm, beautiful woman lying peacefully in his arms.
“I’ve finally died and gone to heaven,” he whispers.
Spicy Secret: Hugs and cuddling are the little-known “secret sauce” of the world’s most successful courtesans.
Coco Chanel once said, “As long as you know men are like children, you know everything!” And children love to be cuddled.
The next morning, Melisse wakes up in her bed with Butterball, her constant companion. He nudges her awake with his wet nose on her face and the kneading of his paws on her chest.
“Ohhhhh…my little boody cat,” Melisse coos. “Just you and me together in our purrever home.” Often when she wakes up, she feels grateful for the beautiful apartment and the luxurious surroundings (and the gifts of her health, intelligence, and beauty, which help her maintain it all). Yet she is beginning to increasingly feel the absence of a special man, someone who would suit her perfectly, forever.
But a big part of her often wonders if forever is a little too long to expect of a relationship with another flawed human being, particularly when most men she’s met are clearly not hard-coded for “forever” (or purrever) monogamy.
And neither am I, frankly.
Yet she often yearns for a man who will sleep with her and wake up beside her, who will light up her life with a broad smile or a hearty laugh. Like the beautiful spring sun streaming into her bedroom, her true lover would warm her with his companionship and make her feel that all was well in her world.
Yeah, right. She’s also acutely aware of that old saying: “Familiarity breeds contempt.” So maybe she doesn’t want to become so damned familiar with a man and see him (and his dirty socks and underwear lying around and a bathroom that looks like a walrus was just in there) OR let him see her (the passing storms of moods, the shocking amount of personal maintenance, the insecurities, the lack of trust in men, the neuroses…) every day!
Ah, but that could all be overcome…And she could be the light in his life, transferring to him freely all that is special about her that she normally puts a price tag on.
You mean, close this candy store? Are you crazy?
But it’s another morning like many others. There are so many things to do: pack and tie up loose ends before leaving for a whole week. There is a long flight to the Middle East again this evening. So she now has one full afternoon to totally enjoy being alone before the almost constant performance she will give for Sheik Jazzy, who hardly lets her leave his side once he is with her.
Ah, Jazzy: overbearing, needy, whacked-out, weird, oversexed, eccentric, dissolute, embarrassing, and, fortunately, filthy, filthy rich—and generous.
But first, breakfast for that sweet chauffeur, Hakim, who will be here in a couple of hours. For Melisse, there is always a special sensuality when preparing breakfast for her morning lovers. The fruit juice is always squeezed by hand, and the man’s favorite food is lovingly prepared (barring Eggs Benedict, which she can never get right).
So this morning, Melisse drags out the Belgian waffle maker, an artisanal bottle of maple syrup, and some slices of turkey bacon, intuiting that Hakim will like something on the sweeter side, accompanied by a breakfast meat but no pork, as he might be Muslim. She stirs the batter for the waffles and puts it aside, to be used after they are both sated and starving.
Spicy Secret: If there’s one meal to learn to cook and excel at preparing for men, make it a varied, hearty breakfast. Reservations can be made for all the other meals. And in a pinch, toss him a tube steak.
The other sensual joy in Melisse’s life is the ritual of preparing herself for men, whether clients or “Category B’s.” From the bubble bath, to rolling her hair in a 1940s style à la Veronica Lake, to the final hint of mascara on her lashes, the whole process can take up to two hours. Her favorite part is a long bath with a delicately scented oatmeal/vanilla bubble bath as she rubs her entire body with a “black soap” bought in Marrakech, lightly scented with jasmine. This stays on a few minutes to help aid an intense exfoliation, and then it is rubbed off vigorously with the kessa glove, also from Morocco, and akin to thick sandpaper.
Next, a good scrub with a long back brush.
Spicy Secret: Don’t neglect to thoroughly clean and/or defuzz those hidden and “harder to reach” places on your body. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean your man won’t notice. A high-quality back brush is a great investment, as is a bit of so-called painless laser hair removal for those nether regions. A copious dusting of powder in areas prone to sweat gives an extra layer of softness, and some powders even come in a “tasty” variety—lickable!
Melisse brutalizes her skin for several minutes, but in doing so arrives at a body so silky that she often feels like she might slide off her sheets if the person she’s fucking doesn’t catch her first.
