Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
The arrangements were pretty simple. The escort was called Lady Sin. Although I couldn’t see her face in the advert she was about the right age, she’d been an escort for years, and she claimed to have trained as an actress, so I didn’t think what I was looking for would be any problem. I explained I had a fantasy I wanted to play out, which she might think sounded a bit kinky. She was very nice and encouraged me to tell her it, assuring me she wouldn’t be shocked however inventive it was.
I started hesitantly. “Well, you see, I’m 28 years old and I went to a Roman Catholic school. Run by nuns. And, um, the thing is, ever since then I’ve had this sort of fantasy about seducing a nun. One older than me, about your age, 40-ish. She’d be quite naïve, never been with a man before, and very nervous, and I’d meet her and take her for a coffee. Then I’d bring her back to my place and introduce her to sex, show her what to do to satisfy a man. She’d have to be dressed right, of course, and right from the moment we met to the moment we said goodbye she’d have to stay in character.”
There was a long silence at the other end of the phone, and I screwed my eyes shut and swore silently, waiting for the receiver at the other end to be slammed down. Then, warily, she said, “Yeaaahhh, okaaaaay….well, I’ll have to hire the outfit and, like you said, it is a bit unusual. I’ll give you two hours for four hundred quid, okay? Plus my travel expenses into London.” It was more expensive than I expected, but I was flooded with relief and quickly agreed.
That was three days ago. So there I was yesterday, strolling onto the busy concourse of Victoria Station at the agreed time, looking out for a nun near Platform 7. And lo and behold there she was, standing with her back to the station bookshop, looking totally bewildered and gazing around her, presumably trying to work out which of the hundreds of blokes rushing about was me. I was a bit disappointed that she wasn’t wearing the traditional black habit, but I figured maybe she’d had trouble hiring it at short notice. She had a simple grey cotton skirt that hung just below her knees, grey nylon tights or stockings, sensible flat-heeled black shoes, a simple white blouse under a grey cardigan and a grey wimple fringed with white. She was smaller than I expected, only a couple of inches over five feet tall, slim but with a noticeable swelling at the bust and nice calves and shapely ankles.
She didn’t appear to have noticed me, and she jumped as I softly laid a hand on her shoulder. I’ve got a typical bricklayer’s build, six-foot-one, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested with muscular arms, complemented by my dark fourth generation Italian looks and a twice broken nose. and as I probably looked pretty scary as I towered over her. Leaning down to be heard over the general hubbub, I said gently “You look a bit lost sister. Would you like to come and have a cup of coffee while you get your head together?”
Her mouth opened in surprise; then she tried to smile, but here eyes looked terrified. She finally managed to nod and almost whispered, “Yes, yes I think I would. Thank you.” As I gently led her across the station I was dead impressed by her acting skills. As we walked I switched off my mobile phone, not wanting any interruptions for the next couple of hours.
I took my new companion down to a corner in a small café just across Vauxhall Bridge Road from the station. She sat at the table, staring at the floor and wringing her hands while I ordered a cup of tea for her and a mug of coffee for myself. As an afterthought I ordered two bacon butties as well. Then I rejoined her with the drinks, sitting beside her on a red plastic-covered bench. She smiled gratefully and lifted the small cup to her lips with both hands. I was surprised that her hands were quite rough and red, working hands, but I thought maybe she was only a part-time hooker, or perhaps that was a legacy of her pre-escort days. As she drained her tea the café owner brought the bacon rolls over and I ordered her another cup. Then I pushed one of the rolls towards her and, with a grin, said, “There you go sister, it’s not Friday.”
She tittered at that and covered her mouth with her fingers, then lifted the buttie and tore into it. Still chewing a huge mouthful, she mumbled, “Oh please excuse me, I haven’t eaten a thing since five o’clock this morning.” As she ate I studied her. She looked younger than I’d expected, closer to mid-30s than the 43 she claimed. Her hair was hidden by the wimple but her thin eyebrows and long lashes were ginger. She wore no make-up and her face had few lines, although her cheeks were a little sunken with a light dusting of freckles. Her nose was quite long and pointed, lips were thin, her chin long and pointed, trailing down to a thin neck. The highlight of her face, though, was her eyes: they were big and jade green, and when she smiled as she wiped bacon juice from her lips they lit up like sparkling jewels. She was nice enough looking but nothing special, apart from pendik escort those eyes.
