Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
My name is Gabriela. No, it’s not, but I’m not telling you my real name. I’m 29 years old. I was 29 last year too. I’m a professional girlfriend. My boyfriends’ wives would call me a whore. My boyfriends buy me jewelry, clothing, pay my rent, my credit card bills, sometimes even give me shares in their companies or illegal stock tips. What do they get out of it? What do you think? They get a beautiful woman to go out with, to secretly take on business trips, to make their friends jealous, but most of all, they get mind-blowing sex. The kind of sex their wives couldn’t even dream of competing with. Of course, their wives are busy running the house, organizing the help, raising the kids, planning fund-raisers. I don’t have to do any of that crap. I spend my days making myself irresistible to their husbands. I get massages, facials, manicures, tennis coaching. I work out with my personal trainer four times a week. I make sure I’m the kind of woman a rich man will risk everything to be with, except that there’s no risk. I’m discreet, I never make a scene, I never ask them to leave their wives, I never call them at home, I never get pregnant. They know this, and they appreciate it. With all this, you’d think I’d be quite something to look at. You’d be right. I’m 5’7″, with long legs, curvy hips, a narrow waist and spectacular breasts. My mother was Brazilian and I have her tan skin, luscious black hair, bedroom eyes and full, pouting lips. bahis siteleri I’m a total knock-out. This week, I’m on a business trip in Milan with one of my boyfriends. He’s in boring meetings all day, so I’ve been doing what I do second-best. Shopping. I’m going to tell you what happened to me this afternoon. I’d already hit his credit cards hard, and was thinking about a manicure, when, down a narrow side street, I spotted some beautiful lingerie in a small shop window. I wanted something new for this evening – none of my boyfriends ever see me in the same underwear twice – so I headed down there. It was one of those exclusive stores where you usually need an appointment, but when the saleswoman saw me coming towards her with my Prada and Gucci shopping bags, she quickly unlocked the door. She was a little taller than me, slender, blonde, pretty, with stunning gray-blue eyes, and wearing a slim black skirt and white blouse. A tape measure was draped around her neck. “Entrare, entrare, cosa posso mostrare?” she asked. “Do you speak English?” “Of course, of course,” she replied in a sexy accent, “come in, what can I show you?” “I’d just like to browse, if that’s okay?” I said. “Naturally,” she said, “coffee?” I accepted, and before she turned to the little espresso machine behind the counter I noticed her look me up and down. Maybe just a professional assessment of my lingerie size, but maybe a little more. “This could be interesting,” canlı bahis siteleri I thought. I began to browse the elegant assortment of lacy panties and bras arranged tastefully on gilt baroque-style shelving. As I came to the exquisite window display that had first drawn my attention, the saleswoman appeared with a tiny cup of coffee. She placed it on a small ornamental table and nodded towards the bustier I was admiring. It was white, with lace trim and pink ribbons between the cups and at the hips. “Is very pretty, no?” she asked. I nodded agreement. “You would like to try?” “Yes,” I said, “I think I would.” She led me towards the dressing room at the back of the store, and through a velvet curtain. The room was tastefully luxurious, with a large velvet chaise, a few ornate chairs, a drinks cabinet and mirrors on all sides. There were lots of tightly-spaced shelves with prettily-packaged boxes of lingerie. I kicked my shoes off and stepped up onto the raised center circle. “May I measure you?” she asked. “Of course,” I replied. I shrugged off my light jacket and handed it to her. She arranged it carefully on a hanger, then turned back to me. Normally, a shop assistant will give a customer privacy while they undress, but not this girl. She stood and watched as I unzipped my short dress and stepped out of it, revealing a black lacy bra and thong combo. I handed the dress to her, and she draped it over a chair back, without turning canlı bahis her gaze away from me. Her eyes were fixed on my breasts as I reached my arms behind and unsnapped the bra. I tossed it onto the chair and stood before her, my large, firm breasts bared to her. I swear she only just managed to stop herself licking her lips, and my nipples tingled at the thought. She took her tape measure and stepped up to the dais I was standing on. I raised my arms, and as she reached around me with the tape, her lips almost brushed my nipples. Her fingers did touch them as she measured across my bust, and they immediately stiffened. Next she lowered the tape to measure under my breasts, and as her fingers grazed the underside, the tingle spread down between my legs. She measured my waist, but then the tape slipped from her fingers. She knelt in front of me to loop the tape back around to measure my hips, and her face was just inches from my crotch. I knew she could see my bare pussy lips through the flimsy fabric of my panties. I wondered if she could smell my growing arousal. She stood and made a note of my measurements on a little pad, then pulled a box from a shelf. She pulled out the bustier, handed it to me, then stepped up behind me. I carefully placed the cups over my breasts, and she reached around me to take hold of the back sections. In one of the many mirrors, I saw her lean in and smell my hair. She carefully did up all the fasteners, then I turned towards her. I tugged down on the garment slightly, adjusting until my breasts filled the cups evenly. She reached up and adjusted them sideways, and there was a tiny spark of static electricity as she touched me.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32