Nikki could not get her boss off her mind or out of her wet dreams. It wasn’t just his sexy smile, or the broad spread of his shoulders beneath his dark suits, it was the dirty words he’d whispered in her ear when he’d promised to visit her room at The Tartan Thistle Hotel.
Samuel McWilliams.
Sam.
CEO of mega Scottish real estate company McWilliams Ltd. and host of this year’s Property Matters conference on the shoreline of Lock Lomond.
Stepping out onto the balcony, she tipped her face to the warm summer sunshine. Around her, birds called robins, chaffinch, and a cuckoo in the distance. The caressing breeze that wended through the soft branches and rustled the leaves picked up the strands of her long blonde hair in a sweet tickling sensation. She always felt so alive when she knew she’d be with Sam. Anticipation sent awareness over her body, and her pussy quivered each time she glanced at the clock.
What she loved about this hotel was its sense of privacy and isolation. The staff were attentive but not obtrusive, and the rooms were all bespoke. Being Sam’s secretary, she’d had the opportunity to claim an upgraded room even though her presence wasn’t much required at the conference. She was just there to problem-solve any issues with the venue and maybe take a few notes at the odd lecture.
Oh, and keeping Sam happy. That was also her job. The boss had to have everything he needed… right? Every desire was met until absolute satisfaction was achieved.
She was in the elegant room now. Its balcony wasn’t overlooked, the shower cubicle was plenty big enough for two and it even had a little writing table complete with plush chair and antique inkwell.
A smile spread on her lips as she remembered how her relationship with Sam had started, and she turned and rested her behind on the balcony railing.
Six months ago, her crush had been about to consume her. She’d needed an outlet, something to release the tension that was building within her. It was then she’d had the idea of writing a story about the object of her obsession.
A personal, private erotic story.
She bought a pink moleskin notebook especially, and an expensive new fountain pen. And then one evening, sitting on her trusty Ruby Glow ride-on vibrator, she’d penned a wildly erotic fantasy about Sam taking her over his desk at the end of the day, spanking her arse for being so naughty, and tugging her hair as she came. The details had been explicit—her wet pussy, his thick cock, his demands, her cries for more. There had been no sensation or desire left unwritten.
And as she’d ridden Ruby, writing furiously, climaxing hard, she knew penning her filthy daydreams about her boss was something she’d do again.
Which is exactly what she did.
Soon, the notebook was full of elaborate fantasies. The elevator broke down, and Sam got to his knees to lick her pussy, and her coming just before the fire crew opened the door. An important meeting where he’d inserted a remote control vibrator into her and had her orgasming as she took notes. A trip to a sex club where he’d tied her up and fucked her with everyone around them watching and masturbating.
Hell yeah, the fantasies had spilled onto the paper thick and fast, and each one had been penned as she’d ridden Ruby gasping and trying to keep her handwriting legible.
It was clear now, perfectly clear actually that her writing had been legible.
Because when Sam had found her book locked in the drawer of her desk—she hadn’t known he had a key and he was looking for stamps—he’d read every word, devoured it cover to cover, and, it seemed, remembered every depraved kink and breath-stealing fantasy in glorious detail.
Nikki smiled, relieved that her initial sense of horror had turned into something wonderful.
A wild workplace affair of the most intense variety.
It was his birthday next week, and they were going to go public, but until then, she was enjoying the clandestine nature of their passion. A few people had likely guessed, but so what? They were both single, and Sam was the boss. He could do what the heck he wanted. And that was also true of them when they were in bed together. She was his. Totally. He did what he wanted with her.
A thought jumped into her mind. A gift idea for Sam. What did you buy a man who had everything? The answer was something that couldn’t be bought. She’d write him another erotic story. A fantasy so beautiful and wicked that he’d be hard as a rock by the time he’d finished reading it and have no choice but to rip her clothes off and fuck her hard.
She wandered into the cool shade of the room. But her skin was hot, and her pussy was trembling at the thought of another story. Pausing at the table, she wrote a few words.
Sex Club
Black leather
Handcuffs
Blindfold
Butt plug
It was a start, just a few words to pique her imagination and let a story unfold. Now, she had to let the seed germinate. It needed to be nurtured, adored, stimulated and teased to fruition.
Touching the pen to her lips and picturing Sam’s handsome face when he read the story, she moved to the chair and sat. The gentle breeze floated in, and her skin goosebumped. Not with any chill but with excitement.
She wrote a few more words, a smile tickling her lips as she thought of Sam in the story. It was a delicious image of him dressed in black leather pants, bare-chested, and the golden eagle tattoo only she knew was there dark on his left pec. His expression was one of absolute concentration as he handcuffed her to a cross. She adored that look when she saw it at work when he was studying a contract, but she adored it more when he was concentrating on her pleasure—he took sex very seriously.
Quickly, she added the first few lines of the story. Them arriving at the club and a description of her scarlet skin-tight dress that was laced up the front and so short her arse creases were visible. She teamed it with red thigh-length boots and hair in a high ponytail secured with red leather lace.
Oh yeah, he’d like that look on her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he actually went online and ordered it once the image was in his mind.
