All Chapters of DIRTY DREAMS: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

She adjusts our position and lies between my legs with her body stretched along the mattress, and her mouth level with my pussy.She slides two fingers inside me and curves them upward – pressing my g-spot with steady, rhythmic pressure.“What are you –”“Trust me.”She presses upward again in firm, repeated strokes against my g-spot. Her fingertips are hooked against the spongy tissue and pulsing with her other hand pressing on my lower stomach from outside – adding pressure above the spot she’s stroking from inside.The sensation builds differently from anything I’ve felt. It feels like a deep, pressurized feeling that starts in my pelvis and expands outward.My legs start to shake and my breathing becomes faster and shallower, to the point that I'm almost hyperventilating.“Relax,” she murmurs as she continues at the pace she is going. “Let it build. Don’t clench – relax and push.”I push. And something releases – a gush of warmth, a flood that sprays from me and soaks her hand and

He nods and then the doors close. The elevator continues upward carrying this man who just invited me to his penthouse for lamb, and I’m stuck standing in my hallway with a pulse rate that suggests I’ve been sprinting.Saturday. 7 PM.I’ve changed outfits four times. The final choice is a black dinner dress that is fitted enough to show my body without advertising it. It's low enough in the back to suggest what’s beneath without revealing it, and the heels add three inches and a sprinkle of confidence that's enough for me to keep me going.I ride the elevator to the top floor. The doors open directly into his apartment – of course they do, it’s a penthouse – and the space that greets me stops me in the doorway.It’s beautiful, and the first thing I note is that he’s collected the right things over decades. Dark wood floors. Bookshelves that hold actual read books – spines cracked, some in other languages. Textured art on the walls that are obviously originals and look like they were c

He eats me with his mouth on my clit and his fingers on my g-spot, and the combination is being applied so much expertise that I can't dare to question his thirty years of practice.His tongue plays with me using broad strokes, then the pointed tip, then suction, then back to broad. He reads my responses to each variation and assembles a custom pattern. Within minutes he’s found the exact combination that works for my body, and he has created a pattern tailored to my specific clit alone.“Don’t hold back,” he says. His fingers curling inside me, his mouth lifting for a moment. “I want to hear everything you’re feeling.”I stop being quiet. The moans I’ve been half-suppressing pour out and Thomas absorbs them like data. My moan pitches higher when his tongue speeds up and he registers it and speeds up more.He plays my body the way I imagine he plays piano, and after multiple technical strokes, I cum on his tongue.My pussy clenches around his fingers and my clit pulses against his ton

The intake form is twelve pages long. It’s the kind of document that makes you feel like you’re buying a house rather than buying the most elaborate sexual experience money can rent. I fill it out at my kitchen table on a Tuesday night with a glass of wine and a pen that keeps running out of ink because apparently confessing your darkest fantasies to a professional service requires multiple writing instruments.Section 1: Hard Limits (acts that will NOT occur under any circumstances)I check the boxes. The list is extensive with over sixty items. The things I don’t want are easy. The things I do want take longer because the form asks me to be specific in a way I’ve never been specific with anyone. Not even with boyfriends or any of the anonymous internet forums where I’ve been reading about this service for two years before finally having the nerve to book.Section 7: Fantasy Narrative – Describe your ideal scenario in as much detail as possible. Include location preferences, duration

His mouth lands on me with no warning and no gentleness, lips sealing over my clit, tongue pushing into me, his whole face committed to the work like a man executing instructions he memorized on the drive up. My back comes off the mattress before I’ve registered what’s happening. The rope at my wrists catches me and my ankles strain against their ties and every one of those restraints holds exactly the way I paid for them to hold.He read the form. All four pages of it. He knows I asked to be consumed rather than courted, and he’s honoring the request with his hands clamped around my thighs hard enough that I’ll find the marks tomorrow, which is also on the form – page two, under the heading where I wrote that I wanted evidence afterward.The sound that comes out of me isn’t a word, because words aren’t permitted, but the sounds are, and what I’m producing is closer to something an animal makes than anything I’d recognize from my own throat. An hour of denial has left me so raw that t