DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of complete fiction based on nothing real or plausible at all. Fantasy is legal and this is all made up. Thanks for reading.
As some of you probably know, in 2017, Lily Collins published UNFILTERED, a book of essays about her life where she talked very openly about things that women struggle with: Body image, self-confidence, relationships, family, dating, etc. The book became a best-seller and inspired thousands of young girls around the world.
I've been informed by one of my sources that, due to its success, Lily spent most of her free time throughout quarantine working on a similar project, albeit with one very important difference. This next book is all about sex. She hopes that, by talking about her past experiences in a completely honest and explicit manner, she can help other women free themselves from the stigmas surrounding sex and the female body, and that they will find the strength to embrace their own sexuality with no shame and no regrets.
The following is one of the chapters I've managed to get my hands on through my Foktonian contact.
- Noopster.
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CHAPTER 7
After my first book was published, I was flooded with countless messages, letters and gestures of affection from my fans, telling me how much they had learned thanks to me opening up about some of the difficult things I've struggled with all my life. My relationship with my Dad, my eating disorders, abusive relationships, and the rest of it. All of those experiences were very difficult to discuss with full honesty, but I pushed myself through it, hoping that other girls would be able to relate and maybe be helped by the knowledge that “celebrities” go through the same difficult things that non-famous people do, and that being on TV or the big screen doesn’t make anyone less vulnerable to insecurities or emotional hardships.
Being able to help so many young girls was the most rewarding experience of my life, and it inspired me to take a huge leap of faith to do this second book. But as I started writing about my sexual experiences and trying to connect with my fans in the same way, I realized that maybe I was missing something. That when it came to sex, I had spent most of my adult life experiencing that aspect of human behavior as a “celebrity” (whatever that means), and that privilege was keeping me from being able to fully understand the role that sex plays in a “regular” person’s life. After all, I wasn’t writing for people like me, who have to deal every day with the paparazzi or thousands of people commenting on their private life, I was writing for everyone else.
So how could I connect with them? How to breach that gap? How could I make my very personal, very particular experiences resound with all kinds of different people all over the world? I honestly had no idea, and the more I thought about it, the closer I got to quitting this project. That was what was going in my head when we started filming the first season of Emily in Paris.
You might think of the show now as a very light, even silly at times, rom-com, but it wasn’t always meant to be that. We went through a lot of changes in pre-production, mostly because we kept switching from one network to another, each with its own demands for what kind of content their audience preferred. Some of them wanted a more mature show with more explicit scenes to appeal to the straight male audience, and some others wanted to make it even more silly and family friendly. Which meant we had to be constantly revising, tweaking and cutting things, while we kept trying to stay afloat in that sea of uncertainty that is the world of television. Among those changes were one of the main plot points in the second half of the season: After getting fired and ending up on the brink of losing everything and having to go back to the States, Emily would end up being approached by Antoine Lambert (played by the delightfully handsome William Abadie), and agree to sleep with him in exchange for a considerable sum, as well as him staying in business with Savoir (the company that employs Emily), thus saving her from unemployment and having to uproot her entire life again. But as time would go on, the impossible demands of her not-very-friendly boss Sylvie would continue, and Emily would find herself having to sleep with one client after another in order to keep them in business with Savoir.
When I first read that part of the script, I was hesitant to say the least. It seemed like such a drastic, overly dramatic plot for a show that was supposed to have a much lighter, romantic comedy tone. But the more I talked about it with the writers and Darren Star (Emily In Paris’s showrunner and Sex in the City creator), the more I became convinced it could work. If done right, it could be the thing that connected with the audience. It would give them a reason to root for Emily. Her struggle could transform her from a slightly annoying, too-sure-of-herself, ditsy American stereotype, to a flesh-and-blood woman, vulnerable and desperate to make it by any means necessary in a cutthroat, misogynistic environment that most of the women watching could relate to.
And then, as the day we were going to start shooting those episodes came closer and closer, I started getting cold feet. Every time I went over those pages, trying to imagine myself in Emily’s position, I realized that as an actress I was completely out of my depth. I had no idea what it was to worry about money. I was the daughter of an extremely successful musician who had grown up comfortably, not having the slightest idea of what it was to stress about rent or my whole life being ruined by the prospect of losing a job. And that was just the beginning, I also didn’t know anything about what having sex for money was like, or how to even get into that mindset. How exactly was I supposed to prepare for this new challenge? I had taken singing and dancing lessons for Mirror, Mirror, and trained in martial arts for The Mortal Instruments. I had taken piano lessons for Rules Don’t Apply, learned about film production in the 1940s for The Last Tycoon and how to shoot a gun for Okja. I had trained hard and put all of my energy into every role I’d ever played, and that in turn had provided me with confidence and knowledge, as well as all kinds of new experiences that I cherish deeply to this day. But most of all, all that training had helped me feel more secure in how I approached the character, and that was exactly what I was lacking this time.
When I brought these concerns to Darren, he told me not to worry, that he was looking for a consultant to guide me and answer any kind of question I could come up with. ‘A consultant for… this?’ I asked myself. Did he mean a prostitute? Was there really going to be someone like that on set with us?
I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to sex workers everywhere for my (prior) ignorance, I can assure you I’ve learned a lot since then. But I must admit that, at the time, I was still full of prejudice and a little uncomfortable with the idea. Then, a couple of days later, Darren introduced me to Margot. At first glance, I assumed she had to be some kind of businesswoman, maybe a lawyer or a psychologist, judging by how classy and reserved she looked. But as it turned out, she was, in fact, a sex worker. Although she introduced herself as an Escort, which I had to admit sounded a lot better. We had lunch together that day, and I quickly discovered that Margot was not at all what I had expected. She must’ve been around 36, with a short black bob framing her sharp cheekbones and cat-like eyes. She was gorgeous in that old Hollywood kind of way, and constantly reminded me of an Ava Gardner at her peak. Not only did she dress like a fashion model, she carried herself like one too. She was extremely smart and sure of herself, and charming to a ridiculous degree; the kind of person that seems like she’s already seen and done everything there is to see and do.
