UNCOVERED, Chapter 8: Paris in Lily.

 

 

DISCLAIMER: This story is a completely fictional work based on nothing real or plausible at all. Fantasy is legal and this is all made up. Thanks for reading.

And a huge THANK YOU goes out to the man, the legend, NDFakes for coming up with the cover and the bonus pictures.

- Noopster.

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CHAPTER 8

PARIS IN LILY. 

In the last chapter, I told you the story of how I took my first steps into the world of sex work, and how determined I was to do anything I needed to for my art. But lines blur faster than you think, and the distance between research and reality can vanish in an instant.

 
The morning after my naughty limousine ride with Henri and Margo, I showed up to set with a terrible hangover, but my confidence was through the roof. I told myself I was done. Not only had I proved to myself that I could take on any challenge. But I had gotten what I needed for the role: the experience, the mindset, the confidence to portray Emily's journey convincingly. I'd crossed a boundary I never thought I would, but I had my reasons. It was for my craft. For the show. I was ready.
 

There was just one problem though. Between all the nerves and excitement and the considerable dose of alcohol I had ingested that night, some of the details about my first foray into the escorting world were a little... unclear. And aside from that, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I was missing one huge aspect of the Escort experience. I knew that had it not been for Margot holding my hand, sometimes literally, I probably would not have gone through with any of it. Poor, inexperienced Emily Cooper would not have that kind of support, she’d be left to figure it out on her own, and accurately portraying all the fear, doubts, anxiety that are natural consequences of being put in that difficult position, was my duty as an actress. In short, I realized that the true test was still ahead for me.

I found myself pacing the hotel suite that evening, phone in hand, my thoughts racing. I knew what I had to do next—to truly understand Emily's journey, I needed to experience what it would be like to navigate this world alone, without Margot as my guide. But something held me back. Not fear, not even guilt exactly, but a nagging sense that I needed to at least tell Charlie something.
 

I remember picking up my phone and staring at it for what felt like hours. My thumb hovered over Charlie's name, trembling slightly. I needed to hear his voice. I needed some kind of... permission? Absolution? I wasn't sure what I was looking for exactly, but I knew I couldn't proceed without talking to him first.
 

When he answered, his voice was thick with sleep. The time difference meant it was the middle of the night for him.
 

"Lily? Everything okay?" he mumbled.

"Yeah, sorry for waking you," I said, trying to sound more casual than I felt. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

"Mmm, s'nice," he replied, and I could hear him shifting in bed. "How's filming going?"

I took a deep breath. "Good. Really good, actually. I, um... I'm really getting into this role."

"That's great, babe."

"The thing is..." I paused, my heart racing. "I've been working with this consultant, for the scenes where Emily has to, you know, work as an escort."

"Oh?" He sounded more awake now.

My fingers tightened around the phone. "I'm going to take it a step further. I think I need to really understand what it feels like to be in that position—completely on my own, you know?”

There was a long pause on the line. I held my breath, waiting for his response.

"What exactly does that mean?" Charlie finally asked, his voice now completely alert. "Are you actually considering... I mean, what kind of research are we talking about here?"

My stomach knotted. This was the moment of truth—or rather, the moment for a carefully constructed half-truth.

"Oh, nothing crazy," I said quickly, my voice unnaturally high. "Just some, um, conversations with clients. Maybe accompanying them to events. Getting a feel for the dynamic, you know? The power exchange, the negotiations. It's all about the psychology of it."

"So you're not going to...?" He left the question hanging.

"God, no!" I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "Charlie, come on. I'm just trying to understand the mindset. The emotional journey. I wouldn't actually sleep with anyone."

The lie slipped out so easily it shocked me. Not only was I hiding what I'd already done with Henri, but I was deliberately misleading Charlie about what I was planning to do next. "It's all controlled," I assured him, ignoring the guilt blooming in my chest. "Margot—she's the consultant—she'll be there the whole time. Nothing will happen that I don't want to happen."

Which was true, technically.

"I promise, it's just research," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside me. "You know how I am with preparation."

"I do," Charlie agreed, his voice softening. "That's one of the things I love about you. Your dedication."

After we hung up, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my reflection in the hotel mirror and made a decision. If I was going to do this, I would do it properly, methodically. The way I approached every role. Every character study I'd ever done had been meticulously documented—photos, notes, references, all carefully organized to help me inhabit their world completely. And if I was going to do this for real, I would need a binder for Emily's journey into escorting too.

My stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. It made perfect sense. How else could I capture the subtle changes in my demeanor, my expressions, my body language? How else could I study the transformation from Lily to Emily to... whoever I became in those moments?

I reached for my phone, scrolling through the camera roll. The photos I'd taken for Charlie were tasteful, artistic even. This would be something else entirely—raw, unfiltered documentation of what I was about to do.

"For the role," I whispered to myself, as if saying it aloud made it more legitimate.

That was a huge weight off my shoulders, and now all that was left as figuring out how to go about it. I figured a direct approach would be best, the less time I spent thinking about the “What ifs”, the better. Which meant asking Margot if she could set me up with one of her customers. Luckily, my new Parisian Madam was happy to put me in contact with Joakim, one of her oldest clients. She assured me I could trust him, and that he was actually a very capable lover. It only took a couple of hours, then she gave me the info on when and where to meet up with him and wished me luck. 

 

That was it, just like that, I was on my own.

—

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have second thoughts. Over the next few hours, I must've thought about cancelling countless times. A quick encounter like the one with Henri was one thing, but now I was getting ready for the real thing. There was a huge knot in my stomach and no matter how hard I tried to relax it just would not go away. 

 

About an hour before the appointment, I was sitting next to the window, holding my phone with my thumb hovering over the CALL button, ready to excuse myself and forget the whole thing. How ironic that it would actually be Charlie who ultimately made me go through with it.

"You've got this, Babe," read his message. Completely unprompted, as if he somehow knew that I needed his support at that exact moment, all the way across the Atlantic ocean. "I know you'll crush it. You always do."

"I love you," I wrote back.
 

Charlie's unwitting encouragement had given me the push I needed. And so, I put the phone back in my bag, finished getting ready, and out I went, knowing that, whatever happened, I would not be the same person when I came back.
 

As had been arranged, we met up at a small park near his place. Joakim was there early, which made a good impression on me. He was a reasonably attractive guy: About 6'1", 185 lbs., late thirties and in pretty good shape. Full head of wavy black hair, with glasses, highly educated and active. A little after we started talking, he told me he’d had a range of careers; and was currently working for some big tech company. He said he worked from home and was an introvert, which had made meeting women after his divorce very difficult. His English being excellent made things a lot easier, and I knew I had to thank Margot for that.

 

 I immediately took a liking to him, and we walked around the food and flower stands for a while, getting to know each other. He was chivalrous and soft-spoken, and I enjoyed walking around on his arm as if we were a real couple so much that, at times, I forgot why I was there. I just wished I’d chosen different footwear because, still wanting to feel like I was in the Emily role, I’d picked yet another outfit from the show, the fluffy white crop top from episode 2, with the jeans and the flowery pumps. 

 

I wanted something that would be both casual and sexy enough for the occasion, and since Joakim couldn’t seem to stop admiring my mid-section, I knew I had picked the right outfit. But oh man, my feet were killing me!

At around the half hour mark, I started getting impatient. A part of me was having fun, but another part of me just wanted to get it over with. After all the back and forth and hesitating I had done with Henri, I was all about getting to work that day.

We found a bench in a forested part of the park, where not many people seemed to come around, and I decided to make the first move. I leaned close, looked into his eyes, and let my pretty face do the rest.

Soon our lips met, and I was surprised by the tenderness of Joakim's kiss. His hand cupped my face, and I found myself responding with unexpected enthusiasm. We were in a secluded spot, but still very much in a public park. Even though we were just kissing, there was something thrilling about doing so in public. The risk of being seen with a stranger, the knowledge that this was just the beginning of what we would do together. Was this what Emily would feel? This dangerous excitement?

Then his tongue slipped between my lips as his hand traveled down to my exposed midriff, his fingers tracing circles on my skin. I felt myself melting into him, my body responding to his touch in ways I hadn't anticipated. This wasn't just acting anymore, I was genuinely enjoying myself.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Joakim's eyes had darkened behind his glasses.

"You're even more beautiful than Margot described," he murmured, his thumb tracing my jawline.

I smiled, feeling a strange mix of pride and embarrassment. "Thank you."

"I should tell you something about me," he said, his voice low and husky. "Margot told me you’re new to this but..." he said, kissing my earlobe playfully, the tip of his fingers tracing the muscles of my stomach, “I have a particular… preference for public places.”

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, trying to look unfazed despite my quickening pulse.

I bit my lip with excitement, which did not go unnoticed by him. Sex in a public place had been something in my fantasies for most of my adult life, but if the consequences of getting caught were high for a regular person, they were even higher for a public person as me. Luckily, we were in Paris, and Emily Cooper was just a social media marketer that didn’t have to worry about her pictures ending up on some skeezy tabloid. At least, that was what I told myself.

