Last Call Girl

Why do I do it? So many reasons. Mostly it's the sensations. I love the mix of feelings I get as I walk up to the door: how the lace brushes against the inside of my thighs; the softness of the fur coat against my legs; the scent of my own perfume in my nostrils; the taste of my lipstick as I flick my tongue in anticipation; the hunger in my pussy as I turn myself on with thoughts of what's about to happen.

I'm addicted to the unknown, the danger and delight, the possibilities. As Mama Gump said, "You never know what you're gonna get".

And then there's the little matter of three hundred dollars an hour.

Knock Knock.

I can hear him on the other side, know he's peering through the peephole, checking me out. No anxiety there: I got a mirror, I know he's liking what he sees.

The rattling of the chain, the opening of the door, the moment of truth on his face before any lies can slide into place. Nervousness, uncertainty, lust.

"You must be Candice?"

What I think: "OK, could be a lot worse."

What I say: "Hello, Jerry, would you like to invite me in?"

He apologises and is a little clumsy as he holds the door open for me. I stride past him into the room. I'm tall in my heels, almost as tall as him and I graze my fingertips lightly over the back of his hand as I go, giving my head a little toss to make my long blonde hair brush across his face, deluging him in the smell of me.

It's hard not to love your job when you know you're really good at it. And I do absolutely love it when the guy is tall and fit and quite cute and the first waft of pheromones tells us this is destined to be a truly great fuck. Maybe tip-worthy great, maybe extending-for-another hour great, maybe even overnight great.

But then again, destiny is what we make it: and as the agency motto says, "Cash first, call second, cock third".

A quick survey of the apartment tells me that this guy can easily afford me. The view over the city is quite something and through the bedroom door I can see a king-size with plenty of space to play. There's an L-shaped sofa and a huge TV: and some of the other furniture may also come in handy, depending on what he's got in mind. He's dressed smart casual, with bare feet like he's just come out of the shower. The humidity from the bathroom is reassuring: I like a man who cares about these things and it does save time.

I turn to him and flash the smile, opening my coat as I do so. I'm used to the effect I have but it's still gratifying to see it in his face as he runs his eyes over me, slowly, taking in every inch. Some men have a way of doing it that gives me a nice flush all over and makes me start to moisten. He's one of those and he has beautiful blue eyes that make me go a little weak at the knees, so I reward him with a shimmy that ripples the fur across my legs and trembles my breasts like warm blancmange. That doesn't take much: they're 36DD and my bodice is designed to present them, not restrain them.

"Do you have something for me, Jerry?" I ask, opening my mouth a little and running my tongue over my lips. It's crazy how easy some of this stuff is: I can actually see his cock stirring in his pants.

"Uh, yes, of course, it's right here..." He fumbles a bit with the envelope, not sure whether to hand it to me or take the notes out first.

I smile and sashay up to him, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek before whispering in his ear, "Why don't you count them out and put them in my stocking, one by one?" So saying, I walk out of the room and towards the bed, looking back over my shoulder as I go. When I get there I turn and settle myself down, crossing my legs so that my stockings inveigle him and all I have to do is sit there, swathed in fur and silk and lace. I can see myself full-length in the mirror on the wall and I look so fucking amazing that I'd do me myself if I could.

But I don't need to, because Jerry is coming over to take care of business and his boner is now plain to see. He doesn't even try to conceal it as he reaches down and folds a fifty dollar bill under the top of my stocking, after which he strokes his fingertips around my thigh with a nice, soft touch that tells me he knows what he's doing and isn't about to rush.

He sits beside me, running his fingertips up and down the inside of my thigh, from stocking top to knee, while with his other hand he slides another fifty into place. I feel the roughness of General Grant kissing my skin and I like it, this mixture of rough and smooth; and then Jerry quite firmly uncrosses my legs for me and runs his fingertips ever so gently over the silk of my panties, tracing out the shape of me, bringing a little involuntary murmur from my other lips. I know now that he's going to be good: and when he looks into my eyes and smiles, I like the crinkles around his eyes and the knowing in them and I smile back.