She told me a little about her life, that she had studied philosophy and literature at university, but that escorting had proven to be a much more lucrative way to make a living, allowing her to work on her one true passion, poetry, in her free time. And like a consummate professional, she wisely waited until I was more comfortable with her to start telling me the basics of her job. Not that it took very long for the two of us to connect, mind you, she was so unbelievably magnetic that in the blink of an eye I had started to like and trust her. We’d only been talking for about an hour when I was already opening up to her about my life and struggles, as well as my apprehension towards the world of sex work in general.
But of course, as it turned out, her actual profession wasn’t at all what I had imagined. She had a small and trusted network of clients who she kept in touch with regularly; all very wealthy, of course, they had to be to afford her rate. It’s not my place to disclose that information, but suffice it to say, it was more than enough to pay the bills. Each one of her patrons had different tastes and demands, but they all had to follow the same golden rule: Respect above all. Anything she was not comfortable doing, she would not do, no matter how much was offered, and if at any moment she felt like any of them stepped over the line, she’d be out of there immediately, and cut ties with that person permanently; so would the other escorts in her network.
She took away whatever reservations I had about her lifestyle with ease as our conversation continued. Not only that, but she opened my eyes so I could examine my own prejudices and ignorance. “L'offre et la demande, my dear,” she said with that thick French accent that must’ve been irresistible to her foreign clients, “I have a look that men desire, and the necessary skills to make them feel special, so I charge a fee for my service, just like everyone else does. I am no different from a lawyer, a chef, or a plumber,” she said matter-of-factly. Then, she looked into my eyes and smiled, “...Or an actress.” By the end of our meeting, my head was full of positive thoughts about sex work. These women were their own bosses, and did everything they could to support each other. They represented the spirit of camaraderie and female empowerment in a way that I desperately wished Hollywood could learn from.
I was not only impressed by Margot, I was in awe of her poise and striking beauty. I told her I was so happy to have her in my corner, and that I was taking my role very seriously. But in order to do that, I needed to know more. If I had learned anything from all of those past roles, it was that you couldn’t just pick up a skill from hearing about it or even watching others do it, you needed to try it for yourself. Margot seemed happy to hear that, and we arranged to meet again the next day, except this time we would be joined by one of her usuals. “Just a meeting, nothing more,” she said, holding my hand to ease my nervousness.
That night, back in my hotel, I opened a bottle of wine and sat down to read those troublesome scripts again. Thanks to Margot, I had a new approach to Emily’s predicament, so this time, instead of seeing her as a victim of circumstance, I tried to picture her taking a decisive stance, facing adversity head on, and using every tool at her disposal instead of giving up; even if that meant having to sleep with a few French guys along the way.
The change in perspective worked like magic. Not only did I feel a lot more comfortable with the challenge ahead of me, but picturing Emily giving in to Antoine’s lust had me playing with myself before the night was done.
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We had a few delays due to unexpected rain the next day, and to make it on time I had to run straight from set to meet Margot at the café where she usually rendezvoused with her clients. I hadn't had time to change into my normal clothes, so I ‘borrowed’ the cute floral off-the-shoulder dress I was still wearing from episode three. The skirt was a little too short for my liking, but I thought it was fitting that I’d be wearing Emily’s clothes, since she was the reason for me being there.
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| For those who don't remember. |
Before I could even say ‘Hi’ to Margot, she gave me a quick explanation of how things usually went down. First, they’d get together and just talk for a while, even with her regulars. The subject could be anything: Work, family, the state of the country, whatever. The point was to get reacquainted, with each other. “More than looks or performance in bed, what keeps a client coming back is the bond you form with them. A street walker sells her body,” she told me with an irresistible smirk, “What I do is offer companionship as well as pleasure. It is a completely different, and considerably more fulfilling, experience.”
After breaking the ice, they would usually go to a hotel, pre-approved by her, or to the client’s place if they were both comfortable with that. From there on, it was all up to the client, as long it was within the realm of the previously agreed terms. Margot told me that people would be surprised to find out just how tame most of her sexual encounters were. “Some of them want to fuck like wild dogs, yes, but for the most part they’re just lonely and looking for companionship”.
I was still thinking about the “Fucking like wild dogs” bit when Margot introduced me to a broad-chested man in a navy blue suit and a striped red tie. I thought it was cute on her part to tell him that my name was Emily, and that I was a recent acquaintance of hers, before discreetly suggesting that I was just getting started in the escort business. The client’s name was Henri, no last name, of course. He seemed to be in his early 50s, with big dark eyes and a crooked nose, flattened by what I later learned were years of getting punched in the face as a young boxer. Though definitely past his prime, he was not entirely unattractive, and the remnants of the athleticism of his youth were still present in the considerable width of his shoulders and the massive size of his calloused hands. When he leaned close and kissed the back of my hand, I felt like he was exactly the kind of older man that would have both intimidated and captivated a young, more inexperienced American girl like Emily Cooper.
The whole thing felt like I was going undercover in a spy story as I listened to them converse mostly in French. I didn’t know exactly what they were saying, but I also didn’t mind, since I was only there to watch Margot do her thing. But right away, I could tell she was in business mode by the way she smiled at him, how her gestures and tone of voice had changed to be sexier, the subtle and occasional touching of his arm… any of those things would’ve been enough to get a straight man to fall for her. But I also noticed Henri kept looking at me, despite all of Margot’s considerable charms. Emily’s dress left my shoulders exposed, my skirt was barely long enough to hide my underwear, and he made no effort to pretend not to notice. Rather than discourage him, Margot seemed eager to steer his attention to me and, before I knew it, Henri had switched to English and asking me all kinds of personal questions, even as he continued trying to look up my skirt.
I felt iffy about it at first. I was there to observe and learn from Margot, I wasn’t supposed to be the center of attention. But after a few cocktails, I started feeling more congenial, and I did my best to play the part of Margot’s young, new-in-town protégé. To my surprise, Henri’s English was not only good enough to hold a conversation, but he could be very funny and charming, and eventually we were chatting away like two good friends. There was still something very appealing about him, and it made me wonder why he had the need to pay for an escort in the first place. Then I took another look at Margot; a woman that beautiful, smart and distinguished was not easy to find anywhere. ‘He’s not paying only for the sex,’ I said to myself, thinking back to what she had told me on our first meeting, ‘It’s about the whole package.’
