Memoirs of a Lady of the Night

My very first day as an ESCORT

(This is a fictionalized story of my personal experience, detailing my initial days as "Ranjana." All names have been altered to protect the identities of the real individuals involved. Every character is 18 years of age or older, and there is no underage sexual activity depicted. This is purely a work of fiction.)

THIS IS THE STORY OF MY VERY FIRST DAY IN ESCORTING .....

It was 7:30 in the evening. The hotel lobby was dimly lit and smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. As I walked in, my heart raced with nervous anticipation, Mr. Paul's instructions echoing in my mind. My knees wobbled in my clunky blue plastic heels, making me feel even more unstable.

The man behind the desk, absorbed in his book, looked up when he heard the door open. His eyes immediately locked onto me, shamelessly scanning every inch of my body.

I forced myself to stand tall, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. I knew I looked ridiculous in my red tank top that barely contained my breasts, but I couldn't turn back now.

"How can I help you?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked me up and down.

I felt my cheeks heat up as he stared at me. Swallowing hard, I replied in a quiet voice, "I'm here to rent a room."

"It's 1500 an hour or 4000 for the night," he said, finally looking away from my exposed skin.

I felt self-conscious in my outfit. My vinyl blue miniskirt barely covered my butt, and the straps of my black garter belt showed above my stockings. But I needed this room, so I couldn't back out now.

Taking a deep breath, I handed him the money, and he quickly gave me a key to room 307.

I walked down the corridor with a small bag filled with condoms and makeup. Clutching the key tightly, I reminded myself why I was here. I wanted this; no, I needed it.

As I reached the room, I texted Mr. Paul, "Room 307."

The room was just as seedy as I had imagined. Stained neon walls and a sagging queen-sized bed greeted me as I closed the door behind me.

Soon, there was a soft knock at the door. My heart leapt into my throat as Mr. Paul entered, his broad shoulders filling the space. He shut the door behind him, and suddenly, it was just the two of us, a prostitute and her pimp. He eyed me up and down, desire in his eyes. "You ready for this?" he asked in a low, gravelly voice.

I nodded, my voice catching in my throat. This was really happening. "Yes," I breathed, barely recognizing my own voice.

He grinned with a wolfish glint in his eyes. "Then let's get started." He pushed me to my knees.

I fumbled with his pants, my hands trembling with anticipation as much as nerves. His cock sprang free, hard, and ready for my mouth. I knew what to do. Imitating the porn stars I had watched online, I leaned in and took his growing cock in my hand stroking it licking and kissing the head as I did.

Mr. Paul was much taller than me, and his wide shoulders seemed to take up all the space in the small room. I was on my knees in front of him. My long, black hair fell over my shoulders and got tangled in his fingers as he groaned. He held onto my hair as I moved my head up and down in time with his moans. This was exactly what I had imagined and fantasized about - the exciting thrill of doing something taboo made me shiver with excitement as he was moaning.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his hand tightening its grip on my hair. "Take it all."

I did what he told me to do. I put my lips around his cock, taking it deeper into my mouth until it hit the back of my throat. It tasted salty and strong, which excited me as he pushed it further into my mouth. I started to feel like I couldn't breathe before he pulled it out.