Dial a Stud: Dante's Story by J. A Melville, Bianca Eberle Page A

should be thinking about. Not when I had two men arriving in less than three hours to service me.
    With that thought running through my head, I made my way to the kitchen to grab something to eat, and give the wine something to soak into, so I would be just nicely relaxed for the boys, not falling over drunk and no slurring.
    I wanted to appear like this was no big deal for me, and I had to try and appear, at least a little sophisticated. I was naturally accident prone though. My parents obviously hated me calling me Grace. I was about as graceful as an elephant on roller skates.
    I turned to look at the time on my bedside clock, and felt nerves tighten my stomach, when I saw it was only forty minutes until the studs, were due to arrive.
    I should have asked Miss Gushy for their names, but I’d forgotten to, once that man in the background had turned up, and then the appointment had been changed.
    My attention returned to my reflection in the mirror. I’d worked on myself, with all the dedication, of an ‘A’ grade student studying for an exam.
    I’d made myself up to give my eyes a more exotic look. Well, that was the plan anyway. Whether I’d succeeded, I had no idea. I didn’t have Mel here to give me the thumbs up, or thumbs down.
    I wore a deep brown eye shadow, lash lengthening mascara, light blush, eyeliner and a coral coloured lipstick. I’d debated on the lipstick, but decided, that if they were like others in their profession, they wouldn’t kiss me on the lips anyway. Of course my vast experience on this subject came from me watching Pretty Woman, one of my all-time favourite movies.
    Still, to wear lipstick, or not to wear lipstick, was the least of my problems. What to wear was my biggest one. What did a client wear for a double fuck? Did I dress more formally now and have them tear my clothes off and ravage me? I wish! Or was it a more relaxed, orchestrated affair, and they systematically undressed me, and then did their thing?
    “How the fuck would I know.” I muttered to myself again. All I knew, was I needed to get my ass into gear, or I’d be answering the door nude at this rate.
    I began a frantic rummage, in my cupboards and drawers, and then I saw it. It was brand new, one of those things I’d bought on impulse, then realised I’d probably never wear it, unless I was in a committed relationship. My track record for committed relationships wasn’t so good, so of course I’d had no opportunity to wear it. I snorted at that. No, my track record for committed relationships was worse, than not good, it sucked.
    I pulled the blood red and black leather corset set, out of my drawer and held the pieces up. The corset was predominantly black with red piping. It closed up the front, with a series of buckles that were cinched up as loose or as tight, as I wanted them.
    There were delicate black lace panties, with red ribbons threaded through them. They were pure lace, so totally see through, and I was glad that I’d only had a Brazilian wax, a few days ago.
    The corset had the suspenders attached, so I could wear the black fishnet stockings with it, to complete the ensemble.
    Slowly I dressed, all the time wondering if this was all such a good idea. The first tentacles of worry were setting in. I was starting to get cold feet.
    When I was dressed and saw myself in the mirror, I gaped. For a woman with larger boobs and wider hips, I guess I didn’t look half bad. Mel told me all the time, I had the kind of figure to bring a man to his knees, but it was hard to shake the cruel taunts, from the kids when I’d been in school. I’d shed a lot of weight since then, but I still held onto all those insecurities from my childhood.
    I smoothed sweat dampened hands down the front of my corset, before stepping closer to the mirror to check my makeup, and to do something with my hair. 
    Before I started trying to style my waves into something that might be considered alluring, I slipped a blood red, satin