The conversation kept flowing so naturally that I began to worry I could be infringing on Margot’s territory, realizing she had barely said a word in the last ten minutes or so. At one point, Henri excused himself to take a call and I started apologizing for hogging the attention of her client. But not only did Margot not mind, she actually complimented me for it. “You’re doing great. Henri is so captivated by you,” she said, “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to… do anything. We were just talking and--”
“I’m joking,” she said, holding my hand again, “But this is what I said before, it’s not just about sex, it is companionship. Don’t worry, once we go back to his apartment, I’ll take the lead.”
‘Take the lead?’ I thought, but Margot answered my question before I could even find the courage to ask it. “I could spend the entire week telling you what it is like, and you still would not get it. Or… I could show you in one afternoon.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’m… comfortable going that far. I thought I would watch you work here and then, I don’t know, you’d tell me about the other stuff later?”
Margot burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, feeling more than a little self-conscious.
“Lily, if you were going to play an athlete, would you watch her train and then excuse yourself before the actual competition?”
“Well, I--”
“And if you were playing a classical musician, would you only pay attention to rehearsals and not the live performance on a stage?”
“I guess not,” I conceded.
“You need to know what it’s like.”
“I’ve had sex before, Margot.”
“Not like this,” she said, and then she gave me a speech so eloquent that I’d be doing it a disservice if I tried to reproduce it from memory, but suffice it to say it left me stunned. She told me I did not know the thrill of sex as a performance and spoke about the butterflies in her stomach on the day of an appointment, the nervousness and excitement as she’d doll herself up for her client with all the different scenarios of how it might go playing in her head. “The Americans like to say, ‘Dance like nobody is watching.’ It is a little bit like that,” she continued, while I clung to every word. “When a man is paying you for sex, it is not the same as regular sex. A man who knows you will not say No, is at the peak of his confidence. He knows he’s earned your body, because he’s paying for it, so he knows you won’t judge him, won’t mock him, you will only try your best to please him, to give him that fleeting moment of pure joy and satisfaction that will keep him coming back. When a man feels comfortable enough to ask anything of you, you get to know him better than his girlfriend or wife does. You get to know his deepest desires, you get to know the most powerful version of himself, as well as the most vulnerable. And then afterwards, you get to go home feeling proud of a job well done, knowing that you earned every cent of that money, waiting for the next call or message that lets you know you are wanted, you are great at what you do. So yes, Lily, you’ve had sex before, but don’t think you’ve had sex like moi.”
And just like that, with a few well-chosen words, Margot had forever turned the concept of sex work right on its head. I was intrigued, to say the least, and I wanted to learn more. “So you do enjoy it then. Like, on a sexual level?” I asked, somewhat embarrassed by my over-eager tone.
“Of course I do! But it’s different than regular sex. For one, it’s the most honest form of sex there is. The client is not there for you, only for himself. That means no awkward fingering, no lazy, uninspired cunnilingus or silly romantic phrases copied from a movie or song. If a client wants to eat your pussy, he really wants to eat your pussy, and he will love doing it, which often means you’ll be loving it too. There’s also no performance anxiety.”
“As in… not getting it up?”
“You’re a gorgeous woman, Lily, you must know what that’s like, when a man is so intimidated by your beauty that he crumbles under pressure.”
I did know, intimately, but I chose to stay silent.
“So have most women. I’ve known many men in my private life who could not perform. They’re full of sound and fury in public, but when you get them alone, they suddenly get nervous, they’re worried about many things. Then, they make excuses, they swear it’s never happened to them before, they humiliate themselves in trying not to be humiliated. But in my line of work, they’re feeling confident, relaxed, in control. So they perform at the best of their abilities.”
I had never thought about it that way. Margot’s arguments were a lot more convincing than I was willing to let on, but even more than that, the images and scenarios she had introduced to me had me more than a little aroused. “Well, that all sounds… very interesting,” I said, probably doing a terrible job of appearing cool and collected, “But I don’t think it’s for me.”
“Ah, but is it for Emily?” she quickly retorted.
There it was, Margot’s intelligence again, reminding me why I was there. I was supposed to learn everything I could for my role, for my career as a whole. It wasn’t about me at all, it was about Emily Cooper. What Lily Collins thought about having sex for money had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know what to say, so I just deflected by taking another sip of my cocktail. But Margot was relentless.
“You told me you have a boyfriend, yes?”
“Uh, yeah, that’s right.”
“How long have you been sleeping together?”
The question rattled me, not so much because of its bluntness, but because it brought me back to my own personal feelings about what she was pushing me to do. All this time it had been about either Emily or me, but I hadn’t stopped once to think about Charlie back home. We had started our relationship as an open one and, as things had gotten more serious, we had even experimented a little with other couples, but what Margot was making me consider was completely out of the realm of anything Charlie and I had ever discussed. Would that be cheating? What if I told him about it before? Would he be angry or support me? And, if I was doing it for work, would it still count as me having sex with someone else? He’d never had a problem with me having to kiss another actor or shooting a sex scene, so why should this be any different?
I had to stop myself, I hadn’t even decided what I was going to do, and I was already spinning out of control in my head.
“Oh, um, well, I…” I stammered.
“I can see that my question made you uncomfortable.”
“I, um, I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. We’ve been together for about a year.”
“Be honest, from one woman to another, is the sex as good as it was at the beginning?”
I debated myself on how honest I should be. Of course it wasn’t, but wasn’t that the way things went with every relationship?
“No need to answer. I know it is not. But please tell me, why do you think that is?” she kept going, her tone was kind but commanding. I felt compelled to answer, despite myself.
“I don’t know, it’s normal. People get to know each other and sustaining that level of passion over a long time is impossible, but that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other the same as we did at the beginning.”
“Of course, of course, but this isn’t about love, my dear. I need you to understand that. You see, I’ve been doing this a long time, and you’re not the first woman to bring up love as justification for poor sex.”
“Hey, I never said it was poor,” I lied.
