Forget About The Pornstar

He’s cute. Blonde tousled hair, blue eyes, and designer spectacles; dressed in a surf T-shirt and khaki pants. He has a small portable DVD player with him and as he tells me what he wants from our session, I catch him checking out my curvaceous breasts as they press hard against the see-through fabric of the black brassiere I am wearing, even catch him taking a peek at the diaphanous crotch of the black lace G-string I’m wearing, wanting to see my tight hairless pussy. You’ll get to see it up close very soon, I think to myself. 

We stand together in the introduction area of Le Penthouse Suite, the Glitter Strip’s longest established and most esteemed bordello, where the highest first class companions pleasure clientele from all walks of life. My client is rambling on about how he is in love with a porn star, how he has her entire collection, how I look just like her but maybe a bit more beautiful, and how he wants us to emulate his favourite scene of this porn star he keeps talking about. “Of course your name is Chloe,” he says this naively, “so you’re not this porn star, but you’re even more beautiful.” 

I listen and say nothing, but then I smile and take him by the hand and lead him away from the introduction area. He is about my age, maybe a little older, very early twenties and definitely immature for his age; and as we head up the stair case I toss my golden blonde hair, deliberately letting it flow across his face so he can inhale the perfumed scent. He shuts up then, and clumsily bumps into me as we reach the top of the stairs, and I feel the bulge in the crotch of his pants and hear the sharp intake of breath and know that he is lusting after me. 

As we walk down the hall towards suite one, I know he is checking out my long legs, the gorgeous swell of my buttocks, so exposed in the sheer G-string I am wearing, the fine curves of my back hinting at the delight of my full breasts, and the lustrous gold of my hair.  

Suite one is the deluxe bedroom at this pleasure dome, with king-sized double and Jacuzzi, dance pole podium, plush furnishings and deluxe shower stall. As we enter the room, he starts talking about the porn-star again, so I walk ahead and start to fit the satin sheets onto the king-sized double. It is part of the service, making the bed is like the act of a courtesan, it turns the clients on with that domestic helper love affair kind of thing. I deliberately unfasten my brassiere as I fit the sheets, and let it drop to the carpeted floor.  

Now I know he is checking out the sweet swell of my fully exposed breasts, so complemented by the locks of my long golden blonde hair as it cascades around my body. I move seductively as I tuck the sheets under the mattress, occasionally glancing at my client who is now searching through his DVD player for the scene that he has been talking about.  

I finish making the bed and turn around, hands on my hips, and I look over at him, “Hey lover boy,” and he looks up from the DVD player, “forget about the porn star.” I stand before him, glorious blonde beauty, Chloe, sweet high class companion, and I curl my finger at him, beckoning him to me.   

Now he is moving with a sense of urgency that startles me for a moment, first putting the portable player on the love-seat, taking off his T-shirt as he moves across the short distance, starting to take of his khaki shorts and black briefs, and then immediately kissing the nape of my neck while encircling me in his arms and gripping my buttocks, lifting me, pushing me onto the bed. 

I can feel his thick, throbbing length press first against my thighs, then against my belly as he continues to kiss and suck my neck, then my mouth, then my breasts. He lingers longingly on my nipples, sucking them hard, and he moves down to my torso, kissing a trail down to my pussy, where he starts sucking my sex through the transparent G-string crotch, sucking the pussy lips until I am moist, and finally pulling the crotch aside so he can place skin on skin.  

He starts sucking my clitoris and I am moaning and quivering, he sucks the sensitive flesh until it is stiff, erect and responsive, and he is drinking my sex juices. The cunnilingus is moments of endless bliss, with my hands in his hair, and his hands against my inner thighs spreading my legs wide so he can suck and lick and growl my tight pussy. It is when I shudder and buck, that he decides to consummate our lust, and rises up along my body and manoeuvers himself to place his thick throbbing erection against my tight wet pussy. I hold him off for a moment, and silently reach over and grab a condom packet from the bedside table.   

I begin fitting the condom onto his shaft, which is glistening with pre-cum, so sticky that it leaves wet marks on my fingers and face as I roll the prophylactic fully onto his length and finish the fit with my mouth. And then he pushes me back onto the bed, positions his erection against my pussy, the G-string is all askew against the inside of my thigh, giving him full access to my tight sex. 

He places the engorged head of his manhood against my pussy lips, finds the opening, and pushes into me with a silent pop, thrusting deep into my tight sex. He thrusts again and then finds his rhythm and starts pounding me ruthlessly, crying out, “You’re so much better than that porn star.” His lust rides a pace of three fast, three slow, deeper and deeper, tilting my hips and adjusting position until he finds that magic sex centre deep inside of me, my G-spot, and I shudder deeply as he penetrates that sacred sex. 

He rides me for endless moment upon moment and then his thrusting becomes so urgent, so manic, and with three deep stabbing motions he orgasms and I climax a moment after, bucking up against his down thrusting hips, and we collapse together in each other’s exhausted embrace. I whisper into his ear, “Forget about the porn star.