Spicy Secret: Starting early in life, a rigorous daily brushing with a dry brush on the thighs and butt (in addition to the exfoliation glove) has the potential to help stave off cellulite forever. You can also use the handle to spank your clients if you accidentally break your paddle.
To further enhance the silky softness, she rubs a large glob of African shea butter in a mint tea scent in the palms of her hands, warms it to an oily consistency, then rubs it deeply into her skin from neck to toe. That’s a secret that GG taught her to help her skin remain eternally moist and youthful.
Once again, she wishes there were a darling guy she could truly love and live with to join her on this part of her ritual.
Spicy Secret: The best commandment of all—pamper thyself!
When “Category B” lovers come to visit, Melisse prefers not to talk much, instead enjoying the experience of mutual abandon. It’s different with her clients, who seem to need almost as much conversation as they do sex. Clients sometimes use her to share aspects of their lives they might not even share with their therapists, with sex as an afterthought. Their biggest need might be for a good listener, someone without a hidden agenda.
In fact, Melisse finds herself having many dinners where she functions as simply a gorgeous therapist, quietly listening to whatever they wish to talk about, and in some cases gently prodding them with questions to go deeper or in other directions.
Sometimes, a client will confess to being new to the business of engaging a prostitute, and will say he is “newly married but out exploring” (because he realizes he now misses the variety of his single life and he can’t possibly adjust). Or he’ll admit to being a “first-timer after many years of marriage” (because “Everything is great” but after thirty years of marriage we “Don’t have sex anymore!” or “She’s gotten fat and let herself go…sadly (sigh)…” (And often enough he has, too, if he’d only take a closer look or step on a scale)!
When, from his conversation, a man seems clearly still in love with his wife, it hurts Melisse to think of him “cheating” and subconsciously messing up a good thing with lies and omissions (on top of the lies he’s telling himself about how it won’t affect the way he treats her).
But who is she to judge?
So often she wishes she could just send him back home to communicate and try to make things better without his getting laid (but that would mean her not getting paid), but that’s not good for business, and it’s not her role.
Her time, insights, and charms are not a charity operation.
Spicy Secret: Don’t judge, attempt to fix, or feel sorry for the men who visit you; just take care of them and give them what they want in terms of sex or companionship. They’re big boys and can figure out the rest of their lives for themselves.
Turning him away would be a futile gesture anyway, and he would only be out searching again soon, she tells herself. Because by the time a seriously coupled man has made it into the arms and bed of an escort, he is often at the last stop of a long and tortured mental journey that led him to what he sees as a “reasonable solution” to his domestic satisfaction problem.
Spicy Secret: Long-married but sexually lonely men are stoic and thoughtful warriors: they’ll do almost anything to preserve a good thing and avoid hurting their negligent wives and/or families. Discreet meetings with escorts—not couples therapy—are often their final polite answer to the very private, painful love and sex problems that have slowly become unbearable in their lives.
Right now, however, Melisse is not thinking of how she will satisfy her lonely clients.
She is thinking of how she will greet this new man who will enjoy her bed this morning! Hakim—the chauffeur—arrives, looking shy. He is wearing dark jeans and a nice dress shirt, and is carrying a small bouquet of flowers he must have picked up at the corner grocery store, given the plastic wrapping.
“Oh là là…such beautiful flowers, thank you! I love tulips!” she says, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Spicy Secret: Whatever flowers (or candies/gifts/tokens of appreciation) he brings are the most beautiful you’ve ever seen or received. Gush over them for a while.
Melisse is pleased. It’s the thought that counts. Actually, it’s the effort that counts. Instinctively, Hakim removes his shoes at the door and she reaches out to take the flowers, kissing him on the cheek. “Come, join me on the couch,” she urges to help break the ice. He takes a seat, and she brings him a large glass of chilled orange juice. Gratefully, he clutches the glass and sips the drink, petting Butterball as Melisse arranges the tulips in a vase she has brought and set before them.
It seems that he, too, doesn’t need much conversation. Melisse doesn’t mind at all; who knows what it might reveal. For a moment, she wonders if she misjudged him. He seems tentative, like someone on a blind date who might be having second thoughts.