“Ah, but it used to be better,” she smiled, disarming me. “I can tell by your reaction.”
She had me there and we both knew it. “I’m sorry, Margot, but how does this relate to what you’re asking me to do here?”
She looked at me with that cocky smile of hers, like she knew something about me that I didn't. “Wouldn’t you like to know what is really inside your lover’s head? The things he’s too ashamed to talk about, the desires he keeps hidden out of fear you might stop loving him? How much more powerful would your connection be if he could be completely honest with you in bed? No reservations, no shame, no fear, just pure lust, and the most intimate of connections between two bodies and two minds. Wouldn’t you like to experience something like that?”
The woman had a way with words, and by the time Henri came back, she had me questioning everything I thought I knew about sex, fidelity, men, honesty, relationships; you name it. I think I actually froze when he asked us if we were ready to go back to his place, but Margot gave me a look that somehow made me say Yes, and suddenly we were being whisked away to Henri’s penthouse in a gorgeous black Mercedes. I was still very nervous about being included in that part of the deal so soon, constantly fidgeting with my purse for most of the drive, but Margot was there to calm me down.
“If it’s too overwhelming, you can just sit and watch,” she said to me, holding my hand while Henri was busy with yet another business call.
“Watch what?” I stupidly replied.
“Watch me work,” she smirked. “I’ve already spoken to him and not only does he not have a problem with you watching, he’d love you too.”
“Oh, I…” I was struggling to form a proper sentence when she leaned close and whispered in my ear, “If I’m being honest, I would love it too.”
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Henri’s apartment stood high above Paris like it was floating on a cloud, huge and painstakingly decorated with impeccable taste; further shattering my preconceptions about Margot’s line of work. I had always pictured sex workers working in seedy, dangerous, tawdry environments, when in fact for someone like Margot it was the complete opposite. So far, the escort experience wasn’t that different from how most deals were made in Hollywood; lots of talk over expensive food and drinks, and then a little something more.
I’ll be honest, the fact that I was walking into a stranger’s apartment in a foreign country, accompanied by a high class prostitute, was still very hard for me to process, but I was too fascinated with the prospect of everything I could learn to walk away, so I told myself I would stay and watch. That was the compromise I could make, where I would be able to learn firsthand about the escort experience while still keeping enough separation from it to not feel weird about it afterwards.
But things don’t always go as planned, dear reader, and as we sat drinking wine out on the balcony overlooking all of downtown Paris, I began to feel less like an observer and a lot more like a participant. We were all sitting on the same bench, Henri in the middle, with Margot to his right, and me on the left. As the hours passed, I lost track of time listening to them quote French poetry to each other, Margot resting her head on his shoulder like an old lover, and me pretending not to notice his hand around my waist, slowly dropping to rest on my bottom. The sun was starting to set, and the orange glow across the streets and rooftops of Paris was the most romantic thing I had ever seen. That might’ve been why I didn’t say anything when he started squeezing my cheek, and I blame all the alcohol for why I pressed my body to his once he started pulling my skirt up and caressing my thigh. I asked myself again if what I was doing was wrong. But I was there to learn, and the only way to truly learn was by doing, right? No one bats an eye when an actress kisses someone in a scene, or if she gets undressed, or the scene requires her to take it further and be groped or have her nipples licked. ‘So why should this be different?’ I told myself as I felt his hand exploring my body. ‘I just won’t let it go too far.’
I didn’t think Margot could see what he was doing, but right on cue she stood up and excused herself to use the bathroom, as if she’d been waiting for it all along. The fact that she winked at me as she was leaving confirmed that suspicion, and honestly irked me a little. Did she really think I would give in that easily?
“So… Now that we’re alone, can I ask you a personal question?” I said, pulling my skirt down after I separated and faced him, determined not to be Margot’s puppet.
Henri smirked at me, trying to look up my skirt. “Of course. You can ask me anything.”
I closed my legs by instinct. I could see it in his eyes just how much he wanted me, and my body’s reaction was making me scared.
“How did you and Margot meet?”
I was expecting him to tell me something simple, like she’d been recommended by a business partner, maybe some carefree, lightly misogynistic remarks about how a man like him always looks for the best that money can buy. What I got instead, was a story about a man who had lost his wife to cancer, fell into a deep depression and completely disconnected from everyone around him. I won’t go into any of the details out of respect, but he told me that he’d considered suicide until he met Margot. He talked about her as a savior, the woman who’d provided him with tenderness and ecstasy when there had been nothing but pain in his life. “I didn’t know how to approach women anymore, I was afraid to drown them in my sadness,” I remember him saying, and immediately all the things that Margot had said to me at the café made sense. Henri wasn’t some pervert looking for a thrill, he was a wounded human being looking for company and affection in a harsh, uncaring world; just like the rest of us.
Once again, my preconceptions were smashed, every new thing I learned helped open my eyes to a completely different reality than the one I thought I knew, and as he continued praising Margot for helping him, I found myself not only feeling ashamed of having judged sex workers and their clients so harshly, but envious of that kind of connection. What they shared wasn’t just a business relationship, it wasn’t friendship or love either, it was somehow none and all of those things at the same time. I also started heating up, my legs not so closed anymore as I clung to every single one of his words. His eyes immediately darted back down. “That’s a beautiful dress,” he told me, causing me to blush, and as I thanked him I couldn’t help but open my legs just a bit more. He licked his lips and then looked into my eyes. I felt electricity in the air, my body trembling with anticipation. Of what, I wasn’t sure. In truth, I didn’t feel particularly attracted to him, but I was certainly not repulsed. It wasn’t Henri’s touch what I was desperate to experience, it wasn’t him who was making me feel so wet, but the idea of the kind of passionate sex with no strings attached that Margot had talked about. Turning into someone else, becoming a stranger’s fantasy, being so fearless and in control of your own self that you’re able to surrender completely to just about anyone.
