11-20-2025, 11:42 AM
When I saw him in the hotel bar, I knew he would be my companion for the entire night. Clearly, he was a tourist—the clothes may as well have had “American boy” printed all over them—and clearly, he was not a man looking for a lady of the night.
There have been scores of names for these men over time—this is, after all, the world’s oldest profession—and I hate all of these terms. Johns. Punters. Kerb crawlers. Jockeys and tricks. I loathe even the respectable words, like client or customer. These men are so much more to me. They are my guests. I am their hostess. And like any good hostess, I anticipate and see to their needs. That they are of a carnal nature is no reason for shame.
I am Lady Dee, and I am a person of art, a geisha.
I use my voice and my words to compose symphonies. I use my cosmetics and my attire to stimulate the eyes, though it is my body that is my palette: my face, my breasts, my thighs, my sex. My geisha porn. I am an entertainer, a dancer, and a performer of all manner of sultry and frantic movements.
I have mastered my art over the years, and I have learned to read the minds of my guests: this one just needs to be held. That one needs to blow off some steam. This one wants things his wife won’t do for him. This one wants to do things his wife won’t allow.
As the man sipped at a drink at the bar, I discerned several things at once: he had been separated from his friends but wasn’t quite ready to head upstairs to his room yet. Most likely, his friends were revellers, but this man, no more than twenty, looked thoughtful and reserved, a man comfortable alone with his intellect.
He was tall and handsome. His hands were not soft but not calloused, like a workman’s hands. No doubt he worked with his hands in the summers when not attending Harvard or, Yale or Columbia. He was not a student here in Tokyo; he would have learned to dress more conservatively. And he was a virgin, my favourite kind of guest. I am an artist, and an uninitiated man is my untouched canvas, my blank page, my empty stage.
As I approached him, I licked my lips, already envisioning the body hidden by his garish clothes: powerful chest and long, strong arms; taut belly and solid thighs. A man’s height and shoe size are no suggestion of the size of his cock; I have seen dicks like daikons on lithe and diminutive dancers and tiny shishito shafts on mountainous sumo. But I do love to guess, conjuring the phallus in my mind. I imagine my fingers wrapped around the veiny shaft and how much they overlap; I guess at its colour and its length, whether circumcised or not, straight like a sai or curved like a katana.
I approached him as if I was smoke, smooth and silent. My voice was like silk.
“I would be honoured to host you, sir,” I said in perfect, unaccented English, noting with satisfaction the change in his expression: surprise when he first heard me, then eyes widening as he looked me up and down.
“Host me?” he asked.
“I would be honoured to host you in my rooms,” I said, running one hand lightly down his sleeve and giving him my most welcoming smile. “I will entertain you as my guest.”
His eyes went from my hand to my face twice, and then they widened again.
“Oh!” he exclaimed and pulled his arm back, as if he’d touched a livewire. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not interested.”
A refusal is quite rare for me, the unadorned truth be told, but I am rarely fazed. This young man simply didn’t fully understand what was on offer.
“What is your name, sir?” I asked, striking a tone between schoolteacher and saleswoman.
“Michael,” he said, but warily, as if I were selling wares from an alley or a snake ready to strike.
“Michael,” I said, “I am Lady Dee. I am many things: an artist, an entertainer, a performer… and a teacher.” He continued to look at me with suspicion. “What I am not is a peddler. I wish to sell you nothing. I am offering you a lesson.”
“I don’t think I need a less—”
“You are a virgin, no?” I asked demurely, but I locked eyes with him, pinning him with the truth.
His face darkened to the colour of a tomato. “No, I’m not, I’ve done it lots, I…”
“There is no shame in chastity, Michael,” I said, choosing that word over virginity to soothe his embarrassment, replacing my hand on his arm. I could feel his young, hard bicep under his gaudy shirt. He was very handsome. I could not only instruct him, but also take immense pleasure of my own in the tutorial, no doubt. “But should you choose to end your abstinence, I would be honoured to provide some guidance in the art of lovemaking.”
He gulped, and I knew if I looked down, I’d see his enthusiasm just inches from where my hand rested.
“I… I don’t have any money,” he said.