And so she’s surprised when she sits down beside Hakim in her silky robe (with nothing on beneath), and he suddenly grabs her and begins kissing her—gently, not with a thick tongue ramming down her throat (which she hates) but with a delicacy and reserve. Often everything about a relationship can be told in a kiss, and this one tells her he will respect her boundaries, and that someone before her taught him to be an appreciative lover.
She moves back and allows him to reach inside her gown, where he puts one hand around her waist to pull her closer while gently massaging her breasts with the other.
“Mmmmm…you smell so good…Melisse…” he says. His hand leaves her breasts and reaches down as his fingers gently massage her increasingly wet flower.
The couch starts to feel too limiting. She slowly undresses him, running her hands over his chest, his perfectly defined abs, and in between his thighs. She sits down as he steps out of his pants, and when he is totally naked, she then leads him gently by his cock, over to her bed.
Spicy Secret: Lead a man you like by his hard cock to wherever you’ll be making love. Don’t worry, this is nothing new—it’s been leading him all his life anyway.
Once she’s sitting on the bed with him standing in front of her, she grabs his hips and slides his perfectly proportioned cock inside her mouth.
Melisse feels him getting harder and harder as she moves his hips back and forth with her hands, and she guides his cock deeper and faster inside her mouth as her tongue works exclusively on the head. She then holds her breath, but breathes out slowly through her mouth and lets his cock slide all the way to the back of her throat as far as it can go.
Spicy Secret: A calm and well-practiced “deep throat” (without gagging) is well worth mastering as a great pleasurable treat to give your man. If you really want to take it over the top, learn to love licking his balls, which might be considered the seat (more of a beanbag, actually) of his emotions.
He moans. “Ohhhhh, Melisse, you are too good!”
Just when she thinks he is about to blow from the excitement of being together for the first time, he pushes her away and makes her stop.
“I am not here for this. I come to take care of you,” he says in his charming imperfect English spoken with a Jordanian accent. “I can control myself. I will not come until you tell me you are ready.”
Melisse smiles. Perfect. She lies back and spreads her legs and looks at him invitingly. Hakim’s eyes widen at the inviting sight of her.
Spicy Secret: Forget a viewing of the Mona Lisa! No more beautiful picture exists for most men than an attractive woman beckoning him with her legs spread wide apart.
“Hakim, I’m feeling totally lazy today, really. I’m just going to lie here on my back and let you fuck me.”
“And I will do this,” he says, lying down on top of her, his hard cock pressed against the lips of her pussy, pressing for entry. “I will do this and I am not going to stop. You can use me as you wish, and come as much as you want.”
“I think I can do that.” Melisse smiles contentedly, thinking, Oh, yes! Full permission granted to enjoy myself any way I want—woo-hoo! My instincts were right, after all!
And without fail, Hakim begins an unforgettable session of relentless fucking, with few breaks in between for her to compose herself before the next vigorous ramming. Under business circumstances, Melisse might find this annoying (and worthy of a supplemental charge), but his soul is so sweet and giving that it’s a delicious privilege to give up control to one so eager (and good) at pleasing.
All the while, Hakim holds her tight and she enjoys the feeling of being contained in his arms as he moves her first this way and then that, into many different positions, like a rag doll. Mmmm…the ultimate relaxation.
But she is no doll, and she’s enjoying every minute of passive pleasure as he varies the movements of his perfectly hard cock diving deep and fast into her.
After the first orgasm (which crept up on her as he was slamming away on top of her) he no longer gives her a break, and she begins coming easily many times over, relaxing her body and feeling only the pleasure pounding around inside her pussy, knowing that she has his permission to use his cock any way she pleases and that he will last until she achieves all the satisfaction she can handle.
Finally, when she’s reached a point of exhaustion and her pussy is almost numb from all the activity, he turns her over, squirts a bit more lube on her for their next round, and puts a pillow under her stomach.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says. “For me!”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?” she laughs, breathless, her damp hair matting on her forehead.
“No. That was just to warm you up, but I may not last much longer,” he says, sliding into her from behind.