Anyone. The word kept bouncing around in my head as I slowly opened my legs wide this time, my short skirt no longer doing anything to hide my simple, yet very feminine white lace thong from his hungry eyes. He could be anyone. And being anyone was the same as being no one. I felt as if I had discovered some deep, unspoken truth of the Universe as I watched him lean closer, and I was surprised by how easy it was to just sit there and let that man I’d just met a few hours ago put his hand on my thigh and feel his way up to the edge of my skirt. I kept expecting Margot to show up and wink at me again, but she stayed away, and as Henri’s hands reached under my dress and began to pull my underwear down, I stared into the sunset and started seeing the script in my head, ‘Antoine pulls Emily’s underwear down, she is trembling in his hands.’ I looked down, and my thong was around my ankles. Henri looked up at me and I felt myself blushing again as I lifted my feet to help him slip them off. I could almost see the black letters on the page describing Emily’s trepidation as he took my thong and brought it to his nose, taking in my aroma while I turned as red as the roses in his balcony. He said I smelled like fleur-de-lis, and asked me if he could keep it, so that he would never forget about me. All I could do was nod, and when he offered me his hand, I took it blindly.
If I’m being honest, I was in such a daze that I would’ve followed him anywhere at that moment. Instead, he asked me to stand up, and I felt my legs wobbling as I stood there, letting him hike my skirt up, feeling his hands all over my bottom as he bundled it up around my waist, making sure there would be nothing obstructing his view of my most private area. I was freshly waxed, and I’ll never forget feeling his warm breath on my skin as he closely studied my bare pussy. “Vous délicieuse créature,” he said with that raspy voice of his. I felt like one of the beautiful sculptures he had lining the elegant foyer as he made me turn around. I thought of Charlie and how long it had been since he’d made me feel the way Henri was. When was the last time he had looked at me like this? Or the last time he’d made me this wet, having barely touched me at all?
‘You are Emily.’ I told myself. ‘There is no Charlie.’ I found myself in a conundrum. On the one hand, things had taken a turn for the drastic, and I felt like I was completely out of my depth. As if I was on my first day of martial arts training and was already being expected to fight for my life. But then again, that trepidation, that feeling of being thrown to the wolves, was exactly what Emily would be feeling. What was I supposed to do?
For better or worse, the question went away as soon as I felt Henri’s lips on the back of my thighs. I imagined it was William Abadie’s character, Antoine, with his hands on my bottom, kissing his way up my sensitive skin, and making me shiver with pleasure as he paid special attention to the crease at the bottom of my butt cheeks. “La peau est comme le lait,” I heard him whisper to himself, before he gently made me turn around again. He was very delicate as he used two fingers to spread my labia, and I let out a moan as he slowly dragged his tongue across my pussy, sending shivers of pleasure throughout my entire being. It had been so long since anyone had done that to me. I’d been too embarrassed to tell Charlie how much I missed that, scared of selfishly putting pressure on him to do something he obviously didn’t enjoy. But it was just like Margot had told me, the transactional nature of what Henri and I were doing meant that I didn’t have to worry about being judged, there would be no awkward conversation afterwards, I wouldn’t have to worry about him thinking I was a slut, because he already thought I was a prostitute. Putting it simply: No consequences.
He licked me again, and I lost control of myself, leaning back on the table and knocking over a small silver tray that sent a couple of wine glasses crashing into the floor. Neither of us cared, my new stance meant Henri had a much comfortable angle to taste me, and he’d quickly gone from licking me to shoving his tongue right into my wet entrance. I cried out, “Oh my God!” and raised my head to see across the city as he began rubbing my swollen little clit. I felt like I was dreaming, standing on that balcony with a man I’d just met eating me out, watching the sunset painting Paris in indigo and orange. It was more than surreal. The sloppy sounds of Henri’s tongue lapping madly between my thighs were like a strange form of music, and his fingers entering me made me feel he was playing me like an instrument. I was so horny and wet, Antoine’s image constantly running through my mind. Antoine and Emily, finally resolving that sexual tension with a wild, dirty, lustful exhibition for the entire city. I couldn’t take it anymore. All of my reservations had been taken away, Charlie was gone from my mind, all I could think about was Emily doing whatever she had to do to save her job and finding out how much she enjoyed it in the process. And then, as if taken over by Emily’s presence, I grabbed his face and made him look up at me. I was going for it. I was going to tell that man I’d known for less than a few hours to put his cock inside of me and use me until he decided he was done with me. But right then, I saw Margot standing by the doorway with a glass in her hand. Everything stopped. She’d petrified my body in an instant, like a smirking Medusa leaning against the wall. I saw her nod at me to keep going, but I could not do it, I couldn’t do anything. Henri tried to continue but my legs were shut now. I was ashamed and confused. Henri asked if I was okay, and I said I wasn’t feeling well, excusing myself and practically running out of there with my skirt still around my waist.
—
Disheveled, confused, and panty-less, I ran out of the building and wandered aimlessly until I found a nearby park. I was ashamed, but I wasn’t quite sure of what exactly. Was it that I had chickened out at the last second, or that I had allowed myself to be put in that position in the first place? I felt confused and alone, so I decided to call Charlie. I told him I missed him, and that I was having trouble figuring out how to prepare for this role. I didn’t think it would be fair to burden him with all the details of my conundrum while we were so far away from each other, so I kept it vague on purpose, explaining that I was torn between doing something kind of crazy to get into the proper mindset, or playing it safe and risking doing a bad job for a show I cared deeply about. And as always, he was very supportive. “The woman I love has never let ‘crazy’ stop her from accomplishing her goals,” he said to me, before adding that he trusted me completely, and that he would support whatever choice I made no matter what.
That comforted me. But I was still debating what to do as I hailed a cab home. While I was physically headed back to my hotel, my mind was still at Henri’s place, wondering what else would’ve happened if Margot hadn’t showed up. If not for her wicked grin reminding me of who I was, the illusion may have never been broken and the thought of what could’ve happened next kept making me wet. I wondered if the driver could tell that I was still extremely aroused when he glanced at me in the rearview mirror. If my flustered face and the smell of my wet sex were giving him the impression that I was precisely the kind of girl Margot was training me to embody. The thought of being mistaken for an actual prostitute turned me on even more, even if I wasn’t exactly sure why, and by the time I got back to my suite I had no other recourse but to pull out one of my toys.