She glanced at the clock and was disappointed more time hadn’t passed. It would be another hour at least before his speech to the delegation was over, and he’d be able to slip away.
And her body was impatient. She could sense dampness between her legs, and her nipples were tingling. It was a familiar sensation when writing about Sam, and she wasn’t surprised it was there, only disappointed that he wasn’t with her right now, at this moment, to satisfy her needs.
Luckily, she’d brought Ruby along. These days, she didn’t go anywhere without it. Why would she?
Glancing at the balcony door, she wondered if she should close it. But then another heavenly whisper of breeze blew in, filled with the scents of summer, and she decided it was private and she’d be quiet. Her favourite toy barely made a sound.
She moaned softly and swiped her fingers over the gusset of her thong. Aye, her pussy was damp, soaking in fact.
After retrieving her toy from the desk drawer, she sat, eagerness bewitching her and the images from her new story still floating before her eyes—Sam with his sensual lips stern as he told her she wasn’t to come until he gave her permission, and that would be hard because he knew exactly how to have her hovering on the brink of explosion.
“Oh, Sam,” she moaned, spreading her legs. Her belly clenched, and her breath hitched as she held the smooth, velvety toy and its remote control. After a quick glance at the balcony doors to make sure no one had climbed a nearby tree, she hitched up the sheer material of her dress and draped it over her thighs. If she were writing, she’d sit on Ruby, but right now, she was still formulating the delicious story in her mind, so she’d let her imagination run riot and use the elegant curves of the vibrator to stimulate her clit.
The writing table was just the right distance away to prop her bare foot on, and when she did this, cool air washed between her thighs. Her arousal was etching up, her needs growing. She could have waited for Sam, but why should she when she could come now on her own and then again later with him? Surely, that was a win-win situation.
She brought the deep pink vibrator to life and touched it to her clit, over her panties. Instantly, it had her gasping. The buzz was intense, just the way she liked it.
Her stomach clenched, and she curled her toes.
Rolling her hips in a sensual glide against the vibe, she pictured the scene she was going to write—Sam strutting around her, trailing his fingertips, or perhaps a long peacock feather over her body. Drawing circles on her pointed nipples, tracing to her navel. Tapping up her legs to float the feather over her pussy.
She trembled and pressed Ruby back into its stand. She’d sit on it now and give her pussy a treat while she added to the scene in her mind.
It fit beautifully to her shape, touching her in all the right places, and she rode it and tipped her head back, thinking of a part in the story where Sam would turn her on so much she’d be dripping for him. It would be only then he’d allow her to come, but not with his cock with his fingers. Working her, pushing her to orgasm as he studied every flinch of pleasure and listened to every cry of ecstasy.
“Oh fuck,” she muttered, grinding her clit onto the mound of pleasure. “Fuck.” He’d be jabbing into her, her moisture making wet clacking sounds as her body tensed, her back arched, and she held her breath on the precipice of pleasure extreme.
“Sam,” she moaned, opening her eyes and wishing he’d magically appeared before her, all brooding, curious and excited to find her getting off on her own.
But he wasn’t.
Dragging at the neckline of her dress, she exposed her breasts. They were sensitive, and her nipples were hardening. Sam adored her breasts. He could spend hours playing with them, tweaking her nipples and stroking her pale flesh. When he was exhausted from their passion, he liked to rest his head on them and have her stroke his thick, dark hair.
A moan left her mouth. It had started low in her chest and rumbled upward, with her having little control over it. She wouldn’t last long sitting on Ruby—it felt too good—and she still wanted to add to her fantasy story.
Scooting back into the chair, she pushed her thong aside and pulled the vibe from its stand again. A sudden memory blasted into her mind—Sam pressing her to her knees the weekend before and ordering her to suck his cock while they were in the shower.
Trailing her fingers over her lips, her cheek and chin, the freshwater taste of him came back to her. The way he’d filled her mouth, riding to her throat but always stopping before it became too much. He was so damn good at everything he did. She wanted his cock again, like that, in her mouth and saliva pooled at the very thought of doing it to him later in the shower at The Tartan Thistle.
She moaned and placed the tip of the vibrator on her clit again. A sharp intake of breath accompanied her movements. She was so turned on, aching for it now.
The chair was big, and she drew up her knees, planting her heels on the edge. The need for penetration was intense, and she set the tip of the vibe at her entrance. There was no need for lube. Thoughts of Sam always had her wet, no matter where she was or what she was doing.
She pushed in, her thighs clamping together at the deep invasion that hit right on her G-spot instantly. “Oh, yeah…” she moaned softly and gripped the arm of the chair, almost dropping the remote. Thank goodness she’d brought Ruby. She’d have had to resort to her fingers or the showerhead if she’d forgotten it. Neither would have been as intense or satisfying.
The story was still with her, behind her closed eyes as she canted her hips, taking the toy deeper. Now Sam was fucking her from behind, the handcuffs were still on, and she had a butt plug up her arse.
A butt plug?
That thought had strutted into her mind a few times lately. What would it be like? Would Sam be into it? Was he the only man she’d trust to play that way?
