I love the summer, that’s for sure, and this one was particularly good — long evenings, warm pavements, and the kind of heat that makes the city feel almost lazy. But the winter holds its own special charm, and in my line of work, it opens up possibilities that just don’t make sense when the sun is blazing. I must admit, I sometimes indulge clients in one particular favourite fantasy of mine – London escorts dressed in full, sweeping fur coats with absolutely nothing on underneath.
A Special Request from a Regular
One evening, a regular client called with a very specific request. He wanted two girls, both escorts in London, and both to arrive wearing floor‑length fur coats, zipped or belted up tight, with bare skin underneath. No lingerie, no bra, no stockings – just us, wrapped in softness and mystery. It was the kind of request that made me smile the moment I heard it, because I knew exactly which friend I wanted to bring along.
We met first, my friend and I, in a small café near the hotel where the booking was arranged. People outside hurried past in thick scarves and gloves, their breath misting in the air, while she and I sat opposite each other, snugly cocooned in our coats, sharing a private little secret no one around us could guess. Under all that luxurious faux fur, we were completely naked.
Faux Fur and Bare Skin
My friend and I were both wearing fake furs, of course – please, I’m an animal lover, and I would never wear anything else. Mine was a floor‑length dark fur, a deep, inky shade that swallowed the light and made me feel both dramatic and hidden. The lining was silky and smooth, and the way it slid over my bare shoulders and down my spine every time I moved was incredible. Every step made the fabric whisper against my skin, a constant reminder that I had nothing on beneath it.
My friend wore a creamy ivory‑coloured coat, soft and pale, so that the two of us contrasted beautifully as we walked side by side. Where mine looked mysterious, almost dangerous, hers looked indulgent and decadent, like clotted cream. When she shifted in her seat, the coat parted just a fraction at the thigh, and I caught a glimpse of her bare leg, warm and glowing against the cool lining. We exchanged a quick glance and a conspiratorial smile — we both knew exactly what effect we’d have when we finally met our client.
Naturally, both of us were also wearing thigh‑high boots. Mine were black, sleek, and fitted so closely to my legs that they felt like a second skin. The leather hugged my calves and thighs, and the high heels added an extra sway to my walk whether I wanted it or not. My friend’s boots matched her coat, a lighter shade that made her long legs look even longer. Just the process of zipping them up earlier, while still naked, had been its own kind of tease — the contrast between soft fur at my shoulders and firm leather gripping my legs made me shiver in anticipation.
Meeting in the Hotel Lobby
When our client arrived at the hotel lobby, we were waiting for him. He spotted us immediately. Two women, standing in the warm glow of the reception lights, wrapped head-to-toe in luxurious furs, with just the suggestion of legs and boots visible beneath the hems. His eyes widened, and I could see the moment it hit him that his little fantasy was standing there, very real and very close.
We greeted him politely, keeping our coats fastened, and fell into step on either side of him as we headed for the lifts. He said very little on the way up, but his gaze kept drifting down to where the coats swayed around our boots, as if he were trying to imagine exactly how much bare skin was concealed underneath. I could feel his excitement almost as a physical thing, hanging in the air between us.
To reach the room, we had to walk along a long corridor from the lift, and that little journey might have been my favourite part. We passed a lot of people on the way – the receptionist at the front desk, who gave us a polite smile; other guests in suits and dresses, some of them pausing to glance over their shoulders as we swept past; and, at one point, the hotel manager, who nodded a greeting and gave a slightly puzzled look at our dramatic winter attire.
Our client loved it. I could sense the thrill running through him at the thought that he was walking behind two women who were wrapped up snugly in fur coats yet completely naked underneath, and no one around us suspected a thing. To the outside world, we were just two glamorous women on a cold winter night. Only he knew the truth.
Behind Closed Doors
By the time we reached the room, the coats were already starting to feel deliciously warm from our bodies. He unlocked the door with slightly unsteady hands and let us in first. The room was softly lit, with heavy curtains drawn against the cold outside. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, the atmosphere changed — from polite hotel formality to something thick with anticipation.
I moved closer to him, letting the hem of my coat brush his leg, and tilted my head to one side. My friend joined me on his other side, the pale fur of her coat brushing against the dark of mine. We stood so close he could smell our perfume mingling with the faint scent of the faux fur.
