by Liv Bennett
I feel Mr. Ice’s eyes on me, while my own eyes roam over the athletic bodies of the youth. One must have a certain amount of exhibitionism in him to be able to do what they’re doing. Well, a well-defined chest won’t hurt, either.
I’m curious about my new encounter. He’s not among the permanent escorts in the house and instead has a life and a real job outside and only does this as a hobby. I doubt he’ll be as sexy as JJ, my first encounter. But if what Mr. Ice said about their stringent criteria for selecting their employees is anywhere near correct, my lover for the day will be sexier than the three guys I slept with outside Pleasure Extraordinaire.
In addition to their requirements, I, the client, get to add my own. If this enterprise is going to make thousands out of me, I’ll of course demand high standards, like height of at least six feet with an athletic body and a cock of seven-inch length and five-inch girth. One can say I’m into numbers. He should also be an excellent oral-giver and last longer than fifteen minutes at one go, too.
I wish I could see Mr. Ice’s face when he was reading my additional requirements. Although I was thinking I’d never find a gigolo who meets all those requirements and wants to have me, here I am, inside the luxurious brothel, only a few minutes away from meeting my dream lover.
I try not to think about JJ, while Mr. Ice and I walk toward his office. JJ was great in every sense, from sexy looks to having the right attitude and knowledge about how to get into me. Both literally and figuratively. But, it’ll be dangerous for my weak heart to be around him, and I hope I won’t see him today or any time soon until I desensitize myself to his charm.
Mr. Ice leaves me alone with my thoughts until we reach his office door and then takes my hand into his to lead me into his office.
“Big Boy sent in the dress he wants you to wear for the afternoon with him,” he says as he slips out of his jacket and hangs it into the closet beside the door.
I giggle. “Big Boy? Is that my lover’s alias?”
“Yes.” Mr. Ice comes out, holding a super-short, blue dress. If I thought the dress I’m wearing was slutty, I have no word for the semi-transparent barely-there dress in Mr. Ice’s hand.
He opens another door to a suite and gestures inside with his hand. “You can get changed here. Feel free to use the shower, towels, and makeup set.”
I nod, grab the dress by the hanger from his hand, and enter the suite. After taking a quick shower to wash my body only, I dry myself and put on the blue dress. Since my lover asked specifically for me to be makeup-free for our union, I skip the makeup set and only apply moisturizer on my face and neck.
When I glance at the tall mirror and see my nipples poking freely through the fabric, I feel the urge to cover them. How am I supposed to go out and face Mr. Ice, while each and every contour of my body is displayed generously?
A knock on the door shoots up my anxiety. Before I can answer, the door opens, and Mr. Ice stands at the doorway. What the hell? Why didn’t he wait for my answer? I might have been fully naked now. Maybe catching me like that was his intention.
“We don’t have much time,” he says apologetically. “Big Boy is expecting you in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m ready to go.” I hesitate to pull my arms down. It’s a good thing I’m wearing panties, or Mr. Ice would have a clear view of my sex through the thin fabric of the dress.
“Not yet. Big Boy requested you to have coconut oil applied to your lady parts.”
“I don’t remember reading anything about that,” I snap. Coconut oil in lady parts? What kind of fantasy does this Big Boy have in mind?
“He entered that request only an hour ago, but it’s not hard to fulfill. I have here a bottle of coconut oil for you.” He places the bottle on the table beside him and begins pulling the sleeves of his shirt back.
I stare at the bottle, and then him, baffled and also a bit amused. “What are you doing?”
He looks back at me, more confused than I probably must look, as if I asked him if he was a girl. “I’m getting myself ready for the oiling.”
“What does that mean?” I laugh at his suggestion. “If you’re thinking I’ll let you anywhere close to my vagina, much less let you apply oil there, you’re completely delusional.”
“Who would you have preferred? JJ? I don’t think he’ll enjoy the idea of preparing you for another man.”
