LA Private Dancer: Chap. 4— An Italian Excursion
Author’s Note: You’re still with me? The cast expands in this chapter, and hotness ensues. Enjoy!
Adrian McCaskill was a tech entrepreneur, which, if Google was correct, was worth something just north of a billion. By some measure, he’d been the richest VIP I’d agreed to provide services to and was one of the very few to whom I’d permitted services rendered to be off club property.
Sex work outside of the confines of the club was a high-risk proposition. In the Emerald, I was one text or call away from having as many as five ripped security guys storm into a room to remove whatever asshole had crossed the line.
It didn’t happen often because the club had a reputation for dealing harshly with poorly behaving customers, but it did happen.
In the real world, I could make no such call, so it was beyond important that the client I was going to connect with could be trusted.
Adrian had been visiting me off and on for two years. I hadn’t heard from him in eight months, and then, out of the blue, he texted me asking if I’d like to join him on a private yacht for a week cruising off the coast of southern Italy.
A quick word about Adrian. While he got the game we played, outside of being better-than-average in bed, there wasn’t much likeable about the man. In fact, he was a misogynistic asshole.
The extent of my time with him outside of the club had been a couple of weekends in US locales that had mostly been bearable. Being in the US had been key. In Vegas and Aspen, help, if I needed it, was a quick call to 9–1–1. An extraordinary step, but one that was there.
A yacht off the coast of Italy was an entirely different proposition.
But in the end, I agreed. Adrian could be a dick, but my sense was that he was harmless, and a week cruising the Mediterranean on a million-per-week yacht was something my 24-year-old wonder-lust brain couldn’t resist.
Two weeks later, after a first-class flight to Rome and then a charter plane to the very tip of Italy’s boot, I was carving through the waters of the Mediterranean in a sleek tender that perfectly emulated the lines of the streamlined ship that was anchored a few hundred meters off the sun-blasted Calabrian coast.
In addition to the two male crew piloting the small vessel, a stunning brunette named Francisca had joined our short commute across the incredible turquoise-blue water.
Speaking in more than passable English, after introducing herself as Brazilian, she said, “You’re American?”
“Yes, from Los Angeles,” I said transparently, feeling no need to hide my particulars. Undoubtedly, this gorgeous woman, who had to be close to my age, would be on the ship we were quickly approaching to do the same kinds of things I would be doing, so there was no good reason to hide who I was or where I was from.
As she looked at me with her striking cocoa-coloured eyes, she said over the sound of the tender’s motor. “You’re incredible. Your body. It’s so fit. And your hair. The pink highlights. Very playful, I think.”
She leaned over from the seat beside me and placed her mouth on mine. Without hesitation, I accepted her lips, and we started to kiss.
I had been with my share of women, and as high-end escorts went, this Francisca was molten hot. Whether it was the location or the Brazilian’s curves and caramel skin, my hand darted to the back of the woman’s head and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.
Her soft skin radiated heat as my fingers tangled in her thick, dark hair. The playful kiss quickly turned into something more intense, more urgent, as her body pressed against mine.
Francisca let out a low, throaty moan that sent a shiver through me, her lips parting as she welcomed the growing passion between us. My other hand slid down her back, tracing the curve of her waist, pulling her tighter into me as the intensity of the moment began to take over.
As the heat threatened to overwhelm us, Francisca pulled back slightly, her breath heavy and her lips still brushing against mine. She let out a soft laugh and whispered, “Me fode! I don’t usually fall for women, but there’s something about you, Brit from Los Angeles. That sex appeal of yours… it’s undeniable.” She flashed a wicked grin. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine. And you’re one hell of a kisser, by the way.”
As we’d had our little tryst, the tender arrived at the yacht, and there on the deck, a striking woman was waiting for us.
She was tall and fit, with a luxuriant mane of wavy red hair reaching the mid-point of her back. From underneath her spectacular locks peered a pair of jade-green eyes that screamed she was from the Emerald Island, and sure enough, when she spoke, her voice held a strong accent.
I was wise enough about the world to know she wasn’t English. Had I been told to offer a guess in that moment, I would have said she was indeed Irish.
“Welcome aboard, ladies,” she lilted as the Brazilian sex bomb, and I stepped onto the deck of the modern Mediterranean cruiser.
As a couple of waiting crew members moved forward to grab our bags, she continued, “My name is Samantha, but feel free to call me Sam. I’m Adrian’s in-house legal counsel — at least for the week you’ll be on board. We’re thrilled you could both be with us for this week of celebration.”
