Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I’m still pinned between them in the aftermath, their chests heaving as they catch their breath. Their dicks are still pulsing in my ass, and I relish it with clench after clench after filthy fucking clench. Sloppy and crammed.
Still, it burns when they pull out. Jase opens my ass crack for viewing, and I wink my asshole for him, pushing out their cum in little splutters. Double whammy. Cunt and ass both testament to their cummy efforts.
“Look at this, Cal,” Jase says, and rolls me off his boyfriend until I flop on the bed. I raise my legs and practically shit their jizz out of me, both of them staring in wonder before they lock eyes.
“Want to clean our hot slut up?” Cal asks with a smirk. He looks up at the clock. Still thirty minutes to go. “Let’s get our money’s worth.”
“Go for it, boys,” I tell them, and push out another slop.
Two hungry mouths dive between my legs, lapping and digging. I splay my meaty slit for them, giving them access to the full butterfly, and my clit is still fucking buzzing as Cal’s tongue catches. Goddamn it. I have at least another orgasm in the bank, but no. They finish up with ten minutes left on the clock, kissing each other with filthy mouths and more loving smiles.
I haul myself from the bed, grinning at the mess we’ve made of their posh hotel sheets. The cleaners are going to get quite a shocker.
I grab my dress and get myself back into it, making sure it’s covering my tits in some form of decency, then wriggle until the PVC covers my butt, checking myself out in the mirror. I look as used up as the bedsheets.
My two hot clients are still kissing, fully absorbed in each other when the clock hits the farewell mark.
I call out a “thanks for having me, guys,” and they give me a thumbs up and a wave.
“Thanks, Cream, you were one hot fucking slut,” Cal says, and he winks at me with his cheeky smirk on his face.
“Still am,” I say and pat my sore ass.
I’d definitely get it on with him outside of this place. I can feel it in the vibe.
“Five starrer, please,” I say and blow them a kiss before I leave, but I already know I’ve got it in the bag.
Talking of bags, I pull my phone out of mine as soon as I’m in the hotel hallway, ready to send a D&S message to Josh, but a different kind of notification stops me on my stilettos.
No way.
No fucking way.
This User number has been emblazoned into my memory since Ella first mentioned it in the mall.
User 5639. Male. 47.
Santa.
My orgasm heartrate pales in comparison to this one. My fingers are so jittery they can barely click the screen.
7
REUBEN
User 5639. Male. 47
I stumbled across you, and you took me by surprise.
I have things I need to explore, and I know you’ll be just the girl for the job. Show me you as your natural self, please, however you choose to present yourself.
Come prepared, with no preconceptions, and be willing to live up to your profile.
Duration: 10 hours
Proposal fee: £10
It’s a ridiculous proposal, and I should never have sent it. Approaching an entertainer for a personal one-on-one booking is against our code of conduct, beyond reprehensible, and an affront to the group of founders who set up the Agency along with me. My stakeholder status should never be worth risking, and neither should the respect of my associates. All of us are high class businessmen with reputations to uphold. We all just happen to like filthy sex – and the revenue that comes along as a result.
We are not running a seedy brothel at the Agency, we’re running and maintaining a large network of extreme professionals. We treat both our clients and entertainers with respect, diligence, confidentiality and safety – which are some of my key values in life. Yet, here I am, jeopardising my position with a fake user profile.
Having Creamgirl sitting on my lap with her face on display changed everything for me.
From that moment on she was no longer just Creamgirl – a nameless, faceless entertainer. She was Tiffany.
And she sent me insane.
I could have offered a huge amount of cash for her services, but I didn’t. Still, she chose to accept it. One pound an hour for unlimited access to her repertoire is beyond rationale. The girl has clearly bought in to my insanity. She must be going as crazy as I am.
She’s travelling a long way out of London to meet me here in Evesham. I booked the bridal suite here at this spa resort for our one impulsive evening, and it’s a beauty with its antique four poster bed. I pace around, admiring the period features that are truly fit for a princess.