Falling for your escort

People pay me for the honor of trying to make me cum, and I’m good with numbers. I am an accountant in every assumption of the word, and I don’t know why other people think that makes them better than me. Either people like me are why they have money, or they’re putting up with the possible displeasure of not cumming for free. I do the 9-5, and that’s great but I like sex and don’t think that having it requires a relationship. I’ve always liked variety, and I like that I can get it safely now.

When I thought I was at the top of my game, Madam Scarlet saved my life. I left home pretty young, moving into my friend’s basement while we finished high school. I thought I had everything figured out on my road to independence until it all took a turn. I ended up homeless, barely making it day to day, until I was at my job at this coffee shop. It was frequented by professors at the university up the road and this lady had been there for hours, stressing out over something. As I passed by and topped off her coffee I’d peak over her shoulder at the problem, and I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t filling in the blanks. Finally, my big mouth got the better of me and I found out that not everyone sees numbers like I do.

The university was warmer than the streets, and I found out you can sit in on classes you didn’t pay for if you were careful... or had teacher permission. I’ve always been very good at reading people and being who they wanted me to be, and I attended every lecture I could if it had anything to do with numbers. The next time there was a chance to challenge the final exam I had every teacher in the school telling me about it and, it took time, I ended up with a few degrees.

From there I got a job in my field, a home, a better job, and a better home. I was finally living the life I’d told my parents I had, and I was only going up. When I landed a job with a small startup it felt... right somehow. I was getting into the company on the ground floor, and I would get to have a major say in a lot of what happened in my department. The pay was right, the location was near where I was living at the time, and I got along with who would be my boss right from the beginning, but the hours were long without the budget to hire a bigger team. There wasn’t time for a relationship with everything I was saving up to do, and after a year of it I was touch-starved enough to do something about it.

I grew up on the slightly better off side of the south side, but me and my friends would still bus with our fake IDs to all the best secret clubs that ran under the zoning laws. With my dazzling personality, custom made for whoever I was interested in, I could get what I wanted and move on. Most men were glad that I didn’t as much as want to spend the night afterward,... but others wanted me like I was drug. I club hopped often to get away from people, sometimes joining a group doing the same and getting into exclusive events and locations. I’ve always made a habit of chatting up the people around me, and often gravitate to those that are working, so I became familiar with the security guards over the course of many long smoke breaks. One night was all it took to make sure the people that mattered remembered me, and then I could go back whenever I wanted whether I was on the guest list or not.

One such event that I tagged along to happened to be at a secret club owned by Madam Scarlet. I became a regular at the club, using it as stress relief from a long week at work, but I often changed which people I would sit with. That’s how I got the attention of Madam. She kept eyes on me, which ended up saving my life when a narcist drugged my drink. She told me about the Red Room, her taboo club that operated under the radar for the well-off could satisfy their kinks discreetly. It was on the other side of town where the ones that were just as depraved as the rest of us but weren’t as obvious lived. She offered me a way to get what I wanted in the bedroom, where commitment was only to keeping each other safe, that would help fund my side project, and do it all safely.

When I got my room I was dubbed the Chameleon, but my clients call me Camille. All my jobs have started out as people, mostly men, needing someone to pretend to be someone else, it was usually a girlfriend or wife, for some event or holiday. I obviously came highly recommended with my skills in people pleasing so I went on the dates and, when I was the woman of their dreams, they would pay for the honor of trying to make me cum. And they would continue to keep trying again and again, sometimes like part of a schedule or trying to maintain a high score. Saturday evening; Have the Bugatti Serviced – Fuck Camille – Dinner – Bed. Madam was thrilled that I had another job and was skilled in what she needed. She joked that I couldn’t even commit to being an escort full time so my hours there were worth top tier money. I don’t sleep with anyone I don’t want to, or outside of the safety of the Red Room.

The club has a main room, it’s two stories with the second floor being a mezzanine that can look down on the first. There’s a center stage that hosted all kinds of spectacles. Usually at some point in the night some brave couple would end up there together in the center if there’s nothing going on. The first floor has two separate bars and five different seating areas, and the second floor has semiprivate rooms for people who wanted to limit the number of eyes on them. Down from there is the reception for the private rooms. Two hallways run down either side to numbered rooms. A large room in the middle of these hallways is basically our staff room, a smaller two-story room with a mezzanine. Instead of a bar there’s a small kitchen with a hired cook to make a few different things, and areas to relax or... whatever. It’s often the whatever that I walk into.

Our staff room is often just as R rated as the taboo club itself. It’s... understandable. You’re surrounded by sex and other people, that you trust, in the same head space as you... some I’m sure needed to get themselves excited or are trying to get to the finish line after an unsuccessful attempt from a client. I don’t often have that problem. I know how to get myself there, and it turns out a lot of men want to be told what to do. They’re like puppies when they know, or think, they got you there and they’re so, so eager to please.

The individual rooms are like a large hotel suite with a small kitchen, seating area, queen bed, and a full bathroom. The collection of tools in each room differs between the escorts and what they’re willing to do. There are a lot of things no one in the club will do, but the only thing explicitly forbidden is impeding any party from speaking. Paragon, the secure system we use for communication, is woven into everything, including these rooms, and it is always listening. One word to the system would have bouncers there to step in, so for this reason nothing could be affixed to impair speech that couldn’t be easily dropped.

Madam keeps us safe and happy, but I’m not oblivious, I know others under her leadership are not as fortunate. The escorts in the private rooms get the perks from working a stigmatized but ultimately illegal business, and we pretended all the shit that happens around us could never happen to us. As long as we follow the rules and do as we are told, Madam makes sure we’re taken care of. She is shrouded in a shadow of mystery that always makes her feel dangerous to displease, but I’ve always felt like I know her better than the others. We get close during my meetings with her for future clients, and it was her that first noticed my changes and got the club doctors on figuring it out. The early intervention I received helped me get the drop on my condition and could be the reason I live long enough to die of old age.

First, she saved me from being kidnapped, and then again with my medical... she knows the debt I owe her, and she knows that I’m irreplicable. The balance is delicate, but I try to offer the best of myself to keep the scales even. I am a workaholic, and if I’m not on my computer working from home or in the office, I’m at the Red Room or helping clean up one of Madam’s messes. I realized too late into the game that I am equally likely to be seen as an asset as a liability, but being content in this life has dulled the worry that would make a lesser person run. I don’t run. Even when I should. Some would say that makes me broken, but I think that makes me perfect for this life.