My London Whore

estsetsetsetset

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bbw

You might recognise my name if you hear it. I am a relatively famous author of crime novels with a historical twist and my books have a large following across the world. I am choosing to remain anonymous as I spin you my tales and you will no doubt understand why as they unfold.

My success has meant I am a wealthy man. I work for half the year and the rest I spend at my houses around the world following the sun and enjoying the single lifestyle.

What you don’t know about me, and it is a closely guarded secret, is that my houses are all cared for by my hand-picked local ‘housekeepers’ who tend my every desire when I am in residence. I intend, if you will indulge me, to tell you the stories of how I met each of them in turn, continuing with my London whore.

London has never been a favourite City of mine. Perhaps its because I spent too much time there when I was a student or maybe its because I associate it with a period in my life when I was a struggling writer. I don’t know the real reason but I try to avoid the place as much as possible.

However, it remains one of the world’s great publishing capitals which means that I have to go there on business, 3-4 times a year. Because of this, I choose to keep an apartment at the Butlers Wharf Building near Tower Bridge as a crash pad.

On this occasion, I was there for a little longer than usual, as I had agreed to do some readings of my new book at a specialist book store in Covent Garden.

The format of these evenings is always the same. I read the opening chapter of my book and then describe my thought processes during the writing and finish off with a Q&A session.

I never normally hang around afterwards but on this night I got talking to my editor and the bookstore owner over a glass of wine while the guests mingled.

We were in deep conversation when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned round to see a strikingly beautiful woman in her mid to late 40s, with medium length auburn hair and a fine shapely figure.

“May I have a private word?” she whispered.

“Certainly” I replied and ushered her over to a quiet corner.

“I don’t know how long you are in town for but if you would like to get together this is my number.” I looked down and saw a name, Sable, and a mobile number on a small piece of paper.

With that she turned on her high heels and made her way to the door without a backward glance. I put the piece of paper in my wallet and returned to the conversation with my editor, but I admit my curiosity was piqued.

I was in meetings most of the next day and didn’t get a chance to call her until early afternoon. When I did call I got her message service.

“Hi there, it’s your writer friend. We met last night and you gave me your number. I was wondering if you were available to get together tonight? I’m in meetings most of the day but if you text me I’ll get your message and can come out to call to you. Look forward to hearing from you.”

I turned my mobile to silent and re-entered the meeting. About an hour later I noticed a message on my phone.

“Would luv 2 get together tonight. What do u have in mind?”

I wasn’t interested in an evening of polite conversation. I wanted to tease out her intentions and see if they matched mine. Before replying I took a few moments to compose my thoughts and then sent the following: “I thought we could stay in. Have apartment near Tower Bridge. Well stocked with champagne and oysters. I could send send a car 2 pick you up about 7pm.”

She replied almost immediately. “Sounds perfect. Send car to apartment 4B Stapeley Gardens, illegal bahis Chelsea Harbour. C U later.”

I left the meeting and got a number of a private hire car firm from the receptionist and called them from a spare meeting room.

“Hello sir, how can I help?”

“I need a high class vehicle to pick up a lady friend at 7pm this evening and deliver her to my apartment. A BMW or Mercedes please.” I gave her my address and the address of my new friend and then rang off.

The rest of the day was spent in meetings, planning the promotion of my new book in the States. I didn’t get home myself until nearly 6.30pm. My apartment is a large studio with a slightly raised bedroom level near the windows overlooking the Thames. I showered and changed into something more comfortable and then sipped a glass of wine while waiting for my guest.

At just before 7.30pm my intercom rang and I picked up the receiver near the door.

“Hello.”

“Hi there it’s me” said the voice I remembered from the night before.

“Come on up.”

I opened my front door and waited, listening to the sound of stiletto heels on the stone staircase. As she came around the corner before the final flight of six steps I saw she was wearing a long overcoat with a fur collar to keep her warm against the autumn chill.

We kissed politely on the cheek at the door and I said: “Come on in. Let me take your coat.”

