Fuck an Escort, it’s healthy! – Alyssia 3.0

After a few years of being in the escort business, I figured out my niche. I was really good at getting fucked by clients who had a wife and family. It took me a while to get there, but it was worth it. Married men are more stable, reliable clients. They know why they want to see me. And I know what they like.

Do I feel guilty that about sleeping with married men? Hell no! I don’t have an affair, there is no competition, but I have something they want. Why burden a relationship with expectations that a partner cannot, or does not want to, fulfill? Not everyone is into fetishes, nor should they be. Relationships can work perfectly well without it. If he, and occasionally she, wants to live out a fetish without attachment, that’s healthy. Ask any psychologist.

Born is Alyssia 3.0. At this point, I only have regular clients, no new experiments anymore. Reliable clients who see me a few times a year. Take me along on travel, and just enjoy showing me off. And I love to show off for them. Knowing I have a few days in an exotic location gives me time to prepare. I’m fit, well groomed, my latex is all shiny and repaired.

We are in Rome. He booked us into one of the most iconic hotels in the city. Hotel Hassler, right above the Spanish Steps. I’m his rubberdoll and his trophy ‘girlfriend’. Both inside and outside the bedroom. I love to go outside wearing my catsuit. It’s romantic, on the seventh floor is a private terrace, overlooking the city. He arranges dinner for two.

Our outfits? He wears his bathrobe, with boxers and a t-shirt underneath. I wear my catsuit, partly covered by a matching bathrobe. To top it off, he instructs me to wear my ballet heels.

The hotel staff are fabulous. They arrange a table for us, some space heaters — it was January after all — and the waiter was more than willing to spend time with us.

Just the slightest look beyond my bathrobe made it clear that I was wearing latex underneath. Other hotel guests come up occasionally to enjoy the city views. Others stay and glance over to me with shiny black latex shimmering in the chilly night.

He tells me to open my bathrobe a bit more, to lose the belt. Spread my legs wide, make sure everyone can see my ballet boots. I follow all of his instructions. And I do so with joy. I look in his eyes as I spread my legs, rub my hands over my crotch zipper. Tempt him to take advantage of me later.

“Is your bulge part of my dinner?” I’m not hiding my intentions. And he enjoys that I do so in plain sight. He enjoys showing me off. The audaciousness, the obvious fetish doll. The look of celebrities watching me. Angelina Jolie stays in the penthouse above us. I see her looking down on my latex-clad body.

“Desert will come in a few minutes, enough time for us to go back to our room.” I get up first, walk ahead in my ballet heels, my bathrobe still open in front. He enjoys the look of me stumbling in my heels. I turn around at the door. He places my bathrobe belt over the back of my chair and comes to help me open the door.

“On the table, right over the fruit plate.” He doesn’t waist much time. I know what he likes. He jerks off, watching me. He likes to display me, become his art object, then unload his spunk all over me.

I hear his pants drop, he strokes his dick. It’s already hard as a rock. He doesn’t want me to watch, just be there, be his trophy, his kink. I hear him stroke faster, maybe a minute, not more. Then his cum squirts all over my catsuit.

He adores his trophy, and now with his cum still dripping, he is satisfied. “Desert should be ready now. Let’s go back outside. No bathrobe, and don’t even think about wiping off my cum.”

I go ahead, again, stumbling on my ballet heels. It’s been no more than five minutes since we went inside. Desert is already served and the waiter is helping me sit at the table. His looks tell a story by itself.

I only have eyes for my client. This is what he wants. Something he could never get at home, something amazing, where everything is perfect. He spares no expense and in return can live out his fantasy. He didn’t fuck me, this time, but it’s as good as a great fuck for him. Maybe better.