I held my hand out to her and said, “I’m Kevin.”
She took my hand and shook it with butterfly lightness. Her fingernails were unpainted but neatly trimmed. “Hello Kevin, I’m sis…I’m Marie Claire.”
I thought she could have chosen a more imaginative pseudonym. “Like the magazine,” I joked.
She looked momentarily surprised, then replied in a soft voice, with the slightest trace of a Scots accent, “Er, yes, that’s right of course. Thank you for coming to my rescue in the station Kevin, it was very kind of you. I did feel lost, and scared, I’ve never seen so much chaos.”
I grinned and replied, “That’s all right, I’m always happy to help a beautiful lady in distress.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and, staring at me, she said, “Beautiful? Nobody’s called me that since I was a little girl. But you’re right, I am in distress.”
I shuffled closer to her and, ignoring the surprised frown of the café owner, casually laid an arm along the bench behind her shoulders and purred, “Well Marie Claire, you are beautiful, and confession’s supposed to be good for the soul, so why don’t you tell Uncle Kevin all about it?”
For a whore she’d made up a good background story, about how she’d joined the order at 13, and now after all this time she was questioning her faith, and how her mind was filled all the times by fantasies of sins of the flesh, and finding out what she’d been missing out on before it was all too late. So she’d just walked out of the convent that morning, without a word to anyone, and on a whim taken a train to London. She even had tears in the corners of her eyes as she said, “But I didn’t think it through. I don’t know a soul here, and I spent every penny I had on the train ticket. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself, or even where I’m going to sleep tonight.”
That was clearly meant to be my cue. God, this woman was good! She jumped as I wrapped a hand around her shoulder and eased her towards me. Resting my huge paw over her tiny hand I murmured, “Well, my flat’s only five minutes up the road. You can come back there with me if you like, and we can…get to know each other better. Explore a few of those fantasies of yours.”
She stared at me in what appeared to be total shock. Then she closed her eyes and her lips moved, as if in silent prayer. She reached a hand up towards her neck, to where a crucifix might have hung had she been wearing one. Finally, locking rabbit-in-headlights eyes on mine, and licking her lips nervously, she barely whispered, “Yes, all right Kevin.”
I was so up for it by then that my cock started stiffening the moment we left the café. As we walked I casually mentioned that she wasn’t dressed like the nuns at my old school. Marie Claire giggled nervously, and said, “Oh, a full habit you mean? My order gave that up years ago, this is far more practical.”
Then we were at my digs. We climbed two floors of stone steps and I let her in. What I wanted to do was leap on her, drag her knickers down and shag her right there in the hallway. But, I told myself, if this was a real nun I wouldn’t want to traumatise her the moment I got her inside. No, I wanted to build her up to the moment, so that when I finally got to fuck her she’d be good and ready for it. So I squatted down to her and gently kissed her on the cheek as I fiddled with the hair grips holding on her wimple. She stood passive, her eyes closed and her chest rapidly rising and falling in apparent nervousness, as my lips slipped from her cheek onto her own mouth, still kissing gently, tenderly.
I removed the wimple and dropped it to the floor. Marie Claire’s hair was the same carrot colour as her eyebrows and lashes. Either she’d really gone to town on getting into the role of a nun, or she didn’t take the usual care that escorts do of their hair: it was short and spiky, roughly chopped as if someone else had cut it for her with a pair of blunt kitchen scissors. It felt very soft, though, when I ran my fingers through it, and my dick twitched in anticipation. I felt hot and itchy with the excitement I was experiencing from the build-up; easing the cardigan off her shoulders I said, “Why don’t we have a nice shower together, to get us in the mood?”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, then she nodded and, in a tiny voice, replied “All right”. I took her cold hand and led her unresisting to the small bathroom. Turning the shower on to warm it up I asked if I could undress her and, eyes closed, she nodded. I really wanted to see her nude, but I forced myself to take my time, undoing her blouse button by button, then releasing the zip of her skirt and sliding it down her legs. I knelt and she lifted each leg in turn as I removed her shoes then the skirt. Her stockings were self-supporting, and as I pulled the second one off, revealing her shapely bare leg, I cupped her foot in my hand and lifted it to my lips, sucking each toe into my mouth. kartal escort Marie-Claire exclaimed, “Oh God!” and rested a hand on the crown of my thick black hair to balance herself.
