Luxury courtesan

I move through her living room like money already belongs to me. She watches from the velvet couch, legs crossed, robe sliding off one shoulder. Blonde hair catches the lamplight. So does the redhead kneeling between my knees. The younger girl looks up at me, tongue flat, eyes soft, taking me deep and slow while her partner sips champagne and decides if I’m worth the evening. She decides yes. Robe drops. She steps close, presses her full breasts against my chest, and murmurs exactly what she’ll let me do. The redhead never stops. When she finally guides me onto the silk sheets, the blonde straddles my hips and sinks down in one smooth motion. Wet heat. Tight grip. She rides with unhurried grace, every roll of her pelvis designed to pull me deeper. The redhead leans in, licking where we meet. The blonde’s breathing turns ragged. She plants her palms on my chest and grinds harder, chasing her own release. When she feels me swell inside her she smiles, clamps down, and stays seated until I flood her. She holds still, savoring the slow spill, then lifts just enough to let it trickle out before settling again. Three heartbeats. Then she leans down and kisses me like the transaction is complete and the pleasure has only begun.