My Personal Whore Ch. 05

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Amateur

This is the fifth part of my adventure with Yaz, my utterly fabulous Asian personal whore. Having spent our first night without firstly settling a financial transaction, our relationship has arrived at its first crossroads. How will I feel if she continues to earn her living using her incomparable body, and what will she do if she doesn’t? Questions, questions …

However, we have a date … at the Jazz Club.

Do enjoy, and don’t forget to vote and comment (if you do!).

— — — —

Clearing up, reflecting, taste of cum lingering.

You showering.

Duke Ellington on the radio, Take the A train, prophetic.

Booked the tickets, to be sure, 9pm.

Table for two.

Conscious this is different, is it for you?

Utterly besotted.

Now, from before, one thing different.

Paying for it, exciting, taboo, a secret.

Going home, reliving in mind’s eye, in bed, tissue.

Everything simple, but now?

Shaking head, I can say nothing.

— — — —

Under the warm water, revelling, cleansing.

One thought, incessant, tormenting.

Dilemma, respectability versus income.

Simple correlation, with or without you.

How long has it been?

Three weekends, two tricks, a strip-show and last night.

Yes, last night, he likes to watch.

Interesting, think more about that.

What next, who knows?

Towelling, finding t-shirt and shorts, big, yours.

Reflection, not exactly sexy!

Even to you.

— — — —

Lazy afternoon, chatting, anything and everything.

Excepting one thing.

Old film on TV, head on my knee, stroking your hair.

Peaceful, reflective, can’t take my eyes off you.

Wondering what the film was about.

Afternoon tea, the Cornish method, cream over jam.

Clock chiming in the hall, six o’clock, time to go.

Sitting on train, coat canlı bahis şirketaleri embracing you.

Drum solo, ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’ in head, tapping fingers.

Simple plan, stroll to your apartment.

Kiss on the doorstep, you enter, I leave.

Back to the bar return, maybe the denim jeans.

You arrive, a drink, another stroll.

‘Absolution’, the jazz club, for nine.

With you.

— — — —

An advantage, you’re dressed already, not bad.

Pretty respectable, like the club, apparently.

Texted a friend, advice.

Is he cute?

Yes, LBD, hold-ups and heels, silver jewellery.

No, dump him.

Can’t go wrong.

Arriving at the station, hand-in-hand, thoughts to ourselves.

Reaching my place, resisting your entreaties to enter.

Laughing, a hand on your shoulder.

“Go!”

— — — —

In the street, peering up, a face, a wave.

Content, ambling, no rush, an hour at least.

‘The Bell’, becoming my ‘local’, the return vacant.

No sign of the denim-clad arse, a wry smile.

Not a patch on yours.

Grandfather clock ticking, no music, only in my mind.

The girl from Ipanema, Getz and Gilberto, priceless.

In another world.

— — — —

That’ll have to do.

Reflections, a turn, reverse, a smile.

A spray, done, hope he likes it.

Evening set fair, a jacket, clutch bag, time to go.

— — — —

Door opening, closing eyes, it has to be a dream.

No-one can look so good.

Approaching, your smile, simply lost for words.

Wrap-around little black dress, split thigh, nude stockings, heels.

Silver accessories, an ‘F’ pendant, surely not.

She knows, a giggle, slipping an arm inside mine.

Face approaching, fragrance from heaven, whispering.

“Aren’t you going to get your personal whore a drink?”

canlı kaçak iddaa — — —

Departing, sensing eyes watching, silence.

Just the well-worn floorboards, singing to my heels.

Linking your arm, old-fashioned, so romantic.

Strolling easily, the streets quiet, listening.

A little nervous, the club, strange environment, first time.

Rounding corner, darkness falling, lights.

Doorman, black tuxedo, smiling, chatting with arriving patrons.

Joining short queue, looking up.

Big guy, solid, tall, short dark hair, smart, dignified.

Clutching ticket, entering alone, an aficionado perhaps.

Pleasantly surprised, interior sophisticated, lighting discerning.

Low background, atmospheric, relaxing.

Escorted to the table, Moët on ice, two flutes, a nice touch.

The pianist, effortless, exquisite, as is his playing.

— — — —

Approaching, a brunette, twentyish, smiling, our server.

Classic black and white livery, slender, sexy.

Seen her before, reflecting, think!

Yes, the denim-clad arse, gone upmarket.

Should she pour, why not?

Room filling fast, looking around.

The big tall guy, at the front, table for one.

Billy NoMates.

Platform littered with instruments, waiting, ready.

The Steinway, costing more than my house.

As does the Moët, but that’s for you.

Saluting, a chink of crystal, smiling, a sip.

Worth every penny.

— — — —

The music, the players, the atmosphere, the Moët.

How have I missed this, utter pleasure.

Better than sex, less exhausting, almost.

A pause, rising applause, spotlight crossing the room.

Turning head, disbelief.

Black with braids, caressing curvaceous hips.

Skin-tight silver dress, cleavage.

Fabulous, just fabulous, thirty-five, forty, no more.

Big canlı kaçak bahis tall guy on his feet, hands in the air, applauding.

Picture of adoration, and lust.

Taking the microphone, a gleaming smile of thanks.

Audience settling, music, maestro, please.

— — — —

Hence the acclaim, the vocalist, peerless.

The piano, the sax, the bass, the whole band, adoring.

Black and white livery returning, refreshing flutes.

Sashaying towards the big guy, a shake of his head.

Your hand on mine, resting it on your thigh, a squeeze.

I know my place.

— — — —

Unblinking, breathless, eyes fixed, on her.

An aura, power, sex-appeal, control.

Manipulating her adoring subjects, especially one.

I need a man to be kind, to adore, be adored by.

You couldn’t be otherwise.

And a mistress who dominates, using me, as her own.

Her every wish, my command.

Roped, shackled, clamped, tormented.

Misbehaving deliberately, craving punishment.

The tip of her riding crop, my breasts, pink flesh.

Visualising, you, the eternal voyeur, watching.

Two women, aroused, every man’s dream.

Wet, soaking with desire.

— — — —

Magnificent, the only word for her.

A glance, hoping you echo the thought.

Your eyes, fixed, her eyes panning the room.

Looking this way, pausing, moving on, returning.

Her body, encased in silver, contrasting her perfect skin.

Fingers ring-free, wedded to her profession.

The applause, deafening, the house rising, as one.

Smiling, recognising the adulation.

The big tall guy, standing, shaking his head, disbelief.

Ticket in hand, pen, waiting, hoping.

Leaving the stage, the interlude, stepping down.

Pausing, taking pen, a smile, moving on, approaching.

— — — —

Opening clutch, your business card, pen.

Scribbling digits, praying.

Arriving, taking in hand, momentary reflection.

Knowing smile, retaining, moving on.

Disbelief, looking into your eyes, longing.

“Take me somewhere, I need you inside me.”

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