Excerpt fromLovejoy: The Unbelievably Trues Stories of a Manhattan Escort Read Chap. 1 for FREE
The text read 'Rm 1505. I’m here.'
I’ve never been stopped by security in any hotel. I carry myself confidently through the immense lobby with my nose in the air; blending in with every other young professional woman going about her business.
I softly knocked on door. Jim answered it with a smile and said, “Come on in, beautiful.”
Jim was a tall blonde drink of water from Texas who worked as a security analyst for a huge international oil company here in Manhattan. He likes to kiss though, like most escorts in our chat forum proclaim, I don’t kiss clients. What a twisted logic we shared; willing to let a man penetrate almost every hole in your body for money but deny him the intimacy of kissing.
He closed the door behind me and I stood by it waiting. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out five hundred dollars and handed them to me. I counted in front of him before shoving the bills in my bag.
“Want a drink?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” I said, setting my bag on a table.
He threw some ice in a glass and cracked open a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey. Jim was one of those clients who gets off in five minutes and spends the rest of his hour talking. He complained about how expensive it was to live here and unfriendly women.
“Women don’t talk to you unless you drive a Porsche,” he said, sitting beside me on the bed.
“So buy a Porsche.”
“I’m a Dodge man. I can’t wait to get the hell out of this city.”
He sipped his drink as I stood up to walk to the foot of the bed. He kicked off his shoes before scooching onto the bed to rest his head on the pillows and putting one arm behind his head while holding his balanced drink on his chest, he watched me intently the whole time.
“Go ahead, girl. You know what daddy likes.”
I slowly took off my jacket and tossed it aside to reveal my low buttoned blouse. I let down my hair from its messy bun. It tumbled to my shoulders as I shook it out, combing and fluffing it with my fingers. It was so quiet in the room.
My hands moved to my blouse, my fingers lingering at each button before I popped them open one by one to reveal a white satin bra. I pulled my shirt tails from my skirt, coyly standing before him, open shirted and awaiting my next command.
“Now hike up that skirt.”
I knew this game; draw it up a little, then stop and look him in the eye. He motions upwards with his whiskey glass in hand and I pull my skirt up a little higher. This continues until my skirt is bunched up in my hands well above the top of white satin panties. He motioned for me to come closer. I walked around to his side of the bed, my skirt still gathered high as his eyes bore into my approaching thighs. He reached out his drink hand and stroked my smooth satin covered crotch with his knuckles, his eyes firmly glued to the sight. The back of his hand continued to glide over satin and skin until he drew it away.
“Take ‘em off, girl.”
I stepped back and slid down my panties, until they dropped to the floor on their own, stepped out of them while holding up my skirt up high and waited for what comes next.
He stared at the sight of me before he gruffly said, “Now put your finger in your pussy.”
I licked my manicured finger before sliding it between my pussy lips, slowly sliding it back and forth over my clit the way he likes it. He laid there watching mesmerized until he held out his glass.
“Stir my drink,” he said.
I withdrew my glistening finger from pussy lips, leaned over, slid it in his drink and stirred until the ice swirled and clinked against the glass. Then, as per his liking, I placed my soaked index finger between his parting lips. He shut his eyes and sucked my finger, humming contently to himself for a while before opening his storm grey eyes. I removed my finger from his mouth as he gazed into my sly eyes. He set his drink on the night stand before scooting down the bed and settled in until he was comfortable.
“Come on. Bring that pretty little box over here. Don’t be shy.”
I climbed onto the bed, straddled his head and gingerly sat on his face. His liquor soaked tongue burned my tender flesh at first before subsiding under his silky licks. It darted and licked and greedily sucked at my clit. He’s good, so good that I was getting excited. But I never let a client know. They don’t need to know that their sexual prowess can excite a sexual professional. My fingers gripped the headboard as I tried not to squirm and not ride his face like a pony. A little moan escaped my lips as I stared at the painting inches from my nose above the bed. I began to make a shopping list in my head while Jim ate me like a man eating his last meal on Earth.
After a few minutes, he tapped my thigh. I drew up on my knees, crawled back off his face, down his chest and backing down until I was positioned on all fours between his legs to stare back at him. His gaze never left mine as he unzipped his pants pulling out his fully hard cock. He began to stroke it, looking into the mirror behind me, staring at the reflection of my naked, moist haunches exposed from my hiked up skirt. My face hovered above his knees, my hands squarely on his thighs. His gaze returned to my eyes and then down my open shirt, watching my tits strain against bra. I stuck my tongue out as if I would lap it all up. He stroked harder and faster until ropey spurts of cum shot into the air.
I waited a few moments, until he let go of his still jerking penis before getting off the bed to prepare a nice, wet warm wash towel in the bathroom and came back to clean up his sticky mess.
As I wiped his limp dick, he said, “You sure know how to take care of a man. How come you’re not married?”
“My husband left me for an opera singer.”
“Ye-ouch.”
“Yeah.”
He got up and went into the bathroom to wash up. I kicked off my shoes, turned on the TV and settled back into a propped pillow against the headboard. He emerged, wiping his face with a towel. He sat on the bed’s edge and griped about politics as he finished his drink. With the ice tinkling in the empty glass, he set it down and rose to return to work.
“Is it okay if I order room service?”
“Order whatever you want. Until next time, slim.”
“Later gator.”
He left, always leaving the room for me to do whatever I want. I called room service and ordered a chef’s salad, iced tea, and a turkey club sandwich to take home for dinner. I counted out my day’s earnings as I waited. Seven hundred and fifty dollars; one blow job and my pussy well eaten. Not bad for an hour and a half worth of work. I grouped the bills by denomination before shoving them in my wallet, leaving a ten out to tip room service. After eating, I double locked the door, stripped naked, turned off the TV and crawled between the cool sheets to nap to wait out the sweltering afternoon in this wonderfully air-conditioned room and leave under cool dark of night.
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