Confessions Collection Vol. 1 (London Brown)

Confessions Collection Vol. 1 (London Brown)

Descend into a world of deception, decadence, debauchery, desire and desperation with…

I’m London Brown and these are my confessions. Let me plunge you into my world… I provide my clients a willing body, a canvas on which they explore their depravity–sexual therapy at a fee. Kink, bondage, or fetish, I cater to all needs. The greatest sin for someone in my profession is self-deception.

I’m Caden Jacob Carrington V. The truth is most men’s salvation, but not for men like me. Politics is my chosen affliction. I lie for a living, or massage the truth to suit me. The one constant about truth is that it’s identical to the theory of relativity: neither uniform nor absolute in the minds of men.

I’m Rhys Christos Edward Stowell, a philanthropist on the verge of exile from a suffocating state of corruption. My lack of conformity to perceived norms has earned me a reputation of being difficult. I rather like it that way.

I’m Desniah Williams, the daughter of an influential member of the British Parliament. The devil incarnate got his hooks in me. For the attention and praise he lavished on me, I gave him every last shred of my soul. I was a cheap whore.


Today’s assignment:

Dear Ms. Brown:

Your presence is requested for afternoon tea, 3:30-6:00 pm at (hotel name). Wear only a trench coat and heels.


Sven Bylander

They were usually signed by a dead historical figure. I hated thinking of the past, so history had never been my thing. Sometimes the names had been vaguely familiar so I Googled them. They have come up with some amusing ones, like Sir William Blackstone and John Frederick Wolfenden. Both influenced laws on sodomy.

Some of my regulars have particularities, so based on their request I can tell who is asking for me. I’d guess this was a new client. I’m the priciest, so unlike the other women I don’t get many new requests. Any I do receive are referrals from existing johns.

A man’s fantasy awaited me…

When I arrived at the hotel valet, I opened the door, stepped out into the dismal London fog and handed over the key. Before I entered, I tossed the assignment card in the trash bin as per The Agency’s policy.

No one thought much of my coming and goings. Desniah is the daughter to one of country’s most powerful men. Meeting with politicians, executives, the ridiculously wealthy and other powerbrokers seemed normal. My clients had as much to lose if our secret got out as I did.

Peter, the maitre d’, smiled. “Ah, Ms. Brown, we’re so happy to have you this afternoon. It’s been a long while since we’ve had the pleasure.” Of course, he didn’t call me by alter ego’s name, but for the purpose maintaining separation between London and Desniah I’ve inserted it.

A few of my clients preferred a more discrete location, but some wanted high-risk spots as the thrill of getting caught heightened their arousal. I can’t say I didn’t get off on it too.

The older man turned and held the door to the grand room. The palate of white and gold always dazzled me. It was one of my favorite rooms in the city. An empty space set the stage on which this man’s flavor of depravity would play out. Not that I minded. I’d been educated about men and their true nature through the acts they asked me to perform.

“I haven’t seen Mr. Carrington in a great many years either,” Peter said.

I couldn’t have heard him correctly. My step faltered for but a second. I swallowed. As my mind tried to make sense of the meaning of this, I took a deep breath. A sick cosmic joke on me. Caden Jacob Carrington, and he didn’t mean the forth, but the fifth. Of course, I’d heard he had recently returned from Hong Kong, but why would he need the services of an escort? I should have turned around and left—ran as fast and as far as I could. But I didn’t. What better way for him to see why there never could be a future between us?

Following the maitre d’ I went down the stairs.

My eyes met his, and there I didn’t find surprise.

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