Tara came of the bathroom in a corset that pushed her tits up, stockings, suspenders and heels – always a good choice for the older woman, and I was glad she’d made the effort, planned ahead, was into it.
Clients who expect you to do all the work are the worst.
“Want to get high?” she said, holding up what looked like a vaporizer pen.
But this kind of client was the best.
I took a hit, exhaled, and then we hugged and kissed as the rush overwhelmed me.
XXX-Fly – the weed that killed Hugh Hefner.
She knew what she was doing, and I felt a new respect along with a strong desire to start fucking.
Tara gently pushed me away and lifted my T-shirt up while I was all confused, and I pulled it over my head and felt her hands over my abs and then grabbing my cock in my shorts.
I was high as fuck, and she owned me.
“Let’s go to the couch,” she said, “we’ll have another drink. I’ll suck your cock a little, then I’ll tell you what I want.”
I couldn’t wait to hear it.