"Public places like… here?" I said, moving his hand to cup my bottom. I couldn’t help but moan as he began to grope and squeeze me, our lips pressed together again while my hand started casually roaming over his crotch a few times. But I was definitely startled when he took it even further and pulled down the right strap of my top over my shoulder and kissed my neck as his hand slid inside to cup my breast.

“Mmm, what if... someone... sees us...?” I moaned, barely able to get the words out between kisses.

“Who cares?” he replied, his warm fingers rolling and teasing my nipple.

"Wait," I gasped, pushing his hand away as a family with small children walked by on a nearby path. My heart hammered in my chest, and for a moment, the illusion shattered. What was I doing? This wasn't a controlled environment like with Henri and Margot. This was a public park in broad daylight.

A wave of panic washed over me. I wasn't just Lily Collins playing at being an escort anymore—I was genuinely risking my reputation, my career, everything I'd worked for. If someone recognized me…

But then I caught the disappointment in Joakim's eyes, the slight downward turn of his mouth. This was exactly what Margot had warned me about. A real escort wouldn't balk at a client's desires. They'd find a way to make it work while maintaining boundaries. Emily wouldn't just walk away from a challenge, she'd find a creative solution.

"Not here," I whispered, forcing a smile. "Too many families. But I have an idea."

Without being exatly sure of what my plan was, I took his hand and led him deeper into the park, toward a small copse of trees I'd noticed earlier. My legs trembled slightly as we walked, but I kept my posture straight. It wasn't completely private—I could still hear distant voices from the park—but it was secluded enough that we wouldn't be immediately visible to passersby.

As we reached the thickest part of the grove, I backed up against a large oak tree, its rough bark pressing against my exposed lower back. The distant sounds of children playing and couples strolling had faded to a gentle murmur. We were hidden, but not completely.

"Is this okay for you?" I whispered, letting Emily's boldness take over as I pulled him close.

I reached down between us, my fingers trembling slightly as I unbuttoned his jeans. This was it, the moment where I crossed yet another line. No Margot to guide me, no excuse of just watching or learning. It was all me, making the choice.

I gasped as Joakim pressed me against the tree, his mouth finding mine in a hungry kiss just as his hands slid under my fluffy top, pushing it up to expose my breasts to the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. 

"God, you're perfect," he murmured against my neck, his fingers working at the button of my jeans.

I reached down and helped him, unzipping my pants just enough for his hand to slip inside. My breath caught as his fingers brushed against my panties, already damp with my arousal.
 

"Emily," he moaned as my hand slipped inside his pants to find him already hard and straining against his underwear.
 

"You feel so good," I whispered in response as I freed his cock from his briefs, stroking him slowly while his fingers pushed my panties aside.

 

For a moment, I was struck by the absurdity of the situation—standing half-naked in a Parisian park, stroking a stranger's cock while pretending to be someone I wasn't. But then his fingers slipped beneath my panties, finding my wet pussy, and all thoughts of absurdity vanished in a flash of pleasure.

"You like this, don't you?" he whispered, his accent thickening with arousal. "The danger..."

I nodded, unable to deny it as his thumb circled my clit, sending jolts of electricity through my body. I stroked him faster in response, my grip tightening as I felt him throb against my palm.

"I'm close," he groaned, his breath hot against my neck. "Where do you want it?"

The question caught me off guard. I guess I had never considered he would finish that fast. And furthermore, panic began to flicker through me as I considered his question. What would Emily do?. His question hung in the air as his movements grew more urgent, his breathing heavier. I hadn't thought this far ahead. I was wearing Emily's clothes from the show's wardrobe, and the thought of explaining suspicious stains to the costume department sent a wave of anxiety through me.

"Wait, not yet," I gasped, my mind racing. I couldn't let him finish on my clothes, but I also couldn't risk breaking character by suddenly becoming too prudish. Emily, or rather, the version of Emily I was embodying, would handle this with confidence.

His fingers were still working between my legs, my body betraying me with each wave of pleasure even as my brain scrambled for a solution. I could feel him pulsing in my hand, right on the edge. Suddenly, I remembered how Joakim had been staring at my exposed midriff all afternoon, his fingers constantly tracing the definition of my abs, commenting on how toned I was.

"On my stomach," I gasped, pulling his hand from between my legs and guiding it to my bare midsection. "Here. I want it here."

His eyes widened with desire as I guided his hand away from between my legs and positioned myself with my back against the tree trunk, my stomach presented to him like a canvas.

"Yes," he groaned, his accent thickening. "Perfect."
 

Joakim's whole body tensed, his free hand bracing against the tree trunk beside my head as I worked him with increasing urgency. I felt a rush of power as his face contorted with pleasure, knowing I was about to bring my first "real" client to an orgasm.

"I'm coming," he gasped, his accent thickening as his hips bucked into my hand.

I aimed him carefully at my bare midriff, and seconds later felt the warm splatter across my skin. The first hot spurt landed just below my navel, then another and another, painting white streaks across my skin. The sensation was oddly thrilling—warm, viscous evidence of a job well done coating my stomach while birds chirped overhead and distant voices reminded us we weren't truly alone.

To my surprise, Joakim didn't immediately pull away after his release. Instead, he took his still-twitching cock and deliberately dragged it across my skin, using the head to spread his semen in lazy circles around my navel. The sensation was strangely intimate, warm and ticklish as he painted my stomach with his essence, his eyes fixed on the glistening trail he left behind.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his finger joining his cock to smear the sticky fluid across my abs. "Like art."

I stood frozen as he traced patterns across my navel, up toward my ribs, then back down to the waistband of my jeans. His eyes never left my stomach, transfixed by the glistening trails he was creating, the moment burning itself into my memory. The dappled sunlight through the leaves, the distant sounds of the park, and the startlingly erotic sight of a stranger using his spent cock to claim my body like a canvas. This wasn't in any script I'd ever read, but I felt simultaneously dirty and divine.

When he finally stepped back, admiring his handiwork, I realized I was trembling slightly, and it only got worse when I heard the giggles. Multiple voices. Young ones.

"Oh mon dieu, regardez!" a girl's voice exclaimed, followed by more giggling and hushed exclamations in rapid French.

My blood turned to ice as I turned my head to see four teenagers, two boys and two girls, probably around sixteen—standing at the edge of our little grove, getting their phones ready to record. 

"Oh my God," I gasped, desperately trying to pull my top down. Joakim stumbled backward, hastily zipping himself up, his face flushed with embarrassment and anger.

I should have been mortified. In any other circumstances, I would have been. But instead, as the teens scattered at Joakim's shout, I started laughing. Not a nervous titter, but a full-throated, belly laugh that took me by surprise. Joakim looked at me with confusion at first, then his lips twitched, and suddenly he was laughing too. There I was, half-naked in a public park with a stranger's semen drying on my skin, pretending to be someone I wasn't, and somehow it felt... liberating.

"I think we've pushed our luck enough for one day," I said, still giggling as I adjusted my clothes. My stomach felt sticky and uncomfortable under my crop top, but I didn't care too much.

 

Joakim wiped a tear from his eye, his laughter subsiding. "My place is just around the corner," he said, his voice low and intimate as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. "We'll have more... privacy there."

I nodded, suddenly aware of how unfinished our encounter felt. The thrill of our public escapade had left me aroused and wanting more. "Lead the way," I replied, trying to sound confident despite the butterflies in my stomach.

My heart began racing again. This was it—the moment where my "research" would truly begin. I nodded, suddenly unable to speak, and followed him out of the park.

As we walked the short distance to his apartment, I felt the stickiness on my stomach with every step, a constant reminder of what had just happened, and what was about to happen. The reality of the situation washed over me in waves. I was about to have sex with a complete stranger. Not a co-star in a carefully choreographed scene with cameras and crew members watching. This wasn't like with Henri, where Margot had been there to guide me. This was just me—or rather, Emily, taking the plunge alone.

 

---

Joakim’s place was a lot more restrained than Henri’s. White walls, black furniture and minimalist decoration. But the two places had one thing in common: A balcony with an amazing view, this time of the Eiffel Tower itself. He offered me something to drink, but I politely refused, I wanted to be completely sober for what I considered to be my final test.

I figured that the sooner we got started, the sooner I’d be able to get rid of my nerves, so right away I brought up the awkward subject of my note-taking. I didn’t want to break character so all I told Joakim was that I liked to document my encounters, and to ease any reservations he might have I told him I’d be willing to let him keep a few souvenirs.

Joakim's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "You want to take photos?" he asked, his accent thickening with excitement. "Of us together?"

I nodded, pulling my phone from my purse. "I like to remember my... encounters," I said, trying to sound casual even as my heart raced. "Would that be okay with you?"


"More than okay," he replied. "I've always wanted to have something to look at afterward. Something to remember."

I felt a flutter in my stomach—part nervousness, part exhilaration. This was perfect. Not only would I have documentation for my "character study," but the camera would create another layer of distance between Lily and Emily. With a lens between us, I could pretend this was just another scene, another performance.

"You're quite different from the others," he then said, "Margot never allows photos. In fact, I've never met an escort who actually wanted to take pictures during sex. It's usually against the rules."

