I was still fairly new to escorting in London when that call came through. My boss thought I should get out of my comfort zone, see if I could handle something bigger. I said yes before I’d really thought it through — eagerness rather than experience, if I’m honest. The client wanted a threeway.
Now, I’d pictured two men before, sure, but this was different. He wanted two women. I’d never so much as kissed one. That’s where Cheyenne came in. She had this air about her — seasoned, steady, like she could glide through anything without breaking a sweat. She told me I didn’t need to worry, that she’d carry the weight of it.
We met halfway to the hotel and I let my nerves spill out. She laughed them off, like brushing crumbs from her dress. “Relax. Just follow my lead.” I tried to believe her, though my stomach was a mess of butterflies and… something heavier I couldn’t quite name.
Martin, the client, answered almost before we’d knocked. Warm smile, eyes lighting up at the sight of two women in little dresses. Mine was a blue that clung to me, hers was fire-red. He teased us about being opposites, and for a moment it loosened the air.
The room was dim, deliberately so, and the music he put on was gentler than I expected. Romantic, even. Oddly, that made me more self-conscious than if it had been loud and brash.
Cheyenne took charge straight away. She kissed him with that boldness I’d only ever seen in films, arms wound around him. I stood there, lost, until she reached for me too, tugging me close. Before I could second-guess it, her lips were on mine.
It startled me. Softer than a man’s, yes, but more insistent. I let her in, without thinking. My pulse was racing, though I couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something more dangerous.
Martin didn’t interfere, just watched — hunger flickering in his eyes. Then their hands were on me, hers sliding the zip down my back, his tracing slow paths along my skin. I let myself be moved, steered, as if the three of us had rehearsed a dance I’d only just learned.
She pressed me back onto the bed with a sort of command disguised as kindness. Martin let her lead; he seemed to like it that way. And as her touch deepened, I found myself remembering something I’d once come across — about how subtle guidance can change everything, how pleasure isn’t just physical but psychological too. Later I’d see those ideas written more plainly in a guide on how a woman reaches climax, but that night it was more instinct than knowledge.
Lying there, I felt unsteady, not sure what role I was supposed to play. Cheyenne’s eyes pinned me down, daring me to admit to feelings I hadn’t allowed before. She leaned in, voice low, a tease balanced between sugar and steel. My hesitation was shifting into something else — curiosity, maybe even hunger.
Martin sat back, almost an observer now. It was Cheyenne who drove things forward, who made the choices. I realised with a jolt that this wasn’t really about him. It was about her. And about me, too.
Her hand landed sharp but playful on my skin, a sting that caught my breath. “Tell me what you want,” she murmured. My lips parted, but words wouldn’t come. Between his quiet authority and her teasing dominance, I was pinned in place.
That night in Mayfair showed me how thin the line is — between fear and desire, between curiosity and surrender. And just when I thought I’d steadied myself, Cheyenne gave me that knowing smile. The kind that says, this is only the beginning.
The story continues in Threeway Secrets of Submission in Mayfair where boundaries are tested, and surrender takes on a whole new meaning.