The agency texts me in the middle of the day. I’m at work and even though the text is very discrete, I turn bright red. I have been waiting for a couple of days now and this can only be one kind of message. A request for a date; my first date as a fetish escort. It still hasn’t sunk in that I am now ‘Alyssia‘ whenever I get a text from my agency.

I picked the name.

“Cover my phone, will you, I just need to step outside for a few minutes.” Fred is too nice. He’d do anything for me. Good thing I’m already by the elevator when he asks if I’m alright. Heck, yes, I’m more than alright! NOO, I’m totally panicked! This is a fucking new day for me and I’m scared shitless!

Hi Alyssia, can u do friday, ddorf, short night, good guy wants to see the new girl.‘ That is not a lot of information. I’m translating the message slowly in my head, like it’s a foreign language: ‘So, she’s asking me on Wednesday, today, whether I can see a client who is apparently not new to the agency, in 48 hours in Düsseldorf, for what is called a ‘short-night’. Not bad, 2.500 Euros minus the agency fee. Ka-ching!

Wait a second, was she serious? Shit, I’m not going to have my first date outside of Berlin, she didn’t even mention the hotel, for a 10-12 hour overnight session with a man I don’t know! But it’s my first client and she wouldn’t send me out with someone the agency doesn’t already know. Most repeat clients quickly have their regulars, so having a client who is willing to try out the ‘new girl’ may not be so bad.

Sure, just give me the details, hotel, what to bring, what he wants. I can be there by 20:00. Regards, Alyssia.’ I’m typing this and trying my best to stay calm. I even use spell-check and read over it three times. I check the spelling of my new name, my escort name, four times. And that is after opening up my webpage to make sure I didn’t spell it differently there. Life with two names is fucking hard!

Friday, I’m standing outside the Breidenbacher Hof. Probably the best hotel in town. My suitcase weighs a ton. My worst nightmare is to disappoint my first client and get a bad reputation from the start. This is more intimidating than a job interview!

Eight o’clock comes and goes. I text the agency, they text him, and just a few minutes later, an average looking, casually dressed man steps outside the main entrance and asks if I’m Alyssia. Clearly not German, probably here on business, maybe just a brief stop-over.

“Here, let me get this.” Before I can reach for my suitcase, he asks one of the porters to bring the suitcase up to his room. I had been avoiding eye contact with the porters for the past 15 minutes. It must have been obvious to them that we are not a couple. Even though he asked me to come in casual clothes, and by the looks of it, we could have been a couple, I was clearly waiting for someone and had no clue who it was. That awkward look when my eyes linger on every single man who walks by me is a dead give-away.

We’re on the top floor, nice room, probably a small suite. He talks a lot and I’m way too nervous to take it all in. It’s all really normal for him. I’m supposed to be the ‘professional’ making him comfortable, and everything was the other way around. My sedcard is on a small glass table, some fruits, and an envelope. I almost forgot. Rule number one, count the money, discretely, before anything happens. Fortunately, he has made it impossible for me to overlook this minor fact.

“I’ll just freshen up for a second if that’s OK”, and I disappear into the bathroom. WOW! What a bathroom! This is not a bad gig. He seems nice, the hotel is awesome, nothing shady so far. I check the money and that’s even a bit more than he owed. Guess it was meant to be a welcome present. ‘Am at the B.H. All good.‘ That’s all my agency needs to know.

“Here, get dressed Alyssia, we’re going out for dinner.” I hear him place a coat hanger on the doorknob. He had requested that I bring two latex dresses and probably found one he liked in my suitcase. It’s bit rude to go through my suitcase, but maybe that’s just normal. I really don’t know. What about being his submissive? Am I supposed to say something back to him? “Yes, Sir,” I squeeze out of my dry throat. That can’t be wrong.

Full of delight, with the first butterflies leaving my stomach, I open the bathroom door. He sits by the desk, his back toward me, not paying a bit of attention.

Oh, no, he picked my club dress! It’s not only showing its age, worse, it’s showing nearly everything! The side panels are semi-transparent and it is by far the shortest dress I have. Surely he doesn’t mean ‘going out‘.

He is probably just playing mind-games with me. Who would be seen with me in public wearing a dress like this? How about getting through the lobby? It’s summer and I don’t even have a coat, just a light jacket.

“And, Alyssia, the next time I take the trouble to pick out something for you, or just lift a finger, it’s ‘Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.‘ And while we’re at it, as long as we’re inside, your place is on the floor. I did not get a suite so that you could be more comfortable.” Ouch! There bursts the bubble of this being a cool gig. “Now put the dress on, together with some heels, and my driver will be taking us.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir .” Shit, he didn’t do anything for me, am I still supposed to be thanking him? It seems to disingenuous. Who says thank just for being told to get dressed? Crap, I’m such a lousy submissive. I don’t think I have done a single thing right up to this point that would even explain why the first several hundred Euros of his time are already up. I feel like I should do something, like, kiss his shoes, let him spank me, anything!

I only take a few minutes in the bathroom. He’s on the phone, when I come out all dressed up, ready to do. The dress is even shorter than I remembered. It’s very different in a club where nobody cares. This is a classy hotel! He turns around after hanging up the phone, gets up, and walks over to me. I kind of had expected some sort of compliment, or astonishment, but he’s just looking at me, not even the dress.

“Kid, you’ve got a lot to learn. Where’s you’re place?” Fuck! I had completely forgotten about being on the floor. All I can think is that I’m not charging ‘beginner’ rates. Yes, he knows I’m new to the agency, but at my price range, that could have meant that I worked before with a different agency. I feel like giving him at least a refund if not the evening for free and then cut my losses. The way I’m now totally insecure, I’m not sure there is going to be much sex going on tonight.

“You’re sweating. Relax. I know you haven’t done this before. I like to break the new girls in. I get a kick out of seeing what you’re willing to do for money. And just to be clear, this is like a taxi ride. The rules are on your website, I tell you the destination, pay, and that’s it. If you don’t like where we’re going, but its not against any of the rules, too fucking bad. Have I made myself clear, you slut?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Fuuuuck! He sounds really mad. And I’m still standing! But it seems stupid to now go down on the floor, and what would I be doing there anyway? I can only think of one thing.

I slowly lower myself down to the ground, sit up on my knees, and scoot in front of his crotch. I can see no bulge, but feel the least I should do is change that before we go out. I touch his crotch, looking up at him to see how he reacts. He is on the phone again. I massage his dick through his pants before sliding down the zipper. His boxers smell fresh, even though it’s getting late.

“My car is downstairs. Let’s go. And just a little hint before I forget. If you ever want to be a good submissive, if you ever want to make it as a fetish escort, don’t use sex to cover-up your mistakes. Own your mistakes, live up to them, whatever the consequence. The client never pays for sex when there is so much more you have to offer. Sex is not submission. At best, it’s accepting domination; at worst, it’s an excuse.”

Jesus, for days I had been thinking what it would be like to have my first client. In my first hour, I’ve learned more than all the reading and thinking in the world could have told me. I’m so far in over my head. I’m so fucked.

to be continued.

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