man’s eager hands.
I take pride in the firm swells on display. His appreciation thrills me.
At the top of the stairs, we enter a tiny room filled nearly wall-to-wall with a plush mattress. Soft lighting from a single incandescent lamp adds to the intimate ambiance. The bare bulb is obscured by a beaded lampshade Mari gave me for my birthday last year. A great inside joke. A cliché come to life. Sometimes it’s best to give the tourists what they expect.
“Would you like to undress?” I turn my back to retrieve a condom from the tiny dresser along one wall. I want him to consider without pressure. In my experience, getting nude makes a man more vulnerable, but this guy doesn’t seem like a clothes-on kind of lover.
“Yes, thanks.” He shuffles from foot to foot.
“Let me help.” I reach straight for his fly, leaving him to strip his shirt from surprisingly powerful shoulders. The clock is running. My nails tuck into the loop of his belt, freeing his pants from his waist before I slide them to his ankles.
He heels his shoes off then steps from the abandoned fabric. His socks stay on, but I don’t pressure him in case he needs some kind of security blanket. Instead, I turn my attention to the gray briefs askew on his hips, distorted by his bold erection, which the soft cotton fabric can barely contain.
I maneuver the cloth over his cock, loving—as always—the moment the proof of a man’s longing pops into view. A normal, everyday guy surrendering to his primal side gets me every time. I place my palms flat on his toned abdomen then slide them lower to cup his balls, initiating him to my touch.
“God yes.” His gaze is locked on my progress, waiting for me to continue.
An overwhelming purpose consumes me, driving me to delight this man and myself in the process. I remove the condom from its wrapper and roll it over his full length. Not the biggest tool I’ve ever seen but far from the smallest. He’ll get the job done, which is more than I can say for a portion of my customers.
I plant my knees on the pad I’m sure he didn’t notice in the artificial twilight of our nest then guide his shaft to my lips. I relish the first contact of my tongue on his latex-coated cock. Some girls hate the taste of rubber. It’s not my favorite, but I’ve come to associate it with the pure adrenaline of my intense—never casual—sexual encounters.
I concentrate on teasing the head of his cock before guiding the entire shaft deep into my mouth. He’s long enough to reach my throat and I relax to allow him entry. My pussy dampens when he moans his appreciation. I take him to the base on several consecutive strokes, but his ragged shout and the sudden contraction of his balls alert me. He’s straying too near the brink of orgasm.
It’s only been two minutes, we can’t have that.
Lesser prostitutes would allow him to spurt as soon as possible. The fee is the same, no matter what he chooses to do with his time. But I want it to be good for him. As good as it can be.
That’s the only way it’s good for me too.
So I wrap my fingers around the base of his erection and squeeze deep on the pressure point guaranteed to return his control. I’ve learned many tricks from my customers and other window dwellers over the past several years.
“Thanks.” He pants as he settles his hand on my shoulders, recovering a tiny bit. He shakes his head ruefully then flexes his hips, urging me to suck him again. “I’m all right now. Sorry.”
I paint my lips with the tip of his penis so he can see my genuine smile. “Never apologize to a woman because she drives you wild. It’s a fantastic compliment.”
The lines flanking his eyes as he considers my advice disappear, replaced by desire when I welcome him back to the warm, wet depths of my mouth. I suck him hard but steady, just below his threshold for ultimate pleasure. When his thighs begin to shake beneath my caresses, I know it’s time to move on.
Besides, I’m
I take pride in the firm swells on display. His appreciation thrills me.
At the top of the stairs, we enter a tiny room filled nearly wall-to-wall with a plush mattress. Soft lighting from a single incandescent lamp adds to the intimate ambiance. The bare bulb is obscured by a beaded lampshade Mari gave me for my birthday last year. A great inside joke. A cliché come to life. Sometimes it’s best to give the tourists what they expect.
“Would you like to undress?” I turn my back to retrieve a condom from the tiny dresser along one wall. I want him to consider without pressure. In my experience, getting nude makes a man more vulnerable, but this guy doesn’t seem like a clothes-on kind of lover.
“Yes, thanks.” He shuffles from foot to foot.
“Let me help.” I reach straight for his fly, leaving him to strip his shirt from surprisingly powerful shoulders. The clock is running. My nails tuck into the loop of his belt, freeing his pants from his waist before I slide them to his ankles.
He heels his shoes off then steps from the abandoned fabric. His socks stay on, but I don’t pressure him in case he needs some kind of security blanket. Instead, I turn my attention to the gray briefs askew on his hips, distorted by his bold erection, which the soft cotton fabric can barely contain.
I maneuver the cloth over his cock, loving—as always—the moment the proof of a man’s longing pops into view. A normal, everyday guy surrendering to his primal side gets me every time. I place my palms flat on his toned abdomen then slide them lower to cup his balls, initiating him to my touch.
“God yes.” His gaze is locked on my progress, waiting for me to continue.
An overwhelming purpose consumes me, driving me to delight this man and myself in the process. I remove the condom from its wrapper and roll it over his full length. Not the biggest tool I’ve ever seen but far from the smallest. He’ll get the job done, which is more than I can say for a portion of my customers.
I plant my knees on the pad I’m sure he didn’t notice in the artificial twilight of our nest then guide his shaft to my lips. I relish the first contact of my tongue on his latex-coated cock. Some girls hate the taste of rubber. It’s not my favorite, but I’ve come to associate it with the pure adrenaline of my intense—never casual—sexual encounters.
I concentrate on teasing the head of his cock before guiding the entire shaft deep into my mouth. He’s long enough to reach my throat and I relax to allow him entry. My pussy dampens when he moans his appreciation. I take him to the base on several consecutive strokes, but his ragged shout and the sudden contraction of his balls alert me. He’s straying too near the brink of orgasm.
It’s only been two minutes, we can’t have that.
Lesser prostitutes would allow him to spurt as soon as possible. The fee is the same, no matter what he chooses to do with his time. But I want it to be good for him. As good as it can be.
That’s the only way it’s good for me too.
So I wrap my fingers around the base of his erection and squeeze deep on the pressure point guaranteed to return his control. I’ve learned many tricks from my customers and other window dwellers over the past several years.
“Thanks.” He pants as he settles his hand on my shoulders, recovering a tiny bit. He shakes his head ruefully then flexes his hips, urging me to suck him again. “I’m all right now. Sorry.”
I paint my lips with the tip of his penis so he can see my genuine smile. “Never apologize to a woman because she drives you wild. It’s a fantastic compliment.”
The lines flanking his eyes as he considers my advice disappear, replaced by desire when I welcome him back to the warm, wet depths of my mouth. I suck him hard but steady, just below his threshold for ultimate pleasure. When his thighs begin to shake beneath my caresses, I know it’s time to move on.
Besides, I’m
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