My favourite punter.

My name is Lynne. This is part one of my true story about my favourite punter.

I had known him for some eleven years. 

Whilst he might have been considered to have a borderline compulsive sexual behaviour disorder I, simply, regarded him as somewhat hypersexual. 

However, it has to be appreciated that my perspective might be skewed. Since I had just started work as a sex escort. Perhaps, out of the chocks, my perspective had become tainted. My clients were likely to be sexually deprived, somewhat desperate. My clients were either (preferably) shy, embarrassed, therefore nervous or chomping at the bit to empty their balls. My clients were all, always ready for sex.

In a crude business-like manner, I had asked him why he had chosen me. It was because I had offered anal.  

He had been working late. An office cleaner was one, wearing stockings & a short black dress, kept bending over the desks around the open plan office. Watching her legs, stockings, suspender belt, bare bottom cheeking out of a skimpy thong, he had become quite horny.

Convincing himself that she was trying to attract his attention, he had skipped formalities and had laid a hand on her bottom. Immediately, realising he'd been inappropriate, he ran away to hide in the janitor's cupboard.

Lina chased after him for an explanation, but out of curiosity rather than any malice. She explained that she had prepared herself for a hot date after work.

Somewhat jealous perhaps, he had then set on an adventure of wooing, seduction, playful teasing to get into Lina’s knickers.

Eventually, a high-octane sexual liaison with the cleaner exploded.

After a courteous date, Lina had chosen to re-live the teasing experience that had started their friendship. She began recalling the details whilst lifting her skirt just enough to glimpse her bottom. Squirming her breasts against a wall, she then demanded he leave. He had taken this to be akin to a streetwalker’s persuasive leverage of walking away.

“Just the tip? Just the tip, please? I want you.” She again told him to leave. That she needed marriage before sex. She was a good Christian. He gathered up his coat in preparation to leave, but as she opened the door for him, he took control and locked themselves in.

He took her into his arms, kissing her deeply. Roamed his hands gently over her warm buttocks, then unbuckled his trousers, dropped them to the floor to reveal his already stiff, love stick poking into her belly. He recalled reading somewhere that women, rarely, refused a magnificently erect cock.

Quickly, unbuttoning her blouse, he plunged her nipples into his soft, wet mouth. Like seasoned lovers, he continued caressing, removing all his clothes. Dropping to a squat, he filled his mouth with her hairy pussy. Pressing his nose inside whilst expertly, tickling her inside with a finger. His tongue naturally reached her anus. She had a touch of the servitude that she had sought. 

She could not help but remark on her enjoyment each time he reached her anus. So he had turned her around and thrust his tongue as deep into her ass as he could reach. The anticipation of what was to follow more than overrode any drawbacks.

‘Just the tip’, he whispered as he stood up, pressing her breasts against the wall as he eased his poignant cock head just a little into her ass. It was easier than he had expected. His stiffness. His lubricating mouth. Her lack of any rebuff. He eased the rest of his length gently inside her, up, up her lovely bottom, which he recalled bent over a desk in suspenders. That made him even bigger, harder.

“That’s not just the tip, huh? I like it” With that, he was given full access to bang away against the wall as hard as he could. Pushing himself deeper with her gravity. Pulling her shoulders downwards, he exploded, bare, inside her. He had developed a taste for anal. 

Back to my first punt, he was clearly nervous. So was I. I had no milk. I had no food at all. I offered to make some ginger tea with fresh ginger and marmalade, because I did not have any honey. I babbled about the health benefits of tea without milk. How ‘honey’ was not real honey any more, He lapped it all up. I had good legs. I was naked except for a light armless blouse and a curly bush. He was totally fixated on my legs. Correction: that would have been my bottom.

He explained that he would like to stick his tongue up my ass and then fuck it. I explained that I had washed, but I offered to wash again. He just got right to it. Squatting behind me as I stirred tea, I felt wet between my buttocks and then:

“Oooh ahh” Yes, it was, positively, inside my ass hole. It was nice. I had not eaten for two days. I had no need to consider hygiene. He gently held my hips as his rhythm frequency increased. Once he started banging me into the kitchen unit, he politely placed his hand between my tummy and the furniture as a bumper. He began singing ‘Pull up to the Bumper, Baby’ then distilled to just ‘baby.. Baby’. He stopped for a break whenever his knees trembled, but he was soon back into it. I so felt cream down the inside of my legs. My flat was cold. His spunk was hot. I liked it.