My heart skipped a beat. I hadn't considered that this might be unusual in escort etiquette. Had I just made a rookie mistake that would blow my cover?

"Well," I said, thinking quickly, "I'm not like the others." I moved closer to him, letting my fingers trail up his arm. "Maybe that's why Margot thought we'd be a good match."

Joakim's eyes darkened as he pulled me closer, his hands sliding around my waist. "I think you're right," he murmured against my neck. "We are a good match."

"Actually," I said, pulling back slightly, "would you mind pouring me some wine while I freshen up? I'm still a bit... sticky from the park."

He smiled, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. "Of course. Red or white?"

"White, please," I replied, and I felt his eyes lingering on my body as I excused myself to his bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it for a moment, catching my breath. My heart racing as I set my phone down on the edge of the sink. In the mirror, my flushed face stared back at me, eyes bright with a mixture of fear and excitement. Was I really about to do this?
 

I peeled off my sticky crop top, grimacing at the dried remnants of our park encounter still clinging to my skin. The warm water felt like absolution as I scrubbed away the evidence, watching it swirl down the drain. My jeans followed, then my underwear, until I stood naked before the mirror.

For a moment, I studied myself—the curve of my hips, the swell of my breasts, the flat plane of my stomach. Who was I looking at? Lily? Emily? This new person I was becoming?

I opened my bag and pulled out the black lingerie set I'd brought with me. I'd actually borrowed it from the Emily in Paris wardrobe department. A lacy push-up bra with matching thong and garter belt. It was the lingerie that Antoine gifts to Emily in one of the first episodes of the show and I thought wearing it for Joakim would help me feel like I was Emily about to sleep with Antoine, finally doing something with all the sexual tension that had been building up between them, instead of Lily and Joakim who had only met less than an hour ago.

As I slipped into the lacy black bra, I suddenly remembered what Lucas, my acting coach, had always drilled into me: "Complete immersion into the character is the difference between a good performance and a transformative one." It had never been more important than at this very moment. I wasn't just wearing Emily's lingerie—I needed to become Emily completely.

I closed my eyes, taking several deep breaths. The cool bathroom tiles beneath my feet faded away as I imagined Emily's thoughts, her fears, her desperation, her unexpected thrill at discovering this new side of herself. This wasn't Lily Collins standing in a stranger's bathroom preparing for a casual encounter. This was Emily Cooper, about to sleep with a client to save her career, her future in Paris hanging in the balance.

"You're Emily," I whispered to my reflection. "You need this. Your whole life depends on it."

I took one last look at my phone and saw I had a text from Charlie wishing me good luck. I thought about how lucky I was to have a boyfriend so supportive as I texted him back a kissy face emoji, and then I became Emily Cooper again, novice escort.

The sound of my high heels clicking on the wooden floor alerted Joakim to my presence in the living room. I saw him turn his head and then his jaw dropped.

My dramatic entrance had the desired effect on Joakim, who could not seem to find the words to express what he was feeling. At least not in English anyway. ‘Good job, Emily,’ I said to myself.

“Are you ready for me?” I said in a sultry voice, playing with the leather choker I had chosen at the last second.

Joakim's eyes darkened as he took me in, his gaze traveling slowly from my stilettos up to my face. "Mon Dieu," he whispered, setting down his wine glass. "You are... magnificent."

I smiled, feeling a strange shift inside me. The lingerie, Antoine's gift to Emily, transformed me in that moment. The black lace against my skin wasn't just costume; it was armor, protection from what I was about to do.

"Come here," he said, patting the space beside him on the sleek leather couch.

As I walked toward him, something strange happened. The apartment around me began to blur and transform. The minimalist furniture faded, replaced by the opulent decor of Antoine Lambert's office from the show. The evening light streaming through the windows became the warm glow of afternoon sun. And Joakim... his features softened, shifted, rearranged themselves until I was looking at William Abadie's face, his dark eyes twinkling with that signature Antoine charm.

"Emily," he said, his French accent thicker than Joakim's had been. "You look ravishing."

"Antoine," I whispered, the name slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

Joakim tilted his head slightly, confused, but I barely noticed. In my mind, I was Emily Cooper now, standing before the powerful perfumer who held my career in his hands. This wasn't about research anymore, it was about survival. If I didn't please Antoine, I'd lose my job at Savoir. I'd have to leave Paris in disgrace, return to Chicago with nothing to show for my adventure but failure and debt.

I settled onto the edge of the couch, letting my hand trail up his thigh. The transformation in my mind was complete. I wasn't just playing a role anymore; I was living it. My body moved with a confidence that wasn't entirely my own as I picked up my phone from the coffee table.

"I want to remember this," I said, opening the camera app. "Will you help me?"

Joakim nodded, taking the phone from my hands. "How do you want to begin?"

"Just take pictures while I pose for you," I said, rising to my feet again. I moved to the center of the room, where the evening light filtering through the windows cast a golden glow across my skin.

I began to move slowly, arching my back, letting my hands slide down my sides. The camera clicked rhythmically as Joakim captured image after image. I turned, giving him my profile, then looked over my shoulder, channeling every modeling pose I'd ever learned.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice growing husky. "Now touch yourself."

I hesitated, suddenly feeling like things were moving too quickly. The fantasy wavered, Joakim's face momentarily replacing Antoine's in my mind. What was I doing? This wasn't a movie set with directors and safety protocols. I was alone in a stranger's apartment, posing in lingerie while he took increasingly intimate photos.

"I—" My voice caught. 

 

But even as I said it, I could feel Emily's desperation creeping back in. She wouldn't hesitate. She couldn't afford to. Her job, her whole Parisian dream depended on pleasing this man.

"Just start slow," Joakim encouraged, his eyes fixed on me through the phone screen. "However you're comfortable."

 

I took a deep breath and tried to recapture the character. My trembling hands slid over the lace of my bra, teasing my nipples through the fabric. Every camera click sent a little thrill through me, knowing these moments were being captured, preserved. I watched Joakim's expression change as he photographed me, his breathing growing heavier, his movements becoming less steady.

 

The sight of his hand working at his crotch sent a wave of satisfaction through me. Words of praise were easy, rehearsed—but his body's reaction was raw and honest. I'd barely touched myself and already he couldn't resist touching himself. That was real power. My nipples hardened under his gaze, and I felt a flush of pride warming my skin.

 

When I unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor, Joakim lowered the phone momentarily. I broke character for a moment, a genuine smile spreading across my face as I watched Joakim's reaction. His eyes had widened, his lips parted in silent appreciation, and there was something so honest about his expression—not Antoine, not a client, just a man truly mesmerized by what he was seeing. In that brief moment of connection, I wasn't Emily or an actress researching a role—I was just Lily, enjoying the power of my own sensuality.

"You're incredible," he whispered, and I felt a rush at the awe in his voice.

 

The camera clicked again, capturing my unguarded smile before I slipped back into character. 

"Don't stop taking pictures," I instructed, turning to give him my profile as I hooked my thumbs into the sides of my panties. I heard his zipper slide down and glanced over to see him pulling himself free, wrapping his fingers around his shaft as I ran my hands up my bare torso to cup my breasts.

But then my eyes widened involuntarily. In the park, fumbling in the shadows of the trees, I hadn't gotten a proper look at him. Now, in the golden evening light of his apartment, I realized he was significantly larger than I'd anticipated—thicker and longer than what I'd felt in my hand earlier.

"You like what you see?" he asked, wrapping his hand around himself, stroking slowly from base to tip.

"Very much," I answered truthfully. A flutter of nervousness rippled through me as I took in his full size. The casual encounter in the park hadn't prepared me for this. I'd been with well-endowed men before, but something about Joakim's girth made my stomach tighten with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

 

I peeled my panties down my thighs with deliberate slowness, remembering how just moments earlier I'd stood naked in his bathroom mirror. The lacy black thong fell to my ankles, and I stepped out of it, completely bare except for the naughty choker around my neck.

 

"Mon Dieu," Joakim breathed, his hand frozen on his cock as he stared.

I felt a curious blend of vulnerability and power as I stood there, letting him drink in every inch of me. The camera had stopped clicking—he seemed to have forgotten it entirely as 

 

"Do you like what you see?" I asked, mimicking his earlier question, my voice surprisingly steady despite my racing heart. I ran my hands down my sides, over the curve of my hips, before turning around completely. I bent forward slightly, presenting my bare pussy to him, looking over my shoulder with what I hoped was Emily's confidence rather than Lily's nervousness.

 

"Putain," he groaned, his accent thickening as his hand moved faster along his shaft. "C'est parfait."

The camera had been forgotten entirely now, resting on the couch beside him as he drank in the sight of me. I felt a rush of satisfaction at having reduced him to single-syllable French exclamations. 

 
"Come here," he commanded, and I approached him slowly, my confidence wavering slightly. In my mind, Antoine's face flickered, momentarily replaced by Joakim's, then back again. The illusion was slipping.

"Something wrong?" Joakim asked, noticing my hesitation.

"No, not at all," I replied, forcing a smile. "You're just... very well-equipped."

