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“That’s good,” she says. “I aim to please.”
“Well you certainly did that.” I reach over and open the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed and pull out twenty $100 dollar bills and hand them to her.
“Thanks, baby,” she says, “Next time you’re in the mood to get pushed around a little bit, make sure you ask for me.”
“Will do.”
She taps my leg a couple of times and stands up. “You mind if I finish the wine?” she says.
“Not at all. Be my guest.”
She nods in thanks, pours the last glass, throws it down, puts on her clothes, and walks out with nothing more than brief wave goodbye. No pretense, no small-talk, no awkwardness. Just the way I like it.
#####
ONE FILTHY ESCORT
By this point, if you’ve read any of my other confessions, you know why I love escorts so much. But for those of you who don’t know, it comes down to this basic fact: You get exactly what you want whenever you want it with no hassle at all. Not to mention a wide variety of hot chicks at your disposal with just a simple phone call. What could be better than that? Nothing. At least I didn’t think so. But now I’m not so sure. Things have changed in my world. Maybe it’s just temporary, or maybe it’s permanent. I don’t know yet. But what I do know is this: I had an experience that altered my perceptions.
It was a night with an escort, just like so many of the others, but this one turned out different. It was a function of the woman herself, a gorgeous, tactful, exotic, considerate, grounded beauty unlike any other I’d ever been with. Now, don’t get me wrong, she was still a nasty-as-hell, fully functional, perverted sex machine, but she was classy. She was proof that there are women out there who can give me what I need sexually as well as fulfill me in other ways. (Of course, now the trick is finding one, but we’ll worry about that later.)
So here, for your appreciation, is my final night with an escort. Hopefully you enjoy it as much as I did. But I doubt it.
#
There’s a knock on my door. I take a deep breath and walk over to it and open it up, eschewing the peephole. I want to be surprised. And I am. In a good way.
The woman at the door is far more beautiful than I could have ever hoped for, standing just a few inches shorter than me with a slim, athletic body beneath her tight raincoat. Her long black hair is pulled back, showing off the perfect lines of her face. Narrow chin, high cheeks, big brown eyes, small nose, and thick, dick-sucking lips lined with dark maroon lipstick. Her skin is incredibly tan, golden brown, hinting at some exotic family background.
She holds out her hand, palm down. I take it and kiss the top of it, then lead her into the room.
I close the door behind us and by the time I turn around she’s already undone her raincoat and dropped it to the floor.
She’s wearing a tight, lacy black lingerie top that ends just below her perfectly proportioned, large but not too-large tits. She’s got a black bikini bottom and black lace stockings on her incredibly toned, muscular legs. She spins in place, showing off a tight, absolutely ridiculous ass and revealing little bows on the back of her stockings. She undoes a clip in her hair, letting it fall down her back, almost all the way to her waist.
Still facing away from me, showing off her ass, she turns her upper body and looks back at me.
“Do you like what you see?” she asks, her voice laced with the remains of an unfamiliar accent that confirms her exotic origins. Her smile is wide and appears genuine.
“Very much,” I say, stumbling even to get a simple sentence out. She’s so ridiculously gorgeous it’s throwing me off.
I’m used to getting a certain kind of woman, namely one with a specific flaw. Cute with only a so-so body, or an insane body with a decent face, or perfect except for jacked up teeth, something like that. But not this girl. She is just flat-out gorgeous, like a movie star, only with a slightly slutty edge. Perfect face, perfect body, perfect attitude, and just waiting to get fucked by me. It’s almost too much to handle.
“I like what I see too,” she says, stepping towards me. She grabs ahold of my arm, squeezes my bicep. “You have very big muscles,” she says. “Let’s see about the most important one.”
My heart is pounding as she runs her hand down my chest, over my shirt and jeans, coming to stop right at my crotch. She runs her hand over my jeans and starts rubbing the outside of my already rock-hard cock.
“So far, so good,” she says. “Do you mind if I take a closer look?”
“Not at all,” I say, trying (and failing) to control my breathing.
She unzips my fly and reaches in and pulls my cock out. “Oh my,” she says under her breath, her smile growing even wider. With her hand still wrapped around my shaft she says, “You have a very beautiful cock.”
Despite having done this sort of thing many times, I can’t help but blush. For some reason getting a compliment from her (even though it’s one I paid for) excites and embarrasses me.
“Thanks,” I say sheepishly.
She laughs. “What’s the matter? Is this your first time with someone like me?”
