The A Levels Muse of Gloucester Road

In a luxury apartment overlooking Gloucester Road, where Kensington’s elegance meets the city’s deepest secrets, lived a woman known in whispers among the elite.

Her name was Alina.

Twenty-eight, statuesque, and devastatingly beautiful, Alina was originally from Romania. She had legs that never ended, large breasts that made men pause mid-sentence, and long platinum hair that shimmered like ice under candlelight. But what truly made Alina unforgettable wasn’t her looks—it was her expertise. Alina was in the top 10 of London’s most exclusive anal escorts. Her entire career was devoted to the art, seduction, and ultimate surrender of anal pleasure.

Unlike most escorts in London Alina didn’t advertise. She didn’t need to.

Her reputation spread through silk-draped rooms, whispered by CEOs during cigars, passed between royals behind gilded doors, and confessed by women at private club dinners, eyes wide with lust and curiosity.

Her flat was more than home—it was her incall studio. Velvet walls, mood lighting, a glass bar stacked with vintage Champagne, and a custom-built mahogany bed in the centre of the room with reinforced posts and leather harnesses discreetly folded in the bedside drawers.

She had three types of clients: the curious, the bold, and the completely addicted.

Her first appointment that week was Jonathan, a 45-year-old hedge fund manager whose wife had grown cold and conservative over the years. He came to Alina not for romance but for release, he knew she was one of the best pegging escorts London was at her feet and she new it.

He arrived in a Savile Row suit and left it in a pile within five minutes. Alina guided him, slowly, gently, teasing his boundaries with perfectly manicured fingers, whispering instructions in his ear like a dominatrix wrapped in silk.

"You’re safe with me," she murmured, pushing a lubed toy against his tight, quivering entrance.

Jonathan moaned as she took her time, knowing exactly how far to go, when to pause, and when to push him over that brink. She didn’t rush—she never rushed.

By the time she climbed onto his back, harness in place, thighs gripping his hips, he was begging.

“Please… do it. I want to feel all of you.”

She slid inside, slowly, deliciously, letting him feel every inch of her strap as she leaned down to kiss his neck. He whimpered, back arched, face buried in the sheets.

Afterwards, he lay there wrecked, grateful, swearing he’d never go to any other A Levels escort again.

Her next client was Lina, a Brazilian model exploring her bisexuality. Nervous but eager, Lina had come to Alina after being told, "If anyone can take you there, it’s her."

Alina set the mood with music—slow, pulsing, hypnotic. She undressed Latina model with a lover’s touch, brushing her lips over her nipples, trailing her tongue down until Lina was gasping and trembling.

“You’re too tense,” Alina said softly, teasing her with fingers slicked in oil, circling her tight entrance as her other hand massaged her clit. “But we’ll open you. Slowly. Gently. You’ll love it. You’ll crave it.”

Lina moaned as Alina stretched her with small toys, her breath becoming frantic, hips writhing in pleasure. The climax hit just as the seductive anal escort slid a small butt plug inside her.

Lina’s body spasmed. “Oh fuck… oh my god…”

Alina kissed her deeply, whispering, “And that’s just the beginning.”

Later that night, Gareth, a regular, arrived. Tall, black, and athletic, he was one of the few men Alina allowed to dominate her fully.

She opened the door in nothing but black lace, knowing exactly what that did to him.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled, pulling her in by the waist.

“Yes, sir,” she purred, turning and presenting her ass, already lubed and aching for his big black cock (BBC) to pound her arse deep.

He bent her over the back of the sofa, spreading her cheeks as he slapped her once—hard—and then again. She whimpered, grinding her hips back, needy.

“Say it.”

“I want you in my ass,” she moaned. “I want to be fucked like your filthy anal slut.”

He entered her in one hard thrust, making her cry out, grabbing the base of her neck as he pounded her relentlessly. The sounds of skin slapping skin, moans, and the rhythmic creaking of leather filled the room.

Alina came twice before he finally exploded inside her.

Afterwards, she lay in his arms, sore, used, and glowing with satisfaction.

It hadn’t always been this way.

When Alina first arrived in London, she worked as a waitress in South Kensington. One night, an older gentleman invited her to dinner. He was charming, wealthy, and very clear about what he wanted.

“I’ll pay you handsomely,” he said, eyes locked on hers, “to let me take your ass. No shame. No lies. Just pleasure.”

Curious and short on rent, she agreed. That night, she learned how much she could love it—how submissive and powerful it made her feel, all at once. She studied, experimented, practiced on herself, on lovers, and later on clients.

Now, she was a master of A Levels.

Back at her apartment, she poured herself a glass of champagne and checked her calendar. A couple—high-profile, discreet—had booked her for a dual session. He wanted to watch his wife take Alina. Then he wanted to be taken himself while the two women teased him mercilessly.

She smiled.

It was always like that with Alina—give and take. Penetration or surrender. Power and pleasure. She never judged. She just opened doors no one else dared to.

She lit a candle, lay naked on the bed, and slid a finger inside herself as she remembered the day. Her own body was still sensitive from Gareth’s visit. She moaned, her finger circling her clit while another pressed against her ass.

She came with a cry, alone but fully satisfied.

This was her world.

And in the secret realm of anal seduction, Alina was the A Levels queen.

OUR EXCLUSIVE SELECTION OF ANAL ESCORTS in LONDON

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