Our High-Class London Escorts Can't Contain Themselves...

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She bit her finger as he walked into the room. He was her favourite client. He was just her type. He was tall, dark and had that dirty stubble that grazed her thigh whenever he went down on her.

She was a high-class London escort and he was her bit of rough.

She looked forward to their weekly meetings but because of his work commitments and her vacation in the south of France, they hadn't seen each other for three weeks.

She was begging for his touch. She found herself becoming moist.

He moved through the crowd at the bar with ease. People stepped aside when he passed through the room. He demanded respect and they gave it to him.

His eyes met her eager stare and she could see him get just as excited.

As he lowered his body towards hers, sat at the corner table, he touched her wrist and slowly run his fingers along her forearm.

She took in a breath, desperately trying to keep her cool. She wanted to remain in charge.

He knew he had a power over her...he took advantage of it.

He sat next to her and allowed his knee to touch hers. She spoke before her heavy breathing gave her away, "You kept me waiting. I don't like to be kept waiting."

"I'm sorry" he said, "but you know I'm busy...anyway, you're not getting paid any less. You'll get your money and to say to I'm sorry, I've booked one of the best suites in your favourite hotel."

Her eyes widened. The Dorchester. He knew how to make her happy.

She smiled and took his hand. "Let's not waste such a beautiful room then" and with one swift movement she rose and slid her pert bottom through the two tables and pulled on his hand.

He rose to the occasion, as swiftly as he would do in the room she thought to herself.

He eyed her breasts through her white blouse and white bra. His favourite combination.

As they walked through the bar, she threw a £10 note to the barman for her drink and walked with determination through the crowd. Yes he'd hired her but she wanted him and she wanted him bad.

They crossed the road, wading through black cabs and executive cars bibbing their horns in the London traffic and made their way straight to the reception of the hotel.

Andrew took charge at this point. Flashing that wide smile, telling the concierge he'd booked the suite.

They treated him with the respect he demanded everywhere...she didn't intend on respecting him when the door to their suite was shut.

She took his lead as he made his way to the lift. As the doors opened, she stepped in and as the doors closed her hand made it's way to his suit trousers zipper...




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