I'm going to call him Mr. X. He's one of my most loyal customers. We have known each other for more than two years. When someone tells me that prostitutes are all perverts and horny who have no class at all and that they treat escorts like I've always won, to make them see that they are wrong, I put Mr. X as an example.
Mr. X is in his fifties and has an electronic components company. We see each other once a week, almost always on Fridays. I met him shortly after my debut as an escort. I liked the way he spoke to me on the phone when we made our first date. From the other end of the line, he struck me as a shy man. Later I understood that his was not exactly shyness, but a lack of habit in hiring the services of a young lady.
Mr. X had never hired an escort. His only experience with sex workers dated back to a weekend during his long-ago military service. It seemed to him and his comrades in the barracks that the best way to finish off that Saturday afternoon drunkenness was to end up as a lumis in a whorehouse in Melilla. He did not find the experience rewarding or pleasant enough to repeat. But now, so many years later, she needed to have sex. He needed to fuck. Even if it was paying.
His conscience bothered him a little to do so because, like so many whorers, Mr. X was (and is) a married man. But his wife no longer gave him what he needed (sexually speaking), and he had already lost his patience. He was tired of jerking off like a teenager. She needed a really hot pussy to plug her into.
The story of Mr. X is the typical story. Childbirth, child-rearing, and the routine of married life had made sexual desire and complicity with his wife go to hell. And that Mr. X had been regularly pulling bad. He felt like a young man and, at the same time, he saw that time was beginning to run faster and faster. There were fewer and fewer powders left to stick. The day was getting closer when sex was just a memory. That is why I had decided to consult that escort website on which I was advertised.
"Paula: the lolita that will make you go back to the times of adolescence". That was what I put in my ad. It showed five photos of me in which you could see all my charms: my beautiful tits with dark areola and hard nipples, my heart attack curves and my upturned and promising ass.
That he had liked my smile, he told me on the phone. It seemed sincere. My smile, ha!
And not my tits? - I asked, cheeky.
I have always been very proud of my boobs. Absolutely natural and a perfect size, not too big (the udders are very showy but they fall very soon) nor too small, they measure just enough for a man's hand to want to caress them and for me to use them to make a good and sensual Cuban.
When he heard about my boobs, Mr. X started laughing. I liked her frank laugh.
Yes, of course, I have liked your breasts too.
Breasts, he said. Not boobs, but breasts. That got my attention. Especially because there are many men who when they contact me are quite explicit about my tits and how much they like them. More than one tells me by phone that he is willing to cum in them. In light of that, I can't help but include body ejaculation among my services. After all, it always gives me a little morbid to feel "washed down" by a good squirt of milk.
I made an appointment with Mr. X for that same Friday in my apartment. "Around eight thirty," he said, "I could be with you. Are you doing well at that time?" That look at what was going well for me or what was not going well for me also caught my attention. And I also usually emphasize it to all those people who see whores as a kind of ogres devouring girls.
And at half past eight, like a nail, he was on the other side of the door. Seen through the peephole, it looked like little thing. Smirriadillo, with slumped shoulders and tickets that were already beginning to look like a season ticket. Mr. X, it must be said, is not a movie star. But he doesn't need it either, what the hell! He knows how to caress, he is polite and attentive, he cares about me when he has me in his arms, his cock is within the average and, most importantly, he knows how to fuck reasonably well. What else can an escort ask her client?
All this, of course, I have been discovering over time. Our first date went relatively well. Mr. X was ... how to put it? A little tense? Restrained? I think he had conscience problems. Deep down, and despite all his desire, he felt bad cheating on his wife. But I made him forget about her little by little. I sensed that Mr. X was a man who liked the slow. If I behaved to him like the panther I can become, he would surely scare him away and he would never want to know anything about me again.
In my profession it is essential to retain clients. Being called back is a way to reward your quality as an escort and, at the same time, an economic guarantee. It is like having a guaranteed part of your salary. So I decided to do it all little by little and give him the maximum possible pleasure. I sensed that Mr. X could become one of those clients who prefer the security that a known escort gives them to the morbidity that not knowing what your next paid lover will be like can cause. She was certainly not one of those whorers who are most excited about trying different girls on each date.
I took it to the shower and there, under the stream of water, I began to tune it. It didn't take long for him to lose his shame. His hands discovered very soon that walking my body could be a pleasure. He caressed well, Mr. X. He wasn't like those hasty, clumsy scoundrels who leave you cold. The profession is the profession and a good professional must always comply with her client, but I will not deny that it is always easier to contact some people than with others and that it is more pleasant to go to bed with some clients than with others. In the case of this appointment that I am remembering, I would not mind, no, bed with Mr. X. If things did not change, of course, when I got out of the shower.
And they did not change. It was a pleasure sharing the bed with him and putting some of my specialties into practice. I worked hard on sucking him off and rode him slowly but intensely. I was amused by the expression on his face when he came. There was something tender about him, something like a sincere expression of relief. He must be about to explode before he came to see me, poor man. When he left, he thanked me for the deal (another thing that surprised me), said it was a real charm (which flattered me) and promised to call me again to make an appointment another day. I crossed my fingers to make it so. So it was.
As I said before, Mr. X, without being a sexually gifted, fucks reasonably well and also seems that he loves to fuck whores like me. I'll tell you a secret: on some occasion, I have even come to really come with him. No pretense.
Tomorrow is Friday, and again, Mr. X will come to see me. As always, he will bring me a box of chocolates or some small detail. I like that too. Afterward, whether or not I cum will depend on the circumstances. I believe that yes I will. I haven't cum with pleasure in days with a client and, after all, I already feel a little wet thinking about Mr. X's caresses.
