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This is Part 4 of an 8-part series. You should read at least Part 1 (and preferably Parts 2 and 3) before this one, to provide some context.
Orla.
Orla is a vision. She’s a beautiful cailín (Irishwoman), tall and shapely, with amazing, luxuriant, copper-red hair, which falls in gorgeous loose curls around her shoulders, stunning grey-green eyes, and creamy-pale skin, with a cute band of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Unsurprisingly, she was wowing boys from her mid teens, helped by a rapidly-developing figure (as she said, ‘By the time I was 15 I was already a 34DD.’) and it was almost impossible for a young impressionable girl to remain indifferent to ‘all that flattery and attention.’
She was married at 18, in what she calls ‘A loony infatuation when I didn’t even know my arse from my elbow’ and divorced at 24, somehow having avoided pregnancy. She takes up the story:
***
Orla:
‘I never felt like I wanted kids, and I was scrupulous with the contraception. Almost from day one of the marriage though, I had doubts. I never liked the sex, which seemed sort of animalistic to me. It was much less erotic than the delicious times when I was at home on my own and could have a long sensual session of pleasuring myself.
I began to wonder about my sexuality, and then it just happened. The moment of clarity. I was watching the film Titanic (which I hadn’t seen before) and, you know, there’s that scene where Kate Winslet is posing for a nude painting, and I was admiring the lovely glimpse you get of her tits and suddenly felt my pants getting wet. Bam! That was it. I thought, feck me, I’m a lesbian.
Once I’d realised it, all sorts of doubts evaporated, and lots of things suddenly made sense; why I used to be fascinated at school when our PE teacher’s nipples sometimes showed through her top, or why I felt a warm tingly glow in my body when my best friend Cara hugged me. I knew I had to ask Finn, my husband, for a divorce.
He didn’t take it badly. It was all a bit matter-of-fact actually. We really weren’t in love and I think he was only keeping me around as a kind of trophy. Well feck that!’
***
Orla was working as a restaurant manager when she divorced Finn but, with great courage, she resigned from her job, took what money she had from a modest inheritance, moved to England, and started her own restaurant which, by all accounts and Google Maps reviews, is very popular indeed.
But why, when she’s so bright, feisty, gorgeous, and successful, is she coming to me and paying for sex? Well, she told me that in the six years since coming to the UK, she’d had a few lesbian relationships, but none of them lasted. She’d loved exploring her new-found lesbian sexuality, and was by now a very experienced lesbian lover, but none of these women had apparently been ‘right’ for her.
She decided that, to find Ms Right, she would have to be more careful and more choosy, and not just jump into bed with any lesbian woman who found her irresistible (there would be many), but she realised that that could mean a period of sexual deprivation or abstinence, and she didn’t like that prospect one bit. She had come to really enjoy lesbian sex which, as she says, is so heavenly, so sensual, and so deliciously erotic, and she didn’t want to give that up, even temporarily. As she might have said, ‘Feck that!’ So, her solution is me. I’m a stopgap. A substitute. Someone to keep her lesbian desires satisfied while she searches for her forever Büyükesat Escort lover. And I’m fine with that, as long as it lasts.
She phoned me one lunchtime and said, in her typically forthright way, ‘Hi ‘Livia, I’m as horny as hell, do you have an opening for me?’ I could almost hear the lascivious wink in her voice – she loved this kind of innuendo – and I entered into the spirit:
‘I do, as it happens, you can cum now’ (wink wink).
Extending the double entendre, she feigned misunderstanding, saying ‘Come again?’
But I was ready for that… ‘Of course. As many times as you like’.
We both burst out laughing.
‘Seriously, Orla, I’m free this afternoon, so, if you want…’
‘If I WANT? Jeez, do I ever. I’ll be there in an hour.’
This didn’t give me much preparation time, but in Orla’s case, that didn’t really matter because she only ever wanted my body, and the warm intimacy of feminine sex. No special prep or props were required, so I just needed to be showered, scented, and dressed in some nice underwear.
