Going With The Flo - Sex Stories

Going With The Flo

There was a clatter on the floor.

Flora looked behind her in frustration. The old guy who was trying to fuck her was fumbling around distractedly because his false teeth had fallen out and tumbled to the floor.

Flora sighed vocally. She got paid well for this, but this was just frustrating. Every job had its perks. Supermarket employees can drop packets of food, say ‘oops,’ write them off as damaged goods and take them home. Plastic surgeons get to stare at boobs most days, hum thoughtfully, all while just staring at some person’s breasts, imagining how the nipples would feel to suck. Bankers can fuck the entire economy and take home millions in bonuses. Flora’s job’s perks were sex and occasionally good orgasms.

That was not going to be happening today. Ted was eighty-two years old, widowed three years ago, and had just decided he wanted to taste the fruits of the flesh again before he followed his late wife up to the choir invisible. Based on his performance this afternoon, Flora thought, he’d have been better off sticking to regular elderly person past-times; bingo, sucking on boiled sweets, complaining about the weather, and muttering about immigrants, while claiming they’re not racist.

Half an hour later, Flora was walking away from Ted’s townhouse with a purposeful strut and a longing in her vagina. She had eventually pushed Ted down on the bed, mustered all her poise to be seductive, told him to relax, and wanked him off. Her arm moved like she was playing ...

... whack-a-mole on hyper-speed mode. When Ted came, even his ejaculate was disappointing. Flora was half surprised there wasn’t just a huff of dust and a moth. Ted howled like he’d stubbed his toe. She wiped her hand on his jeans, thanked him, dressed, and left, all before he’d managed to roll onto his side.

Flora was twenty-four and very intelligent. She had a first-class degree in Environmental Science. A drunken encounter two years ago with a brothel’s madam saw her leave her comfortable, but utterly fucking dull job for a National Park, to become a high-end paid companion.

That’s a euphemism. She was a prostitute. A very expensive one. She was five-foot-nine inches tall, a little curvy, busty, and had a solid command of seduction. She also had the sex drive of a teenage male who’s walked into a communal cheerleaders’ shower by accident.

That sex drive needed satisfying after Ted had thoroughly failed to satisfy her, or truthfully, probably himself. Flora thought to herself, ‘do old men look in the mirror and wonder what happened, or do they still stand there with a withering erection and think, ‘still got it, baby’’.

She marched in her tight knee-length skirt, cropped top, and short denim jacket towards the bar at the end of the road. Her stylish boots clipped and clopped as she marched. She was very aware, as usual, of all the admiring and furtive glances she was generating. Young studs ogling her, thinking they’re being cool and confident, but actually looking ...