The takeover

* None of the above.

Recruitment isn't a matter of chance, but of considerable planning and effort.

The agency handles its own recruitment. Its existing girls sometimes help out, but mostly it's a management affair. No outsiders are involved; everything is kept "in house".

It doesn't target "working girls". Some of the co-eds the agency hires may have done local escort work to pay their way through college, but the agency hires them despite rather than because of this.

The agency didn't trawl randomly. It identified likely candidates before approaching them.

Though it has a general modus operandi, it adapted it to circumstances.

If it had a personal "in" with someone, it exploits it. (Though this "ideal" scenario rarely occurs; there were only three cases I can think of. One, ironically, being my own.)

It is very careful not to attract attention to itself; which is no easy thing to do when you're mainly recruiting on gossipy campuses packed with sad student journalist types who would kill for the sniff of a "Co-ed Call-Girl" story. It would be their every Woodward and Bernstein wet-dream come true. Understandably, the agency was careful to deny them the opportunity.

In short, like most else the agency does, not many ripples of its recruiting ever break the surface, and it wants to keep things that way. It is very aware that, as a consequence, there must have been many girls who would have been great at the work that it never got to reach; rather as there were many prospective clients out there who never moved in the right circles to access its services. But what was it to do? Being less secretive meant putting what it already had going in jeopardy, and that wasn't a risk it felt like taking.

It was friend who got me into the profession. Left with a baby after my boyfriend walked out on me, I needed cash fast. She made me pledge secrecy first, then told me what she'd been doing, i.e. work for the agency. Essentially, she said most of the stuff I lay out at this site. Well, I caught my breath a while, then I asked a load of questions. She waited until I was done - which was a while - then she laid the second act on me. Did I want a piece of it?

Well, I asked even more questions, most of which I think were supposed to conjure an excuse for me to say "no, I don't think this is for me". (Not because I'd thought about it - I hadn't yet, that's the point - but because it's sort of what you're programmed or conditioned to think and say.) Anyway, her answers were so direct and rational, I was never really able to make the speech. Instead, we adjourned with me saying I'd think about it.

And the more I did think about it - really think about it -, the more the idea appealed. It wasn't as if I'd be passing up some career I was set on, after all. (On the contrary.) And I wasn't exactly shocked at the idea of sleeping with a lot of different guys. (I'd spent the past three years doing that. As Lauren knew.) And, of course, the idea of that much money appealed big time.

So, when I did get back to Lauren, what I said went along the lines of "...suppose I was interested, what happens next..?"

Well, what happened next was that, the first free weekend I had, the agency flew me down to visit with them in the Caribbean. I met with the owners and we had some long talks and I found them very impressive. They were very direct about what was involved, very straight and far from trying to sweet-talk me, they kept saying stuff like "if you're not sure, don't go in for this", etc..

Anyway, at the end of that, I'd pretty much decided to give it a shot, and I went down there again for sort of an induction/training week just before Christmas. That went well and they put me into "the book" for the part of the country I was living. (I didn't want to travel too much having the baby.) It was kind of a trial: me seeing how I liked the work, the agency seeing how I did. (This is standard.)

Well, come january, some guy saw me in the book, liked me and the agency fixed me up to meet him. It all went fine - no hassles, no bad feelings after, nothing I couldn't handle - and the agency rang to say he wanted to see me again. So I saw him again. Then I saw another guy, who also turned out to want me back. After which the agency said I was definitely hired as far as they were concerned - making regulars out of your first two guys is regarded as impressive - and I said great, count me in. I went full time.

My madam recruited through people who work like model scouts, trawling clubs and bars and parties. And girls found her. Mostly they are models, strippers or dancers. Or students. They are smart and pretty. There are young actresses too. Sometimes recognisable faces.”

The madam worked with a man who was “friendly with all the top model agencies. He’d pretend to be a Saudi prince and sleep with models. Then he’d tell them they could earn £10,000 a night and they’d say, ‘Oh really? Here’s my number’.”

At other times, he might proposition a pretty girl by offering large amounts of money for sex. “Ninety-nine per cent of the time she’ll tell him where to go. But the seed is planted. Next time she sees him, she might say, ‘Okay, tell me more’.”

Her madam would ask this same male friend to “test out” new girls. “He would report back and say, ‘She did this, she did that, she was good. I’d put her in the top bracket’. Or he’d say, ‘She’s a bit mediocre, so she might be a £1,000-a-night job as opposed to a £10,000’. There’s also a place in Paris she sends top girls to learn about sex — all the tricks. Paris is unbelievable for that stuff.”

You can’t have nerves! These girls are tough. And there’s a numbness — it’s work. We don’t care about clients.”

Many of the girls are from Russia or Eastern Europe, but others are from “all over — America, Brazil, South Africa, the Far East”.

