Diary of A Sex Worker: Chapter 4 – A French Affair (Part 1)

Catch up here

I didn’t have Jean often, which was just as well, because there was something about him that put me into a whole different headspace when we spent time together. I’m not sure if it was the romance he added to each encounter or the effort he put into each session with me, but he was one temporary partner whose memories linger long after he’s flown off to another part of the world. 

Jean booked me for a whole week when he came to the country, which was usually for a charity event for the rich and bored who loved to throw money at causes to feel great about themselves. He said that the only reason he could survive two hours with the stuffy people that often graced these events was because of my sexy presence and the promise of what would happen after. 

Regulars did not need to go through the vetting process and could simply book from my discreet website with their passcodes or call my PA for an arrangement. I never worked for a whole week without a day or two of break in between, but for Jean, I did. I took my break after he left, which I always needed. 

So when I saw that he had booked me for the second week of August, my pulse jumped. It had been over six months since I had seen Jean, and I couldn’t even lie to myself and say that I wasn’t excited to see him again. I was over-excited, and so was my pussy.

August was almost a month away, but I knew I marked my calendar until it was time to finally be with my French lover again.

July was uneventful but fun. I took a lot of much-needed rest but had very necessary orgasms as well thanks to a well-booked calendar. Regardless, I was tingling with anticipation, anxious for my week with Jean to begin. 

As usual, it began with a phone call on the first morning of our time together. It was barely 6 am, so even though I was already awake I was still half-asleep when I picked up the call.

“Bonjour, ma Beauté.”

The first sound of his voice rapidly cleared the rest of the sleep fog from my brain. 

Fuck, I had missed that voice. 

I had missed his low seductive voice saying beautiful words I couldn’t understand while he slid slowly into me, wrecking my composure and filling me with addictive pleasure.

Bonjour, Jean,” I finally replied hoarsely, trying not to betray the fact that the mere sound of his voice could make me wet.

“I love the sound of your voice when you just wake up. It sounds like it does when you’re filled to the brim with me,” he said, worsening the tingling in my vagina. 

“Comment as-tu été?” (How have you been?) he asked, unaware of what he was doing to me. Or maybe he knew. Seduction was his goal, after all.

“J’ai été géniale, Jean. Et toi?” (I’ve been great, Jean, and you?), I replied. 

I knew enough French to understand and respond to his greetings. Besides, I had become used to it.

“J’ai été génial aussi, ma chérie,” (I have also been great, my dear,) he responded with a smile in his voice. 

I wondered if he had just woken up too and if he was nearly as excited as I am to see him again. I could imagine him lying on his bed naked, as he usually sleeps, and with the covers wrapped around him from the waist down, leaving his dreamy chest bare. 

“Je t’ai manqué? Have you missed me?” he asked, this time speaking in both French and English as if he could tell the thoughts running through my head.

“Of course, I’ve missed you, Jean. It has been a while,” I told him, my voice slightly accusatory. 

It was not my place to feel any kind of way about how long it had been, but I couldn’t help it. Jean did that to me. He made me unreasonable sometimes. 

Oui, oui. It’s quite unfortunate. But we shall remedy that soon, yes? I have missed you too, ma chérie. Ça m’a manqué de te toucher et de faire chanter ton corps de plaisir.”

I didn’t understand the words, but the promise in his voice worsened the tingling. I needed him to touch me. Badly.

“What did that mean?” I asked softly, giving in to the feelings that he dredged from me without my permission.

“I said that I miss touching you and making your body sing with pleasure,” he translated.

A moan escaped my lips as my nipples beaded in memory. And there were many to choose from. Jean could make my body sing pleasure notes in languages I didn’t even understand. 

Fuck, I can’t wait any longer.

I bit my lip to stop crying out as my fingers moved down to touch my wet heat.

I must have cried out anyway, because he asked me, “Are you touching yourself?” in a voice that had gone deeper with lust.

“Yes, can I?” I answered breathlessly, the sound of his voice egging me on as I rubbed my wet vulva.

“Yes, mon amour, touch yourself for me,” he rumbled in my ear. Then, “You effortlessly make me hard. Just the memory of your mouth on me makes my cock throb. And when I remember how your wet pussy greedily clamps around me when I’m deep inside stretching you, it becomes impossible not to stroke myself to take some of the edge off.”

His dirty talk worsened the throbbing in my core, and breathing hard, I transferred the call to hands-free mode to free both hands, and then reached into the top of my bedside drawer for the bottle of lube I kept for enhanced solo pleasure.

Uncapping the lid, I poured a generous amount into my palm and spread it over my wetness, moaning in pleasure as I stroked myself. 

“You make me so wet, Jean,” I gasped out as memories of him making me cum with his long skilled fingers assailed me. “I’m fucking myself with my fingers and imagining that yours are the ones sliding into me and bringing me pleasure. I’m imagining your lips on my clit and pussy, making me cum over and over again like only you can.”

I heard his laboured breathing as he stroked himself, and a lustful moan escaped my lips, imagining him lying naked on his bed, hard cock in his hand dripping with pre-cum as he stroked himself in pleasure at the sound of my voice. 

I closed my eyes to enhance my other senses, to feel more and imagine more vividly.

“J’essaie de me retenir mais tu me rends fou.” Jean groans, voice thick with lust.

“What does that mean?” I asked breathlessly, fucking myself faster. I was tempted to get one of my toys for more pleasure, but that was against the rules of my arrangement with Jean. Once our one-week of pleasure began, I could only touch myself with my fingers — with his permission. He was the only one allowed to insert something else into my sopping vagina; be it toys or his hard and thick delicious dick.

I heard his rough breathing on the line which betrayed how affected he also was by me.

“I said that I try to hold back but you make me crazy,” he translated, confirming my thoughts. “I’m going to fuck you so good tonight, mon amour. I’m going to make you desperate with want all night. And when you can’t take it anymore, when you’re begging so much that you’re almost close to tears with frustration and would let me fuck you anywhere, I’ll make you cum over and over, with my fingers, my tongue, and then my cock. There will be no confusion of who you’re with.”

I moaned at the vision he painted, fingers fucking myself furiously as my orgasm built up. 

“I’m always desperate for you, Jean … ” I moaned, breathing hard as I felt the pleasure taking over.

“ … and there is never… any confusion … of who … I’m with … when … we’re … together …,” I gasped out as my orgasm slammed into me, flying me into pleasure heaven before bringing me slowly back to earth.

As I opened my eyes to reacquaint myself with my surroundings on earth, I heard his loud groan as he reached his own peak. Hearing him cum got another interested twitch from my just-satisfied pussy.

We both stayed quiet as we tried to catch our breath. I had never had phone sex with a client before, but it wasn’t surprising that my first time would be with Jean. There was just something different about my moments with him. 

Fuck. This man was going to be a problem.

“I’ll see you in the evening, chérie. Your outfit has already been delivered. You can arrive at 5 pm, yes?”

“Thank you, and yes, I’ll be there at 5pm.”

Jean usually got me an outfit when I had to be his plus one. The first time, he had asked if I would mind him choosing for me because he wanted to surprise me. I had been super skeptical about a man choosing my clothes, but I allowed it and he wowed me. He has been choosing since. I was eager to see what he had selected this time.

From the invitation he had sent when he booked, the event would start at 6:30 pm, and since it was just a 30-minute drive, that would give me one hour to get ready. Jean never gave me more than an hour because he didn’t want to allow time for us to get distracted and fuck before the event.

“Super. Au revoir chérie, et à bientôt.” (Goodbye dear, and see you soon.)

“Au revoir,” I responded before cutting the line.

I couldn’t wait to see him again in person. 

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