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Samantha at Night
Everything, everyone, the whole world seems so far away, Samantha observed as she smoothed back her short, wavy dark hair, pulled on her snug black motorcycle jacket and prepared to return to her place among the millions of twinkling city lights below. Atop the highest hill in Kenter Canyon, north of Brentwood, she could see the vast expanse of Los Angeles – from downtown to the Pacific Ocean and beyond. It was too bad that the resident of this plush, palatial home with its Gods-eye view was too immersed in private misery to fully appreciate and enjoy all that she had. The 10-15 year old “Best Director” statuettes spanning the length of the mantle reflected a faded glory that was little consolation to Kate, their recipient. Samantha was part of that consolation, however, and she understood her role even more clearly as she gazed in silence upon these perpetual reminders of better days.
“You almost forgot this,” Samantha heard the breathy voice whisper, as she simultaneously felt full, warm breasts press against her back, and arms wrap around her waist.
“Now how could I have lived without that?” she replied sarcastically while taking the large, freshly-used strap-on from Kate’s delicate hand. Sam turned around in the confines of silky-robed arms and gently, but passionately, kissed Kate. “I’ve gotta run, but you’ll remain in my thoughts, beautiful.”
“Same time next week?” Kate cooed as she slid a wad of bills into Samantha’s free hand.
“Same time,” Samantha responded, while slipping the money into the interior pocket of her jacket. Using the same hand, she then grabbed Kate’s crotch firmly and maintained a tight grip while whispering, “Save this sweet pussy for me, baby. I can’t wait to have more, and I don’t want to share with anyone.” After another, more passionate, kiss, Samantha threw the strap-on in her leather bag, tossed it over her shoulder and left “Director Kate’s” house.
The miles-long winding drive down Kenter Avenue to Sunset Boulevard took Sam past some of the most expensive real estate in Los Angeles County. Although she was perfectly happy with her sporty, black, three-year-old Acura RSX, she found herself occasionally envying the owners of the high-end Mercedes, Jaguars, Bentleys and BMWs in the driveways. She loved their cars, but didn’t particularly envy their lives. In her relatively short 28 years on the planet, Samantha had discovered a strange but consistent positive correlation between wealth and misery. The most wealthy were some of the most troubled, lonely and sad people she had ever encountered. As she contemplated this thought and simultaneously arrived at the Sunset Blvd stoplight, Samantha reached inside her jacket and pulled out the cash Kate had given her. Her rate was $300 per hour, or $200 per half. She counted out $500 even though Kate had only booked her for, and she had only worked, one hour. Kate was always a generous tipper, and the money was coming just in time to cover rent for January. Samantha breathed a sigh of relief, turned left onto Sunset and cruised through the pre-dawn, traffic-free streets back to her Hollywood Hills-adjacent apartment.
Four clients in one night had Samantha feeling more than a little drained and she couldn’t wait for her head to finally hit her own pillow. She loaded the tools of her trade – strapons, dildos, ball-gags, beads, clamps, etc. – in the dishwasher and set in motion the cleansing process that prepared them for the next night’s work.
Samantha perused her appointments for the coming day. Wednesday was dawning, so there would be the weekly afternoon oral pleasuring of CEO Laura, followed by a legitimate therapy session with Therapist Swanson. Then back to sleep before two additional high-kink clients later that night.
The wall clock registered 5:36 a.m., and as her head rested on her soft, inviting feather
Samantha at Night
Everything, everyone, the whole world seems so far away, Samantha observed as she smoothed back her short, wavy dark hair, pulled on her snug black motorcycle jacket and prepared to return to her place among the millions of twinkling city lights below. Atop the highest hill in Kenter Canyon, north of Brentwood, she could see the vast expanse of Los Angeles – from downtown to the Pacific Ocean and beyond. It was too bad that the resident of this plush, palatial home with its Gods-eye view was too immersed in private misery to fully appreciate and enjoy all that she had. The 10-15 year old “Best Director” statuettes spanning the length of the mantle reflected a faded glory that was little consolation to Kate, their recipient. Samantha was part of that consolation, however, and she understood her role even more clearly as she gazed in silence upon these perpetual reminders of better days.
“You almost forgot this,” Samantha heard the breathy voice whisper, as she simultaneously felt full, warm breasts press against her back, and arms wrap around her waist.
“Now how could I have lived without that?” she replied sarcastically while taking the large, freshly-used strap-on from Kate’s delicate hand. Sam turned around in the confines of silky-robed arms and gently, but passionately, kissed Kate. “I’ve gotta run, but you’ll remain in my thoughts, beautiful.”
“Same time next week?” Kate cooed as she slid a wad of bills into Samantha’s free hand.
“Same time,” Samantha responded, while slipping the money into the interior pocket of her jacket. Using the same hand, she then grabbed Kate’s crotch firmly and maintained a tight grip while whispering, “Save this sweet pussy for me, baby. I can’t wait to have more, and I don’t want to share with anyone.” After another, more passionate, kiss, Samantha threw the strap-on in her leather bag, tossed it over her shoulder and left “Director Kate’s” house.
The miles-long winding drive down Kenter Avenue to Sunset Boulevard took Sam past some of the most expensive real estate in Los Angeles County. Although she was perfectly happy with her sporty, black, three-year-old Acura RSX, she found herself occasionally envying the owners of the high-end Mercedes, Jaguars, Bentleys and BMWs in the driveways. She loved their cars, but didn’t particularly envy their lives. In her relatively short 28 years on the planet, Samantha had discovered a strange but consistent positive correlation between wealth and misery. The most wealthy were some of the most troubled, lonely and sad people she had ever encountered. As she contemplated this thought and simultaneously arrived at the Sunset Blvd stoplight, Samantha reached inside her jacket and pulled out the cash Kate had given her. Her rate was $300 per hour, or $200 per half. She counted out $500 even though Kate had only booked her for, and she had only worked, one hour. Kate was always a generous tipper, and the money was coming just in time to cover rent for January. Samantha breathed a sigh of relief, turned left onto Sunset and cruised through the pre-dawn, traffic-free streets back to her Hollywood Hills-adjacent apartment.
Four clients in one night had Samantha feeling more than a little drained and she couldn’t wait for her head to finally hit her own pillow. She loaded the tools of her trade – strapons, dildos, ball-gags, beads, clamps, etc. – in the dishwasher and set in motion the cleansing process that prepared them for the next night’s work.
Samantha perused her appointments for the coming day. Wednesday was dawning, so there would be the weekly afternoon oral pleasuring of CEO Laura, followed by a legitimate therapy session with Therapist Swanson. Then back to sleep before two additional high-kink clients later that night.
The wall clock registered 5:36 a.m., and as her head rested on her soft, inviting feather
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