Bob leaned back in his leather chair, the late afternoon sun streaming from behind him creating shadows across a nearly empty desk.  The ice in his glass tinkled as he sipped another whisky, and reflected upon his day.  The only item unresolved was staring at him from the desk: a business card.  It was blank except for an embossed number, and a faint smell of perfume that kept teasing his nostrils.

The card was a gift from a friend, BaxTER, who knew Bob's workaholic mentality and fear of the unknown.  Bob had never seen an escort before, and had always been too timid to try.  Baxter had regaled him over the years about his own trysts, and discussed the referral process and how to get started

As he'd laid down the card on his way out the door, Baxter had said "it's all arranged, I've taken care of everything so you just have to call Krystal and set a date.  She's a pro but I asked her to treat you like it's her first time too."

Bob sipped again, this time trying to remember all he'd been told, but the number on the card kept flashing into his mind..."Krystal", he breathed.  The shadows grew longer, and Bob had poured a third glass of whisky before he finally dialed the number on the card.  As it turns out - he dialed Krystal's last two digits backwards.

The phone on Christina's kitchen table rang just as she finished closing the dishwasher.  A frustrated housewife of 20, married for a year, she'd been raised to think this was her proper lot in life.  Aside from the wedding night, her devout husband hadn't touched her, and she was beginning to suspect his "work trips" out of town weren't real- especially since the laundry from his last trip included a pair of boxers that weren't his.

The phone rang again and she read the display "An unknown number; probably one of hubby's "friends" calling about another trip" she muttered.  Then answered, "Hello?"

Bob sat frozen in his chair.

Christina asked again "Hello?  Is anyone there?"

Bob found his voice, "Uh...ahem...is this Krst...Krys...uhm.." but lost his train of thought.

"Yes, this is Christina, how can I help you?"
Bob thought to himself "Christina?  I thought it was Krystal!  Damn whisky."

"This is Bob and I...uhm...I was...uhh...a friend told me to call...and uhm he said you could help me uhm..."

Growing frustrated, Christina forcefully said "Bob, I'm busy, what do you want?"

Bob slammed back the third whisky, found 20 seconds of courage, and just went for it with a husky voice.  "I want to see you at the Brigadier hotel tomorrow night; I'll call you at from the lobby at 6pm for your room number.  When I enter the room don't say a word.  As you close the door I'll pin you to the wall with a deep french kiss and my strong hands pulling your body into mine.  I want to caress your shoulders, kiss your neck, and feel the warmth of your skin and the flutter of your heartbeat on my lips."

Christina was transfixed by the words.  She'd only heard things like that in the movies her parents never wanted her to see.  They were wrong, sinful, and yet oh so delicious to her ears and sensually deprived form.  She had stopped breathing as he spoke, stunned, yet managed a breathless, timid whisper "and then?"

Bob's courage was firing on all cylinder now, fueled by whisky and desire.
"I want to sit in a chair and watch you slowly undress to just your panties and thigh high, lace-topped stockings.  I want you to straddle my leg while looking into my eyes, our lips barely touching as you press down, grinding for your release.  One of my hands pressed against your ass, pulling you forward, the other on your neck as we kiss, harder, tongues dancing."

Christina was leaning against the corner of the kitchen table, pressing it between her legs while her free hand gently traced her neckline.  She managed to flutter a faint "Yes?" into the phone.

With a deep breath Bob swung for the fences.  "I'm going to pick you up with your legs around me, kissing you as we move to the bed.  I will have you on that bed; fully, completely, and utterly have my way with you.  The taste of you, your scent, your SEX!  Again and again, until we're both completely spent."

Firmly, Christina pressed down against the table as she breathed erratically.  Her free hand brushing over an erect nipple, she furtively cupped a breast.  Her world was now focused on the phone, on Bob's words, and her body's reaction: she gasped "Okay" without thinking.

His innermost desires now in the open, business-minded Bob closed with "I'll call you tomorrow at 6pm from the Brigadier lobby, make sure you get us a nice room" and hung up.  As he twirled the perfumed business card on his desk, he whistled and thought "gotta tell Baxter that it was Christina, not Krystal."

Christina was clutching the phone between her breasts, her other hand stabilizing the table top as she ground against it.  In her mind she was already in the hotel room, living the fantasy Bob's deep voice had given her.  Dreams were shadows compared to the intensity of that moment; she shuddered orgasmically and collapsed across the table.  Breathing raggedly, a bead of sweat rolling down her cheek, Christina realized she'd bitten her lip.  "I hope it heals by tomorrow night!"

--pause--
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