He grinned, clearly pleased by my assessment. "Don't worry," he said, "We'll take it slow."

I nodded, swallowing hard as I tried to remember the safety rules Margot had taught me. She'd told me that her regular clients were requires to get tested for STDs regularly, but that using protection would always be up to me. Some clients would pay extra to not have to use it, but I wasn’t going to take it that far. I was already stepping out of my comfort zone for this role and didn’t need to add the risk of getting pregnant on top of everything else.

"Do you have condoms?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected. The question seemed to hang in the air between us, strangely formal amid our nakedness and desire.

Joakim blinked, momentarily surprised. The fantasy of Antoine shattered completely and I saw a stranger whose massive erection was pointed at me like a weapon, whose apartment I was standing in completely naked, whose intentions I suddenly wasn't sure about. 

 

"Of course," he said after a beat. "In the bedroom. Top drawer beside the bed."
 

I nodded, relief washing through me. "Would you mind getting them? I'd feel more comfortable."

As he disappeared into the bedroom, I took a deep breath, centering myself. This was happening. I was really going through with it. I picked up my phone from where he'd set it down and quickly checked the photos he'd taken. Dozens of images of me in various stages of undress, my face flushed with genuine desire. Perfect documentation for my "character study."

As I scrolled through the photos, my phone suddenly vibrated with a new message. Charlie's name flashed across the screen, and my stomach dropped. I opened the text, my naked body illuminated by the blue glow of the screen:

"Hey babe, how's the research going? Just checking in. I'm thinking about you. Can't wait to hear all about your 'method acting' when you get home. Love you."

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Charlie's innocent message, his faith in me, his complete trust... It all crashed down on me in that moment of stark clarity. What was I doing? This wasn't research anymore. This wasn't about Emily Cooper or Antoine Lambert or preparing for a role. This was me, Lily Collins, about to have sex with a complete stranger while my loving boyfriend waited patiently across the ocean, believing I was merely having "conversations" with clients.

"I found them," Joakim announced, walking back into the living room with a strip of condoms in hand. He paused when he saw my expression. "Is everything okay?"

I quickly locked my phone screen, but the damage was done. The guilt was overwhelming, but I was too far in now. I'd crossed too many lines to suddenly develop a conscience. Besides, wasn't this exactly what I'd promised myself I would do? Experience everything Emily would experience?

"Everything's fine," I said, forcing a smile as I looked up and reached for the strip of condoms in his hand. "Let me help you with that."

My fingers trembled slightly as I tore one off. Joakim sat back on the couch, his erection standing proud against his stomach. I knelt between his legs, trying to steady my breathing as Margot's words echoed in my mind: "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."

Control. That's what this was about. Not losing myself in the moment like I had with Henri, but maintaining that professional distance Margot had emphasized. I told myself I could do it, that Emily wouldn't be a victim of circumstance; she would make calculated choices, even in desperate situations.

"Let me show you something," I said, setting the condom aside for now. I reached for my phone again, opening the camera app. "I want to film this part."

Joakim's eyes darkened with desire. He told me I was "full of surprises."

Forcing a confident smile to hide my nervousness, I positioned the phone carefully on a nearby shelf, angling it to capture us both. I pressed the record button and  positioned myself perfectly in the frame. This was my performance now, not just for the role, but for the camera, for posterity, for whatever version of myself would watch this footage later and try to make sense of what I was doing.

"Ready?" I whispered, meeting his eyes.

He nodded, his breath catching as I lowered my face to his lap. I tore open the condom wrapper with my teeth, extracting the latex circle with careful fingers. Then, placing it between my lips, I bent down and slowly lowered my mouth, using my lips to roll the condom down his shaft, inch by inch.

"Mon Dieu," he whispered, his fingers tangling in my hair. "Where did you learn to do that?"

I smiled up at him, surprised by my own boldness. In truth, I'd never done that before. Not with Charlie, not with anyone. It was a trick I'd once seen in a movie and filed away in the back of my mind as something I might try someday. Now seemed as good a time as any.

‘Well, this is it,’ I said to myself. I was not only nervous because he was a stranger, or because-- no matter how much I tried to dissociate from my personal life-- I was still in a serious relationship, but I kept looking at that huge thing waiting for me to put it in my body and the task seemed daunting. But I couldn't hesitate any longer. Rising to my feet, I moved to straddle him on the couch, my thighs trembling slightly as I positioned myself above him. His eyes locked with mine, dark with desire, as I reached between us to guide him to my entrance.

My thighs trembled as I positioned myself above him, my knees pressing into the leather on either side of his hips. I'll never forget the terrifying feeling of the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, just as his hands found my waist, steadying me as I reached between us to guide him. 

 

I gasped at the contact, and asked him to go slower. Then I bit my lip as I began to sink down, the stretch almost overwhelming. My body resisted at first, unused to his size. I paused, breathing deeply, adjusting to the intrusion.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his fingers digging into my hips.

I closed my eyes, focusing on relaxing, on accepting him inch by inch. The camera continued recording, capturing my expressions of discomfort mingled with pleasure as I gradually took him deeper. I remember hoping that I'd be able to study those expressions for my role—my gasps of surprise, the flutter of my eyelashes, the way my lips parted when he finally filled me completely. This wasn't just sex anymore; it was research, documentation, a character study in the most intimate sense. Every grimace, every moan, every moment of discomfort and pleasure would be captured for me to analyze later, to help me truly understand Emily's journey.

"Oh my God," I whispered, my voice catching as I took him inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure mixed with a slight burning as my body adjusted to his size. I had to pause halfway, my breathing shallow, my hands braced against his shoulders.

"Are you okay?" Joakim asked, his hands still gripping my hips, holding me still as I adjusted to his size.
 

I nodded, unable to speak as I continued my descent. When I finally settled fully onto him, I felt impossibly full, impaled and conquered in a way I'd never experienced before. For a moment, we remained perfectly still, my body pulsing around him as I adjusted to the intrusion.

 

"You feel... amazing," he said, his accent thickening with desire. His hands moved from my hips to cup my breasts, thumbs grazing my nipples as I began to rock gently.

The feeling of him stretching me was unlike anything I'd experienced before. Where Charlie filled me with comfortable familiarity, Joakim invaded me with alien intensity. Every ridge and vein of his cock pressed against my inner walls with startling clarity, creating a map of sensations I could trace with each subtle movement. I felt split open, claimed by this stranger's body in the most primal way.

"You're so deep," I whispered, my voice catching as I shifted slightly. "I can feel you... everywhere."

And I could. The pressure against my cervix sent conflicting signals of pleasure and discomfort racing through my nervous system. When I rotated my hips experimentally, the thick head of his cock dragged against a spot inside me that made my vision blur at the edges. I gasped, my inner muscles clenching involuntarily around his girth.

"There," I breathed, repeating the motion. "Right there."

I began to move, slowly at first, rising up until just the tip remained inside before sinking back down. The drag of him against my sensitive flesh sent sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine, making my thighs quiver. There was something profoundly different about feeling a stranger inside me—no history between us, no emotional connection clouding the purely physical sensation. Just the raw, animal feeling of being filled, stretched, claimed by someone who knew nothing about me beyond this moment.

"Right there," I repeated, grinding down harder, chasing the delicious pressure building inside me.

My movements became more frantic as I rode him, my body taking control in ways my mind hadn't anticipated. The camera captured it all: My head thrown back, my lips parted in silent ecstasy, my breasts bouncing with each desperate rise and fall of my hips. I was no longer thinking about Emily or Antoine or research or roles. There was only the fullness, the friction, the building tension coiling tighter and tighter at my core.

"Je vais te faire jouir," Joakim growled, his hands gripping my waist to guide my movements. "Come for me."

Something about the command in his voice, the foreign words, the sheer size of him stretching me beyond what I thought possible... it all converged in a perfect storm of stimulation. As I found that perfect angle, my entire body seemed to light up from within. Each roll of my hips sent jolts of electric pleasure coursing through me, building faster than I could control. My body tensed, my thighs clamping around his hips as the first waves of orgasm crashed through me.

"Oh god, oh god," I cried out, my inner walls clenching rhythmically around his thick shaft. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

My words dissolved into a strangled cry as the orgasm crashed over me without warning. My body clenched around him in violent pulses, my back arching, nails digging into his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me. I was vaguely aware of my own voice, high and desperate, as I rode out the climax, my hips jerking erratically against him.

I collapsed against his chest, trembling and gasping for air, completely stunned by what had just happened. In less than five minutes, this man I barely knew had made me come harder than I had in years. The realization hit me with embarrassing clarity—I'd never climaxed this hard with Charlie, not even in the passionate early days of our relationship. Not with any boyfriend, ever.

"Mon Dieu," I whispered, echoing Joakim's earlier exclamation. My thighs were still quivering, aftershocks rippling through me as he remained thick and pulsating deep inside of me.

"I'm sorry," I panted when I could finally speak again, my face burning with embarrassment. "That wasn't supposed to happen so fast."

Joakim's eyes were dark with desire as he brushed sweaty strands of hair from my face. "Why are you apologizing?"