.jpg) |
| Diamonds are not always a girl’s best friends. |
Now that Charlie and I were on different continents, getting our schedules to match up was a constant source of strife and disappointment. To mitigate that, I had started sending him naughty pictures whenever I was feeling sexy.
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| An example of the postcards I was sending from Paris. |
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| Just a little something to keep the relationship warm, even from a distance. |
He’d been so supportive of me on that call, that I decided to give him a special treat. I went to the living room, took off my clothes and set up my phone on a little coffee table before I pulled out my favorite vibrating wand (unlike Emily’s, mine was battery powered), and placed it right on my clit. I started recording and closed my eyes, trying to think of Charlie, but what had happened at Henri’s place was still flashing through my mind. It was like my body was still tuned to his smell and texture. I could almost feel his tongue roaming around in my crevices and hear the sounds of his mouth on my wet lips.
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| Reliving the experience. |
I turned the vibration a little faster, and then I started picturing Margot and him together, imagining the thousand ways that someone like her could pleasure him. I pressed the wand tighter against my throbbing clit and my hips started bucking while I pictured myself-- no, it was Emily back there, lying in a rich man’s bed, taking her clothes off, letting herself be taken for the right price, having a stranger inside her for pure self-serving reasons. Emily naked and waiting, Emily and Antoine openly using each other with no romantic pretensions. Nothing but the lust for youth, beauty, money, success...
I held the vibrator tightly against my body, clenching it with both hands as if it was the only thing keeping me from being blown away by the roaring typhoon of lust in my mind. My moaning turned into heavy panting as I pictured Emily taking Antoine’s cock deep inside, and I finally reached the point of no return. I came so hard that my foot knocked the phone off the table as the intensity of my spasming core forced me to roll onto my side and curl up, still pressing the device tightly to my clitoris. It was only after watching the video that I realized I was so lost in the fantasy that I had been moaning Antoine’s name almost the whole time. Even at the end there, I was pushing the wand even harder against my body, and making myself curl up tighter, crying, “Yes, Antoine, Yes!” completely oblivious to the fact that I was supposed to be recording my orgasm for my fiancé.
Once the wonderful sensations started to subside, I switched the toy off and dropped it on the sofa. Lying on my side, body still shuddering as I slowly came back from the high, I picked my phone from the floor and messaged Margot with still trembling hands to say I was sorry for leaving so abruptly. I took one last picture for my now long-distance boyfriend, and then I jumped in the shower.
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| I enjoyed it immensely, as you can see. |
Margot had texted me back by the time I was out and, to my surprise, she told me that both Henri and her felt guilty about having pushed me so far and so soon. Henri wished to take us out to dinner so that he could apologize to me.
“Just dinner, nothing extra,” she quickly clarified.
I was pleasantly surprised, and quite flattered. For all Henri knew, I was just a rookie that had gotten cold feet at the worst possible moment. I never expected a man of his wealth and status to apologize to an escort. ‘This must be the personal connection Margot kept talking about.’
---
Later that night, as I was getting ready for dinner, I was still embarrassed by the way I had reacted back at Henri’s place. I knew I should have handled it better, and I had decided to make up for it by taking a more committed and serious approach to my preparation as an actress. Margot said we’d be going to one of the most exclusive restaurants in all of Paris, so this time it was my decision to wear something else from my Emily in Paris wardrobe: The black strapless dress from episode two.
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| Still one of my favorite pieces of wardrobe ever. |
Not only did I love that dress and was happy to have found an excuse to wear it again, but I thought it would be fitting, since it is the dress Emily is wearing the first time she is alone with Antoine. I even did my hair and makeup the same way, with a bright shade of red lipstick. I took a good look at myself in the mirror before going outside to meet Henri and Margot. “Looking good, Emily.”
They were waiting for me in a limousine this time. Margot had changed into a beautiful, skin-tight white dress, and Henri looked dapper in a crisp white dress shirt and a black blazer. They both seemed a bit tipsy already, and Henri especially could not stop smiling. ‘Margot must’ve done a hell of a job of picking up where I left off,’ I said to myself.
The restaurant Henri had picked was amazing. We had gotten our apologies out of the way pretty early and from that point on everything went smoothly. The food was incredible, the wine was magnificent, and the conversation delightful. Instead of giving vague answers and constantly deflecting whenever Henri asked about my life, I took the challenge head on and drew every answer from Emily Cooper’s backstory. I had grown up in a small suburban town outside of Chicago, my mother was a math teacher and my father a dog breeder. I had a master’s degree in communications and marketing and had moved to Paris to work as a social media strategist for a French firm, but after having a very tough time adapting to my new life, I had lost my job and my boyfriend, all of which had steered me into Margot’s direction. The fact that my new French friend was only half-listening didn’t matter as long as I was completely immersed in my character. Dinner was a success.
“How are you feeling now?” Margot asked me as I washed my hands in the bathroom. We were about to leave the restaurant and she wanted to get straight to the point.
“Uh, I’m fine. I think I panicked before because things were moving too fast for me. I’m sorry for embarrassing you like that. I never intended to interfere with your business.”
“That is not why you panicked.”
“No, it is. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything crazy like that. I mean, I haven’t even really discussed it with my boyfriend.”
“You panicked because you lost control. You let lust take over.”
“Umm… but isn’t that the point of… you know... sex?”
"Indeed, that is the point of sex, but that's not what we are doing here, is it?"
I looked at her, confused.
“It’s okay to enjoy what we do, of course, but at the end of the day, we’re professionals,” she continued with imposing solemnity. “Discipline comes first. Even if your hands and feet are bound, and your mouth is gagged, you can still be in control, as long as your mind is focused on achieving your task.” She paused, as if she was debating on whether to say the next thing or not. “I have a boyfriend too, you know, we’ve been together for 5 years. He knows what I do, and I’ve never felt like I’m cheating, as long as I’m in control. But if you don’t have that presence of mind, if lust is your only motor and pleasure your only purpose, then you are cheating on the man you love. Don’t forget that.”