I slipped the coat off her shoulders. Underneath she was wearing a calf length figure hugging black dress with a split up the skirt to show the top of her stockings and a glimpse of thigh. Her arms were bare but there was a strategically placed round hole in the middle of the upper half of her dress which gave a fascinating glimpse of her more than ample cleavage. The whole thing was wonderfully positioned somewhere between classy and slutty.

We moved to the kitchen area and she brought me up to date with her life story as we sipped wine.

She was of Middle Eastern origin, the daughter of an Egyptian doctor and a Russian mother. Brought up in the UK, she had married a stockbroker in her early 20s. Motherhood and the slip into middle age had accentuated her curves, turning her from a lithe young girl into a voluptuous woman. Her husband hadn’t liked the change and started spending more and more time at the office until, one day, she found out he was screwing his young, skinny blonde secretary. The news hadn’t bothered her too much. By that stage boredom had driven her to having a string of affairs, including a landscape gardener, a local magistrate and the husband of a neighbour she never liked very much.

As soon as her son had gone to University she demanded a divorce and, with her half of the six bedroom Surrey house, she bought an apartment in Chelsea.

She enjoyed the single lifestyle, but the real change began after an evening spent at a party in South London with a not very close friend. At first she thought it was a singles party, but the penny dropped that she had been invited to a sex party when her friend disappeared upstairs with a young blonde adonis. She considered leaving, but realised that nobody knew her and she could do anything she wanted with no comebacks. By the end of the evening she was being fucked up both holes by two young black studs in the back bedroom.

Her young lovers handed out cards at the end of the evening hoping to arrange private repeat performances. But Sable had other ideas and called them the next morning with a business proposition. They needed to go upmarket she said, classier venues would attract wealthier women and she knew dozens illegal bahis siteleri who would be interested in their services. Within two years she was organising two dozen parties around the country, acting as a madam to a group of young studs and taking 25% of the profits. A cool £60,000 a year tax free.

I waited for a pause in her story before asking the obvious question. “Do you still participate yourself?”

“Not anymore darling. I like to keep a professional distance.”

“I pick my companions carefully” she continued. “Sometimes its someone I meet at a party, or read about in a magazine and think it might be nice to meet them. I’ve had MPs, judges, actors, even some stockbrokers. I find the offer of sex with no strings attached is too powerful for most men to resist.”

I realised it was no accident we had met last night. I am regularly interviewed in newspapers and magazines to promote my books. She must have seen one of articles and decided to make me her next conquest.

We moved over to the window to take in the views of the Thames and she caught me looking at her curves and the outline of her breasts.

“What do you like to call them darling?”

“How do you mean?”

“All men have a favourite word for breasts, what’s yours? Is it tits?”

“Yes I like tits, but its not my favourite word for them” I replied.

“Is it hooters or jugs?”

“No too American sounding.”

“I agree. What then?”

“I’ve always liked knockers. Very British.”

“Why do men call them knockers do you think? Is it because they knock together when a woman moves?” With that she gently pushed her breasts together with one hand, letting them cannon against each other.

“Yes I guess that is the reason” I replied.

“Well would you like to fuck my big knockers Mr Writer Man?.”

With that she unclasped her dress and let the top fall to reveal her huge knockers barely contained by a black bra. I moved forward and kissed her passionately, peeling off the rest of her dress and her bra until she was wearing just suspenders and stiletto heels.

Her body was curvy with large ponderous breasts, shrinking down to a smaller waist and expanding again to a round sexy ass. She pulled away from me and sat down on the bed, her legs apart, leaning back against her arms, her shaven pussy tempting me.

I unbuttoned my jeans and shirt and revealed my hard cock to her. “That thing looks like it’s ready to shoot. Are you going to fuck me with it baby?” she asked.

“Oh yes” I replied. “Long and hard, but first I want your knockers.”

I knelt on the bed and positioned myself so that my cock was in front of her breasts and then thrust between them in one movement.

“Oh yes, tell me how that feels darling.”

“Like heaven” I replied.

My thrusting got faster as the pre-cum coated her canyon-like cleavage, smoothing the way for my cock.