I caught my breath, still trembling from the intensity of my release, feeling him throbbing inside me, still hard and unsatisfied. The realization struck me—I'd been completely selfish, focused only on my own pleasure. A real escort would ensure her client's satisfaction came first. I needed to regain control of the situation.

"Do you want to try another position?" I asked, my voice still husky from crying out. I traced my fingers along his jawline, watching his eyes darken with renewed desire. "I want to feel you from a different angle."

His hands tightened on my hips. "Turn around," he commanded. "I want to take you from behind."

The authority in his voice sent a fresh wave of arousal through me. I carefully lifted myself off him, wincing slightly at the emptiness that followed, before turning to face away from him.

"Like this?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder as I positioned myself on all fours on the couch.

"No," he said, his voice rough with desire. "On the floor."

My heart raced as I followed his direction, kneeling on the plush carpet with my upper body resting on the leather cushions. The position made me feel utterly exposed, my ass raised high, my face pressed against the cool leather. I heard him kneel behind me, felt his strong hands spreading my thighs wider, positioning me exactly how he wanted.

"Perfect," he murmured, his hands sliding up my back, then down to grip my hips. 

The phone's unblinking eye recorded me gasping as he pushed forward, the new angle allowing him to penetrate even deeper than before. My mouth fell open in a silent scream, eyes widening as he filled me completely.

"Oh my God," I whimpered, my fingers clawing at the leather couch. Every thrust drove the breath from my lungs, forcing little desperate sounds from my throat that I barely recognized as my own voice.

The camera captured it all—my flushed face, my parted lips, the way my eyes rolled back when he hit that perfect spot deep inside me. I was vaguely aware of how I must look, my carefully constructed persona completely shattered, replaced by raw, unfiltered pleasure.

"You like that?" Joakim grunted, his accent thickening as his pace increased. His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me back to meet each powerful thrust.

"Yes," I whimpered, barely recognizing my own voice. "Don't stop."

He reached forward, grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling my head back gently but firmly. I turned my head toward the phone, meeting my own gaze in the preview screen. The woman staring back at me was a stranger—wild-eyed, hair disheveled. 

I stared at the screen, transfixed by my own reflection, when something strange happened. I blinked, but the illusion persisted. On the screen, Emily Cooper stared back at me, her lips parted in ecstasy as Antoine Lambert took her from behind, his elegant hands gripping her waist, his perfectly tailored pants pushed down just enough to free himself. I could almost hear his voice—not Joakim's Finnish-accented English, but Antoine's smooth, cultured French—whispering filthy promises in Emily's ear.



"Antoine," I whispered, the name escaping my lips before I could catch it.

The vision in the phone was so vivid—Emily's chestnut hair falling across her face as Antoine drove into her with relentless precision. I could see his face clearly now, that familiar smirk playing across his lips as he claimed what he wanted. The perfumer and the American girl, their forbidden arrangement playing out in luxurious detail.

"What did you call me?" Joakim's voice broke through, his rhythm faltering slightly.

But I barely heard him. I was transfixed by the scene playing out on my phone screen—Emily's life and mine blurring together.

"Wait," I gasped, suddenly overwhelmed by the dual realities colliding in my mind. My hand shot back, pressing against his stomach to stop his movements. "Pull out. Please."

Joakim froze, confusion evident in his expression as he slowly withdrew. The sudden emptiness made me whimper, my body clenching around nothing.

"What's wrong?" he asked, breathing heavily, his accent thicker with arousal.

I turned to face him, my heart pounding against my ribs. The fantasy had taken complete hold of me now. In my mind, it wasn't Joakim kneeling behind me but Antoine, his dark eyes gleaming with power and desire. In that moment, I realized what Emily would feel. The script I'd imagined suddenly seemed so obvious—Emily wouldn't just see this as a transaction. She'd fall for Antoine. Her inexperience would make her vulnerable, emotional. She'd want to feel him, all of him, without barriers between them.The inexperienced American girl, overwhelmed by his sophistication, his power, his intensity. She wouldn't be thinking about money anymore.

"Take it off," I heard myself say, tugging at the condom's edge. "I want to feel you. Just you."

This was madness. Every rule Margot had taught me, every boundary I'd set for myself—I was about to cross them all. But in my mind, I wasn't Lily anymore, I was Emily, and tow of Emily’s defining traits were irrationality and poor decisions.

Without hesitation, he peeled the condom off and positioned himself at my entrance again.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky with need.

I nodded, beyond rational thought. "Yes. I need to feel you."

 

With one swift motion, he peeled off the latex barrier and positioned himself at my entrance again. The feeling of his bare skin against mine sent shivers through my body. He gripped my hips and thrust forward, burying himself inside me with a groan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.

"I can't—I'm going to—" he gasped, his rhythm immediately frantic and desperate. I felt him twitch inside me, his entire body tensing. Before I could even adjust to the sensation of him bare inside me, Joakim let out a guttural moan. His fingers dug into my hips with bruising force as he slammed deep inside me one final time. I felt his cock pulsing inside me, and then came the warmth—a hot rush flooding my deepest parts. The sensation was so primal, so intimate that it sent me spiraling into another unexpected orgasm. I cried out, my inner walls clenching around him, milking every last drop as he filled me completely.

"Antoine," I whispered, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me. In that moment, I was Emily, utterly and completely. I could feel Antoine's seed marking me from the inside, claiming me in the most primitive way possible. This wasn't just research anymore. This wasn't acting. The line between Lily and Emily had vanished entirely, and I surrendered to it. The warmth spread through my lower belly, a physical reminder of what I'd just allowed. Each pulse of his cock sent another splash of heat deep within me, and I reveled in the forbidden intimacy of it.

 

"C'est magnifique," I heard Antoine say as he slowly withdrew from me, his breath ragged against my neck. The camera captured everything—the obscene moment his cock slipped free from my swollen lips, followed by a thick, pearly string of his release dripping from my pussy onto the pristine white carpet below. 

 

I stared at the screen, transfixed by the sight of myself—flushed, disheveled, leaking another man's essence. The visual was so raw, so primal that I felt a strange pride mingled with my shock. 

 

 

"Oh my god," I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen. The woman in the frame—was she Lily or Emily?—looked debauched, conquered, her thighs trembling as more of Joakim's seed trickled out of her. 

I collapsed forward onto the couch, my knees giving way beneath me. I could feel his seed cooling on my skin, the sensation both foreign and strangely intimate. My mind struggled to process what had just happened—not just the physical act, but the complete disintegration of the boundaries between Lily and Emily.

"That was..." Joakim began, his breathing still ragged.

"Incredible," I finished for him, not trusting myself to say more.

"Forgive me," he panted, his accent thicker than before. "I couldn't hold back any longer."

I remained on all fours, catching my breath as I felt the remains of his semen cooling on the inside of my thigh. Suddenly, the fantasy of Antoine had completely evaporated, leaving me facing the stark reality of what I'd just done. My phone was still recording, capturing the aftermath—my trembling limbs, the evidence of Joakim's pleasure glistening on my skin in the golden evening light.

"It's okay," I whispered, unsure if I was reassuring him or myself.

He reached for a box of tissues on the side table, gently cleaning his release from in between my legs. The tissue felt rough against my sensitive skin as Joakim methodically cleaned his release from my back. Each gentle stroke reminded me of what we'd just done, what lines I'd crossed. When he finished, I collapsed onto my side, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was. The adrenaline that had carried me through the encounter was fading, leaving me drained and oddly vulnerable.

"You're shaking," he observed, draping his discarded shirt around my shoulders. I hadn't even noticed, but he was right. My entire body trembled with the aftershocks of what we'd just done. I reached for my phone, stopping the recording with fingers that didn't feel like my own.

"Would you like some water?" Joakim asked, his voice gentle now, all traces of dominance gone.

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. As he disappeared into the kitchen, I scrolled through the video we'd just created, watching fragments of my transformation play out on the small screen. The woman in those images—was she me? Was she Emily? I couldn't tell anymore.

Joakim returned with a glass of water and sat beside me, his thigh warm against mine.

"You should stay," Joakim said, his voice soft as he stretched out beside me on the couch. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my hip. "It's getting late."

Stay? The word triggered something in my memory—Margot's voice, firm and clear during our first meeting: "Never stay the night. The transaction ends when the act is complete. Staying creates expectations, blurs boundaries. It's the first rule of maintaining control."

I knew I should leave. But what waited for me back at the hotel? An empty bed and my phone, filled with Charlie's messages—his trust, his love, his complete faith in me. The thought made my stomach clench with guilt. I couldn't face those messages tonight, couldn't reconcile the Lily who had just let a stranger come inside her with the Lily who Charlie believed was just doing research.

"I'll stay," I whispered.

Relief washed over Joakim's face as he pulled me closer, his arm encircling my waist. "Good. I make excellent breakfast."

I smiled despite myself, settling into his embrace. The warmth of another body against mine pushed thoughts of Charlie to the furthest corner of my troubled mind.

As I drifted in that hazy space between satisfaction and guilt, Joakim suddenly sat up. "I almost forgot," he said, reaching over to the side table where a cream-colored envelope lay partially hidden beneath a magazine. He handed it to me, his expression suddenly businesslike. "As agreed with Margot."

