Liberating Aria Afternoon

Aria Afternoon

The Aria's air conditioning hums against the slick sweat on my back. Full doesn't begin to cover it. There's a specific kind of ache that comes from being stretched, a deep, throbbing reminder of the lean 240 pounds of Lebanese man currently rearranging my insides from behind. His rhythm is brutal, a relentless piston motion that punches against my prostate with every deep thrust. My own cock, trapped and ignored, leaks a constant stream onto the high-thread-count sheets, a messy testament to the assault.

My Madame's idea of a "break" is a sadistic masterpiece. Fifty-five tourist pussies, one after another, their BOLD unique flavas a blur on my tongue, and now this. A gratuity, she called it, as a bull queer top uses my mancunt like it's his personal property. My hole is worn out, a sloppy, used-up mess that feels more like a pussy than it ever has, and the savagery of it, the raw possession, is exactly why I love it. It’s rough, it’s raw, and it’s exactly what I needed. I feel open now, stress free and even more focused on how to be more pleasing and helpful to my ladyfriends and clients.

Ladies…if reading this made you a little moist, text me at: 971-301-4822 or leave me a DM.