“JJ? I don’t want JJ or you. I have two functioning hands right here.” I lift my hands for him to see in case he’s missed that point, and his eyes drop on my pointy nipples beneath the dress. Shit. My hands go back to where they were, covering my breasts.
“No.” He shakes his head. “It has to be a man, because it’s not just about the oil, it’s also about awakening your sexual desire for the afternoon session with Big Boy. It’s his own explicit desire, and I’m bound to fulfill it.”
What a fucking request is this? He’s a fucking gigolo, for shit’s sake, getting paid for having sex with a young, willing girl. Why can’t he just accept that fact without asking for anything additional?
Had I known he’d come out to be so demanding, I’d also request him to have his dick oiled by another man for half an hour straight. How would he like that? I don’t think the female prostitutes get to be half as demanding as the male escorts here in Pleasure Extraordinaire. Even as prostitutes, they won’t stop demeaning us, women. Fuck them all.
“No way. I won’t let you rub me if that’s what you have in mind. I just can’t. Don’t ask me anymore.”
“That means we have a big problem here. I’ll have to go ahead and call off your session for today. But, because of our cancelation policy of twenty-four hours, you’ll be charged fully for it, which is two-thousand dollars.”
“Two what? Fuck you and your cancelation policy.”
He laughs at me, opening his mouth widely, roaring out his amusement. “Would you want me to call Nick to do it instead? Although it’s not among his job duties, I don’t think he’ll say no.”
“Are you kidding me?” I roll my eyes in frustration. Either I’ll back down and let him apply that fucking oil to me, or I’ll go home, causing Michael to pay two-thousand dollars for an afternoon of nothing. “I may let you do it, but I have a condition.”
“What is it?”
“If you’re going to see me naked, I should see you naked, too.”
The amusement is erased from his expression on the spot, and the real Mr. Ice, the cold, distant one from our first encounter, reveals his face again. “You don’t need to be ashamed of me. I already saw you naked when you were with JJ during your last visit. Remember? I had to watch the security cameras.”
Yeah, right. I bet he did that out of necessity. “All the more reasons for me to see you completely naked.”
He lets out a breath of shock and exasperation. Oh, I guess Mr. Ice is irritated at being forced by some girl to show his wiener. I want to laugh at his face for being so pussy about it, but I don’t want to scare him away and cause his wiener to slink back to where it came from.
After some seconds of inner speculation—which he shows no signs of on his rigid face, so I’m left to guess it—he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. “Fine,” he hisses out through his greeted teeth.
I drop my arms to my side, because there’s no point in hiding my nipples anymore. He’ll see my pussy upfront, and I’ll see his dick. What’re some pointy nipples compared to those?
I have to stifle a shiver at the sight of the hard muscles bulging out in his upper body as he takes off his shirt and places it on the chair. I can clearly count his six-pack. Oh, my. My breath catches in my throat.
He doesn’t need to rub me down there to awaken the inner slut in me. The mere sight of his toned body does exactly that. Next, he reaches for his belt, and I find myself drawing in air and taking a step back with shock. I’m getting wet already. What if he notices my arousal and thinks he’s the reason for it? Shit, I’ll give him a bigger pleasure that way than letting him just oil me.
>
When he drops his slacks on the floor and gets out of them, I keep my eyes trained on his face, not daring to look down even for a second. He takes his time on the last thing that’s keeping his dignity. His boxers. His eyes are locked on mine as his hands slowly pull that damn fabric down.
He’s completely naked now, and we’re running a staring contest. I bet he’s dying to see me lower my eyes to his dick and watch my reaction. My eyes are burning, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. Ever.
He’s the first one to break the eye-contact and turns around to grab the bottle, leaving me enough time to examine his member. Unfortunately, there’s not much to be impressed about because it’s flaccid. I admit I’m a little disappointed, because I expected him to be turned on by my nearly naked body under the dress, as I’m turned on by him.
“Get on the bed,” he orders sharply. What’s the deal with the men of Pleasure Extraordinaire and ordering around? “Pull up your dress, sit on the edge of the bed, and spread your legs.” He’s enjoying his little revenge, all right.
