Touch of Class A New Elite Escorts Agency

In the heart of a changed city, where Brexit had thinned the crowds of foreign businessmen and dampened the buzz of international trade, a new kind of escorts agency rose from the ashes of London’s high-end adult scene.

Touch of Class didn’t rely on passing travellers. It was built for the locals — for the lawyers, traders, designers, and entrepreneurs who had money, stress, and a deep craving for something more.And in this new economy of desire, only the most unforgettable sexual experiences would keep them coming back.

The Agency

Run out of a discreet penthouse in Earls Court, Touch of Class wasn’t loud. It didn’t advertise. It whispered. Invitations only. No online listings. Just a phone number passed between men who knew where to find pleasure — and were willing to pay for it.

The girls were hand-picked London escorts. Not just beautiful. They had to be wild, sensual, uninhibited. Trained to tease, to tempt, to devour. The agency’s promise was simple: if a client leaves unsatisfied, he never should have come.

The rules? Always arrive immaculate. Always initiate. And always — always — finish with a bang.

Escort 1: Isabella – The GFE Expert

Isabella, a 25-year-old Italian bombshell, was known as the agency’s go-to for clients who wanted more than a fuck — they wanted to feel.

Her curves were perfect, her accent seductive, and her CIM blowjob technique? Legendary.

She met her regular client, Tom, a burnt-out venture capitalist, every Friday evening in Bayswater. They skipped the small talk. As soon as the door closed, she dropped to her knees, unbuckled him, and took his cock down her throat like she was starving for it. She sucked slowly, swirling her tongue, moaning as she took him deep.

Then she pulled off and whispered, “Now make love to me like your perfect girlfriend.”

And he did. Slow strokes. Eye contact. Moans laced with emotion. When he came in her mouth, she swallowed, licked his shaft clean, and kissed him sweetly like it was a first date.

That’s why Tom never booked anywhere else.

Escort 2: Mila – The Anal Addict

Mila, 23, a tanned Eastern European escort with a filthy mouth and a tighter-than-sin arsehole, specialised in A level bookings.

Her client tonight was a city banker named Daniel. Young, rich, arrogant — just how she liked them.

He booked her specifically for her famous anal sex skills.

She arrived at his apartment on Edgware Road in thigh-high boots and no panties. By the time they reached his hotel room, she was bent over the bed, lubing herself up, her fingers already sliding between her cheeks.

“Fuck me here,” she demanded.

Daniel didn’t hesitate. He pressed against her tight ring and slid inside. Mila screamed — a mix of pain and pleasure — then began to grind back.

“Harder,” she begged. “Make me scream.”

He did. And when he came, he pulled out and painted her arse with his load. Mila looked back and grinned.

“Next time, fill me up.”

He booked her again before breakfast.

Escort 3: Priya – The Fetish Queen

Not every man wanted vanilla. That’s why Priya, a curvy British-Indian beauty with a kinky streak for fetish and BDSM and a suitcase full of sex toys, was always in demand.

Her latest client was a senior politician. Masked. Nervous. Married. They met at a discreet hotel in Marylebone.

She tied him to the hotel bed with silk restraints, blindfolded him, then began to tease him with her whip — soft at first, then firm.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Shh,” she said. “You’re my dirty little pet tonight.”

She climbed on top of him, grinding her wet pussy against his cock, just enough friction to drive him wild but never let him finish.

Only after 40 minutes of edge-play and humiliation did she finally fuck him — hard, deep, riding him like a stallion while whispering filthy commands.

When he finally exploded inside her, Priya grinned.

“Good boy.”

The Competition

Other agencies were failing. Some had cut rates. Others pushed their girls too far. But Touch of Class stayed in demand because they never dropped standards — they elevated them.

Cassandra, the owner, reminded her girls daily: “One bad review and we’re done. If he pays £1,000, you make him feel like it was worth £10,000.”

There was no room for average. Every night had to end with the man begging for another taste.

Escort 4: Jade & Sofia – The Ultimate Threesome

Some clients wanted more. That’s where Jade and Sofia came in — the agency’s unstoppable escort duo.

They were opposites: Jade a busty escort, tall, blonde, and fierce. Sofia, petite, Latina, and sensual. Together, they were explosive.

Their regular, a tech CEO, always booked the Presidential Suite at The Corinthia hotel in Kensington. Champagne. Room service. Full erotic fantasy.

As soon as he entered the room, Jade was on her knees, unzipping him while Sofia licked his nipples.

Then they sandwiched him — Sofia riding his face while Jade rode his cock, moaning loudly, her nails clawing his chest.

When they switched, he barely lasted five more minutes before shooting his load down Sofia’s throat while Jade massaged his balls.

He tipped £2,500 and asked them to come back for brunch the next morning.

Escort 5: Lacey – The Cum Slut

Lacey was a blonde British busty babe with a superpower: she loved cum. Swallowing it. Wearing it. Begging for it.

She’d built a reputation on it.

Her Thursday regular, a West End hotel manager, would book her just for oral “OWO with CIM”. She’d suck him three times in an hour — each time deeper, wetter, nastier.

She swallowed every drop and licked her lips like she’d just tasted dessert.

“Again,” she’d whisper, already stroking him back to life.

He kept trying other escorts in London — but none came close to Lacey’s mouth.

The VIP Client – And the Test

Then came the call from a private number. Cassandra answered.

A new VIP wanted to test the agency. He was rich. Demanding. Dangerous. Known for breaking girls.

“I’m not interested in GFE escorts,” he told her. “I want submission. Control, domination. I want to ruin her… and then pay her to beg for more.”

Cassandra didn’t hesitate. “I have just the girl.”

She sent Isabella. But not as the sweet GFE. She sent her in latex, collar around her neck, ready to kneel.

The client was brutal, a BDSM master — he used ropes, clamps, a cane. He degraded her. Spat in her mouth. Slapped her tits. Called her his cum whore.

And when he came on her face, she licked it from her lips, smiling.

“That all you got?”

He booked her for two nights next time.

Epilogue

In a city where sex had become competitive, Touch of Class made sure every encounter was a performance, every booking a return client, and every escort a specialist in giving the kind of pleasure men couldn’t stop thinking about.

Because when business slows down, the best don’t survive by playing it safe. They dominate by making sure no man walks away with anything left in his balls — or his wallet.

Touch of Class wasn’t just a London escorts agency.

It was a movement.

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