THE ESCORT AND THE PRINCE

Left alone in a sumptuously curtained alcove off a fabulously ornate room in the royal palace, the young escort sat nervously on the edge of a plush sofa, surrounded by dozens of even plusher cushions.

She mused over what had happened in the past fortnight to get her to this strangest of all Fly Me To You dates.

The call had come from the London Embassy of the small Asian country. There, two days later, having first signed and returned a Non Disclosure Agreement, she had met a woman whose business card declared her to be the “Assistant to the Crown Prince” for a two hour interview, paid for at 50% over her normal session rate “plus expenses.”

It had been explained that, if she agreed to the terms of her contract, she would be flown to the capital, where she would be allowed two days, fully paid, to recover from her flight. She would then be expected to spend four hours with the Crown Prince and his Singaporean lady friend, referred to in the contract as “Mistress to the Crown Prince”, on each of the following 5 days. The rest of her time would be her own, to explore the country’s bustling, exotic capital.

The Assistant to the Crown Prince had shown her a long list of sexual and BDSM activities, with a space for her initials alongside each.

…..

Hand spanking on the bottom: Clothed/Partially Clothed/Naked

Flogging to the bottom/the back/the chest

Spanking  on the bottom with a wooden brush/ or small paddle

Face Slapping, mild/intermediate/severe

Nipple torture, mild/intermediate/severe

……

Page after page it went on. She had said yes to most of the activities apart from anal sex, a hard limit, and hoped that this single exclusion wouldn’t rule her out of what was starting to seem an exciting and certainly lucrative engagement.

The Assistant had asked if she was happy to be watched during BDSM play and while having sex with the client. The Mistress to the Crown Prince preferred not, it was explained, to be an active participant in his sessions but liked to watch him play with the submissive escorts he occasionally flew from London. She assented and initialled the appropriate clause in the contract. The idea of being watched during a BDSM session excited her, and she had wriggled slightly in her hard meeting-room chair. The Assistant had stared at her appraisingly, pen tapping her teeth.

At the end of the interview the Assistant had removed a dressmaker’s tape measure from her desk and, with great care, had taken a full set of body measurements, writing them down on a clean page in a small leather-bound book. The escort’s working name and the date were at the top of the page. This had seemed strange to her at first, but when the book had fallen open she could see other sets of measurements under other names.

She had been given a name and phone number for a similarly submissive escort who had, she was told, made the same trip. She knew the girl a little; they were fellow members of the Kinky London Escorts Collectiive and they had once worked together in a dungeon threesome with a prominent politician.

“Do It!” the other girl had said over cocktails in China Tang at The Dorchester, “Absolutely do it! The Prince is lovely and very careful, and they will throw money at you all week! He gave me a simply HUGE diamond afterwards.”

Contract signed and, having acquired £5,000 worth of dedicated shopping against a list provided by the assistant, all paid for with crisp £50 notes from the same source, here she was. She felt fresh and fully recovered from her First Class, Singapore Airlines flight.  In truth, not much recovery had been needed from 14 hours in a private on-board suite with a full sized bed, nor from the short transfer in the Prince’s private jet.

She was dressed in the perfectly fitting Dior cocktail dress (the diligent measurement-taking made sense to her now) that she had found laid on her bed in the palace earlier that evening.

The same gold and maroon coated servant who had shown her to the alcove returned and carefully placed three filled Champagne glasses on the small table between the sofas.

“The Prince and his lady will be here soon,” he said in his unusual sing-song accent, “Please make yourself ready.”

She inched further to the edge of the sofa and sat herself perfectly upright. She placed one hand on her thigh, the other on the table, and looked down and away from the entrance to the alcove, wanting to look both sophisticated and demure for the arrival of the Prince and his exotic mistress. She breathed deeply, both nervous and excited; ready, she hoped, for whatever they had in mind for her over the next four hours.

Regular readers might recognise the slim shoulders and beautiful posture of my occasional kinky play partner, Miss Donna Hardy. Those who have been there might even recognise the little curtained alcove at the back of the 190 Bar at the Gore Hotel near The Royal Albert Hall. Knowing that I once used this venue for a very decadent role play, they might surmise that the image has a second story to tell, one that contains less fiction but a similar amount of spanky sex.

And they would be right.