“Ah, as I told you, Michael, I am not a peddler. I am a hostess.” I took his hand in mine and produced a card from my sleeve. I placed it in his palm, letting my fingers linger on his skin for just a moment too long to be appropriate and just a moment too short to be lecherous.
I stepped back and bowed to him. “Nine o’clock, if it pleases you, Michael. It would please me.”
Everything is a performance for an artist, but my words were not an artifice; as I walked to the door, my desire trickled down one thigh from a vagina swollen and steaming.
I was not surprised that Michael showed up at the appointed hour; as I said, I am rarely declined. I bade him enter, then turned my back to him. No man’s introduction to lovemaking should begin with wanton, animalistic ferocity. That comes later, a frantic rutting built on the foundations of deliberate, focused attention.
As such, I stood before him as he entered, hands folded demurely in front of me. I was fully covered in my kimono, my hair in a neat bun held by kanzashi. Outwardly, I was a prim and proper hostess. I waited for his advance.
But as soon as he placed one tentative hand on my cheek and the other, trembling, on my hip, my tightly coiled sexuality unravelled as his mouth met mine. His hands trembled, and his mouth was imploring. There was no reason for such hesitant, inexperienced caresses and clumsy movement of his lips and tongue to have any effect at all upon me.
But it did, as a hurricane will have an effect on a rowboat. Michael threatened to capsize me in a sea of pleasure. What was it about this young man?
As I kissed him back passionately, encouraging him with one hand on his chest, I used the other to undo his pants and grip his already erect cock. It jumped as I touched him, so I gripped it firmly, confidently. It was a delight in my palm: a steel shaft sheathed in silk, long and thick, warm and heavy. I stroked him gently as I broke the kiss and restarted, using my tongue to probe his mouth, sliding it over his, pulling him in. Then I broke it again and caught his gaze. His eyes were clouded with pleasure as I stroked him, relishing his soft panting.
“Kiss me as I kissed you, Michael,” I said softly. He lifted my chin and did as he was told, using his lips and tongue as I had demonstrated. I moaned softly into his mouth as I stroked. Such a quick learner! He was still too shy to touch me anywhere but my cheek or waist, but that would come. His tongue in my mouth whetted my appetite for something else, and I lowered myself gracefully to my knees and took him in my mouth. As I was his first, it was my responsibility to establish a very high standard for making love, and I would begin with oral artistry he would never forget.
He groaned as I licked up and down his shaft, using a feather-light touch on the way down and pressing harder on the way up. I ensured I covered every inch of his member before I sucked him down. He grunted as I took him to the root of his cock, and then his panting increased in volume as I sucked him vigorously.
He was too shy to speak, but that was not a concern. Every other sound he uttered was music in my ears: every growl, groan, moan, and sigh. A symphony of satisfaction.
I breathed sighs of contentment myself as I stopped sucking to lick again, my nipples rubbing against the silk of my kimono, my cunt swollen and dripping again, a trail of my nectar sliding down my thighs. I squeezed my legs together as if in so doing, I could stop the flow, but it only focused me on my sex.
Patience, I told myself. The guest comes first. I stood to allow him to decide what should happen next. He gripped my neck and pulled me close to him for a deep, passionate kiss, animated purely by instinct now, a need to devour me, to possess me, to signal his appreciation and lust and his primal need to fuck me.
He pulled off my kimono and let it fall to the floor, and he took me in his strong arms, burying his head in my neck and then between my flushed breast to inhale my scent, to feel the warmth of my silky skin. He grazed his lips down my body, soft touches past my navel. He slowed as he travelled south, and just as I knew he was a virgin, I knew he was not yet ready for my undiluted essence, even as I ached for his hot breath and tongue on my swollen petals.
I guided him back up to my mouth, then removed his shirt, took him by the hand and led him to my large bed. I looked into his eyes and was unsurprised to see pure joy in them. Despite myself, I felt a flush of pride, and kissed him deeply before sliding down his sculpted back to his cock. I sucked it enthusiastically, wanting him to feel pride as well, proud of his desirable cock, of his body, his handsome face… and I wanted him to be confident when the time came.
