Amira and I met on Seeking some months ago. She approached me curious about my blog, curious about the different value proposition relative to most of the men on Seeking that I represent. That is to say, not primarily a financial value proposition, but rather an intellectual, sexual, adventurous one. We had a little back and forth, and then she disappeared for a number of months. When she resurfaced, it seemed she might have forgotten that I wasn’t just another potential sugar daddy, that money wasn’t what I was offering. I reminded her, and she was undaunted.
We met for a first date in a swanky bar. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater. There was a palpable disconnect between her overt and manifest sexual openness, on the one hand, and her sartorial and stylistic self-presentation, which was, dare I say, innocent.
Hot. Curvy. Sexy.
But innocent.
But. This woman is no innocent. We hadn’t been talking for half an hour when she told me, somewhat gleefully, of the experience of having had four men ejaculate on her face just the night before. [Ed. note: this isn’t, actually, precisely what happened, she informed me on reading this draft.] We had some good chemistry, and it was clear some fun would be had by us in the not-too-distant future. Following some interruptions from real life, including on her part, some professional instability, and on mine, a bout of mild COVID, we met.
It was late afternoon, and we met in a hotel bar, which was not yet open, given the hour. We sat in a quiet outdoor space and discussed boundaries, safe words, and the like. (No safe words this first time – just clear communication.) We had agreed that she would wear a sexy short olive skirt and a crop top with lacy sheer lingerie beneath. She looked good enough to eat – her legs long, her flesh pale, her breasts small, perky , perfect. And eating was what lay ahead.
After dispensing with the preliminaries, I sent her upstairs with a room key, and instructed her to show me her cunt in her panties and her breasts in her bra, and told her that once I had received those, I would be on my way up.


After receiving these bits of hotness, I ascended, opened the door, and found her playing with herself as instructed, in bra and panties on a bed, the shades lifted high, a neighbor on her patio either watching or trying hard not to.
For the following two hours, I teased her, I explored her very pretty body, her small, pert breasts, her slender curves, her delicious cunt. I hadn’t yet touched her pussy for the first time when she exclaimed, “Damn – you’re good at this!”
Twice, she called me “Daddy.” After the second time, I corrected her. There was one subsequent misstep when she did it again, but it didn’t get in the way of either of our pleasure. (The next such misstep, though, will be punished.)
She had told me previously that receiving oral had not been a particularly good, or at least, exciting, experience for her to date. Very early in this encounter, she told me her attitude toward the experience was shifting, that somehow I seemed to know how to do things no one else had done before. Me, I was just being myself, using my fingers and hands and face and mouth and tongue in concert with her flesh and holes to extract not one or two, but three orgasms.
And in due time, she expertly attended to my cock and hungrily devoured my cum. She made it clear she wanted to feel the curve of my cock in her pussy. I made it clear that fucking – never my favorite part of sex – was something she would have to anticipate a bit more.
We had a little debriefing, small talk, and checked out.
Some weeks passed, we had just a few small texts back and forth, and now I find myself pondering future uses to which I might wish to put [insert her name here], future adventures I might like to embark on with her.
A recent addition to my repertoire of fantasies, one that was kindled by an interaction with Anastasia, about which I’ve written lots but posted little, has left me hungry to play the role of Willy Wonka, conjuring confections that are unimaginable in their deliciousness. And that satisfy hungers previously impossible (or at least, really fucking difficult) to satisfy. I’d like to do some of this with [her pending name], to explore with her some fantasies she might have that might be difficult to implement on her own, but that in the presence of a trusted protector might become possible.
I have no idea what this might mean for her. I don’t know her well enough. We haven’t talked enough. But whatever those fantasies are, little would give me pleasure more than to uncover some possibilities that have been unavailable in the past, in spite of her manifest adventurousness, and work with her to move them from the realm of fantasy to that of reality.
I’d like to take her to Chemistry, and/or to another club or party – maybe Checkmate, maybe Hacienda (to which I haven’t yet been), to show her off, to bask in some of the respect and curiosity I would attract, accompanied by a beauty like her. And, of course, to fuck her face with an audience, to collect her orgasms before an audience.
I think I would enjoy taking her to a strip club and making her be the mistress of my pleasure.
I tied her up just a little in our first real date. I’d like to do some more of that, and maybe to beat her a bit, to leave a mark or two. To gag her, to silence her. She said she likes it rough, and what I gave her certainly was not rough, on that first afternoon. My roughness, of course, is not a conventional roughness. I don’t tend to toss women around, to hit them, to degrade them, to humiliate them. But in the right circumstances, I can summon me just a little bit of violence, and I’d like to do that with and to her.
I’d also like to enlist her in my ongoing efforts to realize a version of my core fantasy. She could be part of the cast. I could put her in touch with Anastasia. Hell, maybe she has some friends who might like to join as well. And/or… maybe she wants to be procuress for me, to implement her own iteration of this fantasy. All of that remains for us to explore….
Finally, Amira’s wardrobe is depleted, because reasons having to do with a lengthy residence in a conservative country. The outfit in which I met her, a demure pairing of jeans and sweater, as I mentioned, is far more characteristic of her wardrobe than it was a more provocative or flattering configuration of fabric about her body. It would give me pleasure to work with her, to augment her wardrobe, to select the right pieces of clothing for her. Some underthings and overthings that show her very pretty body off to the effect it deserves. I’d like to do some shopping with her, and then for her to do some modeling for me. In person, definitely. And, if her texting game improves, at a bit of a distance, too.
She’s not a great texter, and our back and forths have not (yet?) reached the kind of intense urgency or heat that sometimes is possible. I don’t know that such a thing is possible with her, but if it is, I’d like to go there.
And, I’d like to match that with a little bit of control imposed and granted over her pleasure, over her orgasms, in between a date or two of ours. I’d like to withhold some orgasms, and I’d like to grant some orgasms, both. She’s come for me once in my absence. A delicious bout of pleasure to which neither you nor I can listen. I’d like to hear her come for me a bit. And, if she’s game, to share it with you, here. I’d like to assemble something of a library of her ecstasy.
I’d like to explore toys with her. Wands. Vibrators. Dildos. To learn how she gets herself off, to watch, to help. Again – remotely, and in person, both, ideally.
This is a brainstorm, of course, not a list of demands. I’m in exploratory mode.
I don’t know what, if any, of what I’ve just written might appeal to her, and in what ranking. But I would like to know.
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