With one slow stroke, he begins pounding her vigorously from behind as she presses her soaking-wet pussy up against his right hand, which is now beneath her and working a quick circle over her clit. The sensation is too direct on her clit and she squirms in discomfort, but he keeps at it, fucking her from behind and working her clit without letting up. Then her discomfort turns into pleasure as her clit gets accustomed to his rough touch and his dreamy cock as it rams into her pussy.
She feels another wave of pleasure coming over her as he pounds at her with a steady rhythm and she squeals, “Ohhh, god…you’re going to make me come again! Ohhhhhh!”
“Come! Me, too!” he moans. “Aaaaaaarrrrrggghhhh…” And for a moment he sounds like a lion biting into his delicious prey.
Exhausted, Melisse collapses onto her back as Hakim dives down next to her. “Where. Did. You. Learn. To. Do. That?” she gasps.
He chuckles, trying to catch his breath. “I had a girlfriend once and she could never, ever come. I tried everything—for years! Nothing worked. But I learned how to stay hard and give a woman pleasure. Not that girlfriend, but after her, others. And those—they came.”
“There’s a silver lining in every cloud,” Melisse says, smiling.
“You are the wet part of my cloud and I am very glad we met,” he says, putting an arm around her.
“Mmmmm, me, too. But now…I’m making you breakfast.”
“Oh, yes.” He smiles. “And then we start again. I have all day.”
“Ha!” she laughs, thinking how nice it would be, but she does have the usual preparations to make before Jazzy and Dubai…
“I’ll give you a ‘rain check’ on that,” she says, laughing. “My cloud needs to re-moisturize after a storm like that, Mr. Hakim. ’Cause…you’re a rainmaker!” she laughs, getting up to make a breakfast fit for a king.
Sexy Secret: Know when it’s time to call it a day (or night). It never hurts to leave a little something for next time.
A Call from the Wild
After Hakim leaves, having subjected her to an exuberant farewell hugfest, Melisse stands at her kitchen sink washing her dildo collection. She’ll have to bring a few with her for the trip to Dubai, just in case Jazzy decides to ask her for one to enhance their playtime.
She personally hates dildos and vibrating toys, finding that they just add another element of “plastic” and “impersonal” to her already-plastic interactions with men she might not ever see again. But when it comes to Sheik Jazzy, she welcomes any and every stage prop that will get her through the week.
She also loathes flying commercial to certain stricter countries when she has to travel with dildos or vibrators. If your bags get searched at customs, the agents can have a field day holding up the offending toys, asking, “And what is this, miss?”
“Ohhhh…that? That is a clearly a dog toy. See the teeth marks from Gus, my dog…?” (Meaning Gus, her client in DC who runs a special division of the CIA, who takes a suite at the Mayflower once a month and flies her in to “party.” Gus, who likes to be tied up, treated like a dog, and impaled after playing “fetch” by grabbing her rubbery pink dildo with his teeth.)
So it’s always such a relief to fly by private plane when visiting Jazzy.
When her landline rings, Melisse unfurls a long phone cord so she can keep working at the sink while talking to whomever it might be.
“Helllooooo, huuuuuney, it’s meeeeeee…”
Sheik Jazzy. He tells her he’s standing in one of the huge courtyards of his decadent palace (the green spaces inspired by the Alhambra in Granada, Spain, and the architecture and jewel-toned decor resembling The Palace of Versailles meets a Bollywood wedding).
He can’t wait to see her, he says, although he’s trying to enjoy the company of his “visiting entertainers.”
“They send me crap for entertainers this time,” he complains. She then hears a parrot’s voice repeating, “Crap entertainers!” It can be none other than Pasquale, Jazzy’s pet parrot, who lives in the garden where Jazzy “houses” his visiting entertainers.
“Ohhhh, Jazzy, you poor thing! The entertainers aren’t good? That is awful.”
“They’re sucking,” he whines.
Spicy Secret: When a client or the man in your life is complaining about petty or inconsequential things, let him exhaust (and embarrass) himself by expressing it. Then give him a very sweet, but very short line of babying, like “Oh, you poor guy. I’m so sorry that (xyz) is so bad…blah…blah…” Then quickly change the subject. Treat him like a man. It’s time for him to either man up or shut up. If you baby too much, he’ll feel like you’re his mother. And that’s not good for your sex life. Or business, if he’s a client.
