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I first see her when I take a shortcut home after a late shift. The area was known for prostitutes, and I usually paid them scant attention. Stopping at a traffic light, however, a well-built east-European girl walks past, with shoulder-length, platinum-blonde hair. She is wearing a black mini skirt and a short coat, which she pushes back from her bust as she spots me, making eye contact. In her tight, square-cut white top, her ample breasts compliment her strong thighs. Her lips are painted slut red, and smoke trails from the cigarette clamped between her teeth as she stares at me with an arrogant look.
I notice the lights have changed, and with a start, put the car in gear and drive away.
Several nights later, I drive past, and spot her again. I don’t give the subject much thought for a while, until, a week or so later while surfing porn on the internet, I find a series of pics of a similar looking girl. A pang of recognition hits me, and I remember the street-girl I saw. I imagine meeting her; hearing her strong Polish accent, tasting cigarettes on her breath and feeling her heat as she comes on to me. Looking into the eyes of the girl in the pictures, I stroke myself past the point of no return, much earlier than I normally would.
I think about little else for a while. I fantasize about finding myself in situations with the girl, imagining how I could be very specific with her about my requirements. I’d never been with a prostitute, but I was starting to find the idea fascinating. To cut through the usual preamble with a girl, ignore the aspects of her being too big & too trashy for your social status and just choose a girl who appeals to my base instincts, bypass the speculation about what she will or won’t do- the sheer possibilities of suggesting a particular refinement, and having it happen. Instantly.
I have cause to walk that way before too long. Following a drink in town with work colleagues, I find myself the last man standing as the others depart home to various levels of marital bliss. I am inebriated, but not worse for wear; rather, in a state of upbeat optimism. I decide to walk to a bar local to my flat, and possibly indulge in flirtation with a bar girl or two.
The toxic confidence I feel steers me towards the shadowy area that, if I am honest, fails to qualify as a shortcut, as it adds ten to fifteen minutes to my walk. I hope to spot the blonde girl, perhaps exchange a suggestive glance to keep my fantasy going a while longer. I have no intention, obviously, of engaging her in conversation or otherwise.
Disappointingly, her street is quiet, but as I turn a corner, she appears, lighting a cigarette. I catch my breath audibly.
“Hi,” she says, after a short exhale skyward, her eyes never leaving mine. Putting a hand on her hip, she asks “looking for me?”
I blush. Is it that obvious? She’s about 30, confident, direct, very sexy. And very east-European- I later find out she is from Ukraine.
I slow to a stop, slightly beyond her. “Oh, err… I’m just taking a shortcut home. I know you, I mean- I’ve seen you…”
She laughs gently, not what I expect at all. I glance at her painted lips as she takes a drag on her cigarette, turning to a stare as she exhales towards me.
Her eyes are heavy lidded and slightly sleazy. “Would you like to kiss me?” She is telepathic, I suspect. Or more likely, she’s good at her job.
“Thirty pounds will get you more.” She moves closer to me, glancing downwards to my trousers, before looking up at me again, doe-eyed with makeup. “A lot more…”
I melt, and stiffen, and she has me. I indicate the way, and roughly how far. She holds my arm, and doesn’t speak, knowing, I surmise, to build suspense; letting her scent, her very presence, seduce me. I steal an occasional glance; her exaggerated wiggle animates her breasts, and she smokes luxuriously as her heels clatter on the pavement.
After ten minutes, we reach my building and take a lift to my top-floor apartment. She holds out her hand in the lift, a challenging look on her face, and I fumble for my wallet, hiding the contents from her sight as I pass over the three notes. Must put this somewhere safe, I think, with a pang of fear. I must be completely transparent, I think, as I glance up to see her smiling reassuringly.
In the apartment she looks around at the décor, the view.
“Posh…” she says, taking off her coat. “I’m Anna.”
“Hi Posh!” I manage, hardly able to breathe. My humour in stressful situations never ceases to surprise me, and it works. She smiles broadly.
With her coat off, I see the full majesty of her body. She’s tall and shapely, with an impressive cleavage and powerful legs. Just my kind of ‘big girl.’
“Don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” She spots an empty and unused ashtray.
“No, not at all. In fact…” I trail off.
“You like it.”
Oh god- she is telepathic. Probably no point in hiding that wallet, I think.