“Oh yes…” she said on an exhalation. “Yes.” She was agreeing with herself, she’d write that into the story and gauge Sam’s reaction when he read it. Look into his eyes and see if he wanted to fuck her from behind while she had a plug in her arse. It would make her tighter, right? He’d feel it. Oh God, what if it was a vibrating one? Maybe he’d lose control of that steely willpower of his and come in just a few wild thrusts when he felt it buzzing on the length of his cock.
Sweat popped on her brow and under her arms. The vibrations were just right for her, not too much that she came before her fantasies played out, yet strong enough to know she always would come.
“Mmm…” For a moment, she enjoyed the languid position and a gust of summer wind that floated in, basting her hot skin.
She pictured him now, in front of a conference room full of delegates, knowledgeable and confident as he explained the nuances of the current property laws in Scotland.
Oh God, even property law was sexy when Sam was talking about it.
The vibrator was singing away inside of her, stimulating her internally to the point of no return. Pressure was building, and her pussy was weeping. Her clit throbbed for attention, and she set the heel of the vibe over it and upped the speed setting.
“Ah…oh…” Her ride to orgasm was starting. Like a racehorse let out at the start of the race it was suddenly galloping towards her. And it was going to be deep and dense and race from her G-spot to the winning line.
Her body tensed, her spine stiffened, and she held the vibrator solidly in place. She didn’t really need to, it fit inside her beautifully with its elegant curved shape, but she wasn’t going to risk it falling out, not when her story had taken her to a place where Sam was removing the plug from her arse and setting his cock tip at her pucker, gripping her hips and getting ready to drive into her darkest hole.
A full-body tremble attacked her, and her arsehole clenched. What would it feel like to come with him in there?
“Oh…oh…oh…” She could hold off no longer, the story was complete in her mind, and the vibrator had built the orgasm in her pussy. For a honey-sweet moment, she held her breath, enjoying the solid stimulation that was about to rip her climax from her.
And then it was there, a full body experience as her G-spot fired white-hot fingers of bliss to her clit, her arse, her belly and everywhere else. Her heart missed a beat, then did two to catch up, and her limbs jerked as pulses of energy winged through her body.
“Sam. Sam.” His name was on her lips. His face was in her mind. It was only him. He was the only man she wanted. “Oh, Sam.”
Suddenly the vibrator was too intense, and she pulled it out, her pussy spasming and contracting as she did so. Her breasts were rising and falling with her rapid breaths, and her mouth was dry from panting.
She pushed her hair over her shoulders and closed her eyes. Delicious aftershocks were knocking through her, and she savoured every one of them. When they finally started to settle, she found the concentration to turn off the vibrations and put the wand back in its cradle.
“Phew,” she said, glancing at the clock. “That was…” She let out a sigh and smiled. “Now it’s time to write.” She wanted to make sure she got her fantasy down on paper. It would be a great birthday present for Sam.
And hopefully for her, too.
After putting the toy away, she poured herself a drink of water and then sat at the desk. Within moments she was writing as though a demon was behind her, urging her on in order to save her soul. The erotic story poured from her in mouth-watering detail, Sam the star of the show and her the willing submissive. She’d just reached the part where he was going to insert the butt plug when she heard the hotel door open.
“Hey, honey.” Sam’s deep voice came down the small corridor. Twilight was setting in and he appeared from the shadows a few seconds later. “What are you doing?” He dropped the key and his phone onto the desk. She noticed he had a bottle of champagne in his other hand.
“Well, my love,” she said, standing and moving to him. She looped her hands over his shoulders. “You will just have to wait until your birthday to find out.”
The End

It’s been a long day and all I’ve been looking forward to is a drink and a few minutes to myself. A bit of time for my mind to wander instead of always being on guard. Life as an escort can be tough, especially since it can feel more like being a carer than a gigolo at times.
Early this morning, I went with old Lady Fairview to Marks and Spencer to help her do the weekly shop. She doesn’t like it when I don’t comb my hair, or shine my shoes. I act the gentleman and wear the neckerchiefs and striped jackets she prefers. I smile at her with sexual promise, even though she’s not that way inclined. I pretend I give a shit about the products she’s picking up and the meals she’s going to prepare, all while other rich people remark on how amazing it is she’s got a young man in her life to make her feel wanted again.
After that I hoofed across town to visit Maximillian Von Baum at his office. I swept in under the guise of his tailor (still in Lady Fairview garb), but once I was ensconced safely inside his dark office, I changed into latex and he bent over the footstool, trousers down, my trusty paddle helping him work out his tension. He never gets hard and neither do I, though he always looks high as a kite once we’re through.
There were a couple of other appointments that were more sexually charged in the afternoon. First there was Kathleen, stylist to the stars, whose preference is for me to give her a full-body massage while wearing a tiny thong. Then she always wants to blow me after, which is fine. She’s no good at it, but it’s fine. She slobbers like a Saint Bernard, but whatever. I think of England and dribble a bit into her mouth.
After Kathleen, I shot across town to meet with a woman who likes to be seen flirting with me in a coffee shop near her ex’s office building. We sit in the window and I laugh at all her jokes (they’re not funny). I have to bring out my cable-knits and cords, loafers and leather jackets for meetings with her, not to mention my game face.