The madam had around 100 girls on her books. The very least you’ll be paying is £1,000 a night — those are the get-’em-in, get-’em-out service girls. They’re booked for events like weekend shoots, or to sit in a nightclub making some sleazy guy look good. The mid-range are the majority — £5,000 a night upwards. Most of the mid-range guys aren’t mega-mega — they’re wealthy-banker league. You can see why the mob wanted a piece of the action.

Girls are sent “to etiquette classes, to learn how to sit, eat, which knife, fork, which glass for the white, for the red. It can’t be obvious to the other dinner guests that she’s a prostitute.

There was a girl from a fabulous background who fell in love with a client. He left his wife and three children for her. But not many girls marry out of the. “It’s not Pretty Woman. But then again, a lot of society women started out this way.”

So what makes a £10,000–£20,000 girl? Looks and training. We were professionals. We’d need to be funny, a laugh, party all night. Or cool and clever, discreet and well-mannered. You could never be fazed by power or money — or what you were asked to do.

The top girls are “healthy”. They go to the gym. They don’t do drugs, smoke or drink. Sometimes you’re up all night, so you need to look after yourself.

The top 10 are “champion racehorses”. Others are “more hard-wearing”. An absolutely stunning girl might not be so bright, or her English isn’t good. She’ll go to Arab clients. They want a beautiful girl they can lock in a room and bang, bang, bang.” She pauses. “But they pay well.”

A lot of these guys are seriously fuckedd up. Their wives don’t do what they want. No woman in her sane mind would do half of it.

I remember being put in an exceptionally expensive outfit so that the client could urinate on it. One European royal who has hookers all the time is so rough that my madam refused to send her best girls. A famous film director offered to make me famous “if I didn’t use a condom”. IO refused.

One guy — you definitely know his name — wanted to be a baby girl dressed as a ballerina. We had to smack him and put things up his bum.

In addition to her fees (which were paid to the madam — no money changes hands with the girl”), clients would take her shopping. Getting jewellery is key. That’s an investment. The girls are big savers — they don’t spend their own money. If they start young — 18 is a good age — and do 10 to 18 years of hard work, they’re made.

Retirement age is usually 28, “latest 30.
They need to earn enough to put away for their future..

She says there’s an upper echelon of exclusive prostitutes who charge a premium for their celebrity. Six, including a former Victoria’s Secret model, charged £25,000 an hour.

A Russian, 24, who I know wears Isabel Marant and Chanel. She’s braless under her white T-shirt but it doesn’t look tartly. She’s the kind of girl you might see hocking her modeling portfolio around Paris.

She remembers the “cheap fake-fur coat” she was wearing when she stepped off the plane five years ago from Russia. Her modeling career failed because “there were a million girls like me at the agency. I couldn’t earn proper money”.

Anna refuses to discuss her madam but says she was introduced by another model. She’s been taken to Wimbledon, the Serpentine Party, Ibiza, Monaco and the Frieze Art Fair. Most of her clients are financiers — “hedge funders, CEOs, rich businessmen. I can make £5,000 a night. Sometimes £10,000 or £15,000 for a weekend.”

Clients want “everyone to think they’re going out with a model”.

They don’t want you to dress like a hooker. You need to look natural. Don’t dress like their wives,” she smiles. “Although most of their wives try to dress like us.”

“Maybe I’ll marry a rich man,” she says. “If not, I’ll start my own business.” Does she think she’ll ever fall in love? Have children? Have a normal life? “Maybe. I hope.” She shrugs. “It’s hard to think about it. Right now, I just want to make money.”

When someone paid me $1,250 an hour, he got exactly what he would for $200, the rate when I started out. The difference is psychological. Tell a guy you’re $100 and they’ll treat you one way -- tell them you’re $1,500 and they’ll treat you better.

I’ve heard a lot of girls saying, ‘Is this girl getting $5,500 an hour because she’s more beautiful? Is she doing something I don’t?’ The answer is no. But that girl is able to look a guy in the eye and say, ‘This is what I’m worth, and this is what you have to pay if you want me.’ And you have to be able to do that, and believe it.

And then suddenly it all changed. Our madams were forced out and we found the agency being run by gangsters. Seriously bad guys. They'd targeted similar organisations in New York and elsewhere to gain a foothold in high level vice. You might say why didn't we all run. But they had the information about us kept by the agency. Apart from dodging tax for years and hiding our money away, we'd been part of an organised prostitution ring. If the authorities were given the details, we faced jail. To put it crudely 'they had us by the tits."
Like the other girls, I was intimidated and threatened. Several of the thugs from the mob gave me a hard fucking to show they owned my pussy - just ripped off my clothes and banged me on the floor, deliberately hurting me. "We run your ass now," said one of the bastards, "The easy times are over."

That is how I found myself standing on the deck of the yacht, waiting to see if I was to be chosen for a crude gang bang.