The Pleasure and Pain of High-Class Chilli

“I’m Chilli,” I smile at the tall sprinter as I slink my slender arm around his muscular waist, further adding, “And please, no jokes about how ‘hot’ I am, or do you need a cuddle?” He laughs a little, a pleasant sound made with a smile that makes him look like a teenager on a first date.

He’s actually a Commonwealth athlete, broad-shouldered, blonde, blue-eyed. His hair is a similar golden-blonde colour to mine but cropped short; and his muscular physique stretches through the blue T-shirt with the Commonwealth Games logo on the right breast.

When he presses his massive thigh against mine, I feel thick, corded muscle hidden beneath the black track pants he’s wearing. I can understand now why he’s a 100 metre sprinter; the amount of power you’d need to run that distance in under ten seconds must be enormous.

I almost reach for his crotch there and then, to check the size of his package but we’re still in the introduction area of Le Penthouse Suite, the Gold Coast’s premiere brothel, now gearing up for the fast-approaching Commonwealth Games, just like the entire Glitter Strip City, with its Gold Coast Escorts, is preparing, with April only a month or so away.

I can see he fancies me. I think my slender body and lithe legs, partially and seductively revealed in a two-piece, electric blue, lingerie set with transparent G-string and half-cup brassiere. I catch him once or twice checking out the shape and swell of my young and firm breasts pushed up in the also transparent brassiere, and hear his sharp intake of breath when he dares a glance at my transparent G-string; hairless pussy barely concealed behind the sheer material of the crotch.

He covers this by saying, “I like your garter belt.”

“Thanks,” I look at him and then hook my thumb under the right strap and let it snap back, for effect.

We start to walk across the foyer, the sound of Hailey’s sweet voice on the phone at reception, let’s me know that we’re busy as usual tonight, here at Le Penthouse Suite. She catches my eye, smiles and gives me an okay sign with her thumb and forefinger making a circle.

The Commonwealth athlete is limping ever so slightly. He tells me sprained his ankle and thigh during training, so he wants a bit of a deep massage before we begin the fun and games.

I help him up the stairs, and he presses his powerful body against mine, probably exaggerating his need for assistance so he can move closer to me. I can feel his breath warm against the side of my face, blowing wisps of my blonde hair across my eyes, as I support him to the top. We are headed down the hallway to Suite One, the deluxe boudoir and I can feel a flutter of pleasant anticipation course through me in expectation of the intimacy soon to happen between myself, golden-blonde, Gold Coast Escort beach babe, and this Commonwealth elite sprinter, with muscle and strength and boyish good looks.

In the boudoir I make the king-sized double bed with clean satin sheets; this is what the Gold Coast Escorts at Le Penthouse Suite do first to turn clients on. You know that French maid implication of domestic eroticism and all that.

He sits behind me, or so I think, in the Rococco love seat situated beneath a large glass mirror; but as I turn around he closes in on me, encircling his strong arms around my petite waist, and kissing me deeply, so deep I find myself standing on my toes. And before I can say anything he is kissing my neck, open-mouthed and sucking the flesh, leaving love-bites that tingle like electricity. His hands are now grabbing my exposed buttocks, and his bulging crotch is pressing hard against the front of my G-string rubbing against my pussy lips through the fabric, making me moist already.

“What about the leg massage,’ I say this huskily.

“Forget about the massage, you are so hot, Chilli,” and he pulls down my brassiere and starts sucking nipples so they stiffen until they are firm, hard and erect.

I am grabbing his balls, and feeling the size of his shaft through his track pants with one hand, while my other hand is draped over his shoulder and around his neck as he ravages me, still fully clothed.

My back is arched, my neck is arched, and I gaze upwards at the ceiling, already soft moans escaping my cherry lips, because he has pulled down his pants and briefs, and his bare, rock-hard erection is rubbing through G-string fabric against my wet, wet pussy lips.

He pushes me onto the bed and I hear him wince a little from the pain in his sprained thigh I guess, as he kneels onto the bed so he can start cunnilingus, start eating my pussy.

He begins sucking my sex through the wet G-string, then pushes the crotch front aside so he can taste my sex juice with his ravenous lips. I’m running my fingers through his golden hair and he’s sucking my clitoris, sucking my pussy lips, his tongue making tight circles around my clit so that I’m shuddering with pleasure. This continues for endless moments and I know he is stroking himself as he eats my sex but now I want him inside of me. He senses this and sends an agreement by moving up my torso, kissing up along my belly, tonguing my belly button for a long moment, then sucking my nipples, cupping my bare breasts because the brassiere in now tossed to the floor.

He starts to position the head of his thick, pulsing erection against my pussy lips, wanting so much to penetrate my tight, tight pussy but I remember we need protection so I knee him gently in the thigh, which causes him to wince again. I whisper, “Condom.”

I find a ribbed cherry flavoured Trojan from the bed stand and now I’m rolling him onto his back. He is fully naked now, his T-shirt discarded to the floor, and I begin fitting the condom, first with my delicate, blue-nailed fingers, then with my mouth, biting down occasionally to give him pleasure, pushing with tightly pursed lips and fingers, until the prophylactic is fitted not quite to the base of his throbbing meat pole.

I can feel he wants fellatio because he manoeuvres my head back over his erection and says, “Suck it.”

So I start sucking his length, up and down, dragging my teeth for added sensation, and he is thrusting into my mouth, deeper into my throat, over and over until I gag saliva, until he groans loudly because he has had a minor orgasm I think. But his manhood remains thick and hard as blue-steel, so I move up past his thighs, and give his sprained muscle a tight squeeze which elicits a cry of pain from him, and this makes him a little angry. He pulls and positions me over his shaft, and suddenly, sharply thrusts his pole upwards into me, deep, deeper still.

Now the motion, the rhythm as he plunges in and out, in and out, and I’m riding him cow-girl, swaying my lithe body, rocking back and forth on one point that keeps continuous friction on my clit, while the head of his erection keeps plunging into my G-spot, into my secret sex, and I’m clamping my wet, wet internal sugar walls around his length and the rhythm, the urgency escalates, moving manically, moving faster and faster, in and out, up and down until our moans of sudden orgasmic bliss echo across the room as we both climax almost simultaneously.

We collapse beside each other, sweat soaked, sex soaked, momentarily exhausted, “You want that massage now?” I ask him and he laughs, just a little.