Chapter 1 - The Awakening

MANCHESTER, ENGLAND, MARCH 1997

At first, he seemed very ordinary. Sarah glanced at Janice, and could tell from her lack of interest that she had the same view. Like Sarah, Janice probably wouldn't mind being chosen. Like Sarah, Janice probably wouldn't mind being left to watch the TV either. The man was, on the face of things, just another client.

What would he be like? Well, Sarah decided, he would want to be entertained. He would want to be relieved. In all probability, he would want to be complimented. Then, he would want to put his clothes on and go back home, perhaps to a wife, perhaps to children, perhaps to both. It was sad, but it was business.

Occasionally there was rivalry between the girls. Some regular clients were known as good tippers, and there was the very rare guy who was interesting on his own terms. But in the main all the girls who worked at "Touches" were friends, and there was too much business for competition to be important. Sarah and Janice were particularly close, both nineteen, both blonde, both Boyzone fans.

Joy was manning the desk today, and was currently engaged in detailing to the visitor the terms and conditions of the service which "her ladies" provided. Sarah smiled. Joy, of course, didn't have any ladies. Like Sarah and Janice, she worked for George Kokkolias. And didn't earn very much.

Sarah studied the man again. He was in his early twenties, dressed in denims and a lumberjack shirt. Possibly a construction worker, because his hands looked like they were used to hard work, and he wasn't short in the muscle department. He also seemed quite intelligent, because his sharp green eyes were continually analysing his surroundings, studying the girls, checking the exits. He was slim and tall, with brown hair, a strong mouth, and a rugged, unshaven look which she might have found attractive in other circumstances.

She was already preparing herself. She expected to be chosen, not only because the man's gaze had fallen more regularly on her than on Janice, but also because when she was working with Janice, younger men tended to go for her. Janice, with her baby blue eyes and girlish pout, was a real draw for the over thirties, but Sarah was shapely and confident. She had been told that her bearing, compact figure and readiness to make eye contact were her best features, and her customers saw her as just the sort of girl they'd have been proud to have picked up in a nightclub. This, of course, usually led them to ask the usual question. Why did she do it?

The answer she always gave to such an enquiry was an honest one. She needed the money. She had no qualifications, and a bad employment record, having walked out of three jobs simply because she was bored. She'd been "picked up" by George Kokkolias, a twenty year old Greek with big plans, whilst on the town one Saturday night, and there had followed a brief relationship. Very brief, in fact. Less than a week.

But during that week he had told her about those big plans, and how they might involve her. And three weeks later, when he had opened "Touches", Sarah had been one of the first two duty girls, and had worked four days a week since then.

It wasn't so bad. Life, Sarah liked to say, was about getting fucked. It was simply that she got fucked at a time of her own choosing, and whilst it might happen twenty times a day, at least those who did it had to pay for the privelege. These days, of course, twenty times a day was an underestimate. "Touches" was about the most popular massage parlour in Manchester, and three customers an hour in a ten hour shift was about her average.

For each punter, she received half the payment, usually 15 per time, the house taking the rest. With tips, she could easily make 500 a day. And whilst the work was hard, she enjoyed it for the most part. Sure, there was the occasional sweaty old guy, and once or twice she'd needed to be pretty forceful with men who wanted more than they'd paid for, or more than she was willing to provide, such as sex without a condom, or anal. But on the whole, she found sex fun, and most of those who visited her did too. She provided things that a wife would not, particularly freedom to experiment, and whilst she didn't see herself as a social worker, neither was she ashamed of what she did.

Negotiations with Joy were concluding. Sarah saw the visitor hand over the usual three ten pound notes. Then Joy made the introductions, concluding with the usual line. "You can of course choose both girls, for a real thrill. Just twenty pounds more."

Sarah hoped that he would, because she and Janice enjoyed the threesomes. There was more than a trace of lesbian in Janice. But the guy wasn't biting. "Sarah, I think", he said, and looked her straight in the eye, smiled. It was an unusual gesture, because most punters would look sheepishly away at the moment of choice.

