I arrive just a little late for my impromptu shift at the Gold Coast Glitter Strip’s premiere bordello, LePenthouse Suite. That’s okay with the boss and our lovely manageress, Karen, because I always attract the clients; and because I have been called in on very short notice.
It’s my day off but a special request for me, Isabella, platinum blonde, blue-eyed, 19 year old high-class escort, with a curvacious body so delicious I have sugar-daddy offers, and “I’ll look after you” boyfriend proposals nearly every shift I work.
And now my mystery man in room number one is waiting for a two hour rendezvous with me; he’s specifically asked for a role-play fantasy, school-girl naughty, and here I am in school-girl uniform, just as attractive as I was two years ago, when I was a senior at one of the high schools on this ocean-side, tourist mecca, the Gold Coast.
I glance briefly into the reception area. Elsie is negotiating with a client, both of them sitting on the huge, luxurious maroon couch that is the centre-piece of the area. Elsie is another high-class escort, like myself, skilled in the arts of pleasure, bliss, sex, here at LePenthouse Suite, the Gold Coast’s “best of the best” bordello.
That singer Sting is singing something about “not standing too close to me, young teacher, school girl fantasy,” on the over-size flat-screen television that faces the maroon couch, and reflected in the mirrored walls all around. The manageress is on the phone, busy as usual. She pauses for a moment, smiles at me and says, “Room one,” and then goes back to talking on the phone.
I have a moment to appraise my appearance in the mirrored walls, to prepare myself for this rendezvous with a mysterious stranger, who specifically requested my services, offering to pay double, to call me in on my night off. Karen, the sweet manageress, says he’s a first time client and saw my photo on Gold Coast LePenthouse Suite website, and was instantly smitten by my beauty. I get a lot of that.
All of the girls at LePenthouse suite can claim repeat clients and first-timers who have fallen head-over-heels in love and lust with them. We’re all high-end, first class and young, Gold Coast hones and lust princesses; and that’s what makes LePenthouse Suite the premiere bordello on this Gold Coast Glitter Strip, on this side of the planet. We’re the Gold Coast’s unmentioned number one attraction, better than any theme park or amusement ride; I giggle to myself as I think about this fact.
I walk up the stairs to suite one. I’m carrying the clean fresh linen for the king-double bed. Client’s like to watch us girls make the bed. Some kind of perversion of domestic duties, the sex maid sort of thing.
My platinum blonde hair has an almost ethereal glow to it, down past my shoulders, tied back with a blue ribbon. I’m aware of my school-girl outfit as I enter the hallway at the top of the stairs. It fits me perfectly. My curvacious figure is the same as it was in high school, two years ago, maybe even better than before, thanks to all those rendezvous nights and days of blissful sex.
I straighten my blue plaid skirt, short enough to reveal my long, long legs; short enough to reveal the sexy peach curves of my butt cheeks; G-string on underneath. My white knee-high school socks, are clean, my white blouse is pressed crisp and white, my shoes are the only thing that makes this school-girl a little different, a little naughty. They are black high-heels.
I take a breath, and open the door to room number one without knocking, and enter the pleasure suite with an electric thrill of anticipation.
My mystery man is checking his look in the in the mirrored wall. Flexing his biceps, admiring his physique. He is shirtless, revealing a muscular, tanned back. He has grey track pants on, like an athlete, thirty-something, handsome. He turns to face me when I close the door behind me.
For a moment it doesn’t register in my mind why this mystery man looks familiar. He reminds me of that actor, Channing Tatum, you know, the one in all those teen movies, and that movie where he’s an undercover cop I high school. And that’s when the recognition dawns on me. This is Mr. Reynolds, the physical education teacher back at my old high school.
He’s the teacher that once coached the rugby team to glory, winning the Gold Coast high-school championship. All the girls at school fantasised over him. And then I remember he left in a bit of a scandal. This was when I was in Year 11. It was rumoured he had an affair with the school head-mistress, as well as a pretty English teacher.
Our school never mentioned it publicly, but it was local gossip. He never taught me, I wasn’t the sports-oriented type, but he did catch me and my best girlfriend smoking a cigarette behind the garden shed one lunchtime. He was sweet. He smiled at us and let us off, saying something like, “Girls, you know smoking’s not good for your health. You two should join the netball or volleyball team. You’ve got the bodies for it.”
My friend and I never smoked again; but we always talked about Mr. Reynolds after that. Sometimes we’d join the group of girls that followed him around when he was on playground duty.
And here he was. Did he recognize me? “Hi Isabella.” He smiles his handsome smile, and his rugged good looks are full of lust.
I play it cool, he doesn’t seem to remember me and I leave it at that. I slip into the role-play he’s requested. I can feel his eyes moving all over me. “Excuse me teacher,” I say this as I move past him, letting my hip and breasts brush hard against his body, “I have to make the bed.”
He is turned on by this, he gets the game we are playing. He clears his throat, “Uh, that’s right Isabella, you’ve been a naughty girl.” And then he spanks me once, hard, like he wants to leave a red-mark on my butt cheek but the skirt softens the blow. I start making the bed, leaning over and tucking the sheets in so he can see my sexy, exposed ass. So he can see my pussy between my thighs, tight and hairless, visible through the transparent lace G-string. I can feel his heavy breathing behind me; and then he lifts my skirt and spanks me again and grips the flesh of my butt cheek. I gasp a little.
I say “Ouch,” in a little girl voice. He like this, it turns him on even more. I keep making the bed, tucking the sheet into the corners. He follows close to me, pressing his face into my hair.
“Naughty girl,” he undoes the ribbon in my hair, it falls to the ground. He presses his body hard against me. I can feel his massive erection against my ass. He reaches around and starts unbuttoning my blouse. “Please don’t teacher.” I start to move away, but he encloses me in his powerful arms, breathing deeply the scent of my hair, his mouth hard against the back and side of my head. I’ve finished making the bed, my blouse is fully open, and now his hands are up and under my blue lace brassiere, cupping my full breasts, tweaking my nipples.
I see his track pants fall to the ground and I reach back to grab his thick shaft, it is sticky with and hard and he groans when I grab it tight.. He undoes my skirt, and now he is fingering my pussy lips from behind, up and under the front of my damp G-string. My sex is hot and wet, pussy lips glistening through the G-string material, clit stiffening.
“Bad girl,” he pushes me onto the bed, ready to take me from behind, and I say, “Stop teacher, I don’t want to get pregnant,” and I reach into the blouse pocket, the blouse is dangling open, exposing my flat stomach, the brassiere is askew, showing my breasts heavy, nipples hard. I find the condom in the pocket and I manage to wriggle around, because he is all over me now, groping me, kissing and tasting me, and I’m pulling his hard as blue-steel erection, and I tear open the condom packet, push him back hard this time, calming his wild lust for a moment, just enough to fit the ribbed condom over his shaft with my mouth. I start fellatio, but he pulls me up and pushes me onto my back, he wants to be deep inside me.
I spread my long long legs wide, high heels still on, both socks still high. He moves into position and thrusts hard, penetrating deep, then deeper. I take all his length. And he is pounding me, and pounding me, and I can hear him saying, “You shouldn’t smoke behind the school shed Isabella, naughty girl …”