“Celebration?” I asked the woman, sounding surprised.
“Oh, he didn’t mention it?” Sam asked, tilting her head to the side while arching a single eyebrow in my direction.
“He only said that we’d be sailing up and down the Italian coast and that we’d make a few trips into cities for some fun, but nothing about a celebration. Not that I’m opposed to celebrating anything, mind you.”
With our bags gone, Sam took a step forward, and with what looked like a mischievous smile on her face, she held out both of her hands to Francisca and me.
As we both took up her gentle grasp, she said, “As of this morning, Adrian’s divorce was finalized. He’s now officially a bachelor, and his son will join us tomorrow. It will be his eighteenth birthday, and Adrian’s determined to make sure he has the time of his life.”
“Ohhh, I like birthday parties,” Francisca purred, immediately warming up to the idea there was now a sub-plot to their holiday.
I must have let some of the hesitation I felt show up on my face because Sam said, “Nothing in your arrangement with Mr. McCaskill has changed, Brit. He adores both of you because you are stunning but also because you’re smart and because you respect yourselves. Self-respect is something Adrian values as much as anything. You’re going to enjoy this week, ladies, and that’s a promise.”
As I looked into Sam’s eyes, it occurred to me that she was older than me by perhaps a decade. Accepting her words as true and hoping this exquisite redhead wasn’t Adrian’s own version of Gislaine Maxwell, I squeezed her hand and replied, “I’m almost certain I haven’t helped a man celebrate his divorce, but birthdays — now there’s something I have experience with.”
My smile growing, I added, “And the truth of it is that it’s been a while since I’ve helped an 18-year-old do anything. Once upon a time, the 18-year-olds I hung with could be fun.”
“And fun Yale will be, if also a bit of an innocent,” Sam called out as she released our hands and spun away from us so as to dramatically flare out the flowing yellow sundress she was wearing. Her legs were long and muscular, and with her alabaster skin, she looked like a walking, talking statue of a Greek goddess.
Walking in the direction of the yacht’s cabin, over her shoulder, Sam called out in her melodious voice, “Come with me, ladies. I’ll show you to your rooms. Adrian’s just on a call with work. We’ll meet him for a late lunch in an hour or so. In the meantime, why don’t we get to know each other better.”
We’d quickly changed into bikinis and had submerged all three of our trim and sexy bodies into the eight-person hot tub that was on the upper deck of the ship. The conversation had been light and fun.
Unsurprisingly, Francisca was a dancer like me. She danced at one of Rio’s top gentleman’s clubs and had met Adrian over a year ago. She had slept with him not because he’d paid her bills but because he’d charmed her. Apparently, Adrian, a born-and-bred Californian, spoke flawless Portuguese and could talk as dirty as any Brazilian man she’d been with.
If Sam truly was Adrian’s legal counsel, she would know my back story, so I’d been honest when it was my turn to tell a bit about myself.
My brief bio ended with, “If God gave me the gift of this body and the ability to dance, I’m going to use it. There are girls who I go to school with who could make a small fortune doing what I do, but they don’t. They come from families who would disapprove. My mother barely knows who I am. God, if there is such a person, gave me certain attributes. I can be a prude and be broke. Or, I can dance and avail myself to all the opportunities that come with it.”
“Like a yacht off the Italian coast?” Sam teased from across the hot tub.
The moment she said “Italian,” her playful smile shifted into something far more intense. Her eyes locked on mine, and with a slow bite of her lip, she whispered, “I want to fuck you, Brit. Right here. Right now.”
Quickly, she added, “Adrian was right. There’s something about you. You are just so fucking sexy.”
My eyes shifted right to try and catch Francisca’s reaction, but she was only staring wide-eyed at the red-haired woman who had just been so forward.
My eyes flitted back to Sam, and for a long moment, we stared at each other. That the woman was serious I had no doubt.
Finally, I ripped my blue eyes from her green and poured the rest of the Prosecco in my half-filled glass down my throat and then said, “What the fuck. Come here and fuck me.”
Beside me, I heard Francisca purr something that sounded sexy in her native tongue.
Gliding across the effervescent water in my direction, Sam pressed her red lips onto mine, and before I knew it, our tongues were caressing and prodding one another like excited teens.
As my hands began to knead her c-cup breasts, Sam roughly pushed me back into my seat while at the same time grabbing me by the back of the hair. Pulling her mouth from mine, in an intense voice, she said, “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for a long time, you gorgeous and sexy girl. Show me your perfect tits, Adrian is always raving about.”