The flash of desire in his eyes almost floored her. It was both frightening and attractive. Struggling for composure, she just managed to perform her own hunt for additional funds, something she was instructed to do. "We could go to the VIP lounge", she suggested. "It's ten pounds more, but it's worth it. Room to move, and a VCR with some great films."

"I don't think I need films", he replied. It was the first time he had spoken and his voice, Sarah thought, was deep, sonorous. Downright sexy, if truth be told. Suddenly, she was glad she had been chosen. This man wasn't quite as ordinary as she'd believed.

"Next time, maybe", she proposed, then, indicating that he should follow her, added, "The rooms are all upstairs."

He followed her up the short staircase, which was unimaginatively decorated with a maroon carpet and red flock wallpaper. She wondered whether he was weighing her up, fantasising about what was to come. She guessed that most men did. For most men, sex was an obsession rather than a pastime.

She led him into the second bedroom, the first being the one laughably termed the VIP suite, which he had rejected.

He looked around, and didn't seem impressed. She wasn't surprised. The only furniture in the room was a cheap chest of drawers, painted white, a matching wooden chair, a one bar electric fire and a single bed, carrying two pillows and covered with a light green duvet. The decor matched the stairs.

She expected him to stand, uncertainly, waiting for advice. That was what she was used to. But he didn't. He perched confidently on the edge of the bed.

"So, what's your name?", she asked him. It was a standard question, one to which the answer would undoubtedly be a lie, but it was not redundant. There would be times during the session when she would have to call him something.

"Gary", he replied. "And that is my real name. Gary. It isn't my visiting name."

The reply made her uncomfortable. It was almost as though he'd read her mind. "I'm Sarah", she advised him. "Which isn't necessarily my real name."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why say that", he wondered, "when it most certainly is?"

More than uncomfortable now, actively suspicious, she hardened her approach. "If you say so", she replied. "So where are you from? Local?"

"Quite local", he answered. "Unmarried. No children."

"I didn't ask that", she said coolly.

"But you probably thought I was married", he responded. "And I wanted to correct you."

"It doesn't really matter in here", she pointed out.

"I know that", he said.

She paused, searching for a route back to control of the conversation. And then she found it, in the obvious place. Or so she thought. "We should be getting down to business", she said briskly.

"Sure", he answered. "After all, that's what we're here for."

Again, the most unusual of answers, but she wasn't prepared to analyse it. "Well", she said. "We can't do anything with your clothes on."

"I'll take them off then", he agreed easily.

She nodded. "If you're cold, there's an electric fire."

He smiled. She thought that it was a lovely smile. Gentle, but confident. "I don't need the fire", he said.

His sudden pleasantness again made her hesitate, again disrupted her routine. "Is this your first time here?", she asked, honestly interested. "Have you seen any of the other girls?"

"No-one but you", he replied, as though it were an assurance. And oddly, she was in fact relieved that she was the first of the girls to come across this man, but she couldn't explain to herself why that was. All she knew was that he was challenging her professionalism in a way that she hadn't previously experienced. Oh, sure, the occasional guy had visited her had been skilled enough that sex with him had lowered her defences, had brought her to climax...

No. If sheThere had been more than the occasional guy.

There had been many guys.

In truth, it was rare for her not to climax. And that embarrassed her, made her feel cheap. Even though she hid it well, and the client almost certainly never knew.

But Gary was different nonetheless. Because Gary was interesting her emotionally.

She made a conscious effort to regain detachment. "You know how this works, I hope", she said. "We're not exactly a health studio. Even though it says that on the sign."

"I know how it works", he confirmed. "Even to the point where I know exactly what's supposed to happen now. You've asked me to get undressed. While I do that, you're going to disappear for two or three minutes. To get yourself ready. You're planning to use a cream, I should think. KY jelly, maybe."

She felt heat in her face. "There aren't any other ways", she said, with an edge of hostility.