Once she got what she wanted, her ex’s new girlfriend (the PA) having spied us allegedly enjoying a date, I jumped in a cab and made it just in time to catch my final appointment of the day…
Kirsty likes to have her pussy spanked with a whip, then she has a play with a wand while I wank off. Sometimes she’ll want her arse spanking, too. Sometimes her tits. She never wants intercourse, only a slice of pain to get her aroused. My appointment with her is always the least taxing. Sure, it’s perfunctory, but that’s no problem. Better, in fact. She and I barely speak.
They imagine they’re the only client that exists and that I’m always the person they demand me to be, one hundred per cent of the time. What they don’t know is that it’s really tough altering my demeanour, voice, gait and even my style, to suit them—which I do, for every single one of them.
Which is why, right now, all I want to do is drink, sit back with a dirty magazine and drown out all the noise… just be with my own dick, in my own space, and not think about anything but my own needs for a change.
I might have already come twice today but this one will be different. It’ll be my own. My time. My own imagination… running riot. None of their demands on me or their needs to cater to. Only mine. My dirty thoughts, not theirs, and only myself to pleasure.
The liquor takes the edge off and I sit back in a comfy chair, trying to relax. Flush out all those thoughts of my day and forget how tired I am.
I need to entirely vacate and think of sex only. Guilt-free, thoughtless fucking. Nothing else. I’m hoping something in Playboy will help with that. Just a quick wank to ease the strain, the lack of a woman in my life no easy burden.
I flick through and appreciate every model, all with supple flesh and bouncy tits. Perfect asses. Full lips for me to dip my cock between. It’s not long before I’m imagining all of them in one room, nearly naked, staring at me in anticipation of a long night ahead. My cock stirs and I wonder which I’d fuck first.
It doesn’t take long for me to find an image that really captures the eye. A brunette with big breasts, come-to-bed eyes and curvy hips. Unbuttoning my shirt to let the air touch my skin, I unbuckle my belt and open my trousers, my cock already hard at the thought of her ass astride me.
My cock is out and I wet my fingers, sliding them around the plush head. I’m fully erect, imagining her and maybe some slighter blonde jockeying for position on the floor between my legs, ready to compete for access to my cock…
Both of them hungry, their lashing tongues occasionally brushing each other’s in their fight for me. Yeah, that’s it. Swift strokes mimic the sensation. Their eyes are glued to mine; they want my attention as well as my spunk in their mouths.
I close my eyes and within seconds, someone else is fighting for attention. All of my attention. My Playboy girls are thrown out of the room by their hair, a taloned older woman snarling with predatory intent as they scarper and flee. Tall and fully clothed, but the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, she stares at my raging erection and shakes her finger.
I open my eyes again and stare at the image in my magazine, at the beautiful female shape before me and the gorgeous shaved pussy beckoning, but she and her imaginary companion have been thrown out of the fantasy by the woman determined to have all of me.
The woman I didn’t see today but who goes with me everywhere, even though we only have one appointment a month. Stalking my dreams, my every waking hour, even when I would rather be thinking of anything—and anyone—else.
A woman I cannot have. A woman too good for me. A client. It’d be crossing the line.
I can’t bear it because it could never be, and yet I want her so fucking much.
She only sees me on the first Saturday of every month. That’s it.
I’ve never even seen her naked!
Yet I want her more than I’ve ever wanted any woman—and not just once a month.
My cock becomes just that bit more rigid at the thought of her plump, bloodred mouth.
What would she do if she could see me here, wanking off? All alone. No playmate.
I’m not sure, but I think she would hate it if my attention wasn’t on her. She would burn this magazine, perhaps.
That’s why she’s invading my thoughts right this second. When this is supposed to be my time. Damn her.
Fuck, the more I try to resist her, the more she pushes her way into my head.
Staring at the image before me on paper, suddenly, everything becomes clear. I picked this model to ogle because of who she reminds me of.
This particular client only ever wants me to paint her fingers and toes. Always different colours, but she unfailingly sets out the mani-pedi tools in order of when they should be used. Everything is in its right place.
“Take your time, Ricky,” she said, the first time she ever had me over. “It’s just us.”
She’d invited me to the kitchen table where she showed me what she wanted: her long talons clipping, filing, buffing, painting. She drank tea while I worked; I’d refused a drink because I was nervous.
I wondered that time if doing her nails turned her on, and the routine might result in sex(remember what they said in Pulp Fiction about foot massages), but over time, she proved herself to be so much more than that. There I was, trying not to look at her mouth or breasts too long, all the while, she was so proper.
“Is Ricky your real name?” she asked.
I looked up from trimming her cuticles and saw she expected me to be honest. “It is, actually. Everyone in my other life calls me as Richard, however.”
A small smile crinkled her eyes. “I’m not really called Electra, but it sounds… fancy.”
“It does,” I agreed.
It wasn’t my place to ask why she wanted me here to do this, when surely a trained nail technician could have done a much better job. I desperately wanted to ask, but I kept those questions to myself. She went on…
“Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?”
“Not right now,” I said.
“What about in the past?”
I looked at her sympathetically. She wanted to chat and enjoy some company (it was obvious), but information about my personal life wasn’t part of the service.