He reached first for my friend, his fingers sliding down the front of her coat to find the fastening. She just smiled at him and kept her hands at her sides, surrendering completely to his touch. Then, slowly, he began to tug the zipper down — but not with his hands. He leaned in, took the zipper gently between his teeth, and dragged it down inch by inch.
As the coat opened, the warm air of the room caressed her bare skin, revealing more of her with every tiny movement. I watched the expression on his face shift from curiosity to open hunger. When the ivory fur finally fell apart enough to show the full length of her body, he drew in a breath and just stared, taking his time.
Then he turned to me.
I felt his breath against my chest as he leaned in to find the zipper at my throat. The fur tickled his cheeks as he lowered his head, and my pulse fluttered a little faster. He caught the zipper between his teeth and began his slow, deliberate descent. As the metal slid along its track, my coat loosened, and a teasing little rush of cooler air grazed my skin. Over my collarbone, between my breasts, down my stomach — every few seconds, he’d pause and glance up at me as if checking my reaction, and I’d hold his gaze, letting him see the way my breathing had changed.
By the time the zipper reached my navel, the coat was no longer holding me fully closed. With the slightest movement, I could feel the fur slip aside, exposing glimpses of bare skin. When he finally reached the bottom, and the coat hung open, the sensation of the heavy fabric brushing against my sides, framing my body, was intoxicating. I stood there in nothing but my thigh‑high boots and the soft, dark fur draped loosely over my shoulders.
That was the magic of the fantasy for him — the contrast between being publicly respectable on the way up, and then completely exposed and available behind a closed door.
Why Winter Makes It Work
We could technically do the fur‑coat‑and‑nothing‑underneath combination in summer, of course, but it would look really stupid and far too conspicuous. It works best when the weather outside is bitterly cold, when everyone else is bundled up in layers. The added bonus is those little moments when a gust of wind or a careless step catches the coat, and it flaps open just enough to let in a sudden flash of cold air. That sharp, icy kiss against heated skin perks up your whole body in an instant, making you acutely aware of every inch of yourself.
After the Booking
Later that night, when the booking was finished and we were both pleasantly tired and satisfied, we dressed again. This time, we pulled on simple dresses underneath our coats, something easy and comfortable. I slid my dark fur over my shoulders once more, though now it felt different: less secret, more like a private luxury. My friend buttoned herself into her ivory coat, smoothing her hands down the front with a little smile.
The hotel had arranged a taxi to take us back. When we stepped out into the cold night, snow threatened in the air, the kind of sharp chill that makes your eyes water. We hurried into the waiting cab, our boots clicking on the pavement.
A Knowing Taxi Driver
The taxi driver looked at us in the rear‑view mirror as we settled into the back seat. He was middle‑aged, with tired eyes and a faintly amused expression. As he pulled away from the hotel, he gave us a quick, knowing wink.
“Been busy tonight, ladies?” he asked, his tone light and suggestive.
My friend didn’t miss a beat. She smoothed her hands over her coat and replied coolly that we’d just been dining with a couple of rich executives and were now heading off to a club for a nightcap. Her voice was calm and utterly believable, the kind of effortless lie that rolls off the tongue when you’re used to people making assumptions.
We could tell he didn’t believe us for a second. There was something in the way he smiled, in the small, sceptical shake of his head. Maybe it was the hour, or the hotel, or just the way we looked — polished, wrapped in furs, with a certain satisfied looseness in our posture.
Unluckily for him, as we had finished for the evening, we’d already slipped into dresses after our encounter with the client. Whatever he imagined was hidden beneath our coats, it wasn’t quite the truth anymore. Still, my friend and I exchanged a quick glance, silently agreeing on a little mischief.
We both let our coats fall open in the back of the cab, as if we were just getting comfortable. The fur slid away from our bodies, revealing our dresses, bare legs, and the tops of our boots. It wasn’t nearly as scandalous as what we’d been wearing — or not wearing — earlier, but the driver’s eyes still flicked up to the mirror, curious and eager.
He looked slightly disappointed to see ordinary dresses instead of bare skin, but the way his gaze lingered told me that, in his mind, he’d already built his own story about us. And that, in the end, is part of the pleasure of nights like that: we never have to correct anyone’s fantasies. We just slip through the city in our coats, letting people imagine whatever they want to about what might — or might not — be underneath.
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