Melisse can see it all now. His “girls” are enjoying the pleasures of his many swimming pools, perfumed gardens, and numerous pagodas and sunken gazebos with comfy couches while they wait impatiently to be squired away for their “night with Jazzy,” which sometimes never happens. But Jazzy always makes sure that even if they don’t get the big “jackpot”—a night in his chambers—they get their contracted fee and won’t go back to their countries empty-handed. Jewels, substantial leather goods from Hermès and Ferragamo, and envelopes stuffed with US dollars are the little bonuses his “entertainers” will receive after leaving the palace and returning to their home countries, where they work as models, strippers, actresses, and beauty contestants.
The women who stay in the palace must abide by Jazzy’s strict guidelines: they’re not allowed to leave until they are escorted by his “courtesy van,” which will deliver them to the vast hangar in Wadijazzizi where he keeps several planes fired up. The jets return the girls to Dubai after about a month of “work,” where they’ll find their own routes home to every corner of the world using pre-funded debit cards found in their “travel allowance” envelopes.
Melisse has never visited Jazzy’s palace because based on the intimacy she’s established with him (and given her full knowledge of his crazy ways), she has some concerns about becoming his “esteemed guest” in Wadijazzizi. His three wives also live in the palace, and seeing a client in his home with a wife (even one of several) is something she finds distasteful (even if it’s a huge palace where she will most likely never see them)! And strangely enough, Jazzy has never asked her to visit him there…though he hints at it often enough, saying, “We should have a sleepover in my palace, honey.” Of course, the answer is always, “No.”
Melisse knows all about Jazzy’s parrot, Pasquale, a huge bird of brilliant colors standing on Jazzy’s shoulder, cackling, as Jazzy talks to her.
Meanwhile, Jazzy is observing several long-term resident monkeys playing around the palms where he’s standing, while a long string of “women of the harem” snake around the garden path, waiting to be chosen as his “treat” for later that evening. Jazzy, though, is more interested in talking to Melisse.
He waves away one beautiful woman after another, and after each rejection, Pasquale cackles, “Get outta here!”
Jazzy looks up at his feathered pal, who appears poised to ram his beak into Jazzy’s forehead for a quick kill. “You dirty bird, you get outta here!”
The bird repeats back, “Get outta here!”
Jazzy chuckles, “Motherfucker.”
Melisse, hearing all this on the line, giggles. “Pasquale?” she squeals, trying to talk in parrot talk, hoping he’ll hear her. “Pasquale?”
The bird tilts his head for a moment and caws quietly and contentedly near the phone, as if asking, “Who is it?”
“Who do you love, Pasquale?” Melisse caws. Pasquale caws happily.
“He loves you, Melisse. This piece of shit bird has fallen in love with your voice. I swear, every time we talk…”
As Jazzy stands talking to Melisse, a tall, beautiful woman walks up and stands smiling before Jazzy, anticipating her acceptance as if she were Miss Brazil. (Maybe she is?)
Jazzy looks her up and down, then nods her away. She doesn’t look slutty enough for Jazzy’s tastes tonight. He’s in the mood for more of a “hoochy mama.” Jazzy gives the bird a secret sign.
“Get outta here!” the bird cackles. “Motherfucker.”
The woman extends her middle finger and turns around to walk away.
“Did you just flip the bird, young lady?” Jazzy asks, laughing. She keeps walking.
“Shit for brains!” Pasquale cackles. “Shit for brains!”
Melisse, overhearing all this, just shakes her head. “Oh, boy,” Jazzy reports. “The monkeys are at it again, slinging their shit around.”
It seems the word, shit, has incited one of the monkeys to pick up a freshly produced piece of poop from his bottom and throw it at the rejected woman as she walks away. It hits her squarely on the back and runs down her beautiful caftan. Jazzy gives the monkey a covert thumbs-up.
“Ewwwwww!” Miss Brazil screams. She flies into a fit of rage and comes after Jazzy and his bird. Jazzy finds it very exciting to watch her temper flare.
“Hey, hey, here she comes at me. Oh, Melisse, she is very pissed!”
