Sonia receives a massage and a lot more.
Sonia was 40, a widow and a statuesque dark-brunette who’d been a model, plus a centerfold in a *swingers’ magazine she edited.
She missed Paul, her white, 42-y/o husband, because he’d cultivated her lowest instincts by – among other things – taking her to college frathouses and having her fornicate with as many as 15 jocks.
However, he’d passed away before an August, Wednesday afternoon when she realized she was tense.
She opened her computer, activited a link to a massage parlor and scheduled a 3 o’clock appointment.
Wearing nothing except a dress, black stockings and high-heeled shoes, she drove there.
‘Hi, I’m Damien, your masseuse,’ a handsome, white youngster greeted her.
‘I’m Sonia.’
‘I recognize you,’ he said.
‘Apparently, you’ve seen my pictures. Do they get you hard?’ Sonya asked.
‘Sure, being you’re an infamous slut,’ Damien answered,
‘Yeah, I am,’ she responded.
‘Are you married?’ he inquired.
‘My husband died 7 months ago.’
‘I’m sorry, though I reckon he exploited you, didn’t he?’ Damien said.
‘I deserve exploitation; that’s my purpose in liife.’
‘Yeah, it is. and you’re a disreputable whore, aren’t you?’ he questioned her
‘Yes, I am,’ she blushed, then: – ‘How old are you?
‘Twenty-three,’ Damien replied as he instructed her to remove her clothes and lie on the table.
She did.
‘I have a special cream,’ he told her as he donned gloves and poured a liquid from a jug into his right palm.
Having done that, he started kneading it into her legs. stomach and hefty boobs.
‘You’re hot.’ he remarked.
‘Thanks,’ Sonya smiled, after which Damien stripped to reveal his 13-inched pecker.
‘My cock’s big enough to ruin you, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Oh, god, yes! Tear me apart!’ she begged him as he hovered above her and slammed his dick into her throat.
‘Aarrmm!’ she gagged.
‘Want me to choke you?’ he thundered while wrapping his fingers around her neck.
Finally, he withdrew from her mouth and snickered. ‘I ought to breed you! Are you fertile?’
‘My tubes have been tied,’ Sonia had scarcely answered before he stepped to the floor, penetrated her vag and unloaded in it.
‘You little sperm-bank!’ he chortled,
‘What’s your special cream?’
‘Cum-juice. But I’m your gigolo and my services cost $100’ Damien quoted his price.
She handed him that amount, dressed, and while walking out the door, he bid her farewell: – ‘Remember you’re an infamous slut and a disreputable whore.’
‘I will,’ she murmured’
After going to her office , she detailed her adventure for the magazine’s next issue,
Nonetheless, reading that her ‘tubes had been tied’ disappointed some fans, even if – in her mind – Damien would forever be her ‘gigolo!’
* (Odyssey Xpress)
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