The envelope felt heavy in my hands. I hesitated before opening it, knowing exactly what I'd find inside. This was the moment that would transform what had just happened from a passionate encounter into a transaction. My fingers trembled as I peeked inside to see neatly stacked bills.

"I... thank you," I managed, unsure of the proper etiquette. Was I supposed to count it? Thank him profusely? Act like it was nothing?
 

My fingers trembled as I pulled the stack of euros from the envelope, fanning them across my palm.

As I stared at the crisp bills in my hand, a strange sensation swept through me—not disgust or shame as I might have expected, but an electric thrill that tingled from my fingertips up my spine. Five thousand euros. The cold, hard evidence that I, Lily Collins, daughter of rock legend Phil Collins, had just had sex with a stranger for money.

"Jesus," I whispered, my heart racing as I thumbed through the cash. My father's face flashed in my mind—what would he think if he could see his little girl now? His princess, his Lily, spread-eagled on a stranger's couch with another man's semen still drying inside her, counting her earnings like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet... I couldn't deny the dark, forbidden excitement coursing through me.

"Is it the correct amount?" Joakim asked, misinterpreting my silence.

"Yes," I managed, my voice husky. "It's perfect."

I ran my fingers over the bills, feeling the texture against my skin. Each note represented a moment—his hands on my body, his cock inside me, his seed still warm within me. 

Joakim's eyes darkened as he watched me handle the money, his gaze fixed on my fingers caressing the bills. His breathing changed, becoming heavier, more deliberate.

"I want to ask you something," he said, his voice low and thick with renewed desire. "Would you... would you consider earning a little extra?"

I looked up, curious despite myself. "What did you have in mind?"

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving the cash in my hands. "I want to watch you lie down with the money spread across your body while I... pleasure myself over you." His accent grew thicker as he continued. "Two thousand more. Just to lie there with my payment on your skin while I finish myself."

The request was so unexpected, so specific, that for a moment I could only stare at him. This wasn't in any script I'd read, wasn't part of any character study I'd prepared for.

 

"You want to... come on the money? On me with the money?" I clarified, my voice steadier than I expected.

 

"Oui," he nodded, already reaching for his cock, which was remarkably beginning to stiffen again. "Spread the bills across your stomach, your breasts. I want to see you covered in my money before I cover you with my cum."

 

Margot's voice suddenly echoed in my head: "Special requests are gold, darling. They're what separates the amateurs from the professionals. When a client asks for something unusual, that's your opportunity to make yourself unforgettable. The men who pay for regular sex can go anywhere but the ones with specific fantasies become loyal clients for life. They'll pay double, triple even, because they know you understand them."

 

Looking at Joakim's eager face, I suddenly understood what she meant and I found myself arranging the bills across my naked body with trembling fingers, positioning them over my stomach and breasts, feeling the crisp paper against my still-sensitive skin. 

"Perfect," Joakim groaned, his hand working furiously as he stood over me. "Hold them in place."

I obeyed, pressing the bills against my body with splayed fingers. The notes crinkled with each breath I took, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet apartment. I watched, mesmerized, as Joakim's hand flew up and down his shaft, his eyes fixed on the sight of me lying naked beneath his money. His rhythm increased, his breathing growing ragged as he stared down at me—not at my face, but at the money covering my body. It was the bills that excited him, the visual of me decorated with his payment, reduced to a canvas for his transaction.

His breathing grew ragged, his movements more desperate. "You're so beautiful," he gasped, "covered in my payment."

I didn't know what to say, what to do, so I simply lay there, a living altar to his fantasy. His face contorted, muscles tightening as his hand moved faster. With a guttural cry, he erupted—hot, thick ropes of semen splashing across the bills on my stomach, my breasts, even catching the edge of my jaw. The warm liquid soaked through the money, turning the crisp paper translucent in spots. I watched, transfixed, as his essence merged with the currency, the ultimate symbol of our transaction.

 
As soon as I felt his hot seed spattering across the money and my skin, something shifted inside me. The initial awkwardness evaporated in an instant, replaced by a rush of raw, animal hunger. I arched my back, pressing my body upward to catch more of his release, my breath coming in quick, desperate gasps.

"Oh my god," I moaned, arching my back to let the money slide against my skin. The wet bills clung to me, plastered to my stomach and breasts by his semen. I felt used... degraded... I felt... intoxicated by the rawness of what we were doing. I ran my fingers through the mess, deliberately smearing his cum across the bills, mixing bodily fluids with currency in a way that felt deliciously taboo. The sensation of the soggy money sliding against my skin sent shivers down my spine.

 

"Yes," I moaned, running my fingers through the sticky mixture of cash and cum, spreading it across my stomach in slow, deliberate circles. "Mark me. Make me yours." The words weren't planned—they erupted from some primal part of me I'd never accessed before. 

 

"Mon Dieu," he whispered, his spent cock twitching above me as I relished in the warm wetness of his cum soaking through the money on my skin. 

 

"You can... take photos," I said, my voice thick with an emotion I couldn't quite name. "To remember the moment."

Joakim raised an eyebrow, his chest still heaving from his exertion. "For real?"

"Yes," I nodded, feigning casual indifference while my heart raced. "Take them with my phone." I gestured toward where it lay on the coffee table, trying to mask my eagerness behind professional courtesy. What I couldn't admit—not to him, not even fully to myself—was how desperately I wanted these images. Not just for Emily's character study, but for me. Something to replay in secret moments, evidence of this forbidden transformation I'd undergone.

 
As he took the phone with trembling fingers, I began to smear his warm seed across the bills and onto my skin. I traced patterns across my stomach, watching his eyes darken as I deliberately pushed one cum-soaked bill between my breasts, letting it stick to my flesh.

 

"Make sure you can see everything—the money, what you did to it... to me..." I said, arranging myself more artfully, spreading my legs slightly, letting one arm rest above my head. 

"Mon Dieu," he breathed, the camera clicking rapidly as I continued my performance.

I took another bill, this one relatively clean, and deliberately dragged it through a pool of his semen on my stomach before bringing it to my lips. The camera captured everything. "Keep taking photos," I instructed, my voice husky as I dragged my cum-slick fingers up to my breasts, painting glistening trails across my nipples. The camera clicked repeatedly, capturing every moment as I massaged the sticky fluid into my skin like expensive lotion.

I felt possessed by some primal force, spreading his essence over my body while he documented every second. The mix of semen and money created an intoxicating cocktail of taboo that made my head spin. 

 

"How do I look?" 

 

"Like a goddess," Joakim whispered, still taking photos as I posed with his money and seed coating my skin.

Something stirred inside me then—a dark, forbidden desire to push this even further. I could see him holding back, being polite despite the obscenity before him. But I didn't want polite. I wanted raw. I wanted truth.

Tell me what you really think," I said, my voice low and commanding as I spread my legs wider, letting one of the cum-soaked bills slide between my thighs. "Don't be gentle. Tell me exactly what I am to you right now."

Joakim hesitated, his jaw tightening as he gripped the phone harder.

"Say it," I insisted.

"You're..." he began, then stopped, uncertain.

"Tell me what I am," I demanded, feeling reckless, dangerous. 

His expression shifted, something primal taking over as he understood what I was asking for.

"You're my whore," he finally said, his accent thickening with each word. 

 

"Say it again," I demanded, my voice rough with desire as I gathered the cum-soaked bills in my hand. 

 

"Ma putain," he repeated, louder this time, more confident as he saw my reaction. "Ma sale putain américaine."  

The French words hit me with unexpected force. Though I didn't speak French fluently, I understood enough to know what he was calling me, and even if I hadn't, his tone had conveyed everything. The harsh consonants, the possessive growl, the way his lips curled around "putain"—it felt more authentic, more raw than the English equivalent.

"Again," I whispered, spreading the soiled bills across my breasts.

"Ma putain," he repeated, moving closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.

 

"Je suis... ta sale putain," I heard myself say, the French words clumsy on my tongue but burning with conviction as I spread my legs wide, displaying myself to him completely, my pussy red and swollen, still glistening with the remnants of our earlier encounter. The money scattered around me, some bills still clinging to my cum-slicked skin.  

 

His eyes widened at my words, clearly shocked that I knew enough French for this. Truth be told, I'd practiced those specific phrases in my hotel room, anticipating a moment like this. I hadn't expected to actually use them.

 

Joakim groaned and his cock hardened impossibly fast. Dropping my phone onto the couch, he positioned himself between my spread thighs. The money still clung to my skin, wet with his cum as I reached down to guide him to my entrance.

 

"Baise-moi encore avec ta grosse bite," I whispered, the French words feeling foreign yet powerful on my tongue. I'd practiced this phrase too, repeating it in my hotel bathroom mirror, never truly believing I'd have the courage to use it.

 

His eyes widened, darkening with renewed hunger at hearing his native tongue from my mouth. Without hesitation, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in a single, savage motion that tore a scream from my throat. 

