Today San Sanych, apparently, again started some kind of attraction. First, for some reason I asked for my card number in order to transfer money to it for a three-hour session, instead of, as always, paying in cash. Secondly, I put mandatory conditions for me to come naked. That is, not completely naked, but that I did not have any underwear or clothes, except for a raincoat and shoes. However, I allowed myself some liberty in the form of stockings on the lace belt. I think he will not be offended for this, especially since it is autumn in the courtyard, and it’s already chilly to run from the house to the parking lot with bare legs. Thirdly, I made an appointment not in my territory, but gave the address of the hotel.

By and large, most of all I was puzzled by the cashless form of payment for my services. The rest of the oddities are quite in the spirit of San Sanych. Among my many clients, there is no one who can boast such an inexhaustible fantasy. From the first acquaintance, he suggested not to switch to “you,” and now, for five years, we will “roll out” each other even during sex. He may completely fail to make a funny joke by the time and cause me to have a fit of laughter a second before the orgasm. I have long ceased to be surprised by his proposals to fuck on the balcony or on the kitchen table, without removing clothes. Once he invited me to dinner, having previously thrust a small vibrator with a remote control into his pussy, and for two hours had a good time with a remote control, driving me to a frenzy. The thing was that I literally raped him in the restroom of the restaurant.

And in hotels with San Sanychev I have already been. Until now, these were the Podushkin hotels, where the rooms are specially adapted for sex and equipped with all sorts of intricate things like f ucking-machines or, simply, exercise machines, special machines for fixing partners and many other wonders that can be seen, perhaps, in the toughest porn movies. The machine made an indelible impression on me - I ended up like a madman, changing modes and sitting down with a cunt on a hefty dildo, who tirelessly dug me until I asked for mercy. On another occasion, San Sanych firmly fastened me to a sly stool, on which I lay motionless with my legs raised and wide apart, while away from where the three young enthusiasts appeared who constantly and fairly faithfully fucked me for one and a half hours. San Sanych observed this marvelous picture with interest, until the guys left, finishing me from head to toe, and then, gently and slowly licked my pussy. In conclusion, he finally freed me from the straps, put the cancer on my knees and vdul with such force that sparks fell from my eyes.

As I understand it, for San Sanych, the main pleasure in sex is to deliver the maximum pleasure to the partner, zaebav her to the faint and dizzy. To achieve this ambitious goal, both language, hands, mechanical devices, and other helpers are used, although God himself did not offend him with the size of the dick or erection. This huge fifty-year-old uncle is able to fuck for several hours in a row, interrupting for a short time only in order to smoke or throw a validol pill under his tongue.

While I was spinning around the Koptevsky market in search of the right address, fantasy drew the most bizarre versions of the upcoming smothers. My nipples from contact with the hard lining of the cloak fairly hardened and swelled, and I could not wait to quickly get into the mouth of San Sanych's cock, and maybe not only San Sanych.

Here is the familiar sign "Podushkin." I deftly parked in front of the entrance, looked at the clock — I had just reached the appointed time — and dialed the client’s phone. Less than a minute later, the door opened and a familiar massive figure appeared on a high porch, I hurried towards.San Sanych hugged me by the shoulders, smacked my cheek, immediately asked me to take off my raincoat and threw it over my arm, so I walked past the reception desk completely naked, except for purses, heels, and stockings with a belt. The girl behind the counter quite indifferently glanced over me, greeted me cordially and with a smile on duty, as if nothing had happened, offered to bring a cup of coffee or tea to me in the room. I thought that if San Sanych tried to embarrass and drive me or the hotel administrator into the paint, then this part of today's program clearly failed him - it looks like the local staff are trained not to be surprised, and I don’t suffer from excessive modesty and shyness.

In the long corridor, we proceeded to the door of the desired room, where San Sanych stopped me to put a mask on my eyes. He explained that a surprise was waiting for me, and he would say when the mask could be removed. Further than a dozen steps to the touch, San Sanych holds me by the shoulders, guides and slightly pushes me forward, until I hear a metallic clank and a click of a lock behind my back.

Without waiting for permission, I tear off the mask from my face and find myself locked in an iron cage. The room resembles a dungeon of an ancient castle, adapted for torture. There are various lashes, handcuffs and collars, some chains, strap-ons of different shapes and sizes, dildos and many other items on the walls, the purpose of which is not obvious to me. In the middle of the room there are two wooden posts with iron rings at different heights, and between the pillars there is a pad in which the victim’s neck and arms must be clamped. In the corner is some intricate construction, clearly adapted for crucifixion. The huge bed, also with chains and rings in the corners, is about two meters from my cage. A very thin blonde is sitting on the bed and looking at me with interest.

- Let's get acquainted. You mean lola? The same prostitute he pays for three hundred euros per hour of sex? - nods in the direction of San Sanycha. - And I am his wife. Do not be afraid, I will not fight with you and I will not hurt you. In the end, you got the money and now have to fulfill the wishes of the client. Today, your client is me.

He speaks quietly, and my knees tremble with fear and the consciousness of my own powerlessness. Who knows what is on her mind and what she can do if she burned her husband on trips to a prostitute and managed to capture this prostitute! I can't get out of the cage - thick iron rods and a massive lock. Shouting is meaningless - sound insulation in such hotels should be good. The phone stayed in the car. San Sanych cannot be counted on to help either - he stands on the sidelines like a stump.

Now everything falls into place. If she planned the whole operation, it is easy to explain the advance payment on the card, and a strange fantasy with my catwalk along the corridor of the hotel without clothes. Apparently, in this way I should have been humiliated. And I really got the money, so, it seems, now I have to fulfill the whims of my client. What does she invent in retaliation for the fact that her husband gives her insatiable dick into inappropriate, in her opinion, holes? And is it my fault? Let him deal with him! I have nothing to do with it. Sex for money is a profession. This is my job! As in any job, clients value the level of professionalism most of all. Not my fault that I love to fuck and know how to do it better than many, I can look attractive, I can interest a man not only with my body, but also with a conversation on any topic. And what's wrong with the fact that I love my work and get from it not only money, but also pleasure? I'm not dragging anyone to my bed by force. You do not want your husband to run to the left, learn how to fuck like me or better, watch your appearance and do not be a round fool!

She rises and slowly unhooks her blouse. There is no bra, which is understandable, since her modest unit in her bra does not need it.However, the breast is of good shape, with small sharp papillae. Sheds shoes, skirt, tights together with tiny thongs and remains completely naked. I involuntarily looked at this miniature body with strong legs, wide shoulders and a pointed back with ...