I sucked and licked, his cock getting wetter even as my cunt did, the fellatio my performance, his grunts and groans, until I sensed neither of us could put off the centrepiece of our encounter. As I pulled off his member, he pulled me up to his lips again, desperately, urgently, as if he couldn’t not have my lips on some part of him at all times. I doubled that pleasure for us both by rubbing my petals urgently along the length of his shaft, causing us both to sigh in the other’s mouth. Back and forth, our tongues danced; back and forth, our silky skin slid together where we joined between our legs. Finally, I broke the kiss to give him another spectacle; I squeezed and moulded my breasts just inches from his florid face, running my thumbs over my sensitive, erect nipples. I kissed him again as I rubbed my cunt on his shaft, using it as I had used my hand to stroke him.
It was only when he panted so hard he could no longer seal his lips with mine that I finally sank down on him, causing us both to gasp. One would expect it from him, as this was the first time he’d ever penetrated a woman. For me, it was a revelation, an epiphany: that even after all this time as a hostess, as an amorous artist, I had yet to discover the perfect phallic specimen. The search I didn’t even realize I was conducting had ended. Michael’s big cock fit me as if moulded from my canal, long enough to satisfy without discomfort, wide enough to stretch me slightly but deliciously.
“Oh my God,” Michael breathed as I fucked him gently. I couldn’t do much more than that, so awestruck as I still was to feel that flawless cock in me. But he was content not to rut too frantically, lost in the novel and electrifying feeling of mating, to penetrate and create dizzying friction with another.
He sat up and licked and suckled my breasts before finding my mouth again. A sensitive young man, this was seeking to make love rather than fuck; to pet and cosset rather than maul and grab.
Patience be damned; this lesson absolutely had to proceed much faster.
I stopped and withdrew from him, but only long enough to plant a foot upon the bed, giving me greater leverage. Again, we both sighed as I slid back onto him, the sensation of his perfect penetration as divine as it had been the first time. But this sigh quickly became a grunt of surprise as I used my new position to thrust myself up and down his shaft much faster, much harder, each plunge a stone in a pond, sending ripples of heat, trembling excitement and all the way through me.
The harder I bounced, the better that immaculate shaft felt in me, as if I was designed to be pistoned with abandon, in and out, in and out, his cock sending pulse after pulse of ecstasy through me.
I needed to increase their frequency.
And, of course, Michael needed his opportunity to take the lead in our dance, and so I slid off him reluctantly and lay with him, encouraging him with a hand on his head, pushing my ass into his throbbing, wet erection. I know my guests’ needs: this would allow Michael not only the opportunity to line up his cock with my entrance himself; it would give him the ability to thrust, and thrust deeply, yet still keep the skin contact he seemed to crave.
That I was the beneficiary of his hard, filling thrusts was just a happy coincidence. The hostess always makes the needs of her guests paramount.
“I leaned back to kiss him, revelling in the way he’d grown in confidence already as our lips met. There are times when I must exaggerate my sighs and squeals for the benefit of the guest, but this time there was no artifice from my mouth; my gasps and moans were real as he fucked me hard, encouraged by my hand on his ass, urging him faster. He gripped my tits, squeezing as he used them to pull me back onto his member.
My orgasm struck like a lightning bolt in the black of night, my scream the thunderclap that followed. There had been pleasure, so much pleasure, a steady beat as Michael battered me, filled me, massaged the walls of my cunt perfectly… and then the explosion of light and heat, deep, trembling pulses in my pussy that electrified the rest of me.
When I finally came back to myself, I realized Michael had stopped thrusting. Was he worried he’d hurt me? Did he want to stop and concentrate on the sensation of my cunt contracting on that gorgeous cock? It didn’t matter, and it was just as well, because there was a final lesson for him to learn before he climaxed. I leaned back to kiss him and whispered in his ear.
“Lick my pussy, Michael,” I said. It wasn’t a command, but we both knew he would obey. His lesson had exhilarated him, and he was eager for more learning.
