Oo la la on the menu for the sexy Hertfordshire girl

It felt perfectly natural to be wading through Jodie’s lingerie drawer for underwear. I had received my first telephone call from a client since deciding to ‘become’ the naughty dominatrix and I was thrilled at the prospect of my first date. I also picked out a fabulous chiffon dress and some heels and then I did my hair and make-up in Jodie’s style.

Standing before the mirror the transformation was surreal. It was like I was the sexy Hertfordshire girl. I also felt strange inside, like I was actually and literally metamorphosing into the former Hertfordshire escort, my own personality subjugated by hers. By day Jodie had enjoyed  a successful career as a visiting escort at Hertfordshire escorts and by night she became the wild sexual adventurer, a seeker of new physical experiences that would push the boundaries of her sexuality. Now that Jodie had departed for a new personal sex odyssey on far away shores – the busty escort had taken a flight to Colorado where she intended to back pack across the state – I had taken her place and longed to experience the forbidden fruits that the sexy Hertfordshire girl had feasted on for so long.

The phone call had been rather abrupt but I liked it when people got to the point. My date was a foreign businessman staying over at a hotel in Hertford and he had been given ‘my’ number by a colleague who had raved about this sensual, outrageously sexy girl who was every man’s fantasy and who seemed to have no inhibitions or boundaries when it came to love and lust. I listened intently to his words, savouring the anticipation of our rendezvous and intent on living up to the scenario that he no doubt was carving in his imagination right then. I would be the super sexy busty escort at her best. I would give myself fully to the experience and my date would go on to rave about me to his friends...

His hotel was chic and expensive; a country manor with climbing plants adorning the external walls and with an interior that demonstrated the designer had impeccable taste and style. I loved the place and strolled across to the bar, looking gorgeous and hot, and ordered a glass of Chablis. As I went to pay a voice boomed over me from behind, the accent unmistakeably French, exuding confidence and charisma: “Add that to my tab will you, merci...” he said and I turned to face him.

Marcel was a mature and elegant man, his understated dress sense and his long and greying hair working well with his slim frame. He wasn’t particularly tall though at around five ten he towered over me...