Confessions Of A Happy MILF Hooker: Tender Reminiscence
Sometimes my clients are older and they are beyond raunchy. Sometimes they want sensuous and erotic, but they do not need or want to bang me. Occasionally they like to reminisce, with tenderness.
I have a few long-standing clients (who have been visiting me for many years). In the throws of a climax, they will say “I love you” but of course that is only in the boudoir, and as much as they deny it, it is completely one-dimensional.
I feel like Jesus did about Peter who denied he knew him three times. Coinciding with the cock crowing, saying “I love you” is just a fantasy of the moment. Time and time again it is proven in the real world that we are in fact not friends or lovers but ho and client and I am more than happy to accept this and live my life.
I find men my age super-hot. They are experienced and know their preferred triggers, the things needed to shoot their load, which they return to again and again. They know how to touch a lady in all the right places and where and when to apply the pressure needed. When I was new to them in the early days, they were willing to be guided - they genuinely want the lady to be aroused and to get off, for they know this is a good measure of success. They don’t need to prove anything else.
Fig.1 "Noli me tangere", oil on panel by Hendrick de Clerck (c. 1560 – 27 August 1630) (Source: commons.wikimedia.org) *
Fig.1a
“Tell me a story, Amber,” says my familiar client, as he lays down next to my naked body.
We are facing each other, lying on our sides, looking into each others’ eyes. My hand caresses his back and neck and his hand cups one of my breasts while his fingers fondle my nipple.
“I will tell you a story about young Amber, the first girl in her class to get noticeable breasts under her white, cotton blouse.
”So it goes - we gaze, talk, laugh and fondle.
We kiss. I love to lick his lip, he licks mine, then pokes his tongue between my parted teeth and I tickle the end of his tongue with mine.
“Let me pretend it is your cock,” I say and circle his tongue and suck it a little before we both see the humour and stop for a chat.
“Little Amber-gem, she started to notice the boys had an interest in her breasts. Some of the boys in the class spoke loudly about it, while being shushed by the protective boys in her group of friends, yet she also noticed them peeking when they could. However, before long the year ended and in the new year, little Amber-gem was sent off to her new school, an all-girls convent. The boys’ school was behind a fence and they were not to be spoken to.”
Fig.2. Old Picture Of A Prostitute Painting (2018) by Iryna Oliinyk Inspired by a scene from Pretty Baby movie. Depicts Susan Sarandon as Hattie posing to a photographer.
“Do you think little Amber-gem should have flashed her tits at the boys?” I ask my client. “Would you like to be flashed at?”
I roll onto my back and place my hands over my breasts. He pushes my hands away and continues stimulating my hardened nipple. He refuses to be teased and we resume our kisses.
“And so little Amber-gem never saw a boy up close again until she travelled by train for her occasional visits home. She would wait until everyone had left the carriage, except for one innocent, Catholic schoolboy.
Paying no attention to the other available seats since the rest of the carriage was empty, she would join him in the facing seat where she would casually reveal her plain under garment by putting one foot on the seat, ignoring the sign forbidding footwear on the upholstery. Alternatively, if she was feeling bold, she would sit right next to him.
She looked completely harmless although a little unkempt - some curls from her long, auburn hair had messily escaped her ribbons, but her rosy cheeks looked cherubic.
Alarmingly, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her light blouse, revealing her pale-pink, puffy nipples to the boy sitting next to her. Without a word of complaint from him, she took his hand and placed it underneath the white fabric of her shirt, feeling his fingers begin to kneed and twist almost instantly.”
At that, I climb astride my client, dipping my nipples into his mouth. He holds the sides of my breasts, covering them in kisses and licks, bringing his face in between them. My juicy slit is hot on his stomach, I am almost grinding on it now.
I resume my position beside him and reach down to feel his large, not-yet-hard penis.
“The school boy could not have been a year older than little Amber-gem who was by now thirteen years old, or maybe thirteen and a half. She took her hand and rubbed softly on the outside of his black, polyester school trousers (all students had to wear their school uniforms to get the cheap train fares). She felt the soft lump turn to hardness quite quickly. OMG, she thought. I will have to teach him.”
Fig.3 The Connection Hooker series, (Inspired by Pop Artist, Richard Lindner), 2011 by Harry Weisburd
As I lie next to my client, I am fondling his cock, pulling upwards and downwards with my fingers curled around him, then I turn my wrist backwards so that the head of his cock is in my palm, his cock is stiffening.
“I didn’t undo the boy’s fly, that would have been intrusive and too difficult to mess with if an adult, like the conductor, happened to enter the carriage. Instead I guided his hand from my pulverised nipple to under my skirt. Needing no further encouragement, he managed to get his fingers under the leg of my garment and as if in between two goalposts, into the moistened, hairy gap as if it was a net through which he was achieving a goal. We did not kiss, we only played.”
At this, my client touches me in the most perfect, gentle way with only his index finger. You would think it would be too gentle to have any effect if you saw it being enacted in pornography, but actually it really is ideal for the moment. We continue to kiss, moaning, our mouths are sloppy, but in unison. Our hands continue to grope. In the moment, the speed and texture on the outside of my wet cunt is exquisite, upwards and downwards, as are the movements of my hands.
“I didn’t touch the boy’s skin, but he touched mine. All I did was rub the outside of his trousers. The carriage was dark then light as the train travelled in and out of tunnels then eventually pulled into a station. The outside of his trousers was wet, then he stood up and fastened the buttons on his black duffel coat and left the train with his schoolbag slung over one shoulder. I saw him lift his hand to his face and smell it. I think … he may have … even … licked his fingers.”
I say the last bit of the story slowly. I can not talk anymore. I am about to come and so is my lovely client. The sound of a little squeal leaves my mouth and I hear my client grunting as both of my hands move faster on his cock. We are kissing again, slobbering, we are both coming. It is glorious, euphoric. I would see stars if that was a thing.
The muscles in my thighs are aching from the involuntary leg movements which orgasm causes.
Eventually we open our eyes. We giggle and rub each other’s back. It feels so innocent, so pure. “I love you,” he says.“I love you back.”
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* Noli me tangere ('touch me not') is the Latin version of a phrase spoken, according to John 20:17, by Jesus to Mary Magdalene when she recognized him after His resurrection. … According to Maurice Zundel (1897–1975), in asking Mary Magdalene not to touch him, Jesus indicates that once the resurrection is accomplished, the link between human beings and his person must no longer be physical, but must be a bond of heart to heart.
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