Stella and the Coach
He’s a coach for the gymnastics team competing at the Commonwealth Games, or so he says to me as his eyes take a walk all over my body. Under bushy white eyebrows his faded blue eyes take in my long lithe legs, from the tips of my blue glossed toe-nails to the transparent black G-string and garter belt I’m wearing, my belly-button and slender waist and my fulsome set of breasts that press nipples firmly against an also transparent brassiere. He even licks his lips as he does this. Kind of creepy, I think to myself.
I toss my dark brown hair back and the locks settle sexily on my shoulders, and I smile. Gold Coast Escort elite, I tell myself. Now it is my turn to check him out. He’s wearing blue track pants, a light blue t-shirt with the Commonwealth Games logo on it, and Converse gym shoes, the ones with the star embroidered on the side, and that reminds me to introduce myself.
“I’m Stella,” I almost say it means ‘star’, but I don’t feel that affectionate towards the middle-aged ‘coach’ who must be more than twice my age, after his unashamed mental undress of my young body. What he says next, and the sound of a voice that is both mellifluous and stern, with just a trace of gravel changes my mind. He sounds kind, maybe a little sad.
“You look like my niece, just as pretty.” He smiles and I begin to warm to him. He has a stop-watch around his neck. “You’ve also got a body that I could have shaped into a champion gymnast.” He says this as I lead him by the elbow past the introduction area of LePenthouse Suite, the Glitter Strip’s Premiere Bordello, perhaps the best Gold Coast brothel, with the finest Gold Coast escorts this side of the southern hemisphere, and up the stair case to Suite One, the Master Deluxe Suite with the marble Jacuzzi and gold-trimmed shower.
I thought he might huff and puff behind me as we ascend the staircase, because of his age, but his breathing is even and I realize he must still work-out.
In the bedroom of Suite One, I start making the king-sized double with clean satin sheets. It’s an additional little service the high class Gold Coast Escorts at LePenthouse Suite do, to turn on clients that like that submissive, domestic type fantasy, you know the one where the husband has an affair with the nanny or house-keeper.
I glance at him once over my shoulder, and he sits quietly in the Rococco love-seat, fiddling with his stop-watch, he catches my green-eyed gaze and smiles at me, not lasciviously, so I decide to emphasize my buttocks with a sway of my hips as I make the bed, to turn him on a little. And that does the trick.
Just as I finish tucking the last corner of the sheet under the bed, I feel his strong care-worn hands encircle my waist and the light kiss of his lips on my neck. I pull my chestnut brown hair aside so his mouth has more access to my silken firm flesh, and he responds with a mouth wide and a tongue that starts sucking on my neck and nibbling my ear.
He is strong, and I can feel the shape of a gymnast’s physique under his t-shirt. His hands are now fondling my breasts through my brassiere and his fingers are delving deliciously under the fabric, tweaking my nipples till they are erect and so firm. His groin is pressed against the small of my back, because he is taller than me, and he is hard, so hard.
I twist around and meet his lips with mine and remain tongue-locked for moment upon moment of French kissing that seems to make his erection grow even harder and longer through the fabric of his track pants.
His hands move to my waist and I arch my back, and now he is kissing my neck down my décolleté, to the place between my breasts, which are exposed now because he has pulled aside the brassiere so that he can start sucking my nipples while he rubs his groin and huge erection up against my pussy, which is a little moist through the transparent fabric.
I manage to unfasten my brassiere and it falls to the ground, and this is when he pushes me back onto the bed, and starts moving his mouth down my stomach, licking my belly button, and starts to eat my pussy through the transparent front of my G-string. I am moaning a little, whimpering because he is turning me on, and I think I’d like to see his manhood, suck it, taste it, so I try to pull him up with my slender arms, and I feel the strength in his triceps, and he gets what I want, and moves onto the bed, taking off his track pants and briefs, and kneeling on either side of my body, his thick shaft throbbing up and down, engorged with blood, glistening with pre-cum.
I manoeuvre into sitting position and start licking and sucking his balls and this makes him moan as his hands and fingers muss my hair and pull my skull onto his erection. And now I am taking the length of his manhood into my mouth, back and forth, deep and a little deeper until I gag, and then I suck some more. I can feel he will soon explode his sex juice as his beckoning climax begins to mount, so I push him away and find a condom from the few I have scattered on the bed.
I chose an extra-large, ribbed condom, strawberry flavoured, and I begin to fit this onto his shaft first with my fingers, then with my mouth, dragging my teeth back along the length while fitting the entire prophylactic onto the erection. I bite down, a little hard and this makes him shudder with delight. And he becomes like a stallion, and lays me back down onto the bed, positioning his shaft at my pussy, still hidden by my wet, wet G-string.
He doesn’t worry about taking off the G-string, he just bunches the crotch to the side and places the head of his erection against my wet pussy lips, rubbing it up and against my clit until it is stiff and erect, and then he forces his length past the tight opening and penetrates me half-way, pulls back and penetrates deep enough to just touch the G-spot, and an involuntary in-take of breath and whimper escapes me. He starts thrusting his hips, and the friction builds his climax again, and he is urgent, wanting to be deeper inside, as deep as he can get. So he lifts my buttocks and hips up off the bed, so my back is a little arched, and he pulls my petite body on to his shaft as he continues to thrust.
He twists me around a little so he can gain access to that secret pleasure centre deep inside my sugar walls, and there he finds it, my G-spot, and pounds his huge erection as deep into me as possible. Faster and harder, and sweat beads his brow, and then several deep stabs of his thick long manhood and I feel his orgasm and he groans into the ceiling.
I’m nearly there myself so I hiss at him, “Keep going coach,” so he keeps pounding me a bit more furiously because he wants to satisfy me and then my orgasm blossoms and I see stars and I shout out a delirious cry of delight, and he collapses onto me. He still has his stop-watch and Commonwealth T-shirt on. “I think we should take a shower coach, what do you reckon?” He smiles, not lasciviously, but not a little sad anymore, looks into my green eyes and I can feel the length of his erection begin to grow thick again, begin to harden again, as it presses against my naked belly …
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