From Slow Dance to Savage Sex

“Go back inside,” I said. – “I’ll slip in through the side entrance.” Before parting, I whispered, – “Tomorrow, after breakfast, my room. I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”

The next morning, I skipped the early session, citing a work emergency. Claire knocked on my door soon after. We barely spoke, our mouths colliding in a frenzy as we tore at each other’s clothes. Naked, her body was a revelation – full breasts, toned legs, a form made for sin. I kissed my way down her chest, sucking her nipples until she arched, then lower, my tongue finding her dripping core. I lapped at her swollen clit, her hips bucking as she gasped, – “Don’t stop.” Her orgasms came in waves, her body convulsing under my mouth. I couldn’t hold back. She lay back, legs spread wide, her glistening entrance begging for me. I positioned myself, entering her in one deep thrust. She screamed, – “Yes, like that!” I pounded into her, her walls clenching around me, her cries growing louder until we both shattered, my release flooding her as she trembled beneath me. Fluids spilled as I withdrew, and I left her to recover, rejoining the meeting.

Back in the city, I called her Monday, arranging to meet at my apartment the next day. She arrived in lacy black lingerie, a bold departure from her usual modesty. – “I bought it for you,” she said, smirking. It was stunning, but I stripped it off quickly, craving her bare skin. We fucked relentlessly – on the bed, against the wall, her riding me with abandon. Her stamina was insatiable, her body writhing as I took her from behind, her moans filling the room. She begged for anal, a first for her. Using her own slickness as lubricant, I eased into her tight back entrance, her gasps turning to cries of – “More!” as I thrust deeper, her fingers working her clit. I spanked her lightly, her pleas of – “I’m yours!” pushing me over the edge as I came inside her.

Our weekly trysts continued for months, but Claire’s hunger grew overwhelming. She called constantly, and I struggled to keep up. I suggested she try online dating sites to find others. She did, later admitting she’d found multiple partners to sate her needs. Our encounters dwindled. Three months later, she revealed she was pregnant, unsure of the father but certain it wasn’t Mark. Eventually, Mark shared they’d had a son, and I sent congratulations. They later divorced.

Two years on, I ran into Claire at a high-end club during a night out with a friend. She was working there, radiant and confident. She claimed the divorce left her comfortable, and she enjoyed the work for the thrill and money. But Mark later told me she’d neglected their daughters, her obsession with sex taking over. He’d hired a detective, won custody, and provided minimal alimony. Needing funds, Claire turned to sex work. She was popular, her client list long. I pointed my friend her way, and he later raved about her skills, vowing to return.

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