"I like to kiss and I don't like to be told no. When I enjoy a woman, I want to enjoy her completely."

Whoa, where did Mr Nervous go? I find myself gulping slightly, hoping he doesn't notice but I manage to nod and say, "General Grant is a great kisser -- but Benjamin Franklin is more of an arse man."

He takes the hint and unhurriedly slips another four fifties and a hundred under the top of my stockings. I guess this boy knew the score beforehand. There's another hundred still in the envelope and he says, "We're going to need more time, if we're going to do everything I have in mind. Is that enough?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On how good you make me feel."

It's a risk, laying down a challenge like that: but he takes it in his stride, like I was hoping he would. He leans forwards and puts his lips to mine, our noses just touching, letting me react if I want to. I meet his kiss and it's as every bit as good as I expected, gentle at first and then slowly exploring. As our tongues entwine, he runs his fingers over my panties once more and starts to caress my outer lips through the silk. I feel myself getting hot and wet and almost by reflex my hand is stroking his cock through his pants. As I feel him grow he cups my pussy in his hand and squeezes me just right, while our mouths meld and I register that I'm opening my legs wide for him. In fact my hand is now over his, pushing him down harder. The ball of his palm is pressing against my clit, while his fingers are strumming on my labia and sending waves of pleasure through me.

And we've barely even begun.

Which we shouldn't have done, not without making the call, so I pause things while I text the agency to confirm that everything's OK and that I'm going to be busy for at least an hour, maybe two. He uses the moment to break away and he comes and stands between my legs, looking down at me as I sit back on the bed, propping myself up on my elbows. I know without the mirror that I look hot and sultry and I raise my chin to meet his stare, not needing words to pose the question.

He doesn't use words either. Instead he kicks off his shoes and pulls his T-shirt straight up and over his head, revealing well toned abs and quite a six pack. It's his arms that do it for me, though. I love big, strong arms and with those muscles I know he could easily overpower me - and that thought excites me. I lick my lips and he unbuckles his belt and then unzips and lets his trousers fall, kicking free of them and standing before me, naked.

Resplendent.

"Wow." Sometimes the simplest compliments are the best: and it's easy when they're justified. I have a confession to make: I really love a nice, big cock. In my vocation that's an advantage and not all working girls share it: but I really do. And I choose my words carefully, the cock has to be both nice and big. By nice I mean good clean lines, smooth and strongly sculpted. By big I mean a girth and length that are going to fill me but not hurt me. Actually I like pretty much all kinds of cocks, provided their owners have a basic understanding of hygiene. After all, it's what you do with it that counts and I've been fucked halfway to heaven by guys with all different shapes and sizes, from the dinkiest all the way up to monsters that King Kong would be proud of.

This cock, though, ticks all my boxes. I can feel myself aching inside just at the sight of him. He's ramrod stiff, which helps: a good seven inches with a slight curve like a sabre, the glans perfectly smooth and glistening in the soft light of the bedroom. I reach up and take him in my right hand and I can't close my grip because he's too thick. There are almost three inches between my thumb and forefinger, which I've found is a pretty good guide to what I most enjoy when I'm wet and ready, without tipping the balance from pleasure into pain.

"Oral Without." He says it as a statement of intent, not quite a command -- and I refocus away from this wonderful instrument of pleasure to look up at the guy it belongs to, intending to say no but finding myself nodding compliantly instead. He smiles and nods down at us, his cock and me, as if nothing more needs saying.

He's wrong and yet right. By rights I ought to refuse, ought to insist on a condom: but as I perch on the edge of the bed, the scent of him is filling my nostrils and telling me things that make me let go of rational thought and revert to base instinct.

Actually there is one more thing I still need to know: and as I lean forward and slowly swirl my tongue around the lovely smooth head of his cock, that too is revealed. He tastes as good as he smells; and he smells as good as he looks; and pure lust overtakes me, so that I have a salacious smile on my face as I take him fully into my mouth. I go right down on him, until the tip of his cock touches my tonsils and his curls are tickling my nose. I fondle his balls for good measure, to let him know that he's in expert hands.