 

I gasped as he pushed inside me again, the sensation both familiar and new. My body was still sensitive from before, making every movement feel amplified. The money crinkled beneath us, some bills sticking to my sweat-slicked skin, others falling away as he began to thrust with increasing urgency.

 

"You like this?" he growled, switching back to English as he pounded into me, the money crinkling and sticking to our sweat-slicked bodies. "You like being my little American whore?" 

"Yes! Now fuck me harder," I demanded, wrapping my legs around his waist, not even sure if I was still acting anymore. "Plus fort!"

He obeyed, driving into me with an intensity that took my breath away. Our bodies were slick with sweat and cum as his hands slid beneath me, gripping my ass as he lifted me off the couch. In one fluid motion, he spun us around, my back slamming against the wall next to the sofa, my legs still wrapped around his waist. I felt the cool plaster against my heated skin, the contrast shocking my system as he continued to thrust upward. 

 

"Like this," he grunted, re-entering me with one powerful thrust that made me cry out. Money fluttered around us like obscene confetti, some bills still plastered to my breasts and stomach. 

"Oh god," I moaned as he hit that perfect spot deep inside me. "Right there, don't stop!" 

 

I wasn't even trying to act anymore. The pretense had fallen away completely. This wasn't Emily Cooper earning money to save her career. This wasn't method acting or research or anything remotely professional. This was just me—Lily Collins—being fucked against a wall by a stranger and loving every second of it.

 

Joakim growled something in French, his hips pistoning with mechanical precision. My head fell back against the wall, my eyes rolling as he hit that perfect spot with each powerful thrust. The painting hanging beside us rattled against the wall, keeping time with our frantic rhythm.

 

His fingers dug into my ass as he held me up, his powerful thighs flexing with each upward thrust. One of the bills was stuck to my breast, another to my stomach, the ink probably smearing against my sweat-slicked skin. I didn't care. I wasn't thinking about character studies anymore, or about Charlie waiting for me across the ocean, I wasn't even thinking on how I would explain the sucking marks on my neck to makeup the next day. I could only think about how good it felt to be filled so completely, utterly impaled, stretched beyond what I thought possible as Joakim pinned me against the wall. 

 

"God, yes!" I cried out, my head thrown back as he slammed into me repeatedly. My nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin. Each thrust drove him impossibly deeper, the angle allowing his massive shaft to reach places inside me that had never been touched before. The head of his cock pressed against my cervix with each powerful surge, sending sharp jolts of mingled pain and pleasure radiating through my core. I was completely filled, stuffed so full I could barely breathe, my inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth. The pressure was so intense I swore I could feel him in my stomach, rearranging my insides with each brutal thrust.

 

"Oh my God," I cried, my arms trembling as they held onto him. "You're so fucking deep." And he was. In that position, with gravity pulling me down onto him, I swear I could feel him in my stomach. Each time he bottomed out inside me, I felt that delicious pressure against places no other men had been able to reach before.

"I'm going to come," Joakim growled, his pace becoming frantic. "Where do you want it?"

 

The question barely registered through the haze of my pleasure. My body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release as he hammered into me against that wall. The rational part of my brain—the part that should have been screaming about protection, about risks, about consequences—had completely shut down.

"Inside," I gasped, tightening my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

 

In that moment, I didn't care about anything else, not even the possibility of pregnancy. All I wanted was to feel him erupting inside me. "Please," I begged, my voice breaking as I felt my own orgasm approaching. "Fill me up."

 

His fingers dug painfully into my ass as he slammed into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt. I felt his cock pulse violently inside me, flooding my womb with his seed for the second time that night. The sensation of his hot release painting my insides triggered my own orgasm, making me clench around him in rhythmic waves, milking every last drop from him. 

 

I remember screaming from my own orgasm, feeling like I was impaled on Joakim's creamy cock. The sensation of him throbbing inside me, pumping me full of his seed while I convulsed around him, was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. My vision blurred at the edges, my entire body consumed by wave after wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. I couldn't tell where he ended and I began anymore—we were just one writhing, pulsing entity against that wall.

 

"Ma putain," he groaned against my neck, his body shuddering with aftershocks as he held me suspended, impaled on his still-hard length. I could feel his release seeping out around his cock, trickling down my inner thighs in hot rivulets. "C'était incroyable."

When my vision finally cleared, I realized I was sobbing—not from sadness or regret, but from pure exhilaration. We stayed locked together against the wall, both of us panting, sweat-slicked and trembling. 

 

His cock slipped out of me, glistening with our combined fluids and, suddenly, I felt like a woman possessed. I unwrapped my legs from around his waist and slid down the wall until my knees hit the floor with a dull thud.  

 

Without thinking, without hesitation, I took him in my mouth, tasting our combined juices. I moaned around his semi-hard shaft, my tongue working methodically to clean every inch of him. The taste of my own body mingled with his made my head spin, and I looked up to see him staring down at me in awe.

"Mon Dieu," he whispered, his fingers tangling in my hair as I worked my tongue around his length, cleaning every inch of him. The taste was salty, musky, primal—a cocktail of him and me that should have disgusted me but instead sent a fresh wave of arousal through my body. "You are insatiable."

I was. In that moment, I was ravenous, desperate to taste every drop of our combined pleasure. His cock began to harden again in my mouth as I sucked and licked, making obscene slurping sounds that echoed in the quiet apartment. I didn't recognize myself anymore—this wanton creature on her knees, eagerly cleaning a stranger's cock with her mouth, cum-stained euros still stuck to her sweat-slicked skin. I looked up at him through my lashes, my lips stretched around his thickness, and saw him staring down at me with a mixture of awe and disbelief. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking harder, determined to taste every drop of evidence of what we'd done together. My tongue traced the veins along his shaft, dipping into every ridge and contour as I cleaned him thoroughly.

 

"No woman has ever... done that for me before," he said, his voice filled with wonder.

 

I pulled back, my lips making a wet pop as they released him. "We taste good together," I giggled, my voice hoarse, a string of our combined fluids still connecting my lips to his tip.

 

The truth was, I'd surprised myself completely. Not once had I ever considered taking Charlie back into my mouth after he'd been inside me. The thought had always seemed so dirty, so taboo—something porn stars did, not respectable actresses. Yet there I was, diving back down, my tongue working greedily around a stranger's cock to clean and savor the evidence of our coupling, devouring every drop like it was some sacred communion. 

 

I should have seen it coming. He was getting harder in my mouth with each passing second, his breathing growing ragged above me. But I was so lost in the moment that I didn't register the warning signs until Joakim's body suddenly went rigid and his cock pulsed violently. Before I could react, a hot jet of cum splashed against the back of my throat, me completely off-guard. I pulled back, couching up cum even as more of his cum splashed across my left cheek and eye. Another pulse landed on my nose and lips, and by the third, I was gasping in shock as thick ropes of his cum painted my face in rapid succession.

"Oh!" I cried out, instinctively closing my eyes as the warm semen dripped down my cheeks, clinging to my eyelashes. I could feel it sliding down my chin, dropping onto my breasts where the money still stuck to my skin.

"Je suis désolé," he panted, though he didn't sound sorry at all. "I couldn't help myself."
 

I blinked through the sticky mess, his semen clinging to my eyelashes, dripping down my nose and chin. The taste of him flooded my mouth, salty and bitter. I should have been disgusted, should have recoiled in horror at being marked so crudely without warning. Instead, I felt a perverse thrill ripple through me.

"It's okay," I whispered, licking my lips and tasting him there. "I like it."

 

I wiped a thick glob of cum from my eye with my finger, and suddenly a hysterical giggle bubbled up from deep in my chest. The absurdity of my situation hit me all at once—kneeling naked on a stranger's floor, my face and breasts splattered with semen, money sticking to my skin, and his seed still leaking from between my thighs. The giggle turned into full-blown laughter that shook my entire body.

"What's so funny?" Joakim asked, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement as his legs suddenly gave out. He slid down against the wall until he was sitting on the floor beside me, his chest heaving with exertion. I collapsed next to him, our shoulders touching, but I couldn't answer him, couldn't explain that I had just realized his cum  was literally everywhere. Inside me, outside me, on my face, in my mouth, in my pussy, leaking out of me, all over my body, even in my eye.

 

Never in my life had I been so thoroughly claimed by someone's seed. I was a complete mess and the laughter continued to bubble out of me uncontrollably, tears mixing with the cum on my face. 

"Sorry, I got carried away," Joakim said, though a smile was tugging at his lips. "Would you stay the night?" He then asked me suddenly, his voice soft as he reached out to wipe some of his cum from my cheek with his thumb. "I'll pay you extra, of course."

 

The request caught me off guard, and for a moment, I just stared at him, blinking through the sticky mess still clinging to my eyelashes. Margot's warning echoed in my head: "Never stay the night. The transaction ends when the act is complete."

I opened my mouth to decline, but something in his expression stopped me. There was a vulnerability there I hadn't noticed before, a loneliness that resonated with something inside me. Or maybe it was just that I couldn't face going back to my empty hotel room, couldn't bear to be alone with my thoughts and the weight of what I'd just done.

"You don't have to answer right away," he added quickly, misinterpreting my hesitation. 