I lay on my back and opened myself to him, my lips swollen and glistening. Michael’s eyes opened wide as he watched me spread myself, devouring me with his gaze. And then quickly, he fell upon me with his lips and tongue, the rough, eager-to-please strokes of a virgin. When he lapped at my pearl, I moaned loudly and pushed on the back of his head, urging him to stay there, demonstrating for him how important that little pleasure nub is. As I said, he was a fast learner, and he doubled his efforts, licking feverishly, each stroke of the wet, strong muscle bringing a second orgasm closer. I was beyond impressed; it is a rare guest indeed who is capable of bringing me to the peak twice.
Rarer still is a man with Michael’s insatiable curiosity, the great hunger for experience. He stopped licking and inserted two digits into me, no doubt wanting to feel my heat and wetness on his fingers as he had on his cock. He sighed as he began to push them in and out of me and kissed my inner thigh, something no guest had done in years. It was such a tender gesture, it nearly undid me, and I needed the connection again: his cock in me, his lips on mine.
“Inside me again, Michael,” I said, and he straightened. I put one ankle on his strong shoulder, and he plunged into me. God, could I ever tyre of that transcendental cock? I thought not. I thought Michael’s member might ruin me for any future guest. But in that moment, I did not care; this wonderful young man, with his perfect cock and tender passion, was going to make me explode a second time as he thrust into me. I pulled on him to kiss me deeply, as if his cock and mouth kept me airtight so that my orgasm had no place to escape, a bomb going off inside me, igniting every nerve ending in a blaze of pure bliss. I gripped him as I came, but there was no containing him. Michael had reached his limit, and needed to erupt too, fucking me wildly, as if to push me through the bed into the floor and into the very ground beneath. My mind floated away until he came too, spurting his seed into me in one final, deep thrust.
We held each other close as I quivered, and he shuddered, the heat of our passion with nowhere to dissipate but into each other as we clutched and sighed.
“Are you in Tokyo long?” I asked as his hand roamed over my flushed skin.
“I leave tomorrow first thing.”
“Plenty of time,” I said, relishing the feeling of his hot cum leaking out of my cunt. I knew there was more where that came from, and that with a man this young and strong, it wouldn’t be long before I was filled again. I touched his hair tenderly, reflecting on the fortunate women in his future. None as fortunate as me, however, as I was his first.
And now he was an artist too, thanks to my tutelage. And I was correct, he had hardened already.
Time for the next performance.
The End
There have been scores of names for these men over time—this is, after all, the world’s oldest profession—and I hate all of these terms. Johns. Punters. Kerb crawlers. Jockeys and tricks. I loathe even the respectable words, like client or customer. These men are so much more to me. They are my guests. I am their hostess. And like any good hostess, I anticipate and see to their needs. That they are of a carnal nature is no reason for shame.
I am Lady Dee, and I am a person of art, a geisha.
I use my voice and my words to compose symphonies. I use my cosmetics and my attire to stimulate the eyes, though it is my body that is my palette: my face, my breasts, my thighs, my sex. My geisha porn. I am an entertainer, a dancer, and a performer of all manner of sultry and frantic movements.
I have mastered my art over the years, and I have learned to read the minds of my guests: this one just needs to be held. That one needs to blow off some steam. This one wants things his wife won’t do for him. This one wants to do things his wife won’t allow.
As the man sipped at a drink at the bar, I discerned several things at once: he had been separated from his friends but wasn’t quite ready to head upstairs to his room yet. Most likely, his friends were revellers, but this man, no more than twenty, looked thoughtful and reserved, a man comfortable alone with his intellect.
He was tall and handsome. His hands were not soft but not calloused, like a workman’s hands. No doubt he worked with his hands in the summers when not attending Harvard or, Yale or Columbia. He was not a student here in Tokyo; he would have learned to dress more conservatively. And he was a virgin, my favourite kind of guest. I am an artist, and an uninitiated man is my untouched canvas, my blank page, my empty stage.
As I approached him, I licked my lips, already envisioning the body hidden by his garish clothes: powerful chest and long, strong arms; taut belly and solid thighs. A man’s height and shoe size are no suggestion of the size of his cock; I have seen dicks like daikons on lithe and diminutive dancers and tiny shishito shafts on mountainous sumo. But I do love to guess, conjuring the phallus in my mind. I imagine my fingers wrapped around the veiny shaft and how much they overlap; I guess at its colour and its length, whether circumcised or not, straight like a sai or curved like a katana.
