Prologue
Logan
My name is Logan Steele.
I’m devilishly handsome, seriously ripped, well hung, charismatic and highly
sexed. Women just can’t resist me. So when I lost my job in the construction
industry and was struggling for cash, I decided to put my assets to good use.
By day I’m a private
personal fitness trainer. By night I’m a high class gigolo.
I don’t advertise my
sexual services anymore, I have a long client list that come to me through word
of mouth. I’m that good, I’m booked months in advance. Scores of women pay me
extortionately high fees to fulfil their fantasies. And for the most part I do.
I have a strict set of rules that I abide by, which are provided in the full
contract that you’ll receive along with the booking form, if accepted. I’ve
bullet pointed an abridged version below, just so you’re clear before you send
me an email request:
Rules my clients must
comply with are:
I must see a picture in
advance.
I can decline the booking
request without explanation.
I can only be booked for
the night.
All sexual acts must be consensual.
I will provide you with a
report to complete, then I will choose the setting for our meeting based on
your scenario.
I am flown first class or
by private jet if I am required to work abroad.
In the event of the above,
I will provide my dietary requirements in advance.
I will perform a full
background check.
I base my variable charge
on the scenario being requested.
“No” rules that I
stipulate are:
No bareback.
No minors.
No physical violence.
Nothing illegal.
No form of emotional
attachment during or after the event. I am merely performing a sexual or
companion service.
No contact after the
event, unless it is for a new booking.
And my absolute number
one rule, without exception is:
Full payment up front
which, is non- refundable. There is no requirement for a refund clause, I never
fail to perform.
So, now you are aware of
my rules for the night and are about to contact me, all that remains to be
asked is “Who do you want me to be?”
Logan Steele
I shaved carefully, I
couldn’t afford to get any nicks when I was seeing a client and Yasmin expected
me to look on top form at all times. She was one of my most regular clients,
having been with me from the beginning. In fact, I owed much of my success to
her and my best friend Oliver. He’d invited me to watch the FA cup final from a
box and when I’d ventured out into the hall I’d walked straight into Yasmin as
she was texting on her phone, instead of watching her boyfriend down on the
pitch. I’d made some smart alec remark about her long sexy legs and before I
knew it, I was in her private box, in more ways than one, going at it in the
toilets with all her girlfriends listening on the other side of the partition.
Pretty soon I was being inundated with offers and a bidding war began on who’d
be next. When the new build construction firm I worked for went into
liquidation later that month, I saw the perfect opportunity to make some fast
bucks, never expecting it to have pretty much set me up for life and for me to
still be doing it four years later. Through Yasmin and her premiership players’
wives and girlfriends, my circle of affluent clients gradually grew, along with
my fees, and here I was.
I slapped on some aftershave and rubbed my damp
lean muscular body down with a towel, giving myself an admiring glance in the
mirror. I’d never been in better physical shape than I was now, and considering
I worked as a private personal trainer during the day, that was saying
something. Sometimes I went to their houses, sometimes, if I trusted them and Ian,
my PI of sorts, told me that their backgrounds checked out ok, I had them come
to me. I lived in a dockside wharf house in Limehouse, London. I owned a one
and a half million pound penthouse apartment, as well as the basement, which
had its own private access, so I’d turned it into a
Logan
My name is Logan Steele.
I’m devilishly handsome, seriously ripped, well hung, charismatic and highly
sexed. Women just can’t resist me. So when I lost my job in the construction
industry and was struggling for cash, I decided to put my assets to good use.
By day I’m a private
personal fitness trainer. By night I’m a high class gigolo.
I don’t advertise my
sexual services anymore, I have a long client list that come to me through word
of mouth. I’m that good, I’m booked months in advance. Scores of women pay me
extortionately high fees to fulfil their fantasies. And for the most part I do.
I have a strict set of rules that I abide by, which are provided in the full
contract that you’ll receive along with the booking form, if accepted. I’ve
bullet pointed an abridged version below, just so you’re clear before you send
me an email request:
Rules my clients must
comply with are:
I must see a picture in
advance.
I can decline the booking
request without explanation.
I can only be booked for
the night.
All sexual acts must be consensual.
I will provide you with a
report to complete, then I will choose the setting for our meeting based on
your scenario.
I am flown first class or
by private jet if I am required to work abroad.
In the event of the above,
I will provide my dietary requirements in advance.
I will perform a full
background check.
I base my variable charge
on the scenario being requested.
“No” rules that I
stipulate are:
No bareback.
No minors.
No physical violence.
Nothing illegal.
No form of emotional
attachment during or after the event. I am merely performing a sexual or
companion service.
No contact after the
event, unless it is for a new booking.
And my absolute number
one rule, without exception is:
Full payment up front
which, is non- refundable. There is no requirement for a refund clause, I never
fail to perform.
So, now you are aware of
my rules for the night and are about to contact me, all that remains to be
asked is “Who do you want me to be?”
Logan Steele
I shaved carefully, I
couldn’t afford to get any nicks when I was seeing a client and Yasmin expected
me to look on top form at all times. She was one of my most regular clients,
having been with me from the beginning. In fact, I owed much of my success to
her and my best friend Oliver. He’d invited me to watch the FA cup final from a
box and when I’d ventured out into the hall I’d walked straight into Yasmin as
she was texting on her phone, instead of watching her boyfriend down on the
pitch. I’d made some smart alec remark about her long sexy legs and before I
knew it, I was in her private box, in more ways than one, going at it in the
toilets with all her girlfriends listening on the other side of the partition.
Pretty soon I was being inundated with offers and a bidding war began on who’d
be next. When the new build construction firm I worked for went into
liquidation later that month, I saw the perfect opportunity to make some fast
bucks, never expecting it to have pretty much set me up for life and for me to
still be doing it four years later. Through Yasmin and her premiership players’
wives and girlfriends, my circle of affluent clients gradually grew, along with
my fees, and here I was.
I slapped on some aftershave and rubbed my damp
lean muscular body down with a towel, giving myself an admiring glance in the
mirror. I’d never been in better physical shape than I was now, and considering
I worked as a private personal trainer during the day, that was saying
something. Sometimes I went to their houses, sometimes, if I trusted them and Ian,
my PI of sorts, told me that their backgrounds checked out ok, I had them come
to me. I lived in a dockside wharf house in Limehouse, London. I owned a one
and a half million pound penthouse apartment, as well as the basement, which
had its own private access, so I’d turned it into a
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