Taylor

"How soon can you be blonde again, Princess?" Sly had called me at my apartment.

Oh. Sorry. I shouldn't begin in the middle. Sly? He's my agent. His part of our little partnership is to find and vet clients for me. I don't know how he does it, and frankly, I don't want to know. His world is kind of scary. My part is a lot more fun: I provide sex. Well, part-time, anyway. Days, I'm a copy editor for a law firm in the city. And no, if you're wondering, they have no idea about my other job (thank heaven). I sometimes smile just imagining what their reaction would be if they ever found out.

"Um, I don't know exactly," I said, stalling for time. "Depends. How important is it?"

"Pretty,' he said. "You remember the balloon guy?"

I smiled. That was a fun job. I got to ride in a balloon with two handsome guys, make love at 2000 feet, and come away with a good chunk of money. Not bad.

"Sure," I said. "Why?"

"Well, the other guy that was with you that day contacted me."

"He wants a rematch? Fine by me, I guess. How about some details before I just say yes, though. Does this have anything to do with me going blonde?"

"Well, yeah. Seems that he remembers you looking a lot like Taylor Swift."

"Wow. Really? I'm flattered. So?"

"Well, she's blonde."

"Okay, good for her. C'mon, Sly, where's this going?"

"He has a friend who's a big fan of Taylor Swift. And not just her music."

"What's that... Oh."

"That's my girl, Princess. Not much gets by you these days when it comes to guys and sex. You've come a long way. Hey, you okay with some guy fucking you while he's pretending he's fucking somebody else?"

I was rather taken aback by Sly's sensitivity. He can really catch me off guard sometimes. To all appearances he's a big, tough guy, raised on the streets, hard as nails. But there's a lot more to him, as I continue to find out. I love that he takes care of me.

"Look, Sly, I'm a professional. My job is to make our clients happy. A good part of that is weaving fantasies for them. My personal feelings don't enter into it unless the guy's a real creep or something. And anyway, that's your job to not let that happen."

"Great, Princess. You're a trouper. It's an incall job, too. You'll like that. Can you be here and blonde by next Thursday?"

Rats. I'd rather enjoyed being a mysterious "raven-haired beauty" the last month or so. Several clients had really liked the look. Then too, now I'd need some excuse for the law firm when I showed up blonde. Oh well. Comes with the job, I suppose.

"I'll be there".

Sly opened the door to his apartment when I knocked. He took a step back before letting me in. He stood there, appraising me, looking me up and down with a thoughtful expression.

"Nice," he said at last. "I love the eyes. Just like her. How'd you manage that?"

"Girl secret," I said, just to wind him up a little. I take guilty pleasure in winding the big guy up on occasion, knowing I can get away with it where few others could. Actually, I had hired a discrete makeup artist I found on the web. Jesus, you can find anything on Google. Given what Sly had told me of what the client was offering, that expense was trivial. Still, I had spent a lot of time in front of a mirror with Taylor Swift's picture pasted to it, putting the finishing touches on. Luckily, I do look a lot like her, same height and general build, though I'm somewhat bustier, if I have to say so myself. That, I wasn't going to hide, though; I doubted the client would mind.

"Whatever. The outfit is in the bedroom. We got a half hour before the guy shows up. Go put it on."

As I've said before, Sly and I have this tacit agreement that I don't strip in front of him. Helps me to keep the relationship professional. Of course, Sly thinks it's dumb, but he goes along with it out of respect, or maybe just to keep me happy. In either case, I do appreciate it.

The outfit was a knockout. It was skintight, one piece, shoulder to crotch, covered in gold and silver sequins. It had a dramatically low scooped neckline and a built-in bra that lifted up and accentuated my breasts very nicely. It fit me perfectly. Sly really has my measurements down pat. There were matching stockings and knee-high boots with three-inch heels. They shaped my already long legs beautifully. It really did look like something Taylor Swift would wear, at least if she could get by the censors with it.

Now I don't know if this is the case for Ms. Swift's outfits, but mine had zippers and snaps in strategic locations that promised to allow the outfit to be peeled off in one smooth motion. I liked it. Very clever and, may I say, quite functional.

I spent some time admiring myself in the mirror until Sly yelled "Come on, Princess! We don't got all day. Client's gonna be here soon. I want to check you out before that."