"I know the routine", he confirmed. "But I don't want to follow it."

She swallowed drily. "I'm sorry", she told him. "But that's the way I have to do things. No, wrong. That's the way I like to do things. This is a job for me. Nothing more."

"And would we have to do things the way you like them", he wondered, "if I gave you another fifty pounds? Fifty pounds that they don't need to know about downstairs."

She was suddenly on more familiar ground. Disappointingly, there was nothing unusual about Gary after all. He merely want something unusual. Domination, perhaps. Maybe the other hole.

She felt her confidence flood back as she explained, "It depends what you want for it. Some things, I just don't do. Others I only do with men I like. And I'm not certain I like you yet."

"Yes you are", he disagreed.

For the third or fourth time, he disorientated her with the truth. Again, he had seized the initiative. The only response she could think of was to be practical. "Let's talk about it. What do you want me to do for you?"

He smiled that wonderful smile again. "Nothing at all", he replied. "Unless, later, you want to."

"I'm not with you", she admitted. "This is far too confusing for me."

"I want to do something for you instead", he said. He spoke so quietly that she could barely hear him.

"Look", she told him. "The way I'm reading this, I'm starting to think you're after something romantic. A girlfriend, maybe. But this is the wrong place. The wrong kind of start. In other circumstances, maybe..."

"No", he assured. "I can understand why you might think that. But you're wrong."

"Then what?" She was at a loss.

"I like to please women", he answered after a time. "Can we maybe leave it at that?"

"You're not the one being paid", she reminded him.

"That doesn't matter", he said.

"It matters to me", she insisted. "It's the only thing that matters to me."

He shrugged. "Fifty pounds", he reminded her.

"Keep it", she said. "And get undressed. Or leave. Whatever suits you. But either way, you've lost the money you've already paid. I'll be back in a few minutes. You can let me know what you've decided then." And with that, she turned and pushed open the door.

"I wish you wouldn't", he called after her.

"You said that", she replied, pausing briefly in the doorway. "But I'm going to."

"Will you hurry?", he asked. "Will you at least do that for me?"

She didn't answer. Because she thought that, yes, she might hurry. Whether to get things finished or to get them started, she was surprised to realise that she wasn't entirely sure. For a moment, he had her in another gentle trap.

Then he sprung it, with the remark, "You won't need the lubrication, you know. You're lubricated already."

Her resentment at the personal nature of the comment, which she believed just might be true, propelled her out of the room and along the landing to the bathroom. She was so angry that she was able for a time to put out of her mind the very odd nature of her visitor.

In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face. Then she slipped out of her panties and unscrewed the lid on the KY jelly. As she did that, she knew that he'd been right. It was unnecessary. She could sense the warm wetness between her legs, even whilst struggling not to acknowledge it.

She sat down on the edge of the bath, tried to calm herself down. She had to face this guy, would have to fuck him. Any other course would cause just too much trouble. There might be other men waiting downstairs. Throwing him out wouldn't look good at all.

She realised that while she had been thinking, she had reached between her legs and pushed her panties aside, had inserted a finger into her vagina to confirm the extent of her readiness. Wet wasn't the word. She was sodden.

How had it happened? When had it happened? Was she so attracted to this man that his mere words had caused such a reaction? It seemed amazing, and if it was true, then she'd experienced no conscious awareness of it.

She remembered that he had asked her to be quick. There was no good reason, except resentment, which she needed to be able to overcome if she was to continue in the job she had chosen, why she shouldn't oblige him. So she stood, intending to collect a condom from the bathroom cabinet.

And caught sight of herself in the full length mirror which took up most of the wall opposite the door.

She was looking good. Tarty, definitely, but good. It was uniform day, and she was the nurse while Janice was the schoolgirl. The short, light green dress cut off halfway up her ass, exposing her stockings and suspenders and her long, slim legs. It was also tight enough to emphasise her essentially medium figure to great effect.

