sheabuttersugarbaby:Chapter Two❖DeliaI didn’t become an escort because I was desperate. I

sheabuttersugarbaby: Chapter Two❖Delia I didn’t become an escort because I was desperate. I didn’t do it because I was broke and all of my bills were due in the next twenty-four hours. I didn’t do it because I had low self esteem and thought that maybe sleeping with men for money would make me feel better about myself.  I was an escort because I liked to be at home in my pajamas with a book or a fashion magazine. I liked to organize clothes, watch movies with my sister, decide what I would eat for dinner. Escorting was the only job I could find that would let me do all of that and have enough money to pay my bills and my tuition.  And the hotels. There was anonymity when you walked into a hotel. No one knew who you were or what you were doing. Were you there on business? Negotiating a multi-million dollar deal? Were you an exhausted housewife that just needed a few days away from the kids? Were you a trophy wife in a snit with her husband and wasting his money as punishment? Or were you a hooker?  I liked to watch the front desk staff try to figure it out. I would dress in different styles to confuse them. I decided to be a business woman that day in a skirt suit and low slung heels. The concierge wished me good luck with my meeting and I laughed like a loon on the elevator ride to my room. The room was spacious and bright. The carpet was so thick I couldn’t hear myself walk across it. Polished tiger wood and marble and bronze baroque-style wallpaper. I moved to the windows and looked out at the view of the City.  It was mine. I was born and raised here. I knew where the best Korean food was, the best shopping. I knew when Shakespeare in the park started and when the street fairs popped up, full of sweating people looking for something to make them feel like they were more than just the forty hours they spent every week in their cubicles.  Because I sucked dick for a living, I also knew things I shouldn’t. I knew which bills were being introduced to the state and city assembly. I knew whose business was about to tank and who was happy about it because they wanted to purchase it for a bargain. I knew whose wife was a bitch on drugs and I knew more about the stock market and where to invest my money than was legal.  I stripped out of the suit, down to the garters, bra, and crotchless panties I wore beneath it. I kicked off my professional kitten heels and pulled a pair of six inch designer stilettos from my bag and slid them on. I started a playlist Zion designed for me. It was just long enough for a brief meditative period and a one hour appointment.  My client showed up on time. He was a hedge fund manager that handled  billions of dollars and liked to pretend his dick, the size of my pinky, was larger than it was. A shame. He was an otherwise attractive man. Balding but his body was tight, he was always well dressed, and he showered before I put his balls in my mouth.  We smiled at each other. He kissed my neck and headed to the bathroom where he stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. I went into the bathroom after him and gathered his custom suit and silk shirt and hung them up in the closet. I was on my knees when he came out of the shower.  I looked up at him and slid a condom onto his penis, held it in place with my thumb and first finger.  “I missed you.” I took him into my mouth.  He looked down at me and moaned before his head tilted back and his eyes drifted shut.  It was my fault. I could admit that. I just had to open my mouth and complain about micro- penises at brunch. Of course I would be on my knees with one in my mouth less than twenty-four hours later. At least the carpet was comfortable. Rug burn was a bitch to conceal.  “This big cock feels good in that pretty little mouth, doesn’t it?”  His moan, loosed right after he finished speaking, was louder than mine. Thank God.  The pretending was the hardest part for me. I just didn’t have the skills to pretend that men that chewed on my clit like it was a piece of Juicy Fruit and thought kissing was stabbing their saliva dripping tongues into my mouth as quick as possible pleased me. I would watch them bounce, thrust, grunt, and groan over me and plan how I would spend my fee.  I knew my attitude and my facial expressions hurt my business and I couldn’t handle the thought the I left money on the table. So I read erotica, watched porn, and masturbated until my imagination was so well developed I could pretend that any man, no matter how bald, poorly endowed, or lacking in skills, was the best lay of my life.  Business boomed.  But was there some rule of science that stipulated that even if your head was bald your pubic hair could flourish? Long curling blonde strands grew out of his crotch until there was more hair than penis.  