He rubs his crotch. Miss Brazil has been there three fucking weeks already and has never been “chosen” (which will get her more tips and jewels she can resell back in Rio). As much as he likes a beauty queen in a rage, Jazzy wants someone with more meat on her bones tonight.
Also, the beauty queens always seem like they’re trying to come up with the “right” and most polite answer to everything, and this is extremely boring to a man like Jazzy.
Jazzy asks Melisse, “Are you still there, honey bunny?”
“Yes, Jazz, I’m here.”
Jazzy waves away the remaining women. They frown and shuffle back into the palace and leave him alone for his call. “Sorry, cuddlebug. I was fighting with Pasquale again. Sometimes I want to shoot him. Or serve him to my tigers. His mouth is so dirty I can’t give him to the zoo, as it would embarrass me.”
“You know you love that bird, Jazzy,” Melisse teases.
She’s now washing a small black butt plug in her kitchen sink. This is the “warm-up call” she has to endure to spice things up for him. Jazzy will be waiting eagerly for her at the Burj Al Arab hotel in a few short hours. After all, the “spice up” is part of her service.
Spicy Secret: As part of your “service package,” get him warmed up with a spicy call before “the big event.”
“So how are you, Jazzy! I can hardly wait to see you!”
“I know, little miss cum bubbles. Do you miss me as much as I miss you?”
“Ohhhh, yes, my Masterprick. My luuuuv juices are…uh…” she squirts some dish soap onto the dildo “squirting from my…?”
She grabs a brush scrubber from a clay Buddha sponge holder.
“…big, swollen Buddha clit! I’m trembling with how much I miss you, Big Clitmaster Daddy.” She rolls her eyes.
Jazzy asks, “Do you miss Big Daddy’s Love Dong Dong?”
Melisse dries the dildo with a dish towel. “Ohhh, Big Daddy King Kong Ding Dong. I wanna swing from your big swinging dick tree.” She can hear Jazzy swooning in anticipation of his trip over to Dubai to meet her for a week of “Funfest.” As if having fifty international beauty queens at his beck and call isn’t enough.
“And I am missing your little tight hubbly bubbly pipe. But Big Daddy Ding Dong will be sucking from it and getting high from licking off your love juices soon enough.”
“Ohhh, yes! My love juices are boiling for you.”
“Be careful on the flight, Lisse,” he tells her, laughing. “I am sending my special new lady pilot on this one, and the steward is also new. I just released him from my small prison here for writing some bad checks, so I am rewarding him for his good behavior in jail with a new job as a steward on my planes. But I am going to unleash him on you first.”
“Unleash him on me? You make him sound like a dog!”
“He is. He’s a horny, horny dog, just like his master. Watch out, my princess, and if he doesn’t make you happy in some way, you can give him a little smack. Or a bigger one! You do that so well! He needs to learn how to handle himself with my guests, and this will be his first big trip out of Wadijazzizi.”
“Hmmmm…” Melisse hears Jazzy’s diabolical laughter echoing through his courtyard. She already has an idea of what he’s planning for her, and hopes the steward will at least be cute.
“Well, see you tomorrow, little Melisse. Tally-ho! And I mean ‘ho’ in the nicest way.”
Silence on Melisse’s end.
“Melisse? Are you still there?”
“Oh yes. Well, uh…tally-ho, Big Daddy! I must run now! I can’t wait to see you. Ciao ciao!”
Spicy Secret: When foolish buffoon patrons make an insulting remark about your chosen profession, a long moment of silence and a quick conversational segue should be enough for them to “get the hint” and not do it again.
The (Very) Friendly Skies
Melisse chooses her in-flight wardrobe carefully, selecting a medium-length white cotton jersey dress. It features a fitted bustier bodice and flutters with a full skirt. Over this, she wears a light turquoise overcoat. Her aquamarine pendant necklace and matching earrings sparkle, discreetly nestled in her breasts and earlobes. A pair of turquoise-blue Manolo Blahnik kitten heels, decorated with leather florets, enhance her feet, now perfectly presentable after a last-minute pedicure.
In New Jersey, she boards the stunning, compact, perfectly outfitted private jet that will whisk her away like a magic carpet ride to Dubai. The gorgeous pilot comes back to her seat to greet her.
“Welcome, Miss! I am Halima, your pilot, at your service.”