We had home-brew ginger tea whilst chatting rubbish. We arranged a weekly meeting. He had a shower then left.

The Second Weekly

He arrived promptly, very precisely on the hour. I had not eaten for two days. I had completely forgotten our meeting. He had rung just before arriving. At the door, I had to ask him where he had obtained my number. My memory was that bad at that time. After assurance that it had been myself who had arranged the appointment, I cooperated. He got straight to it. I undid and tried to pull my jeans down, but they were too tight. Men have no idea how to get a pair of skin tight jeans off or on, for that matter.

I went to my bedroom to take my jeans off. I was about to return to the kitchen where he was waiting, but as I turned, I found him in front of me.

His hand began darting all over my body. He turned me around a few times. He looked around the bedroom to find a good spot: a good position. There were none. I had only recently been moved into emergency housing. I had had no time, let alone cash, to buy bed linen. In fact, at that time, I only knew of the local supermarket. My house was a squat terrace bungalow, around a former helipad service to the Isles of Scilly.

I was dragged back to the kitchen, tripping up over his big feet. I was turned and bent over a worktop. Each time I straightened up, I was pushed back down. Whilst I, secretly, observed. He fumbled around. He dropped his trousers to his ankles and scrolled some lubricant around his cock. He then held me down in the small of my back whilst guiding his thing into my cunt. It was a ‘thing’. It was bigger & more twisted than it should have been.

He was big down there. I am quite petite at 5’1”. It stretched me a little, but the feeling of being full was warm, pleasant. Quite distracting. As before, he put a hand between my hip and the cabinet to buffer the fierce banging against my body.

It was not too long before he pulled out. I could feel his hand around his cock as he began guiding it into my asshole. I could just feel the tip passing the muscular entrance when he just came: splat all over my asshole and down my inner thighs. 

He mumbled something fast as he gathered up his trousers whilst rushing out the door. He momentarily stopped, came back. Pulling his wallet open, he dropped some paper on the worktop. Then just as quickly, he was gone.

The Third Week

The following week, he arrived on schedule. He looked like he had just got out of bed. He asked to have a shower. Less than five minutes later, he appeared, slapped the paper down and asked for a blow job. I squatted and began my performance. When I looked up into his eyes, I noticed that he had those video camera glasses. I always enjoy being filmed or photographed. I used to be a model for David Bailey before he became famous. I put on my best act and really went to town, twisting, licking, then lightly pinching his balls. 

In no time at all, he pulled out and grasped the back of my head in his outstretched hand. He aimed his cock at dead centre of my face. Fearing it going into my eyes, I tried to twist away, then he splatted all over my nose and left cheek. I reminded him that he should tip, because he had some good wank fodder there. For a brief moment, he pretended that they were standard glasses, but when he removed them, we could both see that they were too large.

He became embarrassed. He left in a hurry. I was glad. I reached down and quickly wanked myself off over the notion that someone actually wanted to film me.

The Fourth Week

He turns up with a black thong, fishnet suspenders and black suspender belt. He asked me to put them on quickly, then hurry back to the kitchen, because it was better to splash cum over lino than carpet. 

I returned as requested. I had great legs. He squatted, bringing his face level to my crotch. He had his hands all over the suspender’s garter, then my thighs. Then there were hands on my bottom too, just everywhere. He began to lap at my fanny. My usual response to cunnilingus was ‘Are you having fun down there?’ I had heard it somewhere. I could not remember where exactly. Somehow, that phrase resonated with me, so it stuck.

Obviously, disgruntled by my ad-lib script. I was thrown around and angled slightly forward, half upright. I could hear him ripping open a sachet, slopping his cock before I felt the hot rod nudging between my ass cheeks.

“Oh? Is it anal again then? Huh, huh. You do like that back door, don’t you? I’ve got a nice ass, haven’t I?”

“You’ve got a nice ass? Have you? Well, I don’t know, but let me check.” With that rebuff, I had a half finger hooked into, lifting me almost clear off the ground from my asshole. He tried to get two fingers in, but I was too tight.

Then the inevitable nudging of his, bigger today, cock buggering me. Ooh, it was tight. It was inside me. There was no movement. There was no frantic thrusting. There were gentle hands all over my suspender tops. I felt it swell. Then the telltale ‘finish’: the firm flick, inside my full ass, of his orgasm.

It was clear that he had had a film script for the whole session.