I approached him as if I was smoke, smooth and silent. My voice was like silk.
“I would be honoured to host you, sir,” I said in perfect, unaccented English, noting with satisfaction the change in his expression: surprise when he first heard me, then eyes widening as he looked me up and down.
“Host me?” he asked.
“I would be honoured to host you in my rooms,” I said, running one hand lightly down his sleeve and giving him my most welcoming smile. “I will entertain you as my guest.”
His eyes went from my hand to my face twice, and then they widened again.
“Oh!” he exclaimed and pulled his arm back, as if he’d touched a livewire. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not interested.”
A refusal is quite rare for me, the unadorned truth be told, but I am rarely fazed. This young man simply didn’t fully understand what was on offer.
“What is your name, sir?” I asked, striking a tone between schoolteacher and saleswoman.
“Michael,” he said, but warily, as if I were selling wares from an alley or a snake ready to strike.
“Michael,” I said, “I am Lady Dee. I am many things: an artist, an entertainer, a performer… and a teacher.” He continued to look at me with suspicion. “What I am not is a peddler. I wish to sell you nothing. I am offering you a lesson.”
“I don’t think I need a less—”
“You are a virgin, no?” I asked demurely, but I locked eyes with him, pinning him with the truth.
His face darkened to the colour of a tomato. “No, I’m not, I’ve done it lots, I…”
“There is no shame in chastity, Michael,” I said, choosing that word over virginity to soothe his embarrassment, replacing my hand on his arm. I could feel his young, hard bicep under his gaudy shirt. He was very handsome. I could not only instruct him, but also take immense pleasure of my own in the tutorial, no doubt. “But should you choose to end your abstinence, I would be honoured to provide some guidance in the art of lovemaking.”
He gulped, and I knew if I looked down, I’d see his enthusiasm just inches from where my hand rested.
“I… I don’t have any money,” he said.
“Ah, as I told you, Michael, I am not a peddler. I am a hostess.” I took his hand in mine and produced a card from my sleeve. I placed it in his palm, letting my fingers linger on his skin for just a moment too long to be appropriate and just a moment too short to be lecherous.
I stepped back and bowed to him. “Nine o’clock, if it pleases you, Michael. It would please me.”
Everything is a performance for an artist, but my words were not an artifice; as I walked to the door, my desire trickled down one thigh from a vagina swollen and steaming.
I was not surprised that Michael showed up at the appointed hour; as I said, I am rarely declined. I bade him enter, then turned my back to him. No man’s introduction to lovemaking should begin with wanton, animalistic ferocity. That comes later, a frantic rutting built on the foundations of deliberate, focused attention.
As such, I stood before him as he entered, hands folded demurely in front of me. I was fully covered in my kimono, my hair in a neat bun held by kanzashi. Outwardly, I was a prim and proper hostess. I waited for his advance.
But as soon as he placed one tentative hand on my cheek and the other, trembling, on my hip, my tightly coiled sexuality unravelled as his mouth met mine. His hands trembled, and his mouth was imploring. There was no reason for such hesitant, inexperienced caresses and clumsy movement of his lips and tongue to have any effect at all upon me.
But it did, as a hurricane will have an effect on a rowboat. Michael threatened to capsize me in a sea of pleasure. What was it about this young man?
As I kissed him back passionately, encouraging him with one hand on his chest, I used the other to undo his pants and grip his already erect cock. It jumped as I touched him, so I gripped it firmly, confidently. It was a delight in my palm: a steel shaft sheathed in silk, long and thick, warm and heavy. I stroked him gently as I broke the kiss and restarted, using my tongue to probe his mouth, sliding it over his, pulling him in. Then I broke it again and caught his gaze. His eyes were clouded with pleasure as I stroked him, relishing his soft panting.
“Kiss me as I kissed you, Michael,” I said softly. He lifted my chin and did as he was told, using his lips and tongue as I had demonstrated. I moaned softly into his mouth as I stroked. Such a quick learner! He was still too shy to touch me anywhere but my cheek or waist, but that would come. His tongue in my mouth whetted my appetite for something else, and I lowered myself gracefully to my knees and took him in my mouth. As I was his first, it was my responsibility to establish a very high standard for making love, and I would begin with oral artistry he would never forget.
