Victoria, part II:
As I rolled over, Victoria stayed next to me, leisurely caressing my chest.
“Wow. You’re got a lot of hair,” she said, tugging at a bit of hair and twirling it in her fingers.
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s actually kind of cool—more to play with. And what about this?“
What was “this”? My left nipple piercing. A 31st birthday present to myself. When I was 21, I found myself drawn to Modern Primitives, a picture book of tattooed, pierced, scarred, and otherwise modified bodies. Never had the nerve to do anything permanent, but I knew that my left nipple was especially responsive to attention.
So while I didn’t want anything showing (for professional reasons), I knew that getting it pierced was for me. I loved it, and was disappointed when I had to take it out for a hospital stay a couple of years later. The hole closed up, and I’ve never gotten around to getting repierced. But I digress.
“Go ahead, play with it.”
“Like this?”
Victoria gave it a gentle tug.
“Oh, you can do more than that.”
I pulled it and gave it a good twist.
“Really? Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Not when I’m warmed up” (as I certainly was by that point).
“How’re you doing?”
“Just great. You’re really amazing, you know?”
She smiled shyly.
“Thanks. I’m having a good time too?”
Slithering on top of me, she began kneading my chest, leaning down to rub against me, and coming up as though to kiss me, moving over to nuzzle my neck and ear as she pressed against me. As she started to slide down, she found the spots that were, by now, awake to her attentions: my nipples and the insides of my thighs were especially responsive, and my cock twitched in anticipation of her touch, which she hinted at, but delayed, exquisitely.
“You can touch me too. It’s ok.”
“Really? How nice!”
And with that, I began to enjoy the feel of her back, tracing the outlines of her teardrop-shaped tattoo. As I said, it reminded me of the patterns in a Persian rug—mostly in blues and reds.
“I like your tat. I’ve never touched one before, but I’ve always been fascinated by them.” It’s true. I once spent half a morning waiting for jury duty admiring a shoulder design through a sheer white blouse. So up close and personal was pretty damn cool.
Victoria’s attention turned to my eager cock. She brushed it, held it, teased it with her hair and her breath, and ran it across her breasts and down her belly. I knew we weren’t about to fuck, and the forbidden fruit made the vibe electric as she continued up towards my face, lifting her hips so I could feel the heat of her pussy, she was so close.
With a smile, she slithered around on top of me, and I found myself face to face with her pussy. And for the first time, I saw that she was shaved. Oh, heaven.
She was swollen and wet, clearly enjoying herself. Her outside lips were swollen, and as she rubbed it along my chest, I could see the contractions of her lips and her cute pink rosebud of an asshole.
I put my hands on her ass, gently kneading her cheeks together and apart, moving down her thighs and back. With each stroke, I got closer to her pussy, pulling her close.
She turned back. “Don’t go inside.”
“I won’t, but I’d like to get as close as I can while staying out. How’s that?”
“OK. What you’re doing feels really good, you know?”
What she was doing felt really good, too, as she had begun playing with my cock and balls in earnest. But that wasn’t where my mind was—it was still on her, her look, and smell, so close I could almost taste her wetness.
As I pulled her toward me, I reached up to kiss her ass. A soft moan told me to go on. I began to suckle her, getting as close as I could to her pussy, all around, tugging her apart with my lips, without going past the limits she had set.
Moving away from my mouth and toward my cock, Victoria began to finish our time in earnest. Her hands were spectacular, as she varied her strokes—their direction, intensity, and everything.
She had my full attention.
With a steady rhythm and increasing intensity, my cock was straining as it sought release. Victoria was still doing double-duty, pressing her tiny body along mine while her hands kept up their own rhythm.
And it happened, as it had to: my body stiffened and I groaned as my balls drew up, pressing themselves into my body as they prepared to release their load.
With her unremitting hands, Victoria coaxed that load out, and I felt the shot over her shoulder and onto my belly.