She lights up with Ataşehir Escort the deft movements of an expert smoker, while clomping towards me. Her whole body sways with that slight quiver of a well-built woman. She exhales in my face and I feel her hand stroke my captive erection, causing me to inhale sharply. I feel the smoke hit my lungs and cough slightly, and she laughs.
I find this little display of power and bitchiness extremely erotic; like being put down by an older, sexier girl at school.
“OK, kiss me…” she says, and I oblige. It’s a beautiful kiss, filled with promise, and I kid myself there is sexual chemistry at work. One of my favourite thrills is kissing a girl for the first time, and discovering a faint taste of cigarette smoke; it suggests hidden depth, especially in a nice girl, and a willingness to submit to pleasure. With Anna, I know already that she smokes, but it’s still a treat to taste her and smell her lipstick. She starts to unbutton my shirt and trousers; within seconds she has her hand on my shaft, with the firm grasp of an experienced woman.
“What d’you want? Lets go in the bedroom. You want to fuck me, or shall I suck you off?”
I feel waves of ecstasy engulf me, and I want it to last; I have fucked enough girls to know that the pleasure is in the foreplay and the psychology of arousal. I’m naked now, and though scantily clad she is still fully dressed. I love this situation, the vulnerable feeling. I am experienced enough to know I am going to be submissive to her, and I sense that she knows it too.
In the bedroom, I ask her to sit in the armchair. She perches on the edge, legs crossed, and smokes. I lie on the bed, and start to masturbate. “From the first time I saw you, I imagined doing this in front of you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head…”
She says nothing, doesn’t even smile. She just smokes, slowly and unashamedly, her arms outstretched at chair-top height, and her breasts jutting out proudly.
“I imagined you smoking, watching me, talking dirty to me…”
She parts her full lips to mouth off to me, and I spot the slight gap between her teeth, and the overbite, both of which lend a slightly imperfect look to her beauty. “You want it dirty? Keep stroking your cock for me… that’s it, slut. Show off for me.”
I love to hear a woman call me a slut. A lady at work, ten years my senior, said it to me once, light-heartedly- ‘you’re just a slut, aren’t you?’ I happened to be looking at her mouth as she said the word. For an instant, she wasn’t smiling. Within a minute, I was in the toilets, splashing my spunk on the cubicle wall, imagining her watching me.
“Oh, yeah- that’s it. You like it, don’t you, wanking yourself off while I smoke. Do I look like a bad girl? Do you like bad girls? I suck men off for money, d’you like that? I just drop my knickers and let them fuck me- two, three at a time…” Each syllable comes with a sulk, her lips barely parting to allow her filthy words to escape.
“Oh, yeah…” I manage. Talking, breathing, is difficult. I’m so close to orgasm, I can hardly bear to touch my cock.
She giggles, enjoying my display. Cigarette dangling, she puts one hand down her top, using the other to pull down the neckline underneath her naked boobs. Her other hand masks the nipples, but her aureoles are visible, large and brown, suggesting she isn’t a natural blonde. Released from the tight top, her breasts are large, round and beautiful.
“Use your fingertips,” she instructs. “Pull your foreskin back, and hold it.”
I obey, and she takes a drag, exhaling towards me.
“Fucking slut. Spunk off for me. Imagine me with a big fucking black cock in my mouth.” The words drip from her red mouth in a whisper, and my whole body spasms involuntarily, sending bolts of spunk into the air, soaking my convulsing body as I jerk again and again.
I realise I still have twenty minutes of her time left, but I don’t want her to go that soon, so I ask her if she’ll spend the night with me for £100. She seems enthusiastic, so I hand over the cash. She counts it and stores it in her coat pocket. Undressing, she walks back to the bed; shoes and skirt are dropped on the floor, and as she climbs on, she pulls the skimpy top over her head, allowing her breasts to bob in front of me. I love to see big breasts on a big girl, and Anna’s are superb. Naked except for tight, lacy black French knickers, she smiles at me, removing the film from a fresh pack of Silk Cuts and lighting one. She places the pack, along with her lighter and the ashtray, on the bedside table.
Propped up on her elbow, she smokes. Occasionally she kisses me, or exhales in my face with a giggle. She looks around the flat, taking in the décor (I’m proud of my flat- it’s very contemporary).
I ask her about the knickers. “Oh, well, you know,” she says, in her sexy Ukrainian drawl, “you want to fuck me in the night, when I’m warm and sleepy, first you’ve gotta Anadolu Yakası Escort get these off me, and you’ve gotta put on a condom, mister!” She punctuates the full stop with a tap on my semi erect cock, and I laugh.
