Category Archives: Adult Entertainment

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Couple escorts have become increasingly popular as more couples seek new ways to spice up their relationships. The traditional threesomes have fallen out of favour somewhat as they tend to instil feelings of insecurity and jealousy, especially when they involve a third party that the couple already know. In this escort appointment, there appear to be no such problems because the escort is entirely unknown to the couple personally. After the sexy affair, the couple need to have no further dealings.

We have the most outstanding selection of the most elite and enchanting ladies. You can rest assured that the ladies you are in contact with who have allergies are discreet, intelligent, and socially confident. They seek nothing more than to provide pleasure and have no interest in furthering any relationship with their clients. This is, perhaps, why so many couples turn to us to enhance their private lives, as we are trustworthy and reliable.

We cater for almost every taste and desire. Duo escorts are more geared towards single men who would like to enjoy the attention of two stunning women, with themselves being the primary focus of attention. Couple appointments tend to be dominated by the female partner of the couple, who receives all the attention from the escort. At the same time, the gentleman enjoys his partner’s pleasure with another woman.

When the appointment is booked, the companion knows that the gentleman will usually enjoy a watching scenario with his partner, receiving all the physical attention from the escort. Most men find it highly erotic to watch their partner with another woman, whereas this tends not to be the case if it is the other way around. Our ladies understand this, and as they aim to ensure that the couple enjoy their time, they have no problems with that. Usually, the couple will enjoy each other at the height of their desire with the escort’s general encouragement. After the meeting, no further contact is made, and the couple can continue with their daily lives, uninterrupted by emotions and insecurities.

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Historically, even though the word “sock” is at least as ancient in origin, what men typically wore was often referred to as tights, probably mainly when referring to the longer hose that were fashionable at times. The word was used to refer to the bottom, or “stump,” part of the body. By analogy, the term was used to refer to the one-piece covering of the lower trunk and limbs of the 15th century—essentially tights consisting of the upper stocks (later to be worn separately as knee breeches) and nether supplies (later to be worn independently as stockings).

Before the 1590s, stockings were made of woven cloth. The first knitting machines were for making stockings. The socks themselves were made of cotton, linen, wool or silk. Polished cotton, known as lisle, was standard, as were those made in Balbriggan.

Before the 1920s, women’s stockings, if worn, were worn for warmth. In the 1920s, as women’s dresses’ hemlines rose, they wore socks to cover their exposed legs. These stockings were sheer, first made of silk or rayon (then known as “artificial silk”), and after 1940 of nylon. The first pantyhose appeared in the 1940s and 1950s, when film and theatre productions featured stockings sewn to the briefs of actresses and dancers, as noted by actress-dancer Ann Miller, as seen in popular films such as Daddy Long Legs.

Today, socks are commonly made using knitted wool, silk, cotton or nylon. The introduction of pantyhose in 1959 provided a convenient alternative to stockings, leading to a dramatic decline in the use of socks. U.S. sales of stockings exceeded stockings for the first time and have remained this way ever since. BegIn87, sales of the hose with a suspender belt started to decline slightly due to the newly invented hold-ups, but it remained a popular sock.

So, if you have a fetish for stockings, look no further. All our fine young ladies will honour your wishes by wearing only the finest socks for your eyes.

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I am not at home because I am typing this from Italy. Lucky me!
My long weekend break, returning tomorrow morning, with Giovanni, started as “coffee soon?” and became “take your passport and meet me at Heathrow at 13:00 hours. Giovanni was born in the West End to Sicilian parents and emigrated there in 1990 before making his home somewhere between Tuscany and Paris. He has an ex-wife, five children, three dogs, a villa in the Tuscan countryside, and a mistress in Paris with one child. Before you ask how he manages to afford to keep them all, his six-figure salary seems to be that.

How do I fit in? Well, he does like to keep up appearances with the Italian social elite and to rub his ex-wife’s nose in the fact that he hasn’t lost touch with the ladies. Ex-Mrs. Giovanni is unaware of the Parisian mistress or the half-brother of her offspring, so I step in as the model girlfriend. I don’t mind; I love Italy, and I’m accustomed to being discreet.

So we came to Italy for proper coffee, ground from good coffee beans, in an authentic restaurant by an adequate barista. I used a small amount of Italian vocabulary on him – enough to say “grazie” – and flashed my most dazzling smile. Red-blooded Mediterranean men do like to feel appreciated by red-blooded British women! And how do I want my coffee? Well, I am partial to a cappuccino, but I prefer a latte – especially when it’s homegrown.

I discovered that the barista training is conveniently located right around the corner from the hotel. How exciting!