He groaned as I licked up and down his shaft, using a feather-light touch on the way down and pressing harder on the way up. I ensured I covered every inch of his member before I sucked him down. He grunted as I took him to the root of his cock, and then his panting increased in volume as I sucked him vigorously.
He was too shy to speak, but that was not a concern. Every other sound he uttered was music in my ears: every growl, groan, moan, and sigh. A symphony of satisfaction.
I breathed sighs of contentment myself as I stopped sucking to lick again, my nipples rubbing against the silk of my kimono, my cunt swollen and dripping again, a trail of my nectar sliding down my thighs. I squeezed my legs together as if in so doing, I could stop the flow, but it only focused me on my sex.
Patience, I told myself. The guest comes first. I stood to allow him to decide what should happen next. He gripped my neck and pulled me close to him for a deep, passionate kiss, animated purely by instinct now, a need to devour me, to possess me, to signal his appreciation and lust and his primal need to fuck me.
He pulled off my kimono and let it fall to the floor, and he took me in his strong arms, burying his head in my neck and then between my flushed breast to inhale my scent, to feel the warmth of my silky skin. He grazed his lips down my body, soft touches past my navel. He slowed as he travelled south, and just as I knew he was a virgin, I knew he was not yet ready for my undiluted essence, even as I ached for his hot breath and tongue on my swollen petals.
I guided him back up to my mouth, then removed his shirt, took him by the hand and led him to my large bed. I looked into his eyes and was unsurprised to see pure joy in them. Despite myself, I felt a flush of pride, and kissed him deeply before sliding down his sculpted back to his cock. I sucked it enthusiastically, wanting him to feel pride as well, proud of his desirable cock, of his body, his handsome face… and I wanted him to be confident when the time came.
I sucked and licked, his cock getting wetter even as my cunt did, the fellatio my performance, his grunts and groans, until I sensed neither of us could put off the centrepiece of our encounter. As I pulled off his member, he pulled me up to his lips again, desperately, urgently, as if he couldn’t not have my lips on some part of him at all times. I doubled that pleasure for us both by rubbing my petals urgently along the length of his shaft, causing us both to sigh in the other’s mouth. Back and forth, our tongues danced; back and forth, our silky skin slid together where we joined between our legs. Finally, I broke the kiss to give him another spectacle; I squeezed and moulded my breasts just inches from his florid face, running my thumbs over my sensitive, erect nipples. I kissed him again as I rubbed my cunt on his shaft, using it as I had used my hand to stroke him.
It was only when he panted so hard he could no longer seal his lips with mine that I finally sank down on him, causing us both to gasp. One would expect it from him, as this was the first time he’d ever penetrated a woman. For me, it was a revelation, an epiphany: that even after all this time as a hostess, as an amorous artist, I had yet to discover the perfect phallic specimen. The search I didn’t even realize I was conducting had ended. Michael’s big cock fit me as if moulded from my canal, long enough to satisfy without discomfort, wide enough to stretch me slightly but deliciously.
“Oh my God,” Michael breathed as I fucked him gently. I couldn’t do much more than that, so awestruck as I still was to feel that flawless cock in me. But he was content not to rut too frantically, lost in the novel and electrifying feeling of mating, to penetrate and create dizzying friction with another.
He sat up and licked and suckled my breasts before finding my mouth again. A sensitive young man, this was seeking to make love rather than fuck; to pet and cosset rather than maul and grab.
Patience be damned; this lesson absolutely had to proceed much faster.
I stopped and withdrew from him, but only long enough to plant a foot upon the bed, giving me greater leverage. Again, we both sighed as I slid back onto him, the sensation of his perfect penetration as divine as it had been the first time. But this sigh quickly became a grunt of surprise as I used my new position to thrust myself up and down his shaft much faster, much harder, each plunge a stone in a pond, sending ripples of heat, trembling excitement and all the way through me.
The harder I bounced, the better that immaculate shaft felt in me, as if I was designed to be pistoned with abandon, in and out, in and out, his cock sending pulse after pulse of ecstasy through me.