Yeah, I'll bet he did. Good thing we've kept a 'look but don't touch' relationship. I mean, I like Sly, but I prefer to keep it professional between us, with only an occasional lapse, and those on my terms.

When I came out, he looked me up and down carefully. His eyes narrowed and then got wide. He smiled.

"Christ, Princess. If I didn't know better, I'd think you really was Taylor Swift." He leered. "And a very sexy Taylor Swift at that."

"Down boy," I said. "Save it for the paying customers."

"Yeah, yeah."

We sat on the couch for a few minutes, mostly discussing business (strange to do in that outfit!) until the doorbell announced the client. I arranged myself demurely on the couch (legs crossed, shoulders back, chin up) while Sly let the guy in.

This looked promising. He was in his mid to late twenties, pretty good looking, clean-shaven, slightly built. He looked a little shy, which I liked. Not the first client to need a little encouragement, which is always kind of fun.

When Sly stepped aside, the guy's eyes grew really wide.

"Oh Jesus!" he said. "She's perfect!"

I smiled. What girl doesn't like compliments?

I watched as money changed hands, and then Sly laid out a few rules for the guy and retired to the bedroom, presumably to count the money (several times).

The client approached the couch. I smiled and stood up.

"My God, you look so much like her," he said. "It's incredible. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Why don't you just call me Taylor," I said.

"You're sweet, 'Taylor'. Can I kiss you?"

Ok, maybe not so shy.

I stepped closer to him. He reached out and enfolded me in his arms and kissed me. I responded by melting into him and probing his mouth with my tongue. I pressed my groin into his and felt him stiffening. This was going to be easy.

I reached my hand down and stroked the outline of his growing maleness. His breath started to pick up. His hands stroked my back and my hair; it felt very nice.

"How about I slip this outfit off," I said huskily. "It's a little confining."

"It's a lovely outfit," he said. "I've seen you in it many times and it does great things for your wonderful body."

Good. He was entering into the fantasy. I am good at my job. I helped him with the zippers and snaps, and in a remarkably short time the whole outfit fell to the floor, leaving me with just those lovely boots and stockings. I pressed myself into him and breathed in his ear and stroked his hair while he ran his hands over my back and down onto my butt. He pulled away just enough to take a long look at my breasts, which he proceeded to lift and stroke. He bent down and took my left nipple in his mouth. Lord, he felt good. I could feel my nipples stiffening and my pussy getting wet. I undid his shirt and pressed my swelling breasts against his chest. We were both breathing pretty hard by then.

I backed up, keeping him in tow, until I felt the couch behind me. I dropped down onto it. I reached up and undid his pants. His cock was tenting his shorts, and I could see the damp patch at its tip. I kissed the bulge and then slid his shorts down. He had a really nice cock, and, it being so conveniently located at eye level, I took it in my hand and examined it, squeezing it gently, and then brought it to the level of my mouth and kissed its tip. I loved the sound of his sharply indrawn breath. I probed the tip with my tongue, tasting his salty pre-cum.

He backed off just long enough to shed his shirt and drop his pants and shorts and step out of them, and then his cock was again facing me, tacitly asking me to resume from where we'd left off. I reached up and stroked his cock, paying particular attention to the tip, which I massaged with my fingers. His breath was coming faster now. I kept stroking until a large drop of early cum formed at the tip. I touched my finger to the drop and then slid the finger into my mouth, pulled it out slowly, and smiled. I opened my mouth a little, just enough to entice him, and licked my lips sensuously.

"Oh my God, Taylor," he moaned. "I want you. I've always wanted you. I want you so bad. I need you."

"I'm yours, my love," I whispered. "Any time, any way you want me, I'm yours for the taking."

"Oh God, Taylor, I want so bad to fuck you. I want, I need you. Now! Please!"

"Then take me, Lover," I said, smiling up at him. "Cum into me. Cum deep into me. I want your sperm in me. Yes. Pump it into me. All of it. Fill me with your sweet love."

Still maintaining my gentle hold on his warm cock, I lay back on the couch and turned so I was lying on it. I smiled up invitingly at him. His eyes swept hungrily over me, passing from my delicately spread booted legs, lingering on my pussy (yes, it was blonde: that's called attention to detail) and my breasts, and on to my long blonde hair spread out on the cushion. I loved watching him discovering what awaited him.