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Today, I am going to an Auction. Well, it was an early start. My right-hand man, Franco, was in Mayfair with a cardboard carrier of Americano coffees and some croissants to go. As I had my hair in a towel and my stress head on, this was a very welcome sight! My door was wedged open with a shoe – not being auctioned off – and some burly and tasty young men were moving in and out of it. Sometimes, I almost said, “Oh, not that one,” but Franco shook his head wordlessly at me, and I had to let them go.

And then we were off to Oxford Circus! I could feel the adrenaline as we watched the crates and rails being unloaded by a team of highly organised young women. I have no idea where they came from, but they had something to do with James and his abundant knowledge of fundraiser organisers. They treated me like royalty, and I could almost taste the palpable aura of garment lust. “If you want it, you’ll have to bid on it, darling, Franco said to one young, sexy blonde pawing a limited edition Pucci silk jacket.

At ten o’clock, the doors were flung open to the public. The rows of seats were immediately filled, the edges of the warehouse flanked by assistants on the phone and other buyers. I recognised a few faces from my regular haunts (Kensington, Fulham and Chelsea) – a few gave me the thumbs up. My beautician was right at the front with her life savings to bid on one of my pink fur coats.

There was an expectant buzz, and then Franco introduced the cause, and then… me! I was waved to the front to say a few words, and my mouth went dry, but I managed it. And after deafening applause, it began…

Money, running into tens, hundreds and thousands, flew across that warehouse. A pair of strappy Jimmy Choo shoes from SS07 sold for £900 within the first ten minutes. Scraps of silk, lace, satin and feathers exchanged hands like hotcakes. A few Japanese girls were in the audience battling for Chanel and Chloe, whom I thought might get ugly at one point. Thankfully, James had the sense to hire me some security guards when he was dishing out the employment for the day.

And by 13.30, it was all over. The cash tin was counted, the cheques and credit card slips bundled, and after checking three times, the total for my designer goods at auction was….. £327,089! And no, I’m not kidding. Bear in mind that I have (had!)My collection features some affluent clients and a selection of retro, authentic pieces; it’s still quite impressive!

Enjoy St. Barnardo’s and SCOPE – two worthy causes.

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Women can be manipulative—even those who say they aren’t, have a more subtle approach to the art. As long as there is no element of demasculation, where is the harm? My mother used to say, “Ask, don’t get; don’t ask, don’t want.” I disagree.

I’ll be sure to set the scene for you…

This weekend, I spent the day at Westfield Shopping Centre, ten minutes from Paddington, with a rather delicious companion, surrounded by throngs of shoppers and designer stores. I managed to do a lot of my shopping, including some with Victor. I love shopping dates because I usually don’t get to spend a day queuing among other commoners, preferring to “add to cart” on Amazon.

So there we were, fingers entwined, our arms full of branded carrier bags. Victor had dragged me into practically every man’s clothes shop there (who says men aren’t fussy?), and I was longingly thinking of Kurt Geiger up on level one. I desperately wanted to slip my foot into the multi-coloured glitter stilettos that had been whispering lovingly to me from the website. As he tried on his fiftieth jumper, I mentally itemised my wardrobe to justify the £150, while subtracting the balance of my MasterCard from my credit limit.

Sensitive to others’ needs, I am adept at intervening before situations get out of control and Victor becomes frustrated. I wanted my shoes, and he wanted a change of scenery, so I suggested Pret a Manger, which was “coincidentally” on level one. Smelling the lure of coffee and fresh sandwiches, Victor offered me a smile as we ascended the escalator, and I mentally calculated that it would take 30 seconds to pass by my beautiful shoes once we were nourished.

A man with a full belly is a happy man – and a man open to bribery. Near the cafe was a huge Apple store with plenty of shiny laptops and iPads murmuring sweet nothings. Attention diverted from Fair Isle knitwear, Victor swung his hips through the door and took a lungful of Broadband. A London escort such as me must have patience as a virtue: the patience to accept her needs comes after those of her date. I watched Victor dribble over a MacBook Pro and counted down the minutes until I could lick the heel of that display shoe.

And then… a boom! Victor kissed my forehead and said, “Darling, you have been patient with me today. Let me buy a present for my beautiful girl. Shall we look at something for you?” I could have wept. “Oh, you don’t have to do that…” I said through my lashes. He made a pooh-pooh noise, and we fell into step… right past Kurt Geiger. And there they were… in the window, dazzling under the lights as I knew they would be… my shoes. Ten minutes later, I had a shiny gift bag dangling from my arm, and my date looked very pleased with himself as I let him “choose” a pair, though I can’t say product placement didn’t play a part.

Call me manipulative, then, if you want, but you can’t say that my gentleman friend wasn’t pleased to make me happy. The date had, as always, been about him and a trip to W12. I’m a big fan of West London, especially now that I know Kurt Geiger has a fantastic store there!

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