escort diary® of Louella York: The Stranger
The bar hummed with quiet energy, a kind of slow, simmering heat that filled the air. I sat at the counter, my fingers absently trailing the condensation on my glass. The night stretched ahead, languid and unhurried, until my gaze caught his.
He stood at the far end of the bar, his frame relaxed but commanding. His eyes—dark, searching—held mine for a moment too long, and something in the way he looked at me sent a pulse of heat coursing through my heart and my pussy too.
I don’t know who moved first. One moment, we were across the room from each other; the next, we were standing close enough that I could smell the faint trace of his cologne, musky and rich.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low and warm, like a caress.
I told him, and the way his lips curled around it made it sound almost illicit.
Conversation flowed easily, but beneath it was an undercurrent of something deeper, more primal. His fingers brushed mine when he handed me my drink, and even that small touch sent a shiver through me. By the time he suggested we leave, I was already imagining the press of his body against mine. The feeling of his rock hard dick teasing my wet hot pussy.
We barely made it to his apartment.
The moment the door closed behind us, his hands were on me, sliding up my waist, pulling me close. His mouth captured mine in a kiss that was hungry, urgent, and I melted into him, my body arching to meet his.
I felt the solid heat of him against me, his hardness pressing insistently against my thigh. My fingers tangled in his hair as his lips moved to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin and making me gasp.
“Do you want this?” he murmured against my ear, his voice rough with restraint.
“Fuck Yes,” I breathed, my answer trembling with anticipation.
His hands roamed, tugging at the hem of my dress, sliding it up and over my head in one fluid motion. The cool air kissed my skin as his eyes drank me in, dark and hungry.
“Suck my dick” he said, his voice hot & thick. His demand made my heart race, my naughty desire of being used for his pleasure made my mind spin and I happily obliged him.
I reached for him, undoing the buttons of his shirt, my hands exploring the warm, hard planes of his chest. He shrugged out of it, and then his lips were on me again, trailing fire down my collarbone, my chest, his hands kneading my hips as he guided me toward the bed.
He laid me down gently, but his movements were anything but tentative. His mouth moved lower, teasing and tasting, his tongue drawing soft whimpers from my lips. His touch was firm yet deliberate, every motion designed to unravel me.
When he finally joined me, our bodies aligned perfectly, his weight settling over me in a way that felt grounding and electric all at once. The first thrust stole my breath, and he paused, his eyes locking with mine as if to savor the moment. I was so hungry to feel him deep inside me.
Then we moved together, the rhythm building steadily, a crescendo of sensation and sound. His name spilled from my lips as his hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer, deeper.
Time stretched and collapsed, each moment a blur of heat and pleasure. When we finally shattered together, the release was all-consuming, leaving us trembling and breathless in its wake.
We lay there afterward, tangled in each other, our skin slick and warm. His fingers traced lazy patterns along my spine, and I closed my eyes, the lingering thrum of satisfaction settling over me like a lullaby. The smell of our fucking filled the air.
Strangers, perhaps. But in that moment, honest strangers, present strangers, passionate strangers. We were something more—a brief, beautiful spark in the vastness of the night.
