We kissed, stroked and touched
I have a new weekly client, Jon. He is so dashingly handsome London beau and fresh out of a senior position in the Forces and with an appetite for the finest escorts his trust fund can buy. I was disappointed that I would not see him in a uniform, after seeing his blond, chiselled looks. However, my imagination allows me to see him in all sorts of uniforms.
I don’t, as a rule, go into a guy’s car, but I had checked him out and Franz had a copy of his details as my “go-to” person in any of any issues. When Jon greeted me, with butterfly kisses on each cheek, and held my hand lightly, I felt a shiver down my spine.
I like the idea of bringing in fresh clients into my London life, although, not that often. It peps me up hugely, and there is that anticipation that always stirs my belly when I think about a new lover and what they could be like. Men think they are all the same, but they are so very wrong.
Jon was hunky and single. He was originally from Westminster, but now lived around the Bayswater/Mayfair border. We ate in a bistro near the Embankment; it was a lively, fun place, perfect for a rendezvous with a scarlet woman but not a place I could imagine he frequented.
When we left, he admitted his mistake in his choice of eatery. He should have picked somewhere classier. I took his arm and explained that it was fine, and was still very intimate.
As soon as we’d parked up outside his apartment, Jon took my hand and kissed the back of it. I like his traditional, almost shy appeal, but that soon changed.
He started to slowly lick the back of my hand, and put one of my fingers into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the tip. That did it for me. My throbbing intensified as he reached under my top to gently brush my nipple, through my lace body, with his other hand. I let him continue until I could hear a whimper escape.
As soon as Jon closed the door, we kissed hungrily. I wanted him. He picked me up so my legs clasped his hips and he lay me down. “All night, I’ve wanted you,” he breathed, in his deep, affluent accent, as he undid his trousers and threw off his clothes. I could hardly breathe from the passion.
We kissed, stroked and touched, until it became too much to bear. When he took me, he groaned, “Oh, that feels really good,” and he sighed as savoured every move and touch.
Why on Earth this guy does not have a girlfriend, I really do not know, but I was also not about to ask either. Let him tell me his story, in his own time, as my clients normally do…
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