She lets smoke drift from her mouth, obviously showing off to me. I feel my erection return, and an ache to kiss her. We kiss at length, tenderly and enthusiastically, breaking occasionally for Anna to take a drag of her cigarette. She purposely doesn’t exhale fully, guessing I’ll enjoy the sensation, and the taste, of her smoke as it hangs in her mouth, and swirls around our faces as we kiss.
After a while, she breaks again, and reaches for her bag. She takes out a small mirror and her lipstick, and applies a fresh, thick coat of the glossy red paint. Turning back towards me and onto her belly, she winks and blows me a kiss. Taking another deep drag, she resumes kissing me.
I realise that, after only an hour and a half, I am in love with Anna. She’s my absolute fantasy smoking goddess personified.
“Anna, you’re beautiful, fucking gorgeous. But I don’t think I necessarily want to fuck you…”
She moves her face close to mine, pursing her plump, red lips to gently exhale her warm smoke into my face, for several seconds. She clamps her soft hand around my balls and the base of my shaft. “Well this,” she says, smoke still escaping from her mouth as she talks, “says you do!”
I groan and arch my back; the sheer sexual presence of this big, scented, exotic slut has caused me to forget about the mere mechanics of sex, however momentarily. A fleeting thought crosses my mind- I wonder how many other cocks her hand had stroked today, and I am surprised to find my pulse quickening with desire at the thought.
“Why don’t you clean up, first…”
When I return from the shower, she is propped up on the bed on folded arms, her lipstick, if anything, even thicker than before. There’s a mischievous look in her eye, and she says “come closer,” her mouth open in the most unambiguous of pouts.
She opens my towel and takes me in her mouth. The delicious hands-free suck off is enhanced by her fragrance and the curves of her big, white body and as she pleasures me, she makes the most wonderful doe-eyed fuck faces, outwardly showing enjoyment more intense than my own.
Soon she senses my orgasm approaching and leaving me dripping wet with her saliva, she disengages. She guides me towards her cleavage, and with a hand on my buttocks, encourages me to fuck her big, soft titties. As I start to cum, my spunk surging and splashing between her boobs, she pouts up at me. “Ooh, darling! Mmm!”
Fortunately, my knees are bent and resting on the bed at either side of her elbows, preventing them from buckling beneath me.
She climbs into bed, propping herself up on the pillows, and lights what she says is her last cigarette before bedtime. With the fingertips of both hands, she smears the fresh spunk around her aureoles. “Want me to wear this in bed?” I manage to sigh the affirmative, caught by the eroticism of her question. She smiles “okay…”
As she smokes, we kiss in the half-light from the single lamp, not saying a word. There’s nothing we need to say. Eventually she finishes her cigarette and I turn off the lamp. The taste of fresh smoke on her warm breath mixes with the smell of my semen between her breasts, and we fall asleep together, in love.
Waking up next to her for the first time is a revelation. She is tousle-haired, and her eyes appear smaller and half-opened compared to the night before, causing her mouth to seem much larger and protruding, even in its unpainted state. The heat pours from her big white body, and her smell fills the bed, flowing from between her legs. After our torrid night of mutual masturbation and French kissing, we are tired but sigh with satisfaction as we make eye contact, and as I remember that she is a prostitute, my heart sinks. I feel such affection and attraction towards her that I must be in love. I want her to be my girlfriend, my lover. I want my friends to meet her. I want to cook for her, bathe her and massage her shoulders.
It’s Saturday, but she looks at the time, and gets out of bed, gathering her clothes and handbag and relocating to the bathroom. I make her coffee, and find her a sweatshirt and jogging pants. Even dressed this way, with minimal makeup, she looks overtly sexual, her voluptuous body, her face and her attitude ensure this as she sits in the kitchen with me, drinking her coffee and smoking leisurely.
We talk. She tells me of the office cleaning job that brought her to England, then promptly ended, leaving her without employment; of the friend who told her of the money to be made by a curvy, attractive girl in the bars and clubs of this city. She didn’t walk the streets, and managed to pay for a half-decent flat in one of the semi-civilised suburbs. Eventually, she says she must go, as she needs her sleep for Kartal Escort tonight.