But where I would have stopped, she kept going—more slowly, but even more tightly, her hands, lubed with her oil and my come, kept me coming, long after I had nothing left to give except the satisfaction of a job well done.
My whole body tingled. My heart pounded. My breath was hard, deep, and fast. And I’m sure I was making noise—anyone would have.
When it was over, Victoria turned to me, still holding my cock.
“Well?”
“Well, yourself. Do you really have to ask?”
She smiled, and said nothing as she went to the bathroom, ran water, and came back with a warm washcloth. After tidying up, Victoria slid up next to me, lying half on and half off, holding me with her arms and legs, and returned to playing with my chest—hair and ring alike.
“That was amazing. The best handjob I’ve ever had.”
“Really? Thanks. I’ve gotta say, it was nice the way you were touching me and responding. Glad you enjoyed yourself too. You want a shower?”
I did, of course, so she discreetly dressed and stepped out as I quickly ran the warm water over my body, washing my soft-but-still-sensitive cock a little extra carefully, basking in the glow of an hour well spent.
Once I had dressed, I went back out to the front room, where Victoria was waiting.
“I’d love to see you again.”
“Any time, sweetie. I’d like that, too.”
She opened the door, gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and off I went, back to work.
Postscript:
I saw Victoria six or seven more times, all but the last at the same place. the routine was always the same, but we talked about real-life things as we caressed and cuddled one another. I told her about life at work and with Misty; she told me about dinner with her mother and boyfriend.
The last time I saw her, she was using a different address, about half an hour away. I made a point of coming when I was in the area. It was good as ever, and familiar, and (need I mention) hot as hell. But I waited too long to call her again, and by early 2002 her number was disconnected. I figured she’d left the area or the business, or married her boyfriend, or something.
After over 2 years of this wonderful, fulfilling, ongoing relationship with a sweet, sexy young lady, that was that. I’ve gone to three different sex workers since, without any bad experiences, but Victoria set a high standard, and I’ve not found her equal since. Dammit.
“Wow. You’re got a lot of hair,” she said, tugging at a bit of hair and twirling it in her fingers.
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s actually kind of cool—more to play with. And what about this?“
What was “this”? My left nipple piercing. A 31st birthday present to myself. When I was 21, I found myself drawn to Modern Primitives, a picture book of tattooed, pierced, scarred, and otherwise modified bodies. Never had the nerve to do anything permanent, but I knew that my left nipple was especially responsive to attention.
So while I didn’t want anything showing (for professional reasons), I knew that getting it pierced was for me. I loved it, and was disappointed when I had to take it out for a hospital stay a couple of years later. The hole closed up, and I’ve never gotten around to getting repierced. But I digress.
“Go ahead, play with it.”
“Like this?”
Victoria gave it a gentle tug.
“Oh, you can do more than that.”
I pulled it and gave it a good twist.
“Really? Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Not when I’m warmed up” (as I certainly was by that point).
“How’re you doing?”
“Just great. You’re really amazing, you know?”
She smiled shyly.
“Thanks. I’m having a good time too?”
Slithering on top of me, she began kneading my chest, leaning down to rub against me, and coming up as though to kiss me, moving over to nuzzle my neck and ear as she pressed against me. As she started to slide down, she found the spots that were, by now, awake to her attentions: my nipples and the insides of my thighs were especially responsive, and my cock twitched in anticipation of her touch, which she hinted at, but delayed, exquisitely.
“You can touch me too. It’s ok.”
“Really? How nice!”
And with that, I began to enjoy the feel of her back, tracing the outlines of her teardrop-shaped tattoo. As I said, it reminded me of the patterns in a Persian rug—mostly in blues and reds.
“I like your tat. I’ve never touched one before, but I’ve always been fascinated by them.” It’s true. I once spent half a morning waiting for jury duty admiring a shoulder design through a sheer white blouse. So up close and personal was pretty damn cool.