 

I nodded, still giggling as I tried to gather myself. My legs felt like jelly as I stumbled toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of cum and money behind me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and froze. My makeup was smeared, my hair a wild tangle, and my face—Jesus, my face was covered in thick white streaks that dripped down onto my chest. I looked like I'd been through some depraved bukkake scene, not the sophisticated escort experience Margot had trained me for. The laughter had subsided, and now I found myself in a moment of strange clarity. I realized I'd broken every single one of Margot's rules in spectacular fashion. Never stay the night? I'd already decided to do exactly that. Always use protection? My womb was currently filled with a stranger's seed—twice over. Maintain professional distance? The way I'd begged him to fill me up had been anything but professional. Don't lose control? I'd completely surrendered to my basest desires.

 

Yet as I stood there in my cum-covered glory, I couldn't bring myself to feel regret. The sex had been mind-blowing—raw, animalistic, and completely uninhibited in a way I'd never experienced before. Not with Charlie, not with anyone. I'd never felt so completely consumed by pleasure, so utterly present in my own body. This had been, without question, the best sex of my life.

As I cleaned myself up, I heard Joakim moving around in the living room. When I emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a plush towel I'd found on the rack, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding another envelope.

"I want you to stay the night," he said, his voice soft but firm. He patted the space beside him on the bed. 

 

"I don't usually..." I repeated, suddenly realizing I had no idea what to say next. What would Emily do? I desperately tried to recall the character I was supposedly embodying, the one whose research had been my excuse for all of this.

 

I closed my eyes for a moment, desperately trying to recall who Emily Cooper was supposed to be in this scenario. The inexperienced American girl, thrown into the world of high-end escorting to save her job. What would she do after her first real client? Would she stay? Would she take more money?

 

"I don't usually stay the night," I finally said, my voice steadier as I slipped back into character. "But for you, I can make an exception." 

The words sounded hollow even to my own ears. This wasn't Emily speaking anymore—this was just me, trying to hide behind a fictional persona to avoid confronting what I'd done. I'd crossed every line imaginable, and no amount of "method acting" could justify it.

His face lit up with relief as he reached for the bedside drawer and pulled out another cream-colored envelope, thicker than the first one. "For staying the night," he said, pressing it into my palm. "And for... everything else."

I weighed it in my hand, feeling that same forbidden thrill course through me. Without counting, I could tell it contained significantly more than the first payment. I slipped it into my purse on the nightstand, trying to appear casual despite the way my heart raced.

"Thank you," I whispered, suddenly shy despite everything we'd done. The weight of the money in my handbag felt both comforting and damning. I was officially a kept woman for the night—paid not just for sex but for intimacy, for the privilege of falling asleep beside me. As I returned to the bed, Joakim pulled back the covers, inviting me in.

I hesitated only briefly before dropping my towel and sliding naked between his sheets. They were expensive, silky against my freshly showered skin. Joakim's arm encircled my waist, pulling me against his chest, his heartbeat steady against my back. Charlie's face flashed in my mind, and I felt a stab of guilt so sharp it made me gasp. What would he think if he knew where I was right now? If he saw the video on my phone, or the envelope of cash in my purse? This had gone so much further than I'd ever intended. I'd come to Paris to play a role, not to become someone else entirely. 

 

I stared at the ceiling, Joakim's arm heavy across my waist, and realized with startling clarity that this was precisely what would happen to Emily too. She wouldn't just be playing a part or going through the motions. The lines would blur for her just as they had for me. We were both losing ourselves in the process. 

"You're just being thorough," I said to myself as I felt a heaviness settling over me, exhaustion from the day's events finally catching up. I curled my body into a more comfortable position, Joakim's warmth radiating against my back. The last thought that drifted through my mind before sleep claimed me was that I'd crossed a line I could never uncross—and the most terrifying part was how little I cared.

I'm not sure how long I slept. The room was still dark when I became aware of a pleasant warmth spreading through my body. Through the haze of sleep, I felt Joakim's breath hot on my neck, his erection pressing insistently between my thighs from behind. My body responded before my mind fully awakened—my hips arching back against him, seeking that connection. Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the nightstand beside me and a text from Margot lit up my screen: "How did it go with Joakim? Did you learn what you needed?"

I stared at Margot's message for a long moment, I froze, my body caught between two worlds—Joakim's insistent hardness pressing against my entrance from behind and Margot's message glowing in the darkness like an accusation. His lips found my neck, sending shivers down my spine as his cock nudged between my folds, already slick with renewed arousal.

 

"Just a second," I whispered, my fingers hovering over the phone screen. What could I possibly tell her? That I'd broken every rule she'd taught me? That I'd let him come inside me—twice? That I was currently in his bed, ready for more?

 

"Everything went perfectly! Just like you said it would. Joakim was a perfect gentleman." I stared at my phone for a moment longer, then felt Joakim shifting behind me, his cock pressing more insistently against my entrance. Without thinking, I typed: "I'm fine. Followed all your rules. Heading back to hotel now," as Joakim's hips pushed forward, his thick shaft sliding inside me with a single, smooth thrust.

"Who's that?" he murmured against my ear, his accent thicker with sleep and desire as he began to move inside me, slow and deep.

"Just my friend," I whispered, setting the phone face-down on the nightstand. "Checking in."

As Joakim continued his slow, deliberate movements inside me, the phone buzzed again on the nightstand. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the delicious friction of his cock stretching me from behind, but the persistent vibration demanded attention.

"Someone really wants to talk to you," Joakim murmured, his rhythm faltering slightly.

I reached over with trembling fingers, expecting another message from Margot. Instead, Charlie's name flashed across the screen, accompanied by a photo of us together from our last vacation. My stomach lurched as I read his message:
 

"Been thinking so much about you. Can't wait to hear how your research went. I'm so proud of you for diving so deep into this role. Video chat later? Miss your face."

The words blurred as tears suddenly pricked my eyes. The weight of what I'd done crashed down on me all at once—not as Emily Cooper, not as some character I was researching, but as Lily Collins. I had crossed every line, broken every promise, betrayed the trust of the man who loved me unconditionally.

"I have to go," I blurted out, suddenly scrambling out of bed, gathering my scattered clothes from the floor.

Joakim sat up, confusion etched across his face. "What's wrong? Did I—"

"No, no, it's not you," I said, pulling on my underwear with trembling hands. "I just... I have to be on set soon.” 

Joakim's eyes narrowed slightly. "Set? Are you an actress?"

I caught myself too late, my heart pounding in my ears. "What? No, no," I laughed nervously, fumbling with my bra clasp. "Just a slip of the tongue. I meant I have a... meeting. With my boss. About social media strategies."

Joakim's brow furrowed, his eyes studying my face. "Social media strategies? I thought Margot said you were new to escorting."

I froze, my heart racing. I'd made a critical mistake, mentioning a job that belonged to Emily, not to the escort persona I was supposed to be maintaining.

"Oh! Yes, well..." I stammered, forcing a light laugh as I pulled my top over my head. "I have a day job too. Most girls do, you know? The escorting is just... supplemental income."

Joakim's eyes narrowed slightly. 

I grabbed my phone and purse, backing toward the door. "I really have to go. Thank you for... everything." I practically ran from his apartment.

 

I spent the cab ride back to my hotel in a fog of confusion and shame. The money from my night with Joakim felt heavy in my purse, a physical reminder of lines I'd crossed that I could never uncross. As the Parisian streets blurred past the window, I caught glimpses of my reflection—disheveled hair, swollen lips, a faint bruise forming on my neck that makeup would have to cover before filming.

Back in my hotel room, I stood under the shower for what felt like hours, letting scalding water wash over me as if it could somehow cleanse away what I'd done. But no amount of expensive hotel soap could erase the memory of Joakim inside me, or the way I'd begged him not to use protection.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in a plush hotel robe, I noticed my phone blinking with notifications. More messages from Charlie, each one more loving and supportive than the last. I couldn't bring myself to respond. Instead, I sat at the edge of the bed and emptied the contents of my purse onto the duvet—thousands of euros spread before me, payment for services rendered. 

 

I picked up my phone and scrolled through the photos and videos from the night before. The woman in those images—sprawled across Joakim's couch, money stuck to her cum-slicked skin, face contorted in genuine ecstasy—was she me? Was she Emily? I couldn't tell anymore, and that terrified me more than anything. Let me be absolutely clear with you, dear reader: This is where the fantasy should have ended. This is where I should have woken up to reality, deleted those videos, and remembered who I really was. But the truth is, I didn't. Instead, I found myself counting the money again, running my fingers over the crisp bills, feeling the texture against my skin. Each note represented a moment—his hands on my body, his cock inside me, his seed still warm within me. The money was both evidence and temptation. 

 

So here's my confession, and perhaps the most important moral of this story: be careful when you use "art" or "research" to justify your darkest desires. What started as character preparation quickly became something else entirely—an excuse to explore things I'd always kept hidden, even from myself. 

 

I wish I could tell you that this was the end of my journey as "Emily the escort," that I learned my lesson and returned to being just Lily Collins, actress and professional. But life—and desire—is rarely that simple. 

 

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