I chose a cotton rich set in black, and no stockings. The briefs were high-waisted, and there was just a thin band of lace around the waistband and a small lacy panel on the sides of the bra. Not my usual sheer or lace-heavy ensemble with black stockings and suspenders, but subtly sexy I thought. I knew Orla’s preferences by now and I knew she’d love it. Not that she’s averse to overtly sexy lingerie, but she had once said ‘Nice undies are lovely, but nothing you can put on is better than the bare, naked you.’
I always feel I have a lot to live up to with Orla; I am a couple of inches taller than her, have a good shape, and breasts that are large enough to even overshadow hers, but she’s just stunningly beautiful. Every feature and aspect of her is perfect, from head to toe, and anyone who has had a sexual partner like that will know, it can be intimidating. I wonder whether some of her relationships failed because of that. I think that being with her could easily give you an inferiority complex. Only someone who can match her sexual assurance and confidence will survive being with her.
As is often the case with Orla, I had a slight frisson of apprehension as I waited for her to arrive. I get this only with certain clients – something primitive is going on, deep in my psyche – but never so intense as when it’s her. It’s not an unpleasant feeling. In fact I noticed my pants becoming moist with anticipation, and that didn’t happen with anyone but Orla – until Ellie came along that is, but that’s a story for a later chapter.
Orla always comes to me impeccably attired, and this time was no exception. She arrived looking spectacular, wearing a nicely-fitted, black, knee-length skirt and an emerald green satin blouse, which was sensational. What is it about redheads and green? It’s always a stunning combination. Her stockings (yes, I soon found out they were stockings) were cream silk, and absolutely gorgeous, and her shoes were elegant but modest black court shoes (pumps to Americans) with a single strap and about a 2-inch heel.
Obviously, like me, she doesn’t wear really high heels when she’s out and about because she’s tall – even a 3-inch heel would take her over the 6-foot mark- but I think, if you are lucky enough to have naturally long legs, as we do, a 2″ heel looks great.
She walked in, full of poise and confidence, and immediately Elvankent Escort took charge. She does that; knows what she wants and doesn’t wait around to be asked. She grabbed my hand, led me straight to the sex room, kicked off her shoes and began unbuttoning her blouse, looking at me with a smouldering expression that was just about enough to make my knickers spontaneously combust. She really was horny.
Of course, I’m no shrinking violet myself and, with a flourish, I dropped my silk robe on the floor, revealing my pretty, but modest, bra and pants.
‘Ooo, look at demure you!’ she said, looking me up and down while continuing her slow strip. She shrugged off the blouse and dropped her skirt, revealing the most exquisite lingerie. All in matching cream, the bra and pants were subtly embroidered with tiny roses, which always make me think of another kind of petals, and the tops of those silk stockings came right up, almost to her bum cheeks, leaving very little of her even-creamier thighs exposed (not easy to achieve for someone with legs as long as hers).
She struck a pose, then minced around in a circle to show me every inch. She was a peaches It has never occurred to me to detach myself from my clients. If that were necessary, I think I’d stop. I fully immerse myself in, and fully experience, the sex, and I think that’s why I get so much repeat ‘business’.
Anyway, Orla had now more than spoiled me. It was my turn to provide her with something worth paying for.
‘Come here gorgeous’ I said pulling her up by the hand, and she moved up until she was straddling my breasts, squeezing them together with her thighs. She reached behind herself and undid her bra, shrugging it off so that it fell playfully on my face, then she bent forward, bringing her delectable nipples within reach of my tongue.
Her breasts are not as large as mine, but she is still impressively busty and, good lord, they are sheer perfection. Beautifully shaped, with small pink areolae, just slightly on the upper curve, and nipples that are just prominent enough, without being freakishly spectacular. They are a vision of bountiful womanhood and I suckled them eagerly, thrilling to the feel of her warm, crinkled areolae and hard nipples on my tongue.
I tried to emulate the way she adores my breasts – so sensual and erotic – kissing my way across the tops of them, then down into her cleavage, while flicking my thumbs across her nipples, then underneath them, holding them up as I kissed along the beautiful crease where they met her chest, then back to sucking her nipples.