“I just like to know about people,” she said, noting the look in my eye. “Nothing underhand, I swear.”
“I was married,” I told her straight, and I found myself gulping. I’d never offered up anything about myself before with any other client. Nothing about my real self, anyhow. “I let my former career wreck my life… and nearly hers, too.”
I kept working on her nails, having got to the soaking stage. She made a noise like she was sorry for me, sighing, then she said, “Funny. A similar thing happened to me.”
I looked up into her piercing blue eyes. “You nearly got put in jail for trying to help an ill-fated client skip the country?”
We looked at one another then like we’d both overshared, this wasn’t comfortable territory for either of us anymore, and it was better we both kept our curiosity to ourselves.
What was also clear —without words, just eye contact —was that we understood one another, and there was an instant connection. It made something tighten in my gut.
She always wears silk blouses tucked into cropped leggings whenever I visit. A few buttons left open to show off her cleavage. Her round breasts are generous and suit the silk; she has a great ass for a woman her age and full, billowing hips… the shape of her pussy also delicious.
She always smells great, and fuck, if I can’t help but get harder at the thought of how she’d look if she were watching me right now.
“Ricky,” she said the last time we met, “how nicely you do my nails for me. Such a good boy.” And she fluttered those eyelashes and made it clear she was aware of my erection and didn’t mind it.
In the beginning, I was naïve enough to think she didn’t know what she was doing. I even considered that maybe a woman like her only wanted me to carry out this routine because she might be too well-known to hit a nail bar without being mobbed.
Over the months, I’ve learnt not to underestimate her. I’ve since discovered she’s a human rights lawyer. Divorced with two grown-up kids, the six-bedroom house on Bath’s Royal Crescent is all hers. An immaculate house, too.
“Ricky, you’re shy aren’t you, deep down?”
She said that the second time we met and it was really difficult to deny it. She has these eyes that make you want to admit everything, all at once. Just so she’ll give you a hug and a kiss, maybe a tiny smile.
Every time I open my eyes to stare down at who I’m supposed to be wanking off to, all I see are Electra’s eyes gazing back at me. Hers are the only eyes I ever see in my dreams these days. Big blue eyes rimmed with luscious lashes.
Ink-black hair… and that mouth.
Oh, fuck, how it would feel to have her climb onto my lap, take me inside her drenched pussy and ride me until I came shooting up into her belly…
“You’re so big, Ricky,” she tells me. “And such a good boy.”
I’ve seen her lick her bottom lip suggestively dozens of times and I always interpret it in the same way. She aches to ride me, I know it. She wants to be in charge. I want that, too.
“You know just how to treat me, Ricky. So tenderly. I’ve never had someone take care of me like this before.”
I watch with near disbelief as she strokes her nubbin and comes forcefully around me, nearly yanking me to the edge with her. Then she smiles with feline delight, and starts unbuttoning her blouse, unhooking her bra next.
Her heavy breasts fall free, tipped with deep-red nipples to match the lipstick she always wears… not so dissimilar to the pigment between her legs.
She sees my eyes stray there to where we’re joined and she shudders, shaking her long dark hair out behind her before she clutches my abdominals and begins riding again.
Uh, I’m nearly coming at the thought of her sheathing me so tight, it hurts.
She’s toyed with me for months.
I stroke my hands up and down her bare legs.
“Yes, that’s nice. It’s so relaxing. You’re so good at that.”
She’s always been free with the compliments, telling me how good I am, how handsome. She wants me to know how much I’m appreciated.
I don’t know how I let it happen, but I think… I must have fallen for her.
The head of my cock has fully engorged and it’s almost unbearable to hang on a second longer. She’s riding me hard, rubbing her breasts and writhing. The trembling walls of her pussy have me in a frenzy like never before… and there’s nothing like seeing a woman such as she delighting in my body and her own, too.
I can almost feel that orgasmic throbbing as she begins to cry out, her depths crushing around me, drawing me in deeper, those voluptuous curves driving me wild as she bounces athletically and calls my name.
So close to coming, I hold on when she demands, “Be a good boy and don’t come yet.”
I take myself elsewhere entirely to stop the inevitable.
Images of our meetings…
The time she was making tea in the kitchen and she bent over to pick up the spoon she dropped, her lacy thong visible beneath the thin material, a shot of arousal flooding my dick instantly.
Her throat in those blouses, elegant and feminine. The long lines of her torso and those dainty hands of hers. How I’ve ached to tease open her buttons and kiss her breasts, warm and soft against my mouth.
Fuck, I’m getting so close, the tension in my spine and the backs of my thighs threatening to revolt against me. I want to keep her image in my head for as long as possible, just like this, before I come and lose her all over again.
Just as I’m trying not to come, however, one image after another fills my mind…
She’s still dripping with my milk when she gets on her knees and licks me clean. Just as I think we’re done, she lies back and I’m hard again, pinning her to the carpet and ramming right into her. She screams as I fuck her to orgasm, then she’s flipped over and I’m fucking her hard doggy style, my hands gently holding her breasts, the velveteen softness of her tits rocking into my palms.