I caught his hands in mine before he could shove them into my hair. Sew-ins cost too much money for him to act silly. I put his hands by his side and ran my nails up his thighs while moving my tongue in slow then fast circles around what little penis he had. He liked that and even better he kept his goddamn  hands to himself. Maybe I should refuse to put my mouth down here again unless he trimmed it. What did he need all that hair for anyways? Was he an alpaca? Would his pubic hair be harvested and woven into a winter coat? I ran a hand over his balls and teased his perineum. His knees got weak; I smiled.  Maybe the hair was to keep him from remembering how little his penis was. That made the most sense. The richer a man was the more fragile his ego.  A new song started on my playlist. It was time to wrap this up. I slurped all of the saliva I let gather in my mouth down my throat then moaned and put my fingers back on his perineum and applied gentle pressure. He came with a shout and a thrust and spasmed. Fuck.  His little hip gyrations surprised me. Hair in my mouth was the worst. No matter how much mouthwash and floss I used, I found myself, days later, coughing it up like a cat did hairballs. Fuck.  I kept my fingers tight on the condom. He oozed and dribbled into it and I was proud that I held my shivers of disgust at bay. He stumbled backwards until he flopped onto the bed. I followed him. I leaned over him and pulled the condom from his body, careful not to spill. The housekeeping staff didn’t need to be given a reason to suspect there was a hooker loitering on the premises. It would suck to be banned from the hotel before I had a chance to soak in the large tub in the bathroom.  “Did you miss me?” I said to distract him from my inspection of the sheets. “It seemed like you’d been saving up for me.” His hands were behind his head and a shit eating grin spread across his face. “God, I love how into me you are. You love having this big cock all the way at the back of your throat, don’t you?” I pivoted as soon as he started to speak. I was in better control of my faces than ever but there was no need to push it. I just wiggled my ass in assent and walked into the bathroom to flush the condom.  He watched me walk out of the bathroom and back towards the bed. Maybe, just maybe, the look on a man’s face after I brought him to orgasm was part of the reason I was an escort, too.  He rolled onto his side. We never discussed it, but we both knew this was the real reason why he came to see me. I curled around his back and draped an arm over his waist and waited.  It didn’t take him long to start talking. About his progress with his trainer Claude and how proud he was of his body, about all of his business meetings and the raise he was going to ask for next week, how nervous he was about it even though he couldn’t show anyone else that. About the golf course he visited and how much he loved the grass. He loved it so much he was going to grow the exact same grass at both of his homes. And I was in the perfect position to roll my eyes as much as I wanted.  The song that signaled the appointment was almost over began to play. I dropped a kiss to the center of his spine and rolled out of the bed.  “Let me grab your clothes,” I said. “Did you want a hot towel rub today?” He rolled onto his back and kicked the sheets off his body. “Oh, you know I do. Rub those pretty hands and tits all over me, baby.” I pulled his clothes from the closet and laid them over an armchair then walked into the bathroom. I stood at the sink, wetting two washcloths, and let my eyes drift towards the tub. Soon, I promised myself. I used one cloth to wipe through pubic hair and what little penis there was and used the other cloth to rub over his body. I kept my body angled to give him a good view and to make it easy to slip away should he try to touch me.  When I finished rubbing him down, I took the cloths back to the bathroom, then stretched across the bed and watched him dress, accepted the two crisp hundred dollar bills he pressed into my hand as a tip, let him kiss me on the cheek, and watched him walk out of the room.  The lock clicked on the door and I bounded off the bed and into the closet to pull the money he gave me at the beginning of the appointment out. It was all there. I knew that but I liked to sit on the bed at the end of the appointment and count it again. Feel the crisp bills slide through my fingers. Two thousand seven hundred dollars for a little over an hour of work. I laid the money over my body and breathed in the smell of it.  That was why I was an escort.  I sat up and let the money slide down my body onto the bed and floor. Hotel bars, in the middle of the day, were always full of men with more money and time than sense. I put on my prim and proper business suit and went down to the bar to see who else I could lure up to my room.  $.99 for a limited time.  Read More -- source link
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