He says he’s looking forward to getting back to the ‘deep’, the ocean he means, and for a moment there’s a faraway look in the faded blue eyes of this big burly trawler fisherman standing before me in the introduction area of Le Penthouse Suite. There’s a faint scent of the ocean that surrounds him, of salt spray and sea breezes, but he’s clean and well-dressed in a grey turtle-neck sweater and green cargo pants. His hair is curly and a little unkempt, but his beard is trim and tended.
For a brief instant I feel strangely vulnerable before him, dressed in my black two piece lingerie set, the transparent G-string accentuating the tenderness of my pussy, the tight-fitting transparent lace brassiere highlighting the sweet curvature of my breasts and the firmness of nipples. He says he hasn’t seen platinum blonde hair as beautiful as mine for years and he smiles, and I smile and I tug his beard just to be playful, and then we walk away together heading for Suite One, the deluxe boudoir at this most reputable bordello, the erotic icon of the glitter strip and home to an elite list of glamorous, first-class escort companions like myself, sweet girl Summer.
When we step through the doorway into Suite One, I wonder whether he’ll initiate first intimacies, but he stands there quietly for a moment, looking around the room, until his eyes fall upon me again. I turn to face him fully and strike a pose, placing one hand on my hip, the other hand up in the air, tossing my hair, placing one lithe leg forward, like a petite party girl emerging from one of those display cakes, and I say, “Voila, Summer at your service.” He grins broadly, and I can tell he’s a shy guy because he’s slow to move, but when he does move towards me I see something light up in his eyes, some lascivious glint that tells me he’s been too long at sea.
He places his hands on my hips and I can feel the roughness of the calluses on his palms and I can imagine him hauling in nets, and pulling on ropes, and handling gaffs. I grab one of his hands so I can look at it. There’s a rope burn on the trawler fisherman’s palm, he dismisses it like it were a paper cut, but when I kiss it, he winces a little; and I think even a big brawny guy like this still feels pain.
I drop his big hand, and he encircles my tiny petite waist with his powerful arms and I feel like a baby doe captured by a bear awoken from hibernation.
He picks me up and carries me over to the marble spa bath, the water bubbling warmly in anticipation of this interlude, and he places me gently on my feet and it is then that he kisses me passionately and deeply, first just lips, then the second time with tongue, and I reach down and feel for his manhood bulging enormously in the crotch of his pants. And as I start to undo his pants, he kisses a line down my neck, pulls the top of my brassiere down and then starts sucking my petite breasts and nipples, pulling my whole body up against his powerful frame, pressing into my back so that I arch my sex into him.
I manage to get his pants off, and he pauses for a moment to take off his turtle-neck and step out of his boxer shorts, revealing the thickness and size of his erection which brushes against my belly leaving traces of pre-cum all over the firm, smooth flesh.
I sit up on the spa bath edge, spreading my legs wide, and he falls upon my pussy, starting to suck my pussy-lips through the thin, diaphanous fabric of the G-string, sucking the tender flesh of sex and my clitoris, tasting my sex juices, growling me deep enough so that small moans start to escape my mouth involuntarily. I toss my hair so that the blonde locks fall over his shoulder as he performs his voracious cunnilingus on me, and I reach down under him with my petite leg and stroke his enormous shaft with my tiny foot.
It is when I start to quiver with mini-orgasms that this trawler fisherman rises up, fully naked before me, and starts to move over my petite body, by G-string set all askew and my sweet pussy fully exposed, ready to be penetrated.
I quickly reach for a condom packet strategically positioned within reach, grab one and tear it open with my teeth before he plunges his manhood into my tight sex. He’s already rubbing the glistening head of his erection up and down along the groove of my tight pussy, holding his throbbing length with one hand, and gripping the ankle of my leg with his other hand.
I don’t tell him to stop, but interrupt the connection by grabbing his thick meat pole with my tiny hand, and pulling his erection away a little, up a little so I can fit the condom onto the pulsing shaft.
I roll the prophylactic down onto his shaft, fitting it to its extent about two thirds to the base of his manhood, and then he places his erection back against my pussy, laying the length along the groove, rubbing down with the head, then up then rubbing it along my tight furrow, looking for the opening before finding it, then penetrating me with his heavy thickness, penetrating me with a tight and silent pop that sends a shivering thrill through my body.
He picks me up from the spa edge, still remaining inside me, and starts to pound me while standing up, handling my tiny body with ease, plunging his thick and heavy and upright erection upwards into my tight pussy, pounding me over and over, pounding up into me, relentlessly repositioning me so he can gain deeper and deeper access into my sex. I hold on to him, so tiny and petite rest my face against his shoulder, arch my neck upwards, groaning, kissing his face, and still he pounds upwards into me, picking me up and dropping me onto his erection several times until he pierces my G-spot and I shudder and climax, my orgasm sending a flood of sex juice cascading into our point of union.
His movements become more and more rapid, more urgent now that he realizes I’ve orgasmed already. He treats me like a limp, rag doll, rapid thrusts in and out, upwards and upwards, until he orgasms, bucking deep into my pussy, deep into sweet sex-spot.
He carries me up the steps, and into the spa, into the bubbling water, still inside me, still inside me.