She ran a brush through her shoulder length blonde hair, tweaked the lashes above her big emerald eyes, admired the fullness of lips which the wild pink lip gloss she had chosen accentuated. She'd applied a little colour to her cheeks, thinning them out. Janice said that, fully made up, she looked like Emma from the Spice Girls. Sarah preferred to imagine a resemblance to Melanie Griffith.

Armed by a deep breath, she made her way back to the room, opened the door nervously. Gary was standing by the bed, naked to the waist, his discarded clothes piled neatly on the chair. Even this degree of compliance surprised her. She had asked that he disrobe, but had not expected him to co-operate at all.

Professionally, she weighed him up. His chest was hairless, smooth and supple, stomach flat, arms strong and layered with muscle.

His interest in her was as frank as ever. She found it difficult to look him in the eye, and thus did not do so. "Do you want talc or oil?", she asked the floor.

"Ah, yes, the massage", he replied. "We'll pass on that, I think."

Sarah shrugged. "Up to you", she stated. "It's part of the price. So what's it going to be then?"

He moved closer to her. Just a little, but enough to make her nervous. "Oral then sex is the usual, is it?", he said in a teasing voice. "All a bit unimaginative."

She choked down her irritation. "You need to lie down", she told him. "Maybe I'm more imaginative than you think."

"It wasn't an insult, Sarah", he assured. "I know how imaginative you are. But you're not in the sort of job that brings imagination to the fore, are you?"

"You don't know anything about me", she said, but the lack of the venom she had intended confused her.

He raised an eyebrow. "I knew you wouldn't need the cream", he teased her, his voice a drawl, sending a real thrill fluttering into her genitals.

She coloured. "Well, you were wrong", she lied.

Oh, that smile. She loved it, and she hated it.

For a few seconds, there was silence. Then she tried to push things along again, advising, "We need to get started."

"Yes, we do", he acknowledged. "So. Can I touch you? Is that allowed?"

She thought about it, and realised she couldn't refuse him. If she did, she'd be denying him a privelege she extended to most of her other clients.

And there was a part of her, a part that she was still trying to hide, which wanted him to touch her more than anything in the world.

"Where?", she asked tightly, a pointless delaying tactic.

"Well, everywhere", he answered easily.

She looked up at him for the first time since she'd come back into the room. He had spoken with real emotion, his intensity palpable. "Yes", she said. "Of couse you can. But we're not starting a love affair here."

"We're not starting one", he stated. "I agree." He came to stand before her, and she cast her eyes down again, waited.

But he didn't fulfil his promise. He didn't touch her. And eventually, she was forced to look at him a second time.

As soon as she did so, he placed his right hand gently against her left breast.

Sensation knifed through her, a single powerful surge which turned her legs and groin to jelly. She couldn't have disguised her moan of response even if she'd had time to think about it.

Instantly, she was on fire. Instantly, she was transported away from thoughts of service to him into a raw, basic need.

"Shall I stop now?", he rumbled, and there was a chuckle hidden behind the words.

The most important thing was not to let him understand the control he had won. She knew that. And ignored it. "Don't", she said. "Please."

She expected that he would caress the breast, but he didn't. Instead, he let his hand drift, upwards first, through her hair, then downwards, along her spine.

As the fingers travelled, they applied a little pressure. Her breathing suddenly seemed ragged, and she felt a little dizzy. When he gently squeezed her left buttock, the electric thrill surged through her again, just as strongly as before.

It took her a moment to come down from that. By the time she did, his hand had moved to the front and his fingers were trying to work under her panties. Embarrassed, she realised that the crotch of those panties, where his efforts were centred, was soaking.

The pad of his forefinger found her clitoris, slid gently along it, then back, forward then back. Again, she moaned.

She opened her legs wider, because she had no choice. The gentle rubbing was making her weak at the knees. Immediately, he took advantage, trailing the finger gently along her slit, from front to back. She was so wet that he accomplished the movement almost without friction, but she felt it nevertheless. Her buttocks and stomach muscles clenched, and she knew that she was going to come.