She’s on her knees again and I’m fucking her mouth, her eyes are wild and she’s touching herself. Then we’re up against the wall, her long legs around my buttocks as I pummel her into complete submission, her come and mine exploding down her legs.
Flames of desire lick my spine as I come, spurting all over, the strain in my thighs, buttocks and balls finally released, all the tension of my hidden desires unleashed. God, that feels good. So good. So right.
This time, I still feel her here with me, even though the deed is done. I drain the last of my liquor, clean up and recline back in the cushions—imagining what could be.
My thoughts drift and she’s really into cuddling, gentle kisses and connecting in the aftermath…
Then it’s just me here, I realise.
I’m alone, my cock softening, the euphoria gradually ebbing away.
I pick up my phone and check my appointment calendar… seeing her name next to the date we’ll next meet will have to do… for now at least.
I am a professional after all.
The End

“You look amazing in that dress,” Mark growled in his girlfriend’s ear as he walked into her apartment. His hands were around the waist of her retro dress, pulling her back hard towards his hips to let her feel his appreciation. “Makes me want to fuck you here in the hallway.”
Satine’s ass was beautifully rounded, her breasts just the right fit for his palms, and her pink flesh perfectly squeezable. She was curvy like a 1950’s pinup poster girl. Once Mark had mentioned his fondness for the look, and she’d played it up with sexy little-flared dresses ever since. Today she’d paired a black number with matching patterned scarves around her ponytail and her neck. When she looked like this Mark had no control. The sexy part that is and Satine knew it.
“Not yet,” she giggled, tossing her curly, blonde ponytail as she batted her eyelashes. “I have other plans.”
His cock twitched at the promise laced in those seemingly innocuous words. Mark still hadn’t wrapped his head around how Satine could seem so perfectly innocent and completely filthy at the same time. As if she knew what he was thinking, Satine giggled again, grabbed the growing bulge in his pants and started leading him into the bedroom. Mark knew he was in for a long and torturous afternoon. She’d promised that over the phone.
When they first met, Mark would never have guessed how kinky Satine was. She’d seemed fairly ordinary. Averagely pretty, likeable enough, and apparently successful from what his friends had told him, but nothing about her really stood out. It wasn’t until he’d accidentally spilt a drink on her that she caught his attention. He’d been apologizing and had to stop mid-sentence as her hand had risen to the sweetheart neckline of her dress. With one finger Satine had swiped at the sticky liquid of his cocktail shimmering on her breasts. The sight of her finger pushing between those full lips to take a taste was enough to keep him by her side the rest of the night. After that, no other woman held his interest.
Today Satine was obviously in the mood to play. Mark took no time getting undressed and pulling her onto the bed. He watched her crawl over his body, relishing the feel of her thighs as they straddled him. Her fingers rose to her neck and with a smooth movement, she undid the knot in the scarf. Taking his wrist, she brought his arm up and secured it to the bedpost with her scarf. Mark raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she repeated the process with the scarf holding back her blonde curls, until his arms and legs were bound BDSM style.
Satine placed a kiss to his chest before moving off the bed and securing his feet with a matching scarf. Then she disappeared. For what seemed like an eternity he waited, hard and ready. When she sashayed back into his view she was wearing a towel. He couldn’t resist a growl of appreciation as she dropped it to the floor while running her fingers across her stomach. Her movements only made him more aware that he couldn’t touch her. Mark loved it when she took control like this.
His mind wandered to where she might take him today as he watched her put on a sheer black bra. Then Satine pulled out a pair of nude pantyhose. Mark’s mouth went dry. His whole body went to rigid attention. He’d told her once that pantyhose were part of his sexual fantasy. Some men preferred stockings, but Mark loved the thought of that see-through material pressed close to a woman’s most delicate parts. He’d mentioned wanting to rip a pair off her, leaving the tattered remnants of cloth still clinging to her body as he drove his cock between her wet and waiting folds.
Satine delicately placed her foot on the bed, close enough for him to sense the indent made by her body, but just far enough to keep him from wiggling to touch the silky material. Her smile was wicked as she stepped back and started tracing the clearly defined line of stitching that ran over her slit. It was only a few moments before she dipped her hand inside the fabric to finger her clit. Mark knew how she enjoyed him watching. Tied as he was, watching was all he could do. Not that he minded. Satine exuded a raw sexuality when she touched herself. It was arousing as hell.
Mark realized he was holding his breath. As he exhaled, his cock twitched. Satine smiled at the reaction and brought her hand back out of the nylon. She grabbed a mini massage toy from where she’d placed it on the bed. He could hear the light buzz and her soft pants as she pleasured herself. His member throbbed with her every sigh. To him, nobody could possibly be more perfect than his luscious woman. His gaze rose to the swell of her breasts. Mark relished the sight of those tight peaks pressed hard against the fabric.
His fingers flexed and his arms strained against his bonds as Satine began pulling at the pantyhose, using the stitching to increase the pressure on her clit as she ground the vibrator against her pussy. The shimmer of her arousal seeping through the fabric was tantalizing. Her treasure, locked away from him but on full view, made him ache to explore the riches of her body. Satine climbed atop him, capturing the silky nylon between the growing warmth of their bodies. But she obviously wasn’t in the mood to grace him with her bounty. Sitting high on his chest, her pussy inches from his face, Satine rode out waves of self-induced ecstasy.