He moaned once, then, and was on me, bridging over me on his hands and knees. He hesitated, so I squeezed his stiff manhood gently to reassure him and then guided it to the entrance to my treasures. I loved the feel of it parting my pussy lips and sinking into me, imperiously spreading my lips and sliding along my vaginal walls, taking possession of me. I was already quite well lubricated, so his passage into me was easy. He sighed as his groin met mine and he plumbed my depths. He was delightfully tight in there.

He kissed me, then, and with our tongues entwined began to pump me, slowly and sensuously at first. God, it felt good. I put my hands on his butt and encouraged him.

"Oh God, T- Taylor," he whispered. "It's like a dream."

"Sweet soul," I said quietly in his ear, "No dream. I'm just as real as you want me to be. Now take me, lover."

It didn't take long after that.

His butt rose and fell as he pumped me, groaning as he did. I sighed each time he went in deep. I could feel his warm cock pulsing with life. All too soon I felt his hands convulsively grasp my shoulders. My hands on his ass felt his muscles tighten. His pace picked up.

Abruptly he paused, only partly into me, balanced on the knife edge between prolonging the pleasure and losing control and cumming. He seemed suddenly awed by the realization of his dream. His breath stopped. He opened his eyes and looked directly at me, as if asking my permission to finalize his fantasy.

"Let it cum, lover," I whispered, smiling up into his eyes. "Let it all loose. I want you. You want me. Do it, my love. Shoot it all into me. Now. Go deep now and let it cum. All of it. Live your dream in me. I'm yours for the taking." I can be really good at this stuff!

My hands tightened on his butt, pulling him to me. He closed his eyes and followed my lead, driving into me, encouraged by my hands, one last time. He pressed hard against me. With a great heartfelt sigh, he let go and released his load into me.

My job was done now, and I could relax and just lie back and enjoy the rest.

I could feel his cock swell and throb inside me, and then the wonderful warm sensation of his semen spurting into me, filling me with his passion. He gasped and moaned. Instinctively my hips swayed and rose to meet him.

As if now freed from any constraint once he let himself go, he ejaculated rapidly, five or six times in remarkably quick succession. His swollen cock bucked and jumped inside me like a living thing. Even his balls pressing on my vaginal lips rose and fell with his releases, adding to the force. I felt the weight of his load building up rapidly inside me. In my mind's eye I could visualize the thick white sperm-laden semen erupting from the tip of his instrument and adding to the growing pool in the warm intimate depths of my vagina. Very sexy! That did it for me. To my own delight I came, squirting. My perineal muscles automatically contracted, and massaged his spasming cock, milking him, drawing his sperm out of him and into my receptive womb. It was great!

Then, as if at some level he knew he'd irrevocably established his claim, his throbbing cock slowed down from its initial frenzy. He continued squirting his warm ejaculate into me but now at a more leisurely and sustainable pace that we could both enjoy. Each new pulsing discharge raised my own orgasm to new heights. The world went away for a while.

God, it felt good. What a shame that Taylor Swift would never know what she was missing out on!

When I returned enough from my own orgasm to pay attention to what was happening outside my body, I opened my eyes and looked up at my client, still in the throes of his own passion. Some guys, when they cum, grunt and groan like they're lifting weights. Some sigh with relief, like they've achieved some great landmark. My guy, though, just looked blissfully, incredibly happy, lost in his own fantasy world. It was reward enough for me (Sly, I'm sure, would view that differently). I really felt good about myself for what I was doing for him. It was wonderful to watch him.

Eventually, though, he exhausted his reserves and ran down. He collapsed onto me. I kissed his neck and said, "That was delightful. You're a wonderful lover."

"And you are everything I've dreamed of," he whispered. His eyes were closed, still wrapped in his fantasy.

I didn't rush him, and he lay there with his cock buried in me for a couple of minutes, both of us just savoring the feeling, slowly coming down from our respective highs.

Finally, he withdrew and looked into my eyes.

"I know you're not really Taylor Swift," he said quietly, "but I still feel as though I've fulfilled a fantasy with her. You are truly wonderful."

I just smiled my best Mona Lisa smile. Enigmatic. He could interpret that however he pleased. But I knew I'd scored.

God, I love this job!