I throw away my high heels, wiggle out of my panties, and turn my back toward him as I head toward the bed, slowly rolling the hem of my dress higher and higher until it’s well above my hips. I don’t need to look at his eyes to know he’s assessing my ass. Luckily for me, my ass is my biggest asset. Biggest being the keyword. Even when he complained about my short height and B-cup breasts while he was rating my appearance, he didn’t make any comment about my ass. Which goes to show something. That he likes it.
I sit at the edge of the bed, spread my knees, just as he said, and look up at him, while he’s taking slow steps toward me. And, oh god, his dick is growing by the second.
I giggle like a little girl and cover my face in shame. I feel fingers encircling my wrists and pulling my hands away from my face.
“Please, don’t make it any harder than it already is,” he says, and I have an uncomfortable feeling he’s not talking about the moment as being hard. When my hands aren’t covering my face, all I can look at is his dick, which is only a few inches away from my face.
“It’s pointing at me.” I enter another fit of laughter, slapping at my thigh, bowing my head to hide my face, but keeping my stare on his dick, while he kneels in front of me. The truth is, I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m not laughing. The sight of him, his hard member now showing its full length, which I’m sure is no less than nine inches, is taking my breath away, making my mouth water and eliciting even more tantalizing reactions from my sex. Shit and fuck.
And, he’ll know about those reactions once he touches me.
“Lean back and place your hands on the bed. Just relax and let me do my job.” Dipping his fingers into the bottle, he gathers a generous amount of oil while I sit upright and relax my hands on the bed on each side of my body.
“Push your hips forward.”
I do, spreading my knees fully and opening up my vagina completely to his view. There’s nothing to hide, and he’s staring at my core with intense focus. I wish I could know what goes in that secretive mind of his. Oh, wait. I know it already. If the thickness of his erection is a sign of anything, it’s the depravity of his thoughts. The important detail is how. In which position? Is he fantasizing about pushing me flat on my back and just sticking his cock into me, or is he dying to fuck me with his tongue too?
What does a man who has seen every type of sex think about when he has a girl naked in front of him?
The touch of his oily finger on my inner thigh interrupts my speculations, and I’m forced to look down at his hand slowly making its way to my center.
“Whoever did the waxing did a great job.” He glances up at me, while drawing circles on my skin with his wicked fingers. “You feel soft as if you’re naturally hairless.”
“It didn’t come without pain.” I bite my lower lip, because his hand moves upwards and lands on my mound.
“Is it painful now?” He caresses my skin from left to right, spreading the oil all around, slowly going downwards, but not just touching me there yet.
“No, not at all. It feels good…” A loud breath escapes me when his finger touches my sensitive flesh around my clit. I swallow. Hard.
He pulls his hand away to get more oil and applies it on each of the lips patiently as if he has the entire afternoon. “You feel good, too.”
I jerk my head to the side, because I don’t want to see the lust in his eyes. I’ve come here to be with another man, and if I continue staring at the burning desire in Mr. Ice’s eyes, I’m sure I’ll think of him while fucking another man, and I don’t want that.
His massage is causing outbursts of desire starting in my core and spreading through my body. My breasts, my hips, my throat demand the same attention my sex is getting. My lips are begging to taste his. Big Boy’s plan is working in full. I’m becoming a growing ball of lust, threatening to explode too soon as the lips of my vagina are pulled and kneaded in Mr. Ice’s slippery hand.
“You look absolutely breathtaking,” he says, his eyes fully focused on the job his hand is doing. I swallow hard. My body’s reactions are getting harder to control with each pinch of his hand. My hips buck against his hand without my intention. His fingers are both soft and rough, and I’m afraid I’ll explode way too soon.
I watch his hand, unsure about how much longer this sexual agony will last. I wish I could have the guts to end it now.
Abruptly, he dips a finger inside me and pushes his thumb against my clit, earning a loud moan from me.
