A London Transsexual Escort 235.

J, called from Montreal late Monday evening, 'I'm coming to London tomorrow, I'm staying at a hotel on Park Lane (£350 on the Monopoly Board) and would love to see you about noon if that's OK?'

J also called about this time last month with the same request, oh and the month before that too...I've a sneaking suspicion J may simply like the sound of my voice because I've yet to meet him.

M called from The Corinthian hotel (ESPA toiletries) for an evening appointment, we’d met at the same hotel a year before, I could place his broad NYC accent, but not the face. We’d arranged for 11.30pm, but due to road closures, it was midnight before I arrived. I hate being late but there was little I could do about it, so I keep him updated by text, it wasn’t a problem.
The lobby was quiet as I walked across the marble floor; a man was sat beside the huge revolving door with his tool-kit laid out, doing the repairs that can only be carried out once everyone is tucked up safely in their beds. This is a five-star hotel after all, so no shabbiness here at these prices.
I arrived at room X…ah yes, I remember now, the last time we met he’d asked me several times if I thought he’d, ‘A fit body.’ At forty-something it's true to say yes, he was was in very good shape, thus I agreed and assured him.
He requested that I wear all black, bra, knickers, stockings and shoes, dress too if I had one, I do. Whilst he lay on the bed in his boxers, I went off to the bathroom to fetch a flannel and a bottle of body lotion; I thought I’d start the proceedings off with a back-rub.
M asked that I keep my knickers on, as he wanted to feel my cock through my knickers but not necessarily see it, I happily obliged. Nor did he care to kiss, so after a back massage, I went down on his cock and sucked him, which going by his murmuring, he enjoyed.
Ten minutes of fellatio later M said, ‘Frances, I’m going to come soon but I don't want to come on the bed sheets, let's go stand over there by the mirror and you can jack me off from behind.’ ‘Right, I'll best go fetch a towel to put on the carpet,’ 'Ehhh...OK Frances.'
I stood behind him pressing my black laced covered erection against his bare bottom, whilst reaching my hand around to wank him off, it wasn't long before he’d spurted his load over the beige carpet (now protected by a bath-towel). I went and fetched M a warm flannel, before going to freshen myself up.
No sooner had he climaxed, M was on his phone checking his text/mail, there was little or no conversation. Some people are like this, perhaps finding it difficult or awkward to communicate after their passion is all spent, shyness, guilt, a lack of etiquette?

Suffice to say, I must have been there a total of half an hour, M was satisfied and I was happy to be heading off to my own bed; plucking a satsuma from the fruit bowl I was homeward bound.

What I'm reading in bed...

A Rose For Winter: Laurie Lee.

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