The sensations whirling through him were glorious and painful. He could smell her, almost taste her sweet essence. The urge to drink from her body was immense, but as he lifted his head his goddess moved away. She gently stroked his painfully hard cock. Mark could only watch as she got herself off without him. Mercifully, Satine moved to give him a better view and allowed him to brush his tongue along her slit through the pantyhose. He suckled at her covered sex as if her essence was the only thing that could slake his thirst.
Mark would have lapped at her for hours if she hadn’t pulled away. Still in the mood to tease, Satine giggled as she repeatedly dipped her hips close only to pull away every time Mark rose to taste her. The pants and pules echoing from her made him twitch. When she finally let him lick again, his goddess cradled his head in her hand and moaned.
The sound of the tearing fabric filled the room. Mark twisted against his bonds as Satine did what he’d been praying she would and ripped at her garments, exposing herself to him. “Oh yes,” he murmured. “Yes, rub that pussy.” Still inches away from his face, Satine stroked herself and him. Her fingers sped up as her arousal increased. When she leaned forward, Mark seized the opportunity to truly worship her with his tongue. He gripped the headboard in frustration as she backed away, bringing herself to the brink of orgasm while hovering right above him.
Then, surprisingly, Satine stopped. She kissed him deeply. His playful girl grinned as she ran her hands over his bound arms. She rubbed her still covered tits against his skin, kissed his chest, and bit at his sensitive nipples. When her tongue brushed the line at his hip, Mark couldn’t help but buck his hips. But the silky feel of her hair teasing his leg as her tongue found his shaft was what stole the breath from his body.
Satine ripped her hose just a bit more, taunting him before licking the tip of his cock. Her soft hands encircled the base as he watched her take the head deep inside her welcoming mouth. “Oh, God! Yes I love that!” he cried as her tongue flicked at the frenulum.
He was ready, so close to exploding. He could feel the headlong rush to his release, but she wasn’t going to let him come yet. Satine moved again, straddling him backwards to offer him a full view of her delicious ass as she began rubbing her juices over the head of his rock hard cock. He groaned, his member disappearing deep inside Satine’s pussy as she slowly sank down on him. He wanted to grab those luscious hips, smack that ass, do anything to make her move, but Satine was fully in control. She began fucking herself in earnest on his cock, grabbing the bedpost to rock fast then slow.
The alternating pace was blissful hell. There was no way he would be able to come with this teasing, and she knew it. Finally, Satine turned around. She kissed his shoulders as she began bouncing on his dick. Her moans grew louder, her breathing heavier. Grabbing her tits, Satine writhed on top of him. She fingered her clit and sheathed Mark fully inside her hot, wet pussy. When she finally climaxed, her juices flooded over him.
As she came back down from her high, Satine gave her hips a little wiggle. Mark was sure it was just to torture him. He needed to come badly. Satine just giggled as she pulled off of his still erect cock. There was no promise of release.
Satine slid beside him, caressing his member with one finger. Mark cursed inwardly. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure her attentions. He was ready to beg for mercy. The words almost escaped his lips but then Satine wrapped her hands around him. She began firmly stroking as she lavished attention on the tip of his cock with her tongue.
“Oh yes!” Mark cried out as she ran her thumb over the head, forcing creamy cum to spurt all over his belly. Satine looked utterly pleased with herself as she made little patterns in the liquid with her finger. Mark smiled, gazing at his goddess as he tried to catch his breath.
They stayed that way, basking in the afterglow of their play, for quite a while. In time, Satine left and returned with a washcloth and a bottle of water. She offered Mark a sip and then began delicately cleaning him with the warm cloth. It was a small bit of heaven. As he watched, Mark was overcome with an urge to hold her close, cradle Satine and whisper loving words to her with his nose buried deep in those golden curls. He pulled slightly at the scarves securing his wrists, causing Satine to look up from where she was still cleaning him.
“Don’t you think you should untie me?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she giggled, tossing aside the washcloth and straddling his body with hers. Leaning down to kiss him on the nose, Satine whispered, “I have other plans.”
THE END

“I want you to play me like you played your piano,” I said. “Play me, use my body.”
“I have something different in mind, cheri.” He motioned toward the kitchen and his chef brought out two plates. The chef placed a plate of grapes in front of each of us.
“That will be all for today,” he said. The chef bowed and closed the door behind him as he left.
“I would like you to enjoy some sweet fruit…a dessert,” he said. I watched him stand and walk to my end of the table. He reached in his pocket and took something out and placed it on my plate with the grapes. “And I would like for you to perform for me as I performed for you…a solo. A masturbation solo.” I looked down and saw a small golden vibrator, and I squeezed my thighs together at the thought of the music I would make for him.
“A solo?” His eyes looked the same as while he played. Soft, intense, demanding, filled with lust and passion.
“Yes, mon cheri, a solo. And if the music you make is…sweet, we will play a duet that will make us both weep.” He kissed the back of my hand and walked back to his chair and sat down to face me. “You may begin any time, my beautiful sexy fantasy.”