“Oh fuck my big knockers baby” she gasped. “Screw them with that big cock of yours.”

“Oh god I’ve needed this” I moaned. After a week without sex I knew it wouldn’t take me long and I could feel the tension beginning to grip my balls.

“Cum all over them darling, cum all over them” she urged as I banged into her.

I responded with ever more urgent thrusting, humping her enormous knockers, mesmerised by the sight of my cock between her breasts.

“OH BABY YES” I groaned as my cum burst out coating her neck and tits.

I quickly pushed her down onto the bed and dived into her pussy with my mouth.

“Mmm …. darling, suck me.”

I let my tongue circle her clit canlı bahis siteleri and her hips began to girate. I felt a stiletto dig into my back and she began to pant and moan heavily. I circled her clit, gradually increasing the tempo until she was sopping wet and moaning like a whore.

I knew she was close so I rolled her over on the bed and told her to get on her hands and knees before plunging my tongue back into her.

I’ve never known a woman who doesn’t feel like a wanton whore while being pleasured by a mouth with her ass in the air. The new position had the desired effect, allowing her to push her pussy back toward my mouth while a stream of filthy language poured from her.

“Oh you dirty bastard, suck my fanny baby.”

“Suck me. I’m like a bitch on heat.”

“Oh you stud, fuck me with your tongue.”

Her hips bucked violently, rubbing herself against my face as she got closer.

“OH GOD YES” she threw head back and screamed as the first orgasm ripped through her.

I stopped circling her clit and began to rub it directly with my tongue.

“OH YES LOVER” as another ripped through her.

I pulled my tongue away from her pussy and quickly got in position behind her. My cock was rock hard again and twitching, wanting a piece of the action.

I grabbed her hips, took aim and drove into her. She let out a cry somewhere between pleasure and pain.

“AAARGH ….. OH YESSSS.”

“Oh Sable you dirty bitch” I gasped and pumped away at her pussy.

“Oh do me baby, fuck me like the dirty whore I am”, she replied.

I was riding her like a horse so I spanked her on the ass hard. Her cheek reddened and she responded with more filth.

“Oh spank me baby, spank me harder, I’ve been a bad girl.”

SLAP. “Oh baby spank me like a whore.”

SLAP. “Oh lover, I’m a dirty slut aren’t I?”

I quickened my rhythm relishing the site of the rippling flesh on her ass as I banged into her. It was clear already that we were very sexually compatible, uninhibited in the bedroom, both liking fast, frantic, dirty fucking.

I could feel I was nearly ready to explode again so I reached forward and grabbed a handful of tit in both hands and drove into her harder. I kneeded her tits like bread as I pounded away, withdrawing almost completely out of her sopping cunt each time and then pumping my cock back into her.

I felt the tightening of her cunt muscles around my cock to increase the friction and there was no holding back any longer. I poured my second load into her and roared: “OH YOU FILTHY BITCH” relishing the feeling of my hot seed pumping into her hole.

I breathed heavily as my orgasm subsided. “Sable, you are a dirty slut” I said before collapsing on the bed beside her.

She rolled over and a wicked smile crossed her lips. “I knew you’d be good” she said. “You’re a very bad boy.”

But she wasn’t done yet. She played with my cock, teasing it until it was hard again, then mounted me and pleasured herself for nearly an hour saying over and over: “Oh I love your cock baby” like a mantra while I just lay there admiring her swaying knockers.

Afterwards we ordered Thai food and ate it naked in front of the TV before having a final romp as a goodnight.

We kept in touch by email and a few months later I asked her to get things ready for my next visit. I mailed her a key and when I turned up she was naked on the bed, save for a pair of black PVC thigh boots.

Now when I’m coming to London I email her in advance and she stocks my apartment with oysters, champagne and very hot sex. It’s a nice arrangement for me, a few evenings of no holds barred fucking with a hot woman whom I suspect has more than a touch of nymphomania in her soul. It even makes London worth visiting.

That’s how I met my London whore.

*

Feedback welcome.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir