The Gift

"Princess, y'know how sometimes you act as if you think you're God's gift to men?" Sly asked. We were sitting in his apartment after a very satisfied client had left. We had divvied up the fee and were just chatting, when out of the blue he springs that one on me.

"I do NOT!" I said, indignantly, followed a few seconds later in a more subdued tone by "Do I?". I must say, it's hard to be convincingly indignant for long when you're naked except for a see-through black nylon teddy with a split crotch, dark nylons, and three-inch stiletto heels, if I'm saying anything profound.

"Yeah, Princess, I hate to break it to ya, but yeah, you do, sometimes. Look, Babe, I'm your agent; I'm supposed to be honest with ya, aint I?"

I appreciated Sly's use of the term 'agent'. It had taken me a while to get him to use that appellation rather than the more earthy one he preferred. That mollified me somewhat.

Yes, I sell sex. Sly and I have been partners for quite some time, now, after he blackmailed me into servicing some of his friends, whereafter we both discovered that I was damned good at the work in spite of my uptight background, and I found that I liked the work, at least part-time, anyway. So, I keep my day job, but my nights have since been lot more fun. By this time our partnership was pretty solidly based on mutual respect. He respects my ability and earning power, and I appreciate the way he protects and takes care of me and finds and pre-screens interesting clients for me.

"Okay, I suppose maybe I do, sometimes," I reluctantly admitted. "Hey, I'm damned good at my job, aren't I? I don't hear anybody complaining. Anyway, why bring that up now? You have something in mind? Let's have it."

"Okay. If you can take a step down from being God's gift, how about being someone else's gift?"

"What do you mean, someone else's gift? Do go on. I'm curious, now."

"I got a client that wants you not for himself, but as a gift for some other guy. I'm not sure of the reason. Could be someone he owes a favor to, or maybe he wants to get in good with the guy. He didn't say, and I didn't ask."

"Well, that's weird. I'm not sure I like being a kind of commodity, though."

"Princess, I dunno what a 'commodity' is, but look, guys pay you for your services, don't they? Why should it matter if it's not the guy you're fuckin' who's forking out, but some other guy?"

"Hmmm. When you put it that way, I guess it doesn't sound too bad. Still, it matters to me in how it makes me feel about why I'm doing what I'm doing."

Sly took on that look of bemused tolerance he gets when I talk about feelings. To a tough, street-bred guy like him, feelings simply don't enter into it. Sex is just a job like any other. But he's perceptive enough to know that feelings are just what makes me so good at what I do.

He waited patiently for me to come around.

"Okay," I finally said, "So, what's the deal?"

The intended recipient of this 'gift' was one Malcomb Sweet, a British businessman who was currently in town to close some kind of deal. I assumed that that pretty much explained the donor's motives until Sly told me that this Malcomb was the younger brother of the donor. Actually, I was pleased, because that lent some confusion to the motives involved, and gave me cover to feel somewhat better about the deal. I'm a professional and will do my part, but I preferred not to think of myself as a bribe.

Sly told me where to find Malcomb. He was staying at a very nice mid-town hotel, and according to his brother was somewhat of a loner and rather fixed in his ways, eating dinner at the hotel at 7:00 o'clock every evening and then tucking in for the night. Well, that didn't make him sound too interesting, but at least it would make finding him easy.

Around eight that night I called his room from the lobby.

"Yes?"

"Hello," I said in my most demure voice. "I hope I'm not bothering you, but I'm a friend of your brother, and he said that you might be able to help me."

"Really? Perhaps you might explain a bit?" I loved his British accent. His voice was pleasant, too.

"I'm afraid it's rather personal. I'm down in the lobby, and it's a rather public place. Could you meet me in the lounge?"

"You're in the lobby of my hotel? My word, miss, that's a bit presumptuous, don't you think?"

I love British reserve.

"I suppose it is," I said. "But I really need your help. Please?"

I'm not too bad at wheedling, if I do say so myself.

"Very well. I shall be down shortly."

So far, so good.

