Spectacular Spectacle Sex

They used to call him ‘four-eyes’ at school. This was because his parents couldn’t afford to buy fashionable glasses so he had to wear a pair of second-hand glasses donated by a charity; thick-rimmed, thick-lensed, ghastly grey specatacles. He said they weren’t even properly adjusted to his vision problem and gave him headaches when he wore them. Now, twenty years later he is a successful optometrist, and he wants me to wear a $250 pair of Benetton spectacles, plain lensed of course, to remind him of how far he has come.

We sit together in the introduction area here at the Gold Coast’s finest bordello, Lepenthouse Suite. I’m wearing the skimpiest black lace G-string I have in my collection, and a pink, satin string bikini top with black trim around two small triangular pieces that barely cover my nipples. The bikini top reveals my full, firm breasts, the glowing lightly tanned skin there. The G-string and top don’t match because I couldn’t find the matching pieces, probably still in the washing machine; however, the glasses Mr. Optometrist has given me to wear, match the spectacles that sit on his handsome blue-eyed face.

I can tell he is quite taken with me; the way his eyes keep roaming over the entirety of my body, the way the bulge in his tan chinos gets bigger every time I playfully bump his knee with mine, or press my thigh against his, or put my hand on his arm.

I put the delicate, tortoise-shell specatacels on right there in the introduction area, sitting with my client in the big maroon couch, and he breathes in sharply, whispers involuntarily, “You’re beautiful.”

As we ascend the staircase, headed for suite one, I have time to see how the glasses look on me, in the mirrored wall beside us. The light frames off-set the dark brown lustre of my long brunette hair that cascades down my back. I can see Mr. Optometrist has his gaze firmly affixed to the sway of my hips and the sensual swell of my ass cheeks. He definitely wants me.

In the room I’m thinking we’ll make love on the bed, but he has other ideas and confidently says, “Can we have a shower first?” And then we are kissing and he disrobes as we move together in an embrace that makes our short journey to the gold-fauceted  shower stall, a steady waltz of lust. He is kissing my lips and neck, and sucking my nipples which he’s exposed by moving aside the bikini triangles with his mouth. He does it this way because one of his hands is gripping my ass cheek and the other is fumbling his pants and briefs off. I’m taking his shirt off for him, while his throbbing erection is now pressed with the shaft length hard against my pussy lips, through the transparent front of my G-string. We’re both still wearing our glasses.

The spectacles I’m wearing remain stable on my face, and occasionally he looks into my hazel eyes through his lenses, and says, “You’re beautiful.”

He is naked now, and we’re in the shower, under a streaming jet of hot water, bikini top is outside the shower, my G-string is sopping wet, and bunched to one side of my pussy against my inner thigh, and we are still kissing and our specatacles are beaded with droplets of water, and steam is fogging them a little. He is just about to push his thick throbbing erection into my tight pussy when I say, “Condom, lover boy.” He pauses, and this gives me time to reach just outside the shower and find a condom packet. I can see the room for a moment through the beads of pure water on the lenses, and it is sparkling.

I fit the condom onto Mr. Optometrists thick shaft with my mouth, and he nearly orgasms then and there in the shower when I drag my teeth along the length. So I know he can’t wait any longer, and it is then he lifts me up a little, pins me against the shower stall glass panel, and penetrates me so hard and fast I gasp involuntarily. And his lust is so urgent it only takes six or seven rapid, deep ramming thrusts of his engorged erection into my tight pussy for him to orgasm.

‘I haven’t orgasmed yet,’ I say this above the sound of streaming water, and he is still hard, so he keeps going, pounding me harder still, and we’re both still wearing our spectacles, only mine is a little askew but clear because he has wiped away the droplets of water and he says, ‘You’re beautiful’ …

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Hannah