“Is… this… necessa… urghh,” I cry out when he pushes at the point in me where all my nerve endings seem to be meeting. This is real torture. Being so close to climaxing but not allowing myself to it. I don’t want my first climax of the day caused by him. His mere fingers. And much less do I want to give him that pleasure.
Fucking escorts of Pleasure Extraordinaire and their insatiable demands. What kind of man would ask his lover to be finger-fucked by another man beforehand? Is that Big Boy’s kink? Oh, god, he might even be watching me at this moment and see how I shatter to a thousand pieces with just a finger of Mr. Ice.
Fuck it. My desire to explode is getting out of hand with each pressure of the murderous fingers on and around my clit, my entrance. I’m moaning nonstop now and can’t even think of stopping it. My mind is all foggy, all my senses focused on one small area between my legs. This can’t be normal. His fingers can’t have that much power over me.
There must be something in that oil.
I scream from the top of my lungs as he finally pushes another finger into me.
“Stop it.” I jerk back, staring at his wild eyes. “What’s in that bottle? You’re drugging me with it, aren’t you? You, fucking pig.”
He ignores my wish and thrusts his fingers deeper into me, making me groan and double with pleasure, but I just can’t allow it. I yank his hand away and drop on the bed on my side.
I can’t for fuck’s sake take it anymore. The urge to come is too powerful to handle. I have to do something about it. Before pondering it to death, I sneak my hand down between my legs and slide two fingers inside my body. The oil and my own juices have made my sex very slippery and too damned sensitive.
I fuck myself with my fingers with the same pressure as my seven-inch dildo would have given me.
Stoke, stroke, stroke.
I’m all fingers and vagina and nothing else besides those two matters. There could have been a bomb attack near my ears, and I wouldn’t be able to stop fucking myself.
My sex feels like an independent being, squeezing and sucking my fingers, as if it has its own mind and producing more juice. My usual spot of orgasm seems to have spread all around inside me, making it hard for me to focus on one point to climax.
I rub each of the demanding spots of my swollen flesh with brutal strokes, trembling with the force arising from my core. I fear for the upcoming. I fear it’ll come bursting and swallow me up to nothingness. But more than that, I’m terrified it won
’t show up, that it will leave me at the edge before letting me reach my climax.
I push my hips against my fingers and my fingers against my core. And then it happens. With all its beauty and devastation. Chilling me down and warming me up at the same time. I yell, pant, groan, and shiver through the tsunami waves of an explosive orgasm and see the light growing in the middle of darkness.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I grovel as my inside muscles jerk deliciously around my fingers. As my senses slowly return, I feel sweat coating my body like a second skin. My hand squeezed between my legs throbs with pain, so does my face sunk in the bed. I don’t even remember when I lay down on the bed. And I don’t care. All I can hear is my heart pulsing in my ears.
With my breathing still short and quick, I open my eyes and turn my face to the root of my unusual act. Mr. Ice. I’ve never masturbated in front of a man, much less a stranger.
He’s standing and leaning against the wall across me, giving his own sexual organ a rough rubbing. I should have known the level of desire in me would infect him too. If he’s half as lustful as I was seconds ago, he must be burning in the seas of desire.
There’s fire in his ice-blue eyes that are now fixed on me. He doesn’t need to tell me out loud what he’d have preferred doing, rather than using his hands for his pleasure. The thought of my afternoon lover watching us fills my mind. He must be having a kick out of my little performance. But, I wonder how he’ll feel with what I have in mind.
I slide down to the floor and walk on my knees toward Mr. Ice. My dress is still above my waist and wet with my sweat, but I don’t care. I reach up to his hips when I stand before him. He’s staring down at me wild-eyed. I should let him jack off and watch how he explodes into nothingness to take my revenge from him. However, despite my recent orgasm, I’m too lustful.
“You tricked me into this,” I state, in case he’s thinking otherwise, and lean toward his raging erection. His hand is still firmly grasping it. “Let go,” I order with menace in my voice, and he does what I say.