---
I was starting to feel a little drunk by the time we got back in the limo, or maybe those were just the butterflies in my stomach. All I know is that I was very glad when Henri told his chauffeur to take for a scenic drive around the city while he opened yet another bottle of champagne. The night have been a special one so far, and I wasn’t ready for it to end just yet. And as you would expect, after all those drinks and sexual tension, the vibe immediately changed once we settled in a more private space. Margot had mostly checked out of the conversation, she seemed satisfied with passing off the small talk as Henri leaned into me, pinning me between himself and the door as he whispered in my ear. Praising my looks, my voice, my smell, and then my looks again. I’ve heard a lot of compliments over the years, and maybe it was just the French accent that still had me in its throes, but that man had a way of making them sound fresh and so enticing. The fact that I was pretty drunk and giggling like an idiot might have also helped. Regardless, I was more than a little swooned, and Margot at the other end of the limo was being so quiet and inconspicuous that I started to feel like I was on an actual date with him. The lights in the back were dim enough that I could easily picture Antoine’s face looking back at me instead of Henri, and after a while that was all I could see. Antoine’s luscious hair and strong jaw getting closer, his full lips brushing against the side of my neck, his big, strong hand on the small of my back, bringing me closer. Looking back on it now, I realize that was me already ignoring Margot’s advice. I had started to lose control and once again, I didn’t even know it.
He pulled me into his arms and our mouths finally met in a long, deep, ravenous kiss. Henri and I, Antoine and Emily, it was all the same as he shoved his tongue down my throat and I wrapped my arms around his broad back.
“Can we try again?” he said, breaking the kiss just long enough to get the words out before he started sloppily kissing down my neck.
“Try…?” I stupidly replied, having lost track of what me or Emily were supposed to be doing there in the first place. I felt his hand making its way under my dress, caressing my thighs before it moved in between them. I gasped as his fingers nimbly pulled the crotch of my thong aside and found my wetness. His finger cut through me like a hot knife to butter, and before I could say a thing, our lips were fused together in another restless and sloppy kiss as he fingered me with my body pinned against the door.
Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed Margot had dropped the absentminded facade. She was watching me closely, studying my every move, like a judge in some perverted talent show. Suddenly, I was reminded of her words. ‘Discipline comes first.’
Henri started unzipping. He took it out and very casually offered it to me like it was just another éclair for me to enjoy. Things were moving too fast again, he was getting ready to fuck me, I had lost control. “Wait!” I cried out like a scared little girl. He looked confused and asked me if I was okay. I was doing it again. I probably would have jumped out the door had the limo not been moving. I did not know what to say. I felt doubtful, guilty, untethered.
Thankfully, Margot intervened just in time. “She’s not ready for that yet, she’s… still learning,” she said, suddenly at my side like a guardian angel.
“I’m sorry, I thought I could do it,” I said, feeling terribly ashamed. I felt Margot’s hand on mine. “Shhh, it’s okay,” she whispered in my ear, “Maybe you need to start with something else.” Her fingers tangled with mine, and I felt her hand leading mine to Henri’s crotch.
“Oh! I…”
“Just follow my lead,” she whispered again. I looked back at her and then at him, my face burning red in the dark as I began to feel his swollen member under my palm. “That’s a wonderful idea,” he said, and suddenly my hand was wrapped around his penis, and I could see my fingers and Margot’s intertwined, forming a crown around the head as she whispered again, “You’re in control now.”
Together, we pulled back his foreskin, and I heard Henri groan and felt his cock throbbing in my grasp. Margot kept whispering things in my ear, calming me down, reassuring me, making me convinced that I was the woman for the job as she guided my hand just a little bit lower so that I could cup his balls.
“Now kiss him again, but don’t forget you are in control.”
I was in some kind of hypnotized state, responding to her commands almost automatically. I leaned closer and let him pull me in and close the gap between our lips. Kissing him felt different this time, somehow more intimate than before. As our tongues danced together and my hand slowly stroked his manhood I asked myself why, if I was supposed to be thinking of this as a strictly business relation, did it all feel so natural to me, so… right. When the kiss broke, I smiled at him, my hand busy jerking in a steady rhythm. Not only had I calmed down, but I was ready for more. “Now kiss his cock,” Margot told me, as if she could read my damn mind. Her delicious accent made that last word sound so much more enticing than ever before, and when I felt her hand pushing my head down, I did not resist. For a fraction of a second I thought of being back in that car with Ryan [see chapter 1], except this time it wasn’t the promise of true love pushing me to do it, but my thirst for knowledge, the thrill of something new, and the desire to lose myself in whatever the role required of me. I wasn’t a naive girl anymore, I was a grown woman in full control of her sexuality and desires.
I kneeled on the seat and rested my head on his stomach. There was a drop of pre-cum on the tip, and the first thing I did was lick slowly and very dramatically collect it with my tongue, a move that must’ve impressed Margot, because I heard her make an approving sound from beside me. ‘That’s right, I have some moves of my own,’ I said in my head, before I took half of him in my mouth, the taste of champagne mixing with Henri’s flesh, making me feel even drunker than before.
“Good, he likes it slow, just like that,” Margot said while unzipping the back of my dress. I pushed down until it hit the back of my throat, then I did my best to relax and let it slip further, wanting to impress both of them. I knew Margot probably had a lot more skill than I did when it came to pleasuring a man, but I’d also done my fair share of penis-pleasing over the years, and after having made a fool out of myself a couple of times already, I was eager to prove that at the very least I was no rookie when it came to blowing a man.
I flicked my tongue over the head and wet my lips one more time before opening wide and pushing my face down onto his lap. My mouth was stretched open and, this time, I slowly swallowed the whole of his thick prick with relative ease. “Regardez-moi ça!” I heard Margot saying behind me, which to me sounded like she was impressed. ‘That’s right, didn’t think I had it in me, did ya?’ I celebrated in silence, forcing myself to stay down there with his dick lodged in my throat just a little longer to further prove my point. She pulled my zipper down a little bit further, and I felt the fabric of my dress slowly releasing me, just as I pulled back and gasped for air. I took a moment to catch my breath while I got down from the seat and on my knees between Henri’s legs. I felt full of confidence and I smiled up at him as I pulled down my top, leaving me naked from the waist up. I’ve always felt more comfortable giving oral sex without any clothes on. It’s silly, but doing it dressed feels wrong somehow, like I’m not properly dressed for the part, or I guess I should say properly undressed for the part.