I needed to increase their frequency.
And, of course, Michael needed his opportunity to take the lead in our dance, and so I slid off him reluctantly and lay with him, encouraging him with a hand on his head, pushing my ass into his throbbing, wet erection. I know my guests’ needs: this would allow Michael not only the opportunity to line up his cock with my entrance himself; it would give him the ability to thrust, and thrust deeply, yet still keep the skin contact he seemed to crave.
That I was the beneficiary of his hard, filling thrusts was just a happy coincidence. The hostess always makes the needs of her guests paramount.
“I leaned back to kiss him, revelling in the way he’d grown in confidence already as our lips met. There are times when I must exaggerate my sighs and squeals for the benefit of the guest, but this time there was no artifice from my mouth; my gasps and moans were real as he fucked me hard, encouraged by my hand on his ass, urging him faster. He gripped my tits, squeezing as he used them to pull me back onto his member.
My orgasm struck like a lightning bolt in the black of night, my scream the thunderclap that followed. There had been pleasure, so much pleasure, a steady beat as Michael battered me, filled me, massaged the walls of my cunt perfectly… and then the explosion of light and heat, deep, trembling pulses in my pussy that electrified the rest of me.
When I finally came back to myself, I realized Michael had stopped thrusting. Was he worried he’d hurt me? Did he want to stop and concentrate on the sensation of my cunt contracting on that gorgeous cock? It didn’t matter, and it was just as well, because there was a final lesson for him to learn before he climaxed. I leaned back to kiss him and whispered in his ear.
“Lick my pussy, Michael,” I said. It wasn’t a command, but we both knew he would obey. His lesson had exhilarated him, and he was eager for more learning.
I lay on my back and opened myself to him, my lips swollen and glistening. Michael’s eyes opened wide as he watched me spread myself, devouring me with his gaze. And then quickly, he fell upon me with his lips and tongue, the rough, eager-to-please strokes of a virgin. When he lapped at my pearl, I moaned loudly and pushed on the back of his head, urging him to stay there, demonstrating for him how important that little pleasure nub is. As I said, he was a fast learner, and he doubled his efforts, licking feverishly, each stroke of the wet, strong muscle bringing a second orgasm closer. I was beyond impressed; it is a rare guest indeed who is capable of bringing me to the peak twice.
Rarer still is a man with Michael’s insatiable curiosity, the great hunger for experience. He stopped licking and inserted two digits into me, no doubt wanting to feel my heat and wetness on his fingers as he had on his cock. He sighed as he began to push them in and out of me and kissed my inner thigh, something no guest had done in years. It was such a tender gesture, it nearly undid me, and I needed the connection again: his cock in me, his lips on mine.
“Inside me again, Michael,” I said, and he straightened. I put one ankle on his strong shoulder, and he plunged into me. God, could I ever tyre of that transcendental cock? I thought not. I thought Michael’s member might ruin me for any future guest. But in that moment, I did not care; this wonderful young man, with his perfect cock and tender passion, was going to make me explode a second time as he thrust into me. I pulled on him to kiss me deeply, as if his cock and mouth kept me airtight so that my orgasm had no place to escape, a bomb going off inside me, igniting every nerve ending in a blaze of pure bliss. I gripped him as I came, but there was no containing him. Michael had reached his limit, and needed to erupt too, fucking me wildly, as if to push me through the bed into the floor and into the very ground beneath. My mind floated away until he came too, spurting his seed into me in one final, deep thrust.
We held each other close as I quivered, and he shuddered, the heat of our passion with nowhere to dissipate but into each other as we clutched and sighed.
“Are you in Tokyo long?” I asked as his hand roamed over my flushed skin.
“I leave tomorrow first thing.”
“Plenty of time,” I said, relishing the feeling of his hot cum leaking out of my cunt. I knew there was more where that came from, and that with a man this young and strong, it wouldn’t be long before I was filled again. I touched his hair tenderly, reflecting on the fortunate women in his future. None as fortunate as me, however, as I was his first.
And now he was an artist too, thanks to my tutelage. And I was correct, he had hardened already.
Time for the next performance.
The End