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GraceLondon

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  1. I love Agent Provocateur. But I will have to say I also have my eye on some vintage fur masks from http://www.coco-de-mer.com
  2. There is lots of conversations taking place out there about Inde verses Agency. Most of the time it comes down to personal preference who people go to. But the question I would like to explore is how people feel about Independents who use a Personal assistant. One of the reasons I hear guys like Inde is because they are dealing with the girl directly. I for one love hearing from my clients directly and can be more in control of who I see. But along with the freedom of independence come all the leg work. A personal assistants can cut that down. I have thought about using a personal assistant in the past to cut some of the work but I have never done it. I guess I am just a control freak when it comes to that but I would like to hear what guys think about it. Also from the SP'S if you have had a good outcome with this type of product as far as your clients feedback.
  3. I write a lot and I would love to hear some constructive criticism on what I write. Story line, length and character development So here is the first story. Feel free to share what you think. Grace was mildly impressed with the show Ginger and her fellow actors had managed to put together. The moment Ginger launched into the first of her high kicking, spunky solos, she fell in love with her. She had no doubt why Amy considered her such a good friend. She was like a taller, younger Grace-with perhaps even a bit more spirit. Her stage presence was nothing short of fierce. These poor kids were pouring their souls out on stage, and they were about to lose their dream because a few shcmucks rolled up the carpet. She could only imagine what this ensemble could put together with a few tweaks of talent and a flush influx of cash. Oliver wasn't stupid. He knew this was more than a date. He was a fan of theater, and even though he sensed a sales pitch he had been genuinely entertained by several of the scenes. He was also very attracted to Ginger. That would make Grace's pitch that much easier. By the time Grace flew into New York, Oliver would be melted butter. This was not a devious plan. The actors were indeed passionate and talented. The writer and director needed to be fired, and the original producers needed to be shot. By the second scene of Act IV even an idiot could sense the hackneyed ending coming soon. Even the last two songs sounded like remixes of the new Chicago movie soundtrack. Oliver was beginning to lose interest. He glanced over at Grace with a sly, but bored smile. He would snooze through the rest of the play if she didn't keep him entertained. While there wasn't an actual balcony box, Grace had managed to cajole the usher (one of the chorus actors pulling double duty) into giving them the secluded double seat to the right of the second level. They were almost shrouded in the wall curtains and the lights flickered very dimly. It was almost a prophecy of the utilities being shut down on this place within the next few days. The crowd was light that evening, so they actually had the entire section to themselves. Grace slid her hand over Oliver's thigh and he grunted. Ginger was doing a very sultry dance onstage, and Oliver was already quite aroused. Grace could feel his cock twitch under his grey flannel slacks. Ginger was very impressive. Grace could feel her own loins stirring as she boomed out her solo. He leaned over toward her and lifted the arm-rest separating their seats. She knew he had had a rotten day on Wall Street and he was still grumpy about the short sells. It had been a long week. The strain of his woes showed in the heavy creases in his face, and she was concerned. While Oliver was ridiculously wealthy, she didn't want to ask him to invest in Ginger and her friends after taking such a beating on the market. She wanted to help him feel better, to ease some of his tension. She sat in his lap, placing her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. He smiled and settled into the embrace, content for the first time in a long while. The smell of her hair and the proximity of her warm body began to affect him and he felt a stirring between his legs. He kissed her hair softly, massaging her shoulder blade with his huge hand and murmuring to her in fractured French. He took her earlobe in his teeth and pulled gently, once. She responded with a soft gasp and began towiggle on his lap. He knew then she wanted him as badly as he did her, so he turned her head to him and kissed her, hard, on the mouth, thrusting his tongue between her lips. She responded by caressing his tongue with hers, sliding her hands beneath his blazer, pulled his white shirt loose from his belt, and slid her fingers around his tie, teasing him for a moment. Then her hands