This Is No Fairy Tale, This Is A Prostitute’s Story - Sex Stories

This Is No Fairy Tale, This Is A Prostitute’s Story

... type. He's wearing high end clothes, with an expensive watch, that screams Rolex. Perfect white teeth, clean shaven and probably the type of man who would never dream of getting dirty. Men like him are the ones I like to play with. I do things to them they didn't even know was possible to do sexually. It always shocks them to the core, which always gets them crawling back for more. The more they come back, the bigger they tip me. His eyes already roaming my body, his lips forming a Cheshire smile, reminding me of the cat in Alice in Wonderland. A sparkle in his eye, a promise of a good time. Laying it on thick, I lean against his door, exposing more of my breasts for him. My black dress is already skin tight, but I push my breasts into a perfect submission, my lips curling into a smile. “Depends handsome, what are you looking for?” Licking my lips, to draw his eyes up to my face. It works for a moment, before he looks at my breasts again, but back up to my eyes. “Mmm, well now that you say it, I'd love that pretty little mouth of yours wrapped around my cock,” he says, leaning into me. He's inches from me, I can feel his breath against my skin. He grabs himself, adjusting himself, to make sure I notice. I flash him a wicked grin, loving his approach. I can see his cock is already straining against his jeans, wanting to be let out. “That's going to be $150 or $200, if you want me to swallow,” I purr out the last word to enunciate it for him, teasing him with what's to come. ...

... “Oh baby, you're on. Get in,” he growls, as he unlocks the door to his car. I give him a wink, as I run my finger along his jaw line, “Perfect, I know just the place,” I tell him. I circle around the car, to climb into the passenger side. The leather is cool against my bare flesh, as I sink into the plush seat. I know for certain that his car seats are more comfortable than any bed I've ever slept in. “Down there, past that light,” I instruct him. I don't bother buckling up, but instead slide closer to him, as he roars the car back to life. He pulls away from the curb and heads to where I directed him. Soft music fills the car, a jazzy tune that reminds me of my grandparents dancing in the living room when they thought no one was watching. He leaves the windows rolled down, as the night air is still humid, the breeze is a welcome relief. It stirs the scent of leather, new car smell and his cologne, Ralph Lauren, one of my favorites. The mixture of the scents are heavenly. My fingers dance over his jeans, as I nuzzle my face into his neck, sucking gingerly on his earlobe. Deftly my fingers move to work on his zipper and button, a skill I picked up years ago. In this line of business it is required to move fast at times. My hand seeks out my prize, finding the warmth, silky flesh of his cock, I squeeze him gently, with his foreskin sliding down as I stroke him. The bulging vein throbs against my fingers, I run my thumb over his head. A small pearl size drop of pre-cum lingers ...