Victoria’s attention turned to my eager cock. She brushed it, held it, teased it with her hair and her breath, and ran it across her breasts and down her belly. I knew we weren’t about to fuck, and the forbidden fruit made the vibe electric as she continued up towards my face, lifting her hips so I could feel the heat of her pussy, she was so close.
With a smile, she slithered around on top of me, and I found myself face to face with her pussy. And for the first time, I saw that she was shaved. Oh, heaven.
She was swollen and wet, clearly enjoying herself. Her outside lips were swollen, and as she rubbed it along my chest, I could see the contractions of her lips and her cute pink rosebud of an asshole.
I put my hands on her ass, gently kneading her cheeks together and apart, moving down her thighs and back. With each stroke, I got closer to her pussy, pulling her close.
She turned back. “Don’t go inside.”
“I won’t, but I’d like to get as close as I can while staying out. How’s that?”
“OK. What you’re doing feels really good, you know?”
What she was doing felt really good, too, as she had begun playing with my cock and balls in earnest. But that wasn’t where my mind was—it was still on her, her look, and smell, so close I could almost taste her wetness.
As I pulled her toward me, I reached up to kiss her ass. A soft moan told me to go on. I began to suckle her, getting as close as I could to her pussy, all around, tugging her apart with my lips, without going past the limits she had set.
Moving away from my mouth and toward my cock, Victoria began to finish our time in earnest. Her hands were spectacular, as she varied her strokes—their direction, intensity, and everything.
She had my full attention.
With a steady rhythm and increasing intensity, my cock was straining as it sought release. Victoria was still doing double-duty, pressing her tiny body along mine while her hands kept up their own rhythm.
And it happened, as it had to: my body stiffened and I groaned as my balls drew up, pressing themselves into my body as they prepared to release their load.
With her unremitting hands, Victoria coaxed that load out, and I felt the shot over her shoulder and onto my belly.
But where I would have stopped, she kept going—more slowly, but even more tightly, her hands, lubed with her oil and my come, kept me coming, long after I had nothing left to give except the satisfaction of a job well done.
My whole body tingled. My heart pounded. My breath was hard, deep, and fast. And I’m sure I was making noise—anyone would have.
When it was over, Victoria turned to me, still holding my cock.
“Well?”
“Well, yourself. Do you really have to ask?”
She smiled, and said nothing as she went to the bathroom, ran water, and came back with a warm washcloth. After tidying up, Victoria slid up next to me, lying half on and half off, holding me with her arms and legs, and returned to playing with my chest—hair and ring alike.
“That was amazing. The best handjob I’ve ever had.”
“Really? Thanks. I’ve gotta say, it was nice the way you were touching me and responding. Glad you enjoyed yourself too. You want a shower?”
I did, of course, so she discreetly dressed and stepped out as I quickly ran the warm water over my body, washing my soft-but-still-sensitive cock a little extra carefully, basking in the glow of an hour well spent.
Once I had dressed, I went back out to the front room, where Victoria was waiting.
“I’d love to see you again.”
“Any time, sweetie. I’d like that, too.”
She opened the door, gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and off I went, back to work.
Postscript:
I saw Victoria six or seven more times, all but the last at the same place. the routine was always the same, but we talked about real-life things as we caressed and cuddled one another. I told her about life at work and with Misty; she told me about dinner with her mother and boyfriend.
The last time I saw her, she was using a different address, about half an hour away. I made a point of coming when I was in the area. It was good as ever, and familiar, and (need I mention) hot as hell. But I waited too long to call her again, and by early 2002 her number was disconnected. I figured she’d left the area or the business, or married her boyfriend, or something.
After over 2 years of this wonderful, fulfilling, ongoing relationship with a sweet, sexy young lady, that was that. I’ve gone to three different sex workers since, without any bad experiences, but Victoria set a high standard, and I’ve not found her equal since. Dammit.
posted by Adam at 6:37 PM
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