The Financial Advisor

There had been a string of mediocre fucks recently, and I had turned to new and alternative methods to try and meet someone. I craved someone to take their time with me, to savour me and spoil me. A long session where my pleasure was central to the activities and there was no time limit. An overture of orgasms rather than a toot on a kazoo. An overnighter. A bang, but a firework display.

You get my drift.

All the signs were good: he was in town for 2 nights only and we had plenty of time to get to know each other online at least before the big day. But I was still a little wary.

We met in an average pub I had suggested a few doors down from his hotel. He’d already messaged me to ask what I was drinking which was a nice touch.

I arrived, wet from the rain, hair frizzy. My G&T was waiting, as was he.

He kissed me hello and I felt comfortable immediately. He was cuter than his pictures, with gorgeous brown eyes and long eyelashes. His accent even sexier in the flesh. We chatted for a good hour or so and there was no doubt in my mind as to how we would spend the rest of the afternoon. Luckily he felt the same way, and shortly afterwards he was grabbing my bum in the lift up to his room.

He had warned me it was basic: there was no window and not much room to swing a strap-on but a hotel room is a hotel room. Anonymity, depravity and someone else to clean the sheets. I laid out the condoms on the dresser ready for use. He produced a bottle of Prosecco and one of pink champagne. He pulled me in for a kiss and rested his hands on my hips. What a kisser! Despite his beard his bristles were soft and gave me no rash at all. His hands somehow undid my bra with my top still on. I threw my arms around his neck and sat in his lap, locking lips with his.


Sometimes you just click with someone: that was what happened. He seemed to know that I needed to have orgasm after orgasm whether from his fingers, mouth or cock. I am delighted to say I lost count. He bypassed his own pleasure to make sure I was fully sated. There were glorious scenes: me lying flat on my belly slurping his cock down and licking from root to tip. Him buried between my legs in a similar position, me wrapping my thighs around his shoulders and shuddering to a glittering crescendo of ecstasy. Him bent over me, feeding his cock into my mouth and then coming all over it. Me underneath him licking his balls while he gently fingered my pussy to orgasm. Him taking me from behind: but not just banging and thrusting, oh no. He changed position, made sure I was enjoying it as much as him by strumming my clit like a guitar as he slowly slid in and out of me. Him taking my breasts in his hands and just licking and nuzzling them for ages. I reciprocated by tongueing his nipple ring- a new phenomenon for me and oddly addictive. I couldn’t leave it alone.

His body was well built, freckly and his upper arms were covered in tattoos. Not really my thing but they were fascinating. He took a lot of care over his appearance – I joked that he had some good “manscaping” down below. We sipped the prosecco between our exploits and felt comfortable in each others company. After around three and a half hours we both got dressed and headed out for something to eat.

His hotel was conveniently placed for some very well known restaurants – I suggested steak or Mexican, but he didn’t care much for either. So I took him to one of my favourite places – absolutely on purpose because I love it so much. Over the few years it has been open I’ve taken friends, relatives and lovers there. They either get it or they don’t. It was only halfway through the meal that I remembered I had broken my first date rule of not eating in front of someone. And I did not care at all.

During dinner we talked about sex. He confessed he hadn’t been so compatible with someone in bed so quickly in his life. I agreed. We discussed the state of porn, feminism, comedy and how to relieve stress.

There was always the option of picking up where we left off after dinner. In truth I felt pretty drunk from the booze and having skipped lunch. He had to revise for his training course the next day. He kissed me goodbye and messaged me soon after to thank me for a great time. I went home with a new feeling of satisfaction.


The next day I had to stop myself thinking about him. Scenes from the previous afternoon replayed in my brain: him biting my ear and then sticking his tongue in it which set me off. Him softly caressing my neck and upper back with his fingers which drove me crazy. The bitemark which he apologised for leaving on my back, just about where my bra strap sits. Him contorting himself into different positions to heighten my pleasure. The way he slowly removed my clothes. His striped underwear and matching socks. His miniature travel toiletry set laid out in the bathroom.

Oh god. I was having feelings for him. This wasn’t in the blueprints. I hadn’t planned this at all.


In most of the blog posts I write, I know what happens already. The scenario has already played out, I scribe and report the details for your reading pleasure and for my own catharsis.

Dear reader, forgive me just this once if I don’t finish the story.

Because I don’t want to jinx it.

One thought on “The Financial Advisor

Comments are closed.