slipped under his shirt to caress his bare chest. His need was intense now, and as quickly as his fingers could manage it, he slid the straps of her black dress over her shoulders with one hand, using the other to caress her breasts through her sheer lace strapless bra. He peeled back the nylon covering her right breast with a single huge finger, holding it out of the way so his tongue could find her nipple. She moaned and pushed her body toward his warm, moist mouth, her body on fire now, aching. There didn't seem to be anyone noticing them, but she bit into his shoulder to muffle her moan. Pressing against his straining erection with her thighs, she held his face firmly against her breasts. He pulled back, blowing a stream of cool air on the nipple until it hardened, then encircled it again with lips, rolling the hard flesh between them. She could feel his hardness through his slacks, the mountain rose in his lap and managed to push it's way around the slit in her cocktail dress rubbing between her legs, and it thrilled her. She bore down on him harder, rocking back and forth on it, her gratification already beginning to build. He repeated the treatment on the other nipple, trying to slow down, but the feel of her hips grinding into him was becoming unbearable. Onstage, Ginger, and the fairly talented leading man, shared a very passionate kiss after their duet. Grace barely focused enough to make note that it was far more than stage chemistry she was witnessing. For a brief moment she was tempted to turn and watch the show, but Oliver's tongue on her nipples made her mind whirl, and she nearly forgot where she was, much less remember the unfolding plot of the raunchy musical. Oliver didn't want to wait any longer. His hands dove downward, finding her wetness, pressing harder against her. He carefully ran his index finger along her lower lips, following the path until it was buried inside her, the rest of his hand rubbing against her clit in a rhythm older than time. She leaned back slightly, allowing his fingers easier access, and moaned as he expertly danced against her aching clit. His right hand fumbled with the fly on his trousers, a task made difficult by his position and her lustful leverage. With the dual pressure of his fingers deep within her and his mouth tugging at her nipples, her orgasm wasn't long in coming. She peaked high and hard, and he continued tantalizing her in order to make the sensations last as long as possible. The feel of her inner muscles clenching against his fingers made him redouble his efforts to free his straining member. When her orgasm finally faded, she smiled at him and kissed him deeply, then climbed off his lap. She looked around demurely, and then remember that the ushers were all onstage. She fixed Oliver with a wicked grin. Kneeling on the floor between his legs she took the hand that had been buried in her and kissed it, licking her juices from between his fingers. Oliver groaned, not even trying to suppress his lust at the feel of her mouth on his fingers, sucking, pulling, and making his cock grow even larger. She smiled at him devilishly. Tasting herself on his fingers thrilled her. When his fingers were clean she pressed his hand back to her swollen nipple and quickly finished undoing his pants. He squeezed and pinched her, groaning her name as she pulled his dick out and stroked the velvety head. She held the shaft in one hand while stroking the head with the other, running her hand over it from fingertips to palm and back again. Then she took him deep into her mouth, sliding her face down along the thick shaft until the head was tickling her tonsils. His fingers trembled as they ran over her hard nipples. His nimble fingers quickly rolled both of her breasts together and he was able to flick both nubs with just his circling thumb. His head was thrown back in pleasure, and he moaned deep in his throat. He tried to hold back and even muster a cough to hide his moaning, but it was of no use. When Grace was doing this to him he had no faculties. Submitting to her skilled tongue, he ran his right hand through her hair, caressing her arched neck, as he gave himself up to pleasure. He could feel his orgasm building. He pulled himself out of her mouth and leaned over, putting his hands under her thighs and lifting her in the air, bringing her down on top of himself until he was buried deep inside her. Grace arched back and wrapped her long legs around both him and the theater chair for leverage. The feel of him entering her, sliding deep into her, opening her up, made her gasp and throw her head back. She sat still, quivering around him, for a few delicious moments. Then slowly, ever so slowly, se ground her hips against him, reveling in the contorted expression of pleasure that came across his face. He took hold of her hips and tried to force her to move faster but she wanted to take her time. He took a deep breath, then lifted her up