When I come up for air, I give him an affectionate kiss on the tip of his cock, then slurp my tongue all around his head again before grinning up at him. "You really have a nice one, Jerry. Any last requests before we get right down to it?"

"I don't want to come in your mouth, Candice. Your face is so lovely, you could easily send me over the edge before I'm ready. Please just get me rock hard for a couple of minutes - and then I want to go down on you, before I fuck you every way God intended and some he didn't."

"Cool!"

I love a man who knows what he wants.

Sometimes my job is so easy, it's almost a crime to be paid for it. I really like giving head, at least when the guy tastes nice like Jerry and when he lets me do my thing without grabbing my head and pushing me down as if he's trying to suffocate me. Jerry is a perfect gentleman, stroking my hair gently as I take care of every inch of him. I pride myself on having a tongue like a cat, a long rasp that can curl right around the object of my attentions, or dart in and out like I'm licking cream. Judging by the contented groans coming from Jerry, I'd say he's a man who likes a good rasp.

I'm also pretty good at judging when a guy's about to come and holding him back, which I have to do a couple of times before he tightens his grip on my hair and gently but firmly indicates that I should stop.

"Now it's your turn, my sweet." With no more preamble than that, he pushes me back on the bed and kneels on the floor between my legs, as if he's going to get right down to it. But what he actually does is to be still, for a good long minute, simply looking down at me as I'm splayed out on the bed for his delectation. I could be forgiven for thinking that he's contemplating his options - but it turns out he's got it all figured out, so I guess he was just savouring the moment.

He starts with my breasts, which is generally a good idea. I'm quite proud of them, not just for their fullness but for the whole package. Their shape gifts me a perfect cleavage and they seem to be every guy's favourite playthings. I am also blessed with smooth aureoles and pert nipples that boys of all ages just love to suckle. As Jerry proceeds to demonstrate, they are exactly the right size for a man to hold them firmly between his teeth whilst he flicks them with his tongue; and when he uses that tongue to circle them, sensations like little bolts of electricity go all the way down to my clit.

Jerry is very good at this. He enjoys my tits for much longer than most guys, apparently in no rush to go further down; and I'm quite grateful and impressed because it all feels really nice and by the time he does head south, my pussy is so wet that he could enter me without any more ado if he wanted to.

But he doesn't. This cunning boy turns out to be really into cunnilingus. I guess he was holding back from what he really loves. I suspect it the moment he takes off my knickers, sliding them smoothly over my suspenders and then pausing for a moment to gaze at my pussy, with an expression of what I can only describe as delight.

I happen to have a neat little pussy, with inner lips that are completely concealed until I get aroused and even then they just peek out like dark pink trim against the lighter pink of my outer lips. I like to keep my pubes equally neat, in a narrow landing strip that leads men straight to where they want to be. For the rest I'm completely smooth. If there's one thing that I know men don't like, it's getting a mouthful of stubble when they're eating me. Nobody ever complained about the quality of my pussy and I do get lots of compliments.

Jerry, however, doesn't say anything. He just goes straight down on me, burying his lips in mine and from the first long, penetrating lick I know I'm going to be in heaven. Actually he does quite a lot of quick little licks and nibbles to start with, just to open me up and get a grip on the geography. Once he knows his way around, he really goes to town. I think I say, "Oh, fuck!" for the first time less than ten seconds after he begins and after that I quickly lose track. He seems to understand how my clitoris works almost better than I do and soon I am literally crying out for joy, thrashing about as he adds to the delicious torment by putting first one and then two long, strong fingers inside of me, homing in on my G-Spot as if by instinct and strumming against it even as his lips and tongue and teeth are driving me insane with what he's doing to my clit.

My first orgasm hits like an earthquake: I'm bucking about so much the only thing keeping me from bouncing right off the bed is the fact that he's holding me down with arms like Stallone. And all the while he goes on eating me and finger-fucking me, until I subside like I've died and gone to heaven, pleading with him to stop even as I'm praying that he doesn't: and of course when he finally does, it's just so he can do what he said he would.

