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Inviting Desire: Pay-for-Play
By Tonya Jone Miller | December 16, 2008
My lover is waiting for me in an expensive hotel downtown. I am lounging in yoga pants and a camisole on my couch reading, the cat curled up in my lap, when I get the call. Instantly, I shift into high gear. There is a ritual to be performed. I strip naked and slip into a steaming hot shower, letting the scalding water cascade down over me, softening my skin. Shampoo first, then soap lathered into all my crevices. Foaming cleanser applied in a circular motion to my face and my entire body rinsed from head to toe. Conditioner in my hair while I painstakingly shave my legs and underarms. Rinse again. Perfumed oil salt scrub on every inch of my body and a final rinse. Big fluffy towel.
I imagine him waiting for me as I continue my preparations. He’ll be stretched out on the king-sized bed, lazily stroking his cock, fantasizing about all the ways he might have me. I massage moisturizer into my face, lotion onto my body in anticipation of his hands caressing my skin. My hair is almost dry by the time I’m done with my make-up, just a dusting of blush, a swipe of mascara, and a liberal dollop of lip gloss to accentuate my full pout. A quick fluff with the blow dryer, and I’m ready to slip into lingerie.
Which will it be tonight? I try on the white teddy and fishnets, and a black corset with garters and thigh-highs before settling on a red satin bra and panty set. He’ll like the way the demi cups lift and present my tits. A simple red cashmere sweater and black satin pencil skirt with crocodile stiletto heels complete the look. Sexy and sensual but not too revealing, merely posing the possibility of earthly delights beneath these finely tailored garments.
The cab ride is quick and uneventful, and as I alight in front of the hotel, I can feel the bellmen’s appreciative glances. I glide through the lobby, acutely aware that all eyes are on me. I wonder if they know. Elevator up to the penthouse suite, and then I am knocking lightly on the door. He is sweet, ushering me in shyly and offering me a drink. But I am only thirsty for him, for the rush of power I feel when his head is thrown back, eyes rolling up as I swallow his cock to the base. We’ll get there.
First I push him onto the bed, stepping back to let him take in my slowly undulating body. I teasingly pull the sweater up over my head, enjoying his tiny gasp as my breasts are revealed, straining to break free from the bra. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of the skirt, inching it down over my hips. As it falls to the floor, he reaches for me but I dance just out of his grasp. One hand deftly unhooking my bra, I delight in the childlike wonder on his face. I think every man remembers his mother’s teat when faced with any pair of boobs.
I crawl over him on the bed, pressing my curves against him, feeling him shudder and arch up into me. Sliding back between his legs, I tug his pants and underwear down, letting his already hard cock spring out. I press it between my tits, looking up at him with my most coquettish grin.
“My my my. What have we here? Somebody is awfully excited.”
He is leaking pre-cum onto my nipples already, so I pull a condom from my at-the-ready purse, unwrapping it and slipping it into my mouth. I bend my head, expertly pressing the latex around his swollen head and down the shaft using only my lips. My throat and tongue work in tandem, coaxing him harder, longer, thicker. He is thrashing on the bed now, words tangled in moans and sighs. I feel his balls tighten against my chin and know he is getting close so I pull off. His cries of frustration are silenced by me peeling off my soaking panties and moving to straddle him.
“Is this what you want? Hmmm? Is this why you called me?”
He thrusts up, trying to lodge himself inside me, but I won’t let him.
“Come on, don’t be shy. Just tell me what you want.”
“I…I want…to…FUCK you!”
I can’t help but chuckle at the effort it takes for him to force the words out past his seething lust. And then I take mercy on him, sliding my wet cunt down onto his dick, feeling him tense and then relax as I envelop him. My muscles are strong. Just holding myself above him, squeezing him deep inside me, I can feel him starting to buck and wriggle. I grind down to hold him still, rocking back and forth so the tip of his cock massages my g-spot. Oh fuck yes. I won’t let him move too much, he’s too close. I want us to come together. As I get wetter, I slowly start to let him slip in and out of me. We find the perfect rhythm, and I’m going to be the fuck of his century.
There is a flash of disbelief on his face, and then we are on fire. Bodies jerking and convulsing, alien sounds ripped from our throats. We are fused, frozen in ecstasy. And then…the grande collapse. I let him hold me for a minute or two before rolling off him get a warm washcloth. As I tend to his shrinking cock, he reverts to shyness. This man who moments before was fucking me like an animal, a demon, blushes and giggles and cannot meet my gaze.
I give him a moment, retreating to the bathroom to flush the condom down the toilet. I pause, checking my hair and make-up in the mirror. Not too much damage done. When I emerge back into the hotel room, he is sitting on the edge of the bed looking at me curiously.
“What’s it like?”
I don’t have to ask what he means.
“It’s…fun. Scary sometimes, but fun. And sexy. It feels good knowing I can get you off, give you happiness or satisfaction or whatever.”
I dress carefully, deliberately letting him savor my body. When I finish, I move next to him, watching his face fall just a little as he reaches for his pants, and hands me five crisp one hundred dollar bills from his wallet.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I smile, nod, give him a little kiss on the cheek, and leave. He will think fondly of me for days, and I will buy myself those diamond earrings I’ve been coveting. It isn’t just the money though. It really is the knowing I can give somebody something they need. Only for a while, and yes it will cost them. But I’ve fucked plenty of guys I didn’t particularly like for no compensation at all, just because I was stupid or drunk or thought I was in love. When I’m with my clients, they are the center of my universe. I give them something they get nowhere else- complete acceptance of who they are and what they want. So I don’t feel bad about taking his money and giving him the fuck of his life in return. Should I?
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