That left her bare apart from her underwear – big, plain, sensible cotton bra and pants. As I was down there I pulled the pants down first, revealing a flat belly and a thick mop of curly ginger hair. Unable to resist, I cupped her buttocks in my hands and buried my nose in her pubes. She gave a loud gasp, almost a small shriek. Then I stood and unclipped the bra, before standing back to look at my prize. Fuck, she had a gorgeous body. Apart from her lightly tanned face and hands she was very pale, her freckles trailing down onto the swell on her small, pointed tits, which were capped with pert nipples the colour of pink roses. Taking a deep breath, I placed my hands on her shoulders and eased her down to sit on the loo while I undressed.
In contract to the delicacy I’d shown when I stripped Marie Claire I tore at my own clothes, and within thirty seconds I stood naked before her, my thick eight-inch dick reading up in front of her goggling eyes. Swallowing again, her gaze locked on my knob, she whispered, “Jesus, are they all that big?”
I grinned and replied, “No, you’ve got a prize winner here.” Then I took her by the hand and led her into the shower. She stood under the warm cascade of water with her arms at her side, as if not sure what to do next. Lady Sin was really giving an Oscar-winning performance as an inexperienced nun, I thought.
I turned her back to me, rubbed soap onto a washcloth and rubbed it down her spine. She seemed incredibly tense and as I washed her back I gave her a shoulder massage. She sighed and I felt her beginning to relax, then she said, “Mmm, you’re much better at that than Sister Ursula.”
I let out a filthy chuckle and murmured into her ear “I’m much better at lots of things than Sister Ursula.” I stroked the cloth across her slim, firm bum, and with straight fingers ran it deep between her cheeks. She gave a gasp at that and pushed back onto my hand. I wasn’t sure a real nun would relax into her first sexual experience quite this quickly, but I let it pass; after all, Lady Sin was only giving me two hours, so we needed to keep things rolling along.
Having washed Marie Claire’s back I dropped the cloth, soaped my hands, then moved in close behind her. Because I was so much taller I had to bend my knees a bit, but my stiff cock rested comfortably between her cheeks as I reached my arms around her and cupped my hands round her boobs, pulling her onto me. She let out an odd little squeak and muttered, “Oh my God”, but allowed herself to relax onto my body. I was a little surprised to find clumps of ginger hair in her armpits, but I actually find that a bit of a turn-on, so that was okay. While I rolled one of her long nipples between my fingers I trailed the other hand down her flat belly and onto her pubes. She tensed in anticipation of what I was about to do, then I burrowed between her thighs and slid a finger along her crack. She jumped as if I’d touched her with a live electric wire. My finger found what felt like a huge clit, and I started to massage it. I’d only been at it a few seconds when she wailed “Mary, mother of Jesus”, thrashed against my body for a few seconds, went rigid then flopped like a rag doll against my supporting arm.
I was surprised that an experienced tart like her had cum so easily, but it promised good things to come. I took her hand and, on unsteady legs, she meekly followed me out of the shower. Her eyes were glazed and she still seemed a bit dopey from her climax so I quickly dried us both off then, with one arm around her waist, took her across the hallway and laid her down on my bed. Even though I haven’t had a steady girlfriend for a couple of years it’s a nice big double – I like my comforts. Then I lay down beside her and pulled her into a bear hug.
Marie Claire buried her face in my neck and, a bit hesitantly, wrapped her arms around my neck, breathing damply against me. I could feel her erect nipples pressing into my chest, and when I slid my thigh between hers her snatch felt hot enough to burn me. After a few seconds I gently pushed her head down to my waist. She peered at my cock as if she’d never seen one before, and I eased it forward to bump against her mouth. She looked up at me, with a strange mix of fear and fascination on her face, and whispered, “You want me to suck you?” I smiled and nodded then, after a moment’s hesitation, she raised her bum in the air and closed her lips over my knob. She just sat there with nothing moving for a moment, but after I twitched my hips a couple of times she started to mouth fuck me, and her tongue stroked up and down the underside of my shaft. She stopped after a few moments to mumble, “Am I doing it right?”
Breathing heavily, I nodded and muttered, “Yeah. Stroke my balls too.” She began to suck and lick me again, and I felt a little series of maltepe escort electric jolts as her fingertips stroked over and over up my scrotum to my dick. I grunted “Lick the tip.” She swirled her tongue round it a few times and that did it for me: I exploded into her, my hips bucking at her face. I half expected her to pull away but she took it all in her mouth and swallowed. I pulled her back up the bed and kissed her, sliding my tongue between her lips and tasting my salty juice on her tongue.
