A London Transsexual Escort 248.

Once again the temperature’s rising and as sure as spring follows winter so too does the sap. 
Unfortunately, for those whose sap required tapping, I was away holidaying for 5 days in Pons, southern France and thus unable to accommodate. It was the usual story of whenever I go away, ‘When it rains it pours.’
Being a dedicated epicurean of food and drink, I get squeakily excited whenever I find myself in France. Even a trip to the local market is an occasion, where one is expected to taste before buying and producers delight in telling you of their food's provenance. Often, because of this, there may be a bit of a queue as one waits to be served, however, no one seems to be in a rush. Sadly, we don’t take such pride in our food and drink here in England. 
And whilst I'm not suggesting the French are slothful, you won't find them going out of their way to work any more than needs be, thus leaving themselves more time to eat and drink…slowly. But be not deceived, these people 'are' busy, they're busy pursuing the pleasures of the present, living in the here and now: a philosophy I could comfortably live with. Viva la difference.
H, called at 10pm to ask if I could join him and his girlfriend for an hour of fun in Orpington, it would've been close to midnight by the time I’d made it to them, so we decided perhaps another night?
He did phone again, much earlier 3 days later, sans girlfriend. In his mid-fifties, dressed in a smart white shirt and pressed trousers, he showed me into the kitchen, where he’d already poured me an exceedingly large glass of wine, placed next to flickering candles; I gratefully passed, as I was driving. 
H, had met a Transsexual once before, but it’d been a bit of a disaster (as was my first time with a Transsexual escort), the fact that she was unable to speak English didn’t help matters either.
We chatted without hesitation for half an hour, until I suggested we retire to his bedroom, sensing he may have felt a little too shy to initiate the proceedings further. I started with unbuttoning his crisp, freshly pressed shirt, before offering to take off my clothes if he removed the rest of his, ‘Yes please, socks too.’
I moved onto the bed, wearing just my knickers and stockings, took out my cock and slowly worked on it till it grew hard. ‘Perhaps you can suck on this while I sit here,’ H took a large glug of wine before obliging. With my cock nicely stiff, I told him to lie back with his head propped upon the pillow, me gripping the headboard as I fucked his willing mouth.
Between thrusts, H asks, ‘Frances, ehhh...do you think I could fuck you,’ ‘Of course you can, but I’ll return the favour first,’ I worked my way down to suck on his dick. Reaching over to the bedside table, I picked up a condom and lube; whilst straddling him, I unpeeled the condom over his cock from behind my back and slowly lowered myself down on him. H, held onto my bouncing breasts, as my arse drew itself snugly up and down the length of his cock. 
Eyes screwed up, he let out a faint squeal followed by a low groan, as I felt a strong spurt of spunk, followed by several successive throbs deep within me. 
‘Ermmm...shall I top up your glass,’ ‘If you don’t mind please Frances, I can’t get up right now.’ After a little rest, we dressed and H saw me to the door; we agreed we must do it again and not before too long.
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