I took a grape from the plate and I kissed it with my dark red lips, my eyes locked on his. I let my tongue circle it until it glistened with my saliva. I bit into the soft flesh and its sweet juice spilt into my mouth. I imagined that I’d taste a similar nectar from him soon, and my pussy tingled with the anticipation of what I was doing to myself. To him. For him. I lifted up from the chair and shimmied my skirt down my legs, and I spread my legs as wide as the arms of the chair would allow and took a sip of my wine.
I slid my hands across my breasts and rested them on either side of my neck before I unbuttoned my silk blouse. I closed my eyes and caressed my skin with the tips of my fingers, and scraped the tips of my fingernails down my neck to my breasts. I imagined they were his fingers, and my skin grew taut as I shivered. My nipples stiffened under my palms as I made soft circles with my hands. I slid my blouse off my shoulders, and crossed my arms and opened my eyes.
His eyes were locked on mine, and they smouldered. Soft, tender murmurs. I remembered his words. Build into a frenzied crescendo.
“I’ve never done this before,” I said as I lowered my head and looked at him through half-closed eyes. “In front of anyone else, that is.” I licked my lips and I saw him swallow hard and he put his hands below the table where I couldn’t see them. “No, no, lover…hands on the table where I can see them. I want you to ache for our duet.” He nodded and swallowed hard again as I bit my lower lip and moaned.
I took my blouse off and dropped it beside my chair, and settled back a little lower in the chair so I could spread my legs wide. I could feel a gentle throb in my pussy as I teased myself, and I felt a sweet wetness pool inside me. I took another grape and tongued it and sucked it into my mouth. I puckered my lips and slowly pushed it out. I took a small bite of it and slid it down my neck. A moist trail of sweet juice chilled my neck, and I hoped he’d taste it when his lips and tongue were on my neck…later. I took another bite and squeezed it so the sweet juice dripped between my breasts. It trickled down into my navel and then down to the top of my panties.
“It’s time I change the tempo,” I said. I slid my panties to the side and dragged the grape along the length of my pussy. The coolness of the juice against my shaved lips made me shiver again, and I rubbed it between the top of my folds and held it against my clit. I slid it up and down my slit, opening myself. I squeezed the grape again and I felt its cool juice mix with my own. I held it up and licked it off with the tip of my tongue, and the sweet-salty taste of my sex mixed with the tangy-sweet juice from the grape was intoxicating. I popped it into my mouth and swallowed.
I sucked another grape into my mouth and picked up the small gold vibrator he had placed on the plate. I turned the base and it hummed to life.
I felt my nipples harden into tight pebbles as I teased them with the vibrator. I pinched one of them hard and gasped as I felt a jolt of pleasure travel down to the hard bud of my clit. My hips rolled back and forth in the chair and I sucked the tip of the vibrator into my mouth to get it wet.
I lowered my hands below the table and stared at him. I felt the warm flush of arousal grown in my face and neck, and my pussy ached to be touched…to be played. When I touched the tip of the vibrator to my clit, I gasped and my eyes shot wide open. I saw that his hands were again below the table, and I raised my hand and wagged a finger at him and motioned for him to put his hands above the table.
“My solo is almost over, lover,” I said. “You can play me soon.” He rested his hands on the table with a wry smile and nod. “Watch me as I play for you, baby.”
I dipped the vibrator into my pussy and slid it up until it touched my most favourite spot. I threw my head back and moaned. The touch on that spot filled me with sensations that throbbed from deep inside my pussy and radiated into my belly. I clenched my pussy over and over as I felt the spasms grow, and I backed off and held the buzzing little gold bulb against my clit.
Over and over, inside then out, higher and higher, my hips rocked faster as I fucked myself for him. I stared into his dark eyes, and I could tell that he ached to stroke his cock while he watched me.
“I’m coming for you, lover,” I said. I gasped between my words, and I felt my own frenzied climax take me to my point of no return. “Look in my eyes…while I finish…my performance…for you.”
I pushed the vibrator hard against my clit and I heard him say, “Yes, play yourself for me, mon cheri.” His words made me crash past that point I knew so well into pure ecstasy. My eyes squeezed shut and a blinding white pleasure exploded from inside me as my hips thrust up against the pressure of the hand and the vibrator. I heard my moans and cries fill the room but I couldn’t hold them back. They were my accompaniment to the sweet music of my bliss, and I wanted him to hear every note of my pleasure. The waves of pure joy washed over and through me as I coaxed myself to ride every blissful wave. I gasped and spasmed and moaned as I came down from my climax.
As I regained my focus, I saw his hands were still on the table and I smiled. I was flushed and warm, and while I loved the orgasm I just had, I needed to be filled. I wanted his cock inside me. I climbed up on the table and crawled toward him without ever taking my eyes from his.
“I want you to play me, now,” I said. “I want you to make music with my body, and I want to make music with yours.”
“As you wish, mon cheri,” he said. I sat on the edge of the table in front of him and put my feet on each arm of the chair. My legs were open wide for him, my pussy swollen and moist from my orgasm, and the scent of my sex filled the air between us. “Let the music begin.”
THE END

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