I watch in a kind of daze as he puts on the condom. I'm very aware that it's my job, the whore should always do that for her customer and I know how to put it on with my mouth, which is pretty neat. Certainly I'd like to do that for Jerry but he's clearly set on what he's doing. Long before I've come down from that mind-blowing climax, he's arranged me as he wants me, those powerful arms of his brooking no resistance. I love the sense of being helpless as he lays me on my back and puts my legs right up over his shoulders, taking his weight as he leans in and positions himself.

At that point, Jerry pauses again. He looks down at his cock, rock hard just like he wanted it; and he looks at my pussy, all glistening and wet and pulpy; and finally he looks at my face and he smiles, a nice, gentle smile that tells me this is going to be totally enjoyable. And then he says, "That's the prettiest pussy I've seen in a long time."

I'm still absorbing that when he guides the head of his cock between the folds of my flesh, his weight pressing down on the backs of my thighs as he leans in over me. Satisfied that he's safely docked, he cups both my breasts in his hands, smiles at me again and then simply thrusts into me.

He's considerate enough to enter me in three short thrusts, giving me a few seconds to accommodate each intrusion, but that's all the mercy he shows me. I don't always enjoy being fucked really hard, it can be painful or just plain tedious: but some guys have an instinctive feel for exactly how much a girl can take. Jerry is one of those. It helps that he's already got me really wet and excited but there's more to it than that. I guess that among the guys who dig up the road with jackhammers there must be some who are simply the best at their job. Guys who can guide their drill with real precision. Guys who hit all the right spots and drill to exactly the right depth. And Jerry is as remorseless as any jackhammer.

My little cries all morph together until I'm making a kind of continuous shriek of sheer pleasure and my abdomen is thrusting back against him of its own accord, while I'm digging into his shoulders with my nails and it goes on and on and on and when I come its really like dying only he doesn't stop, he just keeps fucking me and eventually I kind of faint, vaguely aware of him giving a great ecstatic shout as he explodes inside me and collapses onto my semi-conscious form.

"Holy fuck."

That's the only thing I can say for a good couple of minutes. He's still inside me, still amazingly quite hard and I realise that I love the feel of it, of being pinioned beneath this strong, nice-smelling man and being entwined with him and feeling his heartbeat against mine and his breath on my neck: and then he starts to kiss me there, just below the earlobe where it really turns me on and at the same time his cock is starting to move inside me again, just enough to let me know that he's not finished after all. My pussy is pulsating with an intoxicating mix of satisfaction and anticipation. It's a little tender but there are lots of lovely tingling sensations going on and I'm so damn hot and wet that I could cook a steak down there.

He gets up on his elbows and looks at me from a range of about six inches, evidently liking what his brain is telling him because he moves his cock inside me again, just enough so I'll notice, and then he kisses me. It's a long, deep, passionate kiss and I love it and before it's over I swear he's almost fully hard inside me and I don't know how that's possible but I find myself praying he's not actually going to fuck me again just yet and at the same time I really want him to.

It's a good thing I'm a whore: I definitely chose the right line of work. I mean, if you're a genuine nymphomaniac, then being a high class escort girl and getting paid to be fucked senseless all day and night, really is just heaven on earth. But I moan as he starts to move inside me and I hear myself begging him to give me a moment and to replace the condom before he goes any further.

He smiles and kisses me again and to my relief and regret he withdraws from me, kissing my nipples as he does so. I guess he takes off the condom as he kneels between my thighs and admires the view once more, complimenting me on my performance. He really is the perfect gent and I lie on my back like the slut I am, with my thighs and pussy wide open for him. I know he's thinking about what to do with me next and I'm happy to wait for him to tell me. I make a personal note to self that whatever it is, I'm going to be a very good girl and give it to him better than any other girl has ever done. I take pride in my work, I try to be the best professional that I can be and this guy really motivates the hell out of me.

He scoots down the bed, lowers his face between my thighs and gives my pussy a soft little kiss. It sends a thrill right through me and then he says something that makes it all start to happen again.

"You truly have a world class vagina, my sweet. You're so soft and yet so tight, so silky smooth... and so welcoming. Thank you."