Halima’s long, dark curly hair is contained under a stylish cap, and her skin is dewy, with an all-over tan and exquisitely done makeup, dark kohl outlining her large brown eyes feathered by long eyelashes. Her white uniform is crisp and beautifully tailored, Armani perhaps, and her very expensive gold watch with a diamond bezel has all the signs of having been a gift from Jazzy.
A moment later, Halima is joined by her copilot, Jalil, a powerful-looking, tight-bodied guy who politely introduces himself and then quietly returns to the cockpit. Melisse wonders if Halima has ever spent any private time with Jazzy (or Jalil), but thinks the answer is probably no. Jazzy is very particular about separating his activities, and given the rarity of a beautiful and capable female pilot, would probably prefer to keep himself in her good graces by not exposing her to all his bad behavior.
“Jazzy said you would be a woman, but I didn’t believe him!” Melisse laughs. “This is great!”
Halima sits down in the seat across from Melisse, to be on her level. “I know! It’s a dream come true for me, to fly a plane like this and be able to boss around a guy like Jalil,” she laughs, turning to look back at her copilot. “I hope you will enjoy the flight. If we have any turbulence coming, the alert lights will go on and I’ll ask that you put on your seat belt for us, but I hope to just let you sleep all the way there. We will be stopping in Casablanca for a little break, and we’ve got a beautiful breakfast planned for us at the terminal—a real Moroccan breakfast. I’m so excited!”
“Ah! I love Moroccan breakfasts!” Melisse says, thinking of the sweetest of fresh green tea boiled with fragrant fresh mint, breakfast crepes, amalou (which tastes like a sweet peanut butter), eggs scrambled with air-dried beef, and a handful of yummy olives. If it’s not too foggy in Casa, it’s always such fun to eat a Moroccan breakfast while sitting on a blanket under a shady tree in the little courtyard outside the private plane terminal.
And sometimes, if there’s a longer stopover, there will be a private driver/guide arranged to take her into Casa to the old souk for shopping, or to have lunch. Sometimes, depending on the schedule, it’s sexy sunset drinks overlooking the ocean at Cabestan, one of Melisse’s favorite restaurants in the world—if only for what might be the world’s sexiest restaurant bathrooms. The private rooms are equipped with individual sinks and cushy chairs to make for a potentially long and sexy visit (should you invite your dining companion to sneak in).
Melisse’s thoughts turn to one particularly hot escape into a “restroom” with a particularly cute driver/guide named Abdoo, who’d once been assigned to her for the evening stopover. He’d sat on the velour chair while she’d straddled him as they fucked deliciously between the main course and dessert.
“Melisse? Are you with me?” Halima enquires.
“Oh! I hope you’ll be joining me for breakfast!” Melisse suggests, tearing her thoughts away from her ride on Abdoo’s cock. She’d actually like to know more about this beautiful young pilot and how she achieved the nearly impossible—getting a fabulous job with Jazzy!
Halima then gives Melisse a significant look. “Melisse, did you know that Sheik Jazzy has installed cameras on the plane now? He can watch everything we do from his home.”
“No, I didn’t know that, but I kind of suspected it would happen sooner or later,” Melisse says, giving her a knowing look back. She senses someone coming up from behind her, and Halima quickly collects herself and stands up.
“I think you know the plane already; the bedroom is all ready for you back there and… Ah! Here is Ahmed; he is still in training…I will let him take it from here. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be coming back later to check on you personally.”
Melisse watches as Halima returns to the cockpit, but not without noticing her shapely hips and confident walk. Beauty and brains, she thinks, a bit enviously.
Spicy Secret: Be gracious to trainees; remember the first time that YOU had to perform or give a service?
Ahmed, the steward, approaches awkwardly from behind her with a glass of Perrier and a slice of lemon, balancing it precariously on a tray.
“Hello, Miss Melisse. I am Ahmed, your steward for the flight.” He doesn’t seem like an ex-convict who’s been jailed for writing bad checks. He looks more like a handsome construction worker who’s surprised to find himself in this sleek private jet. Melisse notes his muscles bursting out of his new uniform and gives him a sweet smile, taking the drink he’s offering.
“How are you tonight, Ahmed?”