I found a convenient table in the lounge and disported myself sufficiently to catch his eye without being too obvious. Based on Sly's description of Malcomb I had dressed somewhat demurely (at least on the surface) in a skirt, blouse, stockings and modest heels. The skirt was just short enough and had a little tailored slit on one side, unobtrusive, but enough to let me display a reasonably good portion of nyloned female thigh when I sat and crossed my legs. The blouse was just form-fitting enough to accentuate my bosom when I straightened my shoulders. It had a button front to give a hint of accessibility. I wore my long hair down and went a tad heavy on the makeup. You get the idea. I call it 'baiting the hook'.

When Malcomb came out of the elevator I waved him over to the table. I was pleasantly surprised. He was quite good looking, tall and well-groomed. I could tell that he liked what he saw. That helped. It certainly served to blunt his annoyance about being disturbed.

"Please, sit," I said. "My name is Olivia." I figured that sounded British enough. I had considered pretending to be British, but while my acting skills are pretty good (they have to be in my job) I wasn't confident that I could pull it off long enough. Besides, I figured I might be able to take advantage of the British stereotype that American girls were enamored of Brits and consequently rather easy.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Olivia. Now, what's this all about, and what does my brother think I might be able to do for you?"

"Do you mind if we order drinks? I'm a bit nervous, and a drink in hand would help."

He ordered a single-malt Scotch, and I had a glass of wine. It did help to break the ice.

"Okay, then, Olivia. What's your problem?"

"My sister..." I choked up and turned aside. "Please, Malcomb, not here. It's still too public."

I shed a tear or two. If you ever find a man that can resist a beautiful woman's tears, let me know. I never have.

"Very well," he said reluctantly. "Perhaps we can go to my room, if that would be better."

"Thank you," I said, drying my eyes on a napkin. "You're very kind."

When we got to his room, he turned to me and said, "Now, please tell me how I can help you."

I smiled and said, "Malcomb, dear, I have to confess. My 'problem' was really an excuse for getting to know you. I hope you can forgive me."

His eyes got rather wide. He groped for a suitable response.

"Why would you do that?" he asked, rather incredulously. "I'm nobody special."

"Well," I said, still smiling, "according to your brother, that's not the case. His description of you was quite flattering and, I have to say, accurately so. You're quite good looking, you know. Anyway, your brother thought you might be a little lonely over here and asked me to look in on you. Are you? A little lonely, that is? I'd like to help." I stepped a little closer to him.

He backed up a bit. This might not be as easy as I had thought.

"Malcomb," I said, "I find you rather attractive. I'd love to show you New York, but I'd like to get to know you a little better, first."

He just looked at me, kind of like a deer in the headlights. This was definitely not going to be easy. I was beginning to envy the female praying mantis. When the male's sexual behavior is too inhibited for her, she just bites his head off and eats it. All his inhibitions having disappeared along with his head, he fucks like there's no tomorrow (which for him, of course, there isn't). She gets great sex, and a free meal to boot. Not too shabby.

"Relax, Malcomb, honey. I really don't bite."

I reached out and caressed his neck. He jumped, but happily didn't run away.

I undid the top button of his shirt and reached in and delicately stroked his chest with my fingertips. He still looked scared, but at least he didn't pull back. I caressed the back of his neck and pulled him to me, gently, and kissed him, very lightly. I could feel him beginning to relax. I took his hands and put them on my backside. They felt warm, there, and slowly he cupped my buttocks. His breathing began to pick up.

I stroked the back of his neck and kissed him again, more deeply this time. No resistance. Great, he was getting into this. Am I good or what?

I responded to the increased pressure of his hands on my butt by molding my hips into his. I could feel his hardness growing. British reserve, phooey! Men, God bless 'em, are men. You just gotta reach that lizard brain.

I put my tongue into his mouth and pulled his head closer to me. I walked him backward until he hit the bed and fell back onto it.

I looked meaningfully at the bulge in his pants. "Oh Malcomb, that looks wonderful. I knew I was going to love this."

I unsnapped his pants and unzipped his fly. His eyes were closed, now, and he was breathing deeply, as if resigned to his fate. He didn't resist when I pulled his pants down enough to reveal the full dimensions of that lovely cock. It was of a good size and girth.

