Broad-faced. He stares at me through large, wire-rimmed specs.“Amber?” he asks.“Yes.” It's a name I made up last week for my website profile.�...�You don’t look like your picture.”“Oh.” I’m nonplussed. Earlier, piling on mascara, I’d sensed it might be too much. Thought I looked like a prostitute.“I don’t mean that. You look younger.”He steps in. So why did I become an escort? Short answer: because I lost my dad and went off the rails.The longer answer: I was his only child – a late lamb – and he. This time I ripped off my boxers as fast as I could I could not resist my desire any more. I took her by the waist and through here on the bed I glided my way between here legs like a panther stalking its pray. She took hold of her bra and flicked it off in one swift motion reviling the most perfect B cups I had ever seen. Taking them in my mouth I sucked hart till her nipples went hard, she let out small moan engorging me to keep going. Moving my hands to her waist where I pulled her. More

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