This week, a kinda unusual client popped up. He messaged me straight on my WhatsApp, saying I'd been recommended by a friend. And highly recommended, according to him. The friend had hyped me up so much that he already showed up with expectations through the roof.
Right after came the usual question that always pops up:
— Hey babe, you good? Your friend talked you up big time… said you're amazing. Tell me something: do you kiss on the mouth? And what's your service like?
I laughed to myself staring at the screen—same old question every time. I replied all chill:
— Hey handsome, all good here! Yeah, I kiss and I fucking love kissing. My service is real nice, no bullshit, no rush. I love sex and I do everything with a ton of enthusiasm.
He took a few seconds, then hit back:
— Good to hear that. Had a shitty experience the other day… the girl was too mechanical, wouldn't kiss for shit. That doesn't work for me. I need to feel a connection, you know?
I got it perfectly.
— Sorry about that, babe. Must've been super frustrating. But ask your friend… with me it's different. I love long, tongue-heavy kisses. My thing is being all girlfriend-like. I like getting involved, eye contact, real connection.
I sent that and kept going:
— I want it to feel good for you and for me. In the end, I wanna make you cum hard. But what I really want is for you to come back craving more, thinking about me after.
He replied quick this time.
— Fuck… I'm already picturing it. What's your last slot? You up for a longer session? Three, four hours? I want no rush.
— Yeah, I'm down, handsome. I usually wrap up around midnight, but I can stretch it with you. When you want?
— How about Thursday, nine at night? We start at a beach kiosk. I want it like a date, see you walking up, chat a bit, grab a drink… pretend I just met you.
I thought the idea was different and said yeah. It was kinda sweet, for real. Unlike the guys who jump straight in asking me to suck or spread my legs. This one wanted the flirt before the fuck.
The agreed day rolled around.
Right before heading out, I stood in front of the bedroom mirror for a few minutes, checking myself out head to toe, adjusting the little black dress that hugged everything just right. Thin straps, subtle neckline but showing off my cleavage nice, light fabric that swayed a bit when I walked. No bra underneath, my nipples already hard just thinking about his eyes devouring me when I got there.
Before leaving, I sent the last message:
“Heading out now, handsome. Little black dress, hair down, red lipstick. Look for the hottest chick on the beach… that's me. Be there in fifteen. Don't keep me waiting.”
I got out of the car right in front of the kiosk.
I tossed my hair to the side and started walking slow, feeling the curious stares, scanning for the table where he'd be. That's when I saw a guy waving discreetly with his arm. Figured it was him.
I walked up and asked:
— Eduardo?
He stood up right away, flashing an easy smile. Looked about forty, maybe. Dress shirt open at the top button, tight jeans, hair messed up on purpose. He had this calm, confident vibe.
He signaled the waiter discreetly and asked what I drank—his voice was deep and smooth, hit my ears just right. I said I like sweet drinks, ordered an Amarula. The glass came cold, the creamy liquid sliding slow down my throat, leaving a sweet, warm trail in my chest. He got the same, just to match.
He eyed my cleavage, then my eyes, and licked his lips slow.
— I thought I'd have a ton to say… but now I can only think about how hot you look in that dress. And how bad I wanna peel it off you real slow.
I laughed low, bit my lip, feeling my whole body tingle. Took a sip of the drink, glanced at the ocean for a sec to pull myself together, then back to him.
— I like that, you know? — I said, staring right into his eyes. — You're sweet. You know how to make a girl feel special.
He touched my hand across the table, thumb drawing soft circles on my skin, and started asking about me: what I do on days off, my favorite beach in Rio, if I had any dumb addictions like binge-watching shows or sweets I can't resist.
The talk flowed easy, light. He actually listened, paid attention, reacted. Didn't feel like just a client—felt like a real date.
We hung there a bit longer, between chats and low laughs.
At some point, he asked for the check. And it felt natural. No rush.
From there we headed to the motel. He picked a top suite: private heated pool, soft blue lights dancing in the water like fake moonlight, huge bed with white cotton sheets that felt soft as hell. The AC hummed low, clashing with the heat already rising on my skin.
As soon as we got in, he went to the minibar, popped a chilled sparkling wine with a sharp crack that echoed nice. Bubbles racing up the flute, glasses clinking when he poured. Handed me mine with his warm fingers brushing mine, lingering a second too long on the touch. Led me by the hand to the pool edge, warm water lapping the tiles in a chill rhythm.
Then he put on some low music, sensual playlist with a slow beat, bass thumping in my chest, and we started dancing close, bodies fitting slow. He came up behind me, arms wrapping my waist firm but sweet, heat from his chest pressing into my back through the thin dress. His hot mouth on my neck, letting out that warm breath that gave me goosebumps all over.
— You're so beautiful… — he whispered, pausing short like he was feeling it.
— And that scent of yours… damn. That perfume is intoxicating.
In this romantic vibe, he kissed slow along the curve of my neck, his tongue tracing a wet line that tingled from my nape to my shoulder, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin and sending shivers through my whole body. His big hands squeezing my waist, sliding down slow to my ass, fingers digging light into the fabric, pulling me closer to him. I ground back against him, feeling that nice bulge forming behind me, his cock hardening over his pants, thick and hot rubbing firm against my ass with every slow move. The rough denim clashing with the softness of my skin under the dress, his heat cutting right through.
I turned my face slow, our lips met. The kiss started slow, almost shy, soft lips touching, tongues seeking each other calm, tasting the sweet chill of the sparkling wine. But it quick turned to fire. Tongues dancing hungry, twisting deep, exploring every corner of the mouth. Little bites on his lower lip, tugging light with my teeth till I felt him shiver. He groaned into my mouth, rough and deep sound that shot straight to my gut, soaking my panties with pure horniness.
My hand slid slow down his stomach, fingers tracing the tight muscles, till I reached his cock over the pants. Squeezed gentle, feeling the hardness pulse strong in my palm, throbbing hot and thick, swollen with want. Fabric stretched tight, heat radiating into my hand, rhythmic pulse like it had a mind of its own. He grunted against my lips, deepened the kiss, hands running up my back, grabbing my ass under the dress, nails scratching light while the music pulsed low.
Then he started peeling off my dress with this deliberate slowness, like he wanted to savor every second of the reveal. His warm fingers slid along the thin straps, pulling slow, letting the fabric graze my goosebumped skin off my shoulders, down my arms in a soft caress. The dress slipped over my hips, brushing the curve of my waist, sticking for a sec on the swell of my ass before dropping to my feet. I stood there just in my red thong, the lacy scarlet fabric clinging to my skin, marking the line between my cheeks and the sheer front.
To be continued.