I deftly pulled down his shorts, and there it was in all its male glory. Long and thick, pulsing with life, a little drop of clear pre-cum decorating its tip. I couldn't resist; I bent down and licked it up with my tongue. It had a nice masculine taste. Malcomb gasped. I took the bulbous head into my mouth and sucked gently on it. He moaned. His hands idly stroked my hair. I slid my mouth up and down on him a few times, feeling him harden and swell in response. I would have loved to suck him to completion, but my professional instincts kicked in, and I decided that he merited the full treatment. Besides, it would be fun.

I pulled off him and stood up. I did a nice, slow strip tease for him. At first he was reluctant to look, but I slowed down long enough for him to overcome that. The sexy undergarments helped. Pretty soon I had his full attention, at least as measured by wide eyes, ragged breathing and his pulsating, very erect cock.

When I was naked, I knelt over him, with his legs between my knees. "Malcomb," I said, "you have a beautiful penis. I really, really want it inside me. Will you do that for me? I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel you cum, over and over, deep into me. I want you to fill me with your sperm. Please?"

His eyes were fixed on mine. He nodded. He watched intently as I maneuvered myself over him and grasped his cock and addressed its tip to my pussy lips. He gasped at the moment of contact.

Very slowly, letting him savor every second, I lowered myself onto him. Oh that cock felt every bit as good as I had thought it would. It was so warm and full. I could feel it parting my sensitive vaginal walls as I descended. I wanted it to go on forever, deeper and deeper into me. Eventually, though, our pelvises met. I paused, letting us both revel in our bodies and the pleasure they were giving us.

I leaned over and kissed him, deeply, my tongue probing his mouth. Thank heavens, no resistance now. I sat up again and guided his hands to my breasts. He squeezed them, tentatively at first, then with growing fervor. I felt my nipples harden and press into his warm palms. We were both breathing pretty hard by then.

I began to move slowly and sensuously up and down. He groaned. His hips started to move spasmodically. I placed my hands on his chest and quietly said, "No, Love. You just lie there and let me do the work. Your job is to lay back and enjoy it. No rush, honey. I've got this one."

Meekly, he obeyed.

Well, as you might imagine, it didn't take long. Once you get the reluctant ones going, they generally don't hold back. He was moaning and gasping as I rode his cock for all it was worth. Long, slow, and deep. Soon I felt him swell and throb in me as his climax neared. He grasped my hips and pulled me down onto him as hard as he could. I'd probably have a few red marks later, but just then I was thoroughly enjoying it and couldn't care less.

Almost too soon I felt the sudden warmth and pressure of his semen as he squirted it into me. His eyes closed and he groaned in ecstasy in synchrony with his repeated powerful discharges into the depths of my womb. Oh God, it felt good! My back arched and I let out a little scream and came. My vagina pulsed. My perineal muscles grasped his spasming cock and squeezed it, hard, milking him. Helplessly, I squirted, and my hot fluids mixed with his own copious semen to cascade warmly down over his balls. The world went away for long seconds.

Gradually and reluctantly, we returned to reality. Both of us were breathing hard, as though we'd run a race. We both were glowing with a sheen of perspiration. I smiled down at Malcomb, who seemed pretty stunned at what we had just accomplished. Slowly his eyes refocused and he smiled back.

"Oh my dear sweet God," he said in a whisper. "I've never experienced anything like that in my life!"

"You could fool me," I said graciously. "I'd say you did pretty damned good, then, for an amateur."

I slowly rose up off him. As I backed away, I leaned down and kissed his cock, tasting our mixed passion coating it. Addressing myself to it I said, "Nice work."

I went to the bathroom to dry off and get a towel which I tossed to Malcomb, who still lay there on the wet bed, still looking somewhat awestruck, his cock slowly drooping. He watched me dress.

"Will I see you again?" he asked. I think he had finally caught on to what was going on here.

"No, Luv. Sorry. But listen, don't forget to thank your brother. And please, do be sure to tell him that it's from both of us."

God, I love this job!