“Faith” is a self-described “professional girlfriend.” Her knees are firmly planted in the carpet of her upscale hotel suite. I’m gently caressing her thick blonde hair as she takes me deep into her mouth.
“I think you’re a little turned on!” she teased as her tongue licked the head of my hard cock.
At this moment I’ve lost myself. Or have I found myself?
“Let me keep your secrets,” she promised me earlier. It didn’t take long for the straps on her sundress to drop down, exposing her big augmented breasts. As we kissed, she grabbed my cock through my pants.
“Why don’t you get undressed?”
A plain white envelope containing several crisp $100 bills lies on the table confessing my need. (And perhaps hers. She admitted, “I like to fuck. A lot.”) She provides a space for me to express myself sexually without fear of judgment. With her I can be honest in a way that I can’t with anyone else.
“Why don’t you tell me what to do?”
I told her to lie on the bed. She positioned herself and spread her legs apart. As if by a certain ineluctable magnetism, she pulls me into her. As I slowly thrust inside of her, I surrender to passion. I’ve detached myself from my other identities.
Nothing matters to me but fucking her.
“You can put us in nice clothes and take us out to watch Shakespeare in the Park but we’re still animals deep down, and we like fucking best of all.”
Janice Dickinson
I feel her fingers dig into my waist. Religion told me it’s a sin, but my conscience is deadened as I rush towards orgasm. My body strains, my ass clenches, my balls tighten. A slight dizziness overtakes me. I continue to thrust until my body shakes and I emit a sound I don’t recognize from myself. Completely drained, I collapse on top of her.
Lutheran Guilt 