I offer to run her home and she accepts. She applies lipstick in the car; for my benefit, I’m guessing, as a thank you for the lift home. As we arrive at her flat, she fishes around for a pen and writes her mobile number on an empty cigarette packet, before kissing it to leave a perfect, red lip print. handing it to me with a kiss on the lips, she tells me “‘Til next time, lover…”
I go back to bed, but have trouble sleeping. I feel her presence in the bed; her lipstick and her scent stain the pillow- her pillow- and her cigarette smoke can be detected everywhere. I close my eyes and remember how, during the night, she reached down the front of those lacy knickers, and held her fingers to my mouth, letting me taste her juice; the beautifully strong flavour of her hormone-soaked natural lubricant unmistakeably tainted with the taste of condoms, inexplicably heightening my arousal.
For the next week, I float along oblivious to my surroundings. I don’t wash the pillowcase, or spray air freshener; as I walk into the flat every evening, I smell her faint, stale smoke, which slowly fades, as does the scent of the pillowcase. I desperately want her to fill the apartment with her smoke again. The empty Silk Cut packet, complete with Anna’s outrageous lipstick pout and telephone number, inspires more masturbation than a whole library of pornography ever could.
Friday is nearly here, and I decide to ring Anna. I want her to stay all weekend, and I ask her to name the price. To my delight and relief we agree a figure and arrange to meet in a bar close to my flat, at 10pm on Friday night. I can’t think of anything else all day, and need a few drinks before venturing out.
As I enter the bar, I spot her instantly; for some reason, I expected a demurely clad girlfriend with an overnight bag, sipping a glass of red wine at a corner table. I think, in my mind, she has become my girlfriend already. Instead, I see a big, blonde fuck-doll, dressed in hotpants, pink platform trainers, pigtails and frosted pink lipstick, smoking a fag at the bar. She is obviously wearing a push-up bra, which enhances her already-impressive chest to an almost comical extent, and she is flirting with two black guys who can barely keep their hands off her. A pang of jealousy hits me, but she stubs out her cigarette, and says in a loud voice “got to go, boys- my date’s here!”
She strides towards me, exhaling, a tiny army-green rucksack on her shoulder, and links arms with me, planting a kiss on my cheek, and causing a hint of embarrassed arousal. To my surprise, she is quite drunk. I suppose even street girls need to relax occasionally, and I like the fact she feels safe with me. She’s a handful during the short walk to the flat, and as I steady her in the lift, she kisses me, unzipping my trousers and stroking my erection through my underwear.
“Anna!” I exclaim. “There might be someone outside the lift…”
“Mmm!” She whispers into my ear, as she kisses me. “Maybe I’ll get on my knees, and suck you off right in front of them…”
The lift reaches my floor, and the door opens with Anna’s hand still eagerly handling my shaft; she even turns her head to face the door but there’s nobody waiting. In my aroused state, I feel slightly disappointed; I briefly imagine my smart, middle-aged female neighbour catching sight of the scene- me with pink lipstick smeared around my mouth and my flies open as this big, overgrown blonde slut feels me up, and despite her initial distaste, fingering herself to orgasm later in bed, at the thought of receiving similar attention from Anna. I file away the idea for future reference.
This time our Saturday morning is much more leisurely. Waking up once more with my tousle-haired fuck doll is heavenly; the sun streaming in and illuminating the smoke from her first cigarette as I sink into her warm plump body.
We share breakfast and bathe- she insists on applying red lipstick before getting into the bath, settling between my knees with her hair up I enjoy her weight on my chest and the new perspective as she smokes another cigarette with almost visible creaminess. I kiss her neck, enjoying the easy sensuality that exists between us.
All is quiet and I sense she is thinking, as I am. Last night was amazing- we are already far more than simply professional and client. Fucking all night with excitement is easy to fake, the almost infinite tenderness and understanding we shared much less so. It was clear to both of us we were making love.
We start to talk, between soft kisses. We share everything, intimate details of family and past, hardly aware of the water, cooling around us. Wrapped in towels, she leads me back to the bed and we kiss lightly but insistently, allowing passion to escalate our loveplay into full scale, animal fucking.
Waking from a doze I find her sitting in a chair, smoking once again, She is framed in red sunset in my hooded sweatshirt and a pair of her usual lacy French knickers. I don’t ever want her to leave, but wonder where we are going with this. I wake up fully, and ask her to be my girlfriend. She kisses me and says she will, but I see the sadness in her eyes.
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