Henri congratulated me with a deep, vibrant, “Superbe,” as we both watched the thick string of saliva dangling from my chin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Margot raise an eyebrow as I wiped the spit with my hand and smeared it across my breasts. Henri seemed to enjoy that very much. He told Margot something in French that I didn’t understand, but I saw her nod with approval before I reacquainted my mouth with Henri’s twitching member. I got right back into it and swallowed him whole again a couple of times before I moved down to start licking his scrotum, and I tilted my head to the side between his thighs, looking straight at Margot as I massaged her client’s balls with my mouth; his wet, sticky dick resting awkwardly on the bridge of my nose.
“Eh bien ma cochone!” I heard her say, the approving tone in her voice letting me know I had earned her respect. I could make out a little smile from her, despite the fact that I had a mouthful of balls and a fat, French dick across my face.
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… I feel so dirty recounting this, I can’t stop blushing over my laptop. |
Margot kept watching as I sucked him off and, silly as it may sound, I found myself more concerned about what she was thinking of my performance rather than the man I was actually going down on. Then the limo went into a tunnel, and the almost complete darkness was followed by a heavy silence, nothing but the sound of my wet mouth working diligently in the shadows. To my right, I could hear Margot breathing, and above me, Henri saying, “Tellement bon, putain.” I held tight to the base of his cock, as if I was afraid to lose it in the empty black, and heard him sigh as I twirled my tongue around it. I was totally focused, sucking that throbbing rod as if it was the most important thing, the only thing left in the world. I pulled back enough to use my tongue on the tip again, and I felt it twitch in my hand before I went back to bobbing slowly up and down the shaft. I felt around the ridges with my tongue and the soft tip rubbing against the inside of my cheeks before I took him deep in my throat again. He started pushing into my mouth and I had to put my hands on his thighs to hold him down, gagging and grunting like an animal as his hips bucked up to fuck my throat.
I was about to pull back when suddenly we came out of the tunnel. Once the city’s lights came in flooding back through the windows, I was able to see the mess of my saliva all over Henri’s lap and my chest and my red lipstick smeared across one side of his turgid cock. It was a surreal moment. I felt like I was watching myself from above. Or rather, like I was watching Emily from behind the camera, directing her reaction as Antoine gripped her hair tight, pulling it back into a ponytail and pumping her head up and down on his cock like a jerk-off toy. “T'arrêtes pas de me lécher surtout, salope!” Again, at the time I had no idea of what he was saying, but between the unmistakable strain in his words and the way his cock was twitching on my tongue, I knew he was almost ready to finish. I put my full focus back on the task at hand, bracing myself as he bent down and palmed one of my breasts, pinching my nipple before rolling it between his fingertips, making me moan around his cock right before he finally stopped moving and his hairy balls, covered in my drool and ready to explode, contracted in my hand.
It was time. I pulled him out of my mouth and locked eyes with him, his mouth open and his legs shaking as semen began to spurt from his cock. I angled the tip towards me, letting the warm cum splash on my face, feeling his flesh pulsing in my hand as my forehead, nose and cheeks became covered in cream like the St. Honoré Cake we had shared during lunch. He ejaculated for so long, and I happily welcomed the way his body praised my efforts by bathing me with more and more of its liquid warmness, until I was dripping with semen from my forehead all the way down to my pert little breasts. Finally, I let him go, and he pressed himself against my cheek, squeezing out the last bits of thick goo onto my skin in such a tender way that I found myself rubbing my face against his cock like a purring little kitten.
“Une bonne petite suceuse,” he exhaled once he was finally done, and I turned to Margot with a cocky look that made her laugh out loud.
“Very impressive," she said, scooping some of Henri’s spunk from the corner of my mouth and bringing it to my lips. Had that happened just a few hours earlier, I would’ve surely found a way to politely refuse. Actually ingesting the semen of a stranger was not something I had ever done, I barely even did it for Charlie, and yet... I eagerly lapped it off and swallowed like the diligent little pupil I was turning into. "Elle m'a caché ses talents la petite," she then said to Henri. He let out a chuckle as he put his now flaccid penis back into his pants and turned to me. "Jolie petite salope!" I suckled on his thumb, a tiny string of white dangling from my eyebrow until it stuck to my eyelashes and stopped moving.
“Umm, thank you?” I replied, still with no clue of exactly what he was saying. I really needed to start working on my French. Thankfully, he had recovered enough to switch back to English. “You were amazing, I’m very happy Margot introduced us.”
I was beaming. I had just nailed the toughest audition of my life. My throat was sore for the next couple of days, and my beautiful black dress was all splattered with spit and semen (explaining that to wardrobe is a story in itself!), but I had just proven to them, as well as myself, that I could do anything I set my mind to. ‘I’m a good actress, and I can play anything or anyone,’ I said to myself, bursting with confidence.
---
Margot handed me some tissues to clean myself before we arrived at my hotel. Henri was a total gentleman and promised to buy me another dress before thanking me again and saying goodbye with a kiss on the cheek.
My entire body was shaking with adrenaline as Margot and I got out of the car. She wanted us to have one last celebratory drink at the hotel bar before calling it a night, and I was so giddy and proud of myself that it didn’t take much for her to convince me.
“So how did I do?” I asked Margot after ordering a cocktail.
“You did great, except for two things.”
“What? But I did everything, he even--”
“You did it for free. We’re not sluts, Lily, we’re professionals.”
“Oh my God,” I laughed, “I thought you had–” I noticed the bartender looking at me in a very strange way as she cut me off.
“Never assume in this line of business, my dear. And as for the second thing…” Margot showed the photo she’d just taken of me. I had done a poor job of cleaning myself. There was still cum in my hair and forehead, my mascara was running and even my lipstick was smeared. I had been sitting there looking like a total mess for the last 20 minutes.
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| Don't be like me. Sometimes a girl's best friend is a compact mirror. |
I still had a lot to learn.
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