“I’m well!” he says, sounding relieved and deliriously happy to be free. A dreamy expression crosses his face for a moment as his eyes flash ever so briefly on Melisse’s décolletage. His hunger for a woman must be unbearable, Melisse thinks. After all, he’s just been sprung from lockup and immediately promoted to steward on Jazzy’s private plane.
“Are you hungry?” Ahmed asks suddenly, as if remembering that he’s here to serve Melisse. “I mean, may I offer you a little preflight snack? A few chips or a fruit and cheese plate? Or caviar and a glass of champagne?”
Melisse knows from Jazzy’s description of Ahmed that he’s allowing her to seduce Ahmed on the flight if she wishes. Of course, his motives aren’t exactly unselfish—he expects to hear all about it. He may even watch it on the plane’s new camera (hidden, of course).
Since the days of their first meeting at the George V Hotel in Paris, Jazzy has always been the ultimate voyeur, one of those secret swingers who prefers to see, rather than be seen. Rare in a man, sexual jealousy is refreshingly not one of Jazzy’s defining qualities, and in this regard he’s quite a generous lover.
Melisse gazes at Ahmed’s sturdy legs and the lines of his lean body and his endearingly anxious expression. He must have had lots of time to work out in Jazzy’s private jail because he’s practically bursting through his uniform like the “Incredible Hulk” from that old TV show.
Here is a man ready to serve her, and she’s already enjoying a fantasy or two about them in the big, soft bed she’ll be sleeping in.
Melisse sips at her water, curious about how all this will play out, especially since Ahmed seems ready to pounce on her as soon as they hit ten thousand feet.
“Caviar and champagne.” She smiles. “That sounds absolutely delicious right now.”
Spicy Secret: Your perpetually strict diet is a constant triumph over temptation: But it’s OK to cheat on it once in a while if it makes you smile!
“It will be out in a moment,” he says worshipfully, and disappears.
Once airborne, Melisse eases her seat back after a big gulp of lemon-infused water and a good misting of Evian with orange blossom and grapefruit essences. She places a lavender-scented silky eye mask over her eyes, and contemplates going back to the little bedroom for a snooze.
Later, she thinks. Right now…just calm down…you’re in the right place at the right time, right where you need to be…don’t question this…just live it…just breathe…you are on your way to see a client…a client whose patronage is jetting you to where you really want to be…La Fantasia…just be patient…this is just a step on your journey…
Sometimes, when Melisse has a moment like this, when nobody can reach her, nobody can call or make a demand, when perfection is not expected…she sits in a seat hidden away where she can quietly be Melisse, and she thinks back over how she ever got to this place.
What led her to be sitting inside a slick private jet hurtling through the air between countries, the reluctant courtesan to a wily sheik? Will the path ever lead to her being the future owner of the world’s most secret, sexy, and exclusive getaway for women: La Fantasia?
Her crazy choices as a younger woman turned out to lead to a life of privilege, certainly, but at a price. Sometimes it feels like a very high price when she lies alone at night, without a true love to cuddle her or talk with her. It especially feels like a high price on Saturday nights when joyful couples are out enjoying themselves in Manhattan, Rome, Paris, or South Beach, and she’s either home alone, walking by herself in the streets of Manhattan (or Rome, Paris, or South Beach), turning a trick with someone she doesn’t love, or being a “friend with benefits (and limits)” to one of her “Category B’s.”
Still, she wouldn’t have chosen differently. Her spiritual teachings have taught her well, and she knows she is (probably) at the right place at the right time.
That reminds her. Time to talk to the Universe before jetting off again.
Universe, guide and protect and direct me on this trip. I trust you to keep me safe and send me everything I need and want, in the perfect moment I should have it.
And please, I affirm that you are sending me a perfect love, a perfect someone just for me, someday. Some way. You choose for me.
Spicy Secret: Live in the present, but take time to reflect on how you got there (and where you want to be in the coming years). But don’t regret the past or worry too much about the future—the past no longer exists and the future is happy to take care of itself. Often in ways you’d never be able to predict.
Melisse closes her eyes behind her scented eye mask, breathes deep, and reflects on her journey.
How did a homely little girl from the countryside ever get on this particular wild magic carpet ride?