After enjoying this attention for a while, she moaned and kissed the top of my head, murmuring ‘Oh God ‘Livia, that’s divine, but my pussy is crying out for some face-time.’
She moved up so that her pussy was right in front of my face; all this time she had kept those gorgeous cream panties on, but now she pushed the front of them down with her thumbs, deliberately flaunting her glistening copper-coloured pubes and her wet lips. I stared, transfixed, at her gorgeous sex, and licked my lips as I salivated involuntarily at the sight of it.
‘You love this, don’t you?’ she said, sassily. I gulped and nodded, and she said ‘I love showing it to you. I told you, I’m a terrible show-off.’
She got to her feet, standing astride me, and very slowly and sensuously undid the clips of her suspenders then pushed her panties down and stepped Beşevler Escort elegantly out of them, one foot at a time – no easy feat when standing on a soft bed, I can tell you – then she knelt back down and dangled them over my face, saying ‘I thought your knicks were wet, but these are sopping.’ and she trailed them back and forth across my features, leaving a wet streak from ear to ear.
Jeez, this was so deliciously horny! I savoured her taste, where her wet pants had crossed my lips, and I savoured the anticipation of getting more. Much more.
She moved her pussy up even closer to my face and said ‘There now. Now you can see it properly,’ as she spread her lips outer lips with both hands. She was absolutely dripping wet, and the hot, crinkled flesh of her inner lips looked succulent and irresistible. I built up her anticipation a little by turning my head left and then right to kiss both of her silk stocking tops before turning to those wet lips, taking them fervidly into my mouth, and sucking her gorgeous juice off them. Then I slipped my tongue into her incredibly hot hole, running it around her entrance and lapping up her juice, then spreading it up and over her beautiful pink clit.
‘Uh, uhh, feck, that’s good’ she groaned, and moved her hips against me, still holding herself wide open, smearing her slippery lips across my mouth and nose. Her juice was streaming freely from her now and I had to swallow more and more regularly to keep up with the flow. She was in a VERY high state of arousal and I used all my experience to increase it still further, tonguing every inch of her vulva in all sorts of creative ways.
It seemed to work, and soon she gripped my hair with both hands and began to fuck my face lewdly as her orgasm built. Actually, she later told me she had already had a couple of ‘minis’ (her description) but this was going to be a big one.
‘Uh, uh, uh,’ she went, grunting huskily with each thrust.
I lay there with my mouth wide open, held my tongue out flat for her to rub against, and just revelled in the wonderful, blissful experience of being used by this gorgeous woman. I looked up as she face-fucked me; my view was obscured each time her pussy covered my eyes, but I kept getting ravishing glimpses of her towering over me. The creamy skin of her stomach, her adorable full breasts with their erect little nipples, and her lovely face, with her copper locks cascading over her shoulders and those stunning green eyes gazing lustfully down into mine as she drenched me from hairline to chin point with her delicious cream.
She built and built her rhythm, faster and faster, rising to a peak of desperate thrusting (my nose got a serious drubbing) and then she suddenly stopped, arched her back, and cried out. A wild, delirious, hoarse cry that came from deep within her. I felt her buttocks clench tightly, her legs clamped my head in a vice-like grip and there was a delicious, momentary pause, when her world seemed to stand still, and then a thick flood of creamy, tangy, musty fluid filled my mouth as she came.
‘Ohhhh, fuuuuk’n hell… ‘
I kept my mouth open and my tongue out until her twitching aftershocks subsided and then I swallowed all her creamy, and incredibly delicious, cum in two gulps.
She sat back slightly, her bum cheeks squashing my breasts and then leaned back, supporting herself with her hands on my hip bones. She looked down and re-focussed on my well-fucked face and croaked ‘God almighty ‘Livia, are you OK? That last come was intense.’
I nodded and smiled ‘Oh, you bet I am. I really loved it. You can fuck me like that anytime you like.’
‘Well, maybe in a year or so, when I get my pelvis back from the dark side.’ she chuckled, and rolled off me to lie by my side, her chest still heaving and making her breasts rise and fall adorably.