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
Read all about the wonderful author: Sarah Michelle Lynch
Such a wonderful story !! I had a wonderful evening last night with my new sexy item