until only the huge head of his cock was still inside her. He could feel her entrance rubbing against the back of his rod, her hips moving in a dance that increased the pressure first on one side, than another. He held her that way as long as he could, then he let her down again, quickly, feeling himself touch the very recesses of her. They moaned together as she fell. He did it again and again until he was at the end of his strength and each time she fell sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her swollen clit. He was bathed in sweat now, the groaning in his throat becoming louder and harsher with each stroke. When at last he stopped, he leaned far back in the chair, his hands dropping to his sides, and she pushed his body back further, freeing her somewhat to begin moving on him. Her fingers grasped around the base of his penis, just outside herself, forming a ring of pressure. As she raised and lowered herself on him, her fingers followed. Tightness following tightness, He's breath was coming in short, harsh groans and the movement of his hips had grown ragged. She teased him mercilessly, varying the speed with which she moved, slowing down when he seemed ready to climb the peak and speeding up when he calmed a bit. He stopped moving altogether, threw his head back and closed his eyes, riding the waves of pleasure. After a moment, he placed the fleshy pad of his thumb on her clit and began massaging it, knowing she would not permit his release until she came again. With a groan, he sat up. Still massaging her hard bud, he levered his head forward and caught a nipple in his mouth. He sucked on it hard, dragging his teeth along its sensitive tip. The combination of him filling her, sucking her, touching her, was too much. Her orgasm burst upon her, filling her whole body, and she grabbed the back of his head, crying out his name, shaking. Her body wracked as spasm after spasm hit and he continued stroking and sucking her until she pushed his head and fingers away, raw and pulsating. Then she paused for only a moment before bracing her feet firmly on either side of the chair and riding him like a wild horse, seeking now to give him the release he so richly deserved. Though she had been tight, almost too tight at first, her juices had spread, easing the path. She slid up and down on him easily. Over and over he found himself thrust in and out, the pressure unbearable. He felt his orgasm approach, hot jism racing up his shaft, and grabbed her hips in his huge hands, grinding her into him. She felt the head of his cock grow huge inside her, pulsing, then his hot fluid spurted out, filling her. Head back, eyes screwed shut, he rode the wave of his orgasm, stamping his foot against the floor, his throat raw from the guttural noses he made. When it was over, neither moved, but he could feel their co-mingled juices spreading across his abdomen and upper thighs, the viscous liquids pooling in the space between their bodies. She collapsed against his chest, still gripping him deep within her and together they waited for their breathing to slow. His arms moved around her naked back, holding her firmly in place, rubbing her weary muscles. She nestled into his chest, waiting. He grunted and she looked up. He motioned with his eyes. The entire theater was quiet. The action had stopped on the stage. Ginger and the male lead stood center stage. The male actor was glaring at them, but Ginger had a sly smile on her face and her arms were casually akimbo. "Hey up there!" Grace winced gingerly. "Do you mind if we get back to the show, now that your are done fucking so loudly?" Ginger gave her a wave and a wink and picked up with the second verse of her song. Grace and Oliver straightened their clothing and made their way backstage trying to wipe both the chagrin and sex sweat from their faces... Ideal Grace
  4. Gentle Reader As I can not seem to find a place to introduce myself I thought I would post here. My name is Grace London and I am a writer. I am curently writing a short on Amour Fou. I thought I would share a bit of the thoughts the topic in regard to the courtesan. A courtesan is well versed in the arts and literature. She is engaging, intriguing, and thought provoking. A true courtesan knows her craft well and has an innate understanding of people and the hidden thirst of the spirit. She is at home in all situations, a consummate conversationalist, and a joy to be with at all times. In history courtesans were usually highly educated and well versed in the etiquette of the time but they were also independent and able to express themselves as no other women could. A courtesan was in control of her own life. She was the maker of her own destiny and she decided what was acceptable for her to do or say. The more genteel women of the time did not have this luxury. Next week Meet the Muse. Your thoughts are welcome. Ideal Grace
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