She sounded a bit faint when she asked, “Um, Kevin, could I have a glass of water please?” I bounded into the kitchen to get her one and she drank it all down, swilling it around her mouth. Then I rolled her onto her back and started sucking on one of her nips, massaging the other tit with the flat of my hand, at the same time rubbing my thigh back and forth along her slit. She moaned and arched her back, pushing her boobs more firmly at me. I badly wanted to get my face between her legs before I shagged her, and as I trailed my tongue down across her belly button she leaned up on her elbows watching me, as if fascinated. When I nibbled at her inner thighs her head fell back and she started muttering “Oh Christ, oh God, oh Jesus” over and over, without so much as a pause for breath.
Fuck, her pussy was beautiful. Her ginger pubes stopped at the front of her crack and the bare lips were livid pink and pouting at me, slick with her juice. At the top her enormous clit looked like a grey-white stalk, standing out proud from the pink flesh around it. She squealed as I licked the tip of my tongue the length of her slit, just penetrating her lips. I closed my lips over her stalk, sucking it and flicking my tongue across the top of it, and squeezed a couple of fingers into her gloriously tight pussy and started to fuck her with them. Within moments she was squirming and panting like a greyhound after a race. I carried on for about ten minutes, and I’m sure she came more than once in that time, thrusting her hips up at me over and over. By the time I’d finished her cunt was awash with juice, and I had to push my tongue into her and have a good lick – she tasted fantastic.
When I moved back up face to face with her she seemed almost in a trance, her eyes glassy and her tongue lolling out of her mouth. I was ready to go again so I pulled a condom from my bedside cabinet and rolled it on. Then I eased Marie Claire’s legs further apart and pushed straight into her to the hilt. As I started to slide up and down inside her, her eyes opened wide and she groaned “Jeeeeeesus fuck” then reached her hands round onto my back and gripped me. Her knees gradually began to rise, and she clapped her hands behind them and pulled them up as high as she could, her legs doubling up to give me maximum access. She fitted me like a velvet glove, and I slid my knees under her bum so I could fuck her with as much power as possible. She grunted “Oh God” with every stroke, and within a couple of minutes she shouted “Jesus fucking Christ” and again went stiff then floppy. I finished a few seconds after her, cumming with such force that I nearly blew the condom off!
We both needed a bit of a breather after that, and flopped back on the bed side by side. I pulled the bulging rubber off and dropped it carelessly on the floor. I think I maybe fell asleep for a few minutes. When I woke Marie Claire was leaning across me, the fingers of one hand stroking through my chest hair, the other hand stroking up and down my cock. With tears in her eyes she gave me a radiant smile and whispered, “You know Kevin, I can’t decide whether you’re an angel sent to save me from my past or a devil sent to tempt me, but either way I’m glad of it.” I was aware of the weight of one of her small breasts resting on my chest, and when I stroked it with the backs of my fingers her eyes snapped shut and she gave a sharp intake of breath.
I don’t usually manage more than a couple of stiffies in a session, so I was pleasantly surprised by the effect Marie Claire’s fingers were having on me. I placed my hands on her hip and lifted her on top of me, her crack right against my knob. She looked a bit bewildered, but I adjusted our positions slightly and slipped into her again. I started to lift her hips up and down and she quickly took over the rhythm herself while I reached up and played with her boobies. I hadn’t meant to screw her bareback but she didn’t seem to mind, and it felt absolutely gorgeous. I lost my hold on her tits as her rising and falling on my dick got steadily wilder, and I grabbed her hips again to keep her from jumping right off me as she gasped and sighed, rolling her head around and raking her fingernails down my chest.
I think we both came at about the same moment, but as her pussy walls tightened around me she pitched backwards. For a split second it felt as if she was about to rip my cock off, but then I thankfully slipped out of her. She threw herself on top of me and kissed me wildly, pushing her tongue deep into my mouth while saying things I couldn’t make out. Then she rolled off and, literally seconds later, I heard deep regular breathing and realised she’d fallen asleep! I felt pretty drained after what we’d got up to as well, and tucked my body in behind hers, one arm around her with my hand cupped around a boob.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32