When I was with a woman, I was perfectly fine to be dominated, not that I had any choice with this fiery sexpot that was now standing over me. Clearly, she’d been thinking about this encounter for some time.
As my bikini top slipped into the water, Sam’s hands immediately claimed my breasts. Her mouth latched onto my nipples like a ravenous animal, while her fingers kneaded and squeezed.
“Fuck, that feels good. Suck my tits, you ginger slut,” I growled, matching her intensity. Two could play rough.
Her mouth returned to my hard nipples, flicking between them, sucking and teasing until I couldn’t think straight. Between ragged breaths, she murmured, “Sit on the edge, love. Take off your bottoms — I want to taste you.”
I obeyed, sliding onto the edge of the tub and removing my bikini bottoms. My gaze drifted right, catching Francisca watching, her eyes locked on the scene. With a sly smile, she purred in her accented English, “Don’t mind me, beautiful. She wants you bad.”
Still standing over me, Sam leaned forward, and we kissed again. As before, it was equal parts passion and fierceness.
As we devoured one another for a second time, I felt one of Sam’s hands begin to massage the entrance to my sugared sex. Gently, her fingers circled my lips until the cream that was inside began to replace the water from the hot tub.
Gasping as I felt two of Sam’s fingers slide into me, she asked, “Do you fuck women often, Brit?”
“Enough to know I like it,” I said through heavy breathing.
Smiling at my reply, without a word, the remarkable redhead dropped down between my now wide-open legs and began to lap at my unfolded twat.
“Of fuck,” I said as her tongue began to circle and prod my clit.
Looking down, I took in the mass of auburn hair between my legs and called out loudly, “Just like that. Jesus, that feels so good, Sam.”
Hearing my praise, the sexy Irish woman, if that’s what she was, pulled her fingers from my snatch and, reaching out with both of her hands, stretched me apart and started to knife her tongue in and out of my pink gap.
Moaning loudly at the tongue-fucking, with my right hand, I reached down to the back of the beautiful mane of red hair and drove Sam’s face deep into my slit and all but yelled, “Yes! That’s it. So fucking good.”
Releasing her hair, with both of my hands, I braced myself on the hot tub’s edge and in a voice that was lust-filled, I keened, “I’m almost there! Jesus, your mouth. That’s it! That’s it…”
Just as I felt the ripples of an orgasm begin to build up in my body, Sam pulled her mouth from my sopping entrance and drove her fingers back into me, curling them up so they pressed and rubbed against the spongey surface that was my g-spot.
“Fuck!” I wailed, uncaring that there could be one or dozens of crew members taking in the impromptu show I was putting on.
As our mouths found one another again, and as her fingers worked magic inside of my cunt, my orgasm resumed, only this time it wasn’t a ripple. Instead, a tidal wave of sex energy began to batter the whole of my body.
Tearing my mouth off Sam’s, my sweat-sheen face looked upwards into the bright afternoon sky as I unleashed an incomprehensible howl of pleasure as the two fingers inside of me continued to stroke and massage all the right places.
When I could finally issue a word from my trembling mouth, I pleaded to Sam, “Slow down, baby. Jesus, fuck me slowly. That’s it. Just like that. Finish my pussy slow.”
As the last of the orgasmic sensations left my body, I shivered as Sam’s fingers slipped from my hole. Leaning forward so our bodies were pressed together, she whispered in my ear, “I hope you give as well as you take.”
As my brain tried to muster a reply, I heard Francisca call out, “Bravo!” and something that must have been in Portuguese.
Moving her intense gaze from me to the Brazilian, Sam said something in the woman’s language, and after a brief pause, the two of them began to laugh.
Suddenly conscious of my nakedness, I quickly slid back into the water and then, with a look of concern on my face, my eyes moved back and forth between the two women.
As their laughter began to subside, I asked, “What’s so funny?”
Pulling her gaze from the other woman, Sam’s intense green eyes reacquired mine, and she said, “Oh, we’re not laughing at you, dear. Well, not in a negative way. Francisca doesn’t fuck women, but based on how loud you just got, she’s willing to give the two of us a go.”
With my face starting to flush, I asked, “Was I really that loud?”
Sam let out a throaty laugh, winking as she swam back to her side of the tub and said, “My dear sweet Brit, the whole southern half of Italy just heard you cum. You are as loud as you are sexy. What a holiday this is going to be.”
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