Lienzo y dinero

I stood on the balcony of the seaside hotel suite, the warm salt air brushing my skin, but all I could think about was how badly I needed to be touched. My fingers itched to sketch, yet the ache between my thighs was louder. When the knock came, I opened the door to Marcus, the model I’d hired through the discreet escort service. He was tall, sun-bronzed, with sharp cheekbones and a quiet confidence that made my pulse race.

“Evening, Lena,” he said, voice low and smooth like the waves outside. “Ready to create something unforgettable?”

I swallowed, heat already pooling low. “That’s why you’re here. Two hours, full rate. No limits tonight.”

His dark eyes flicked over my short silk robe, lingering on the swell of my breasts. “Understood. Where do you want me?”

The explicit hunger hit fast. I didn’t bother with sketches. I grabbed his hand and pulled him straight to the wide bed overlooking the moonlit sea.

“On your back,” I whispered, pushing him down. My robe slipped open as I straddled his hips, feeling the thick ridge of his cock pressing up through his pants.

“Fuck, you’re direct,” Marcus breathed, hands sliding up my thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh. “I like that.”

I ground against him once, twice, the friction making my clit throb. Then I yanked his zipper down, freeing his heavy cock. It sprang up, veined and flushed, the head already glistening. My pussy clenched at the sight.

No slow warm-up. I rose on my knees, gripped his thick shaft, and sank down hard. The stretch burned so good as my wet pussy swallowed every inch.

“Oh shit… so tight,” he groaned, head tipping back against the pillows. His fingers dug into my hips, guiding but not controlling.

I planted my palms on his chest and started riding him fast, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin echoing with the distant crash of waves. My tits bounced under the open robe. Each downward thrust sent sparks through my clit.

“Harder, Marcus. Use your hands. Touch me everywhere.”

His palms roamed greedily, squeezing my breasts, rolling my nipples until I gasped. Then one hand dropped between us, fingers finding my swollen clit, rubbing tight circles in time with my rhythm. The dual sensation made my walls flutter around his cock.

I came first, sudden and sharp, pussy pulsing hard as I cried out. Wetness slicked his shaft and dripped down his balls. But I didn’t stop. I lifted off, spun around, and lowered myself again in reverse, giving him a perfect view of my ass.

“Goddamn, look at that juicy view,” he muttered, voice ragged. His fingers traced my spine, then gripped my cheeks, spreading them as I bounced. The new angle hit deeper, his cockhead dragging along my front wall with every stroke.

I leaned forward, bracing on his shins, changing the rhythm to short, grinding rolls that made my clit grind against his base. The pressure built again, hotter, faster. His breath hitched.

“Lena… I’m close. Tell me where.”

“Inside. Fill me.”

He thrust up to meet me, fingers digging bruises into my hips. Our pace turned frantic, the bed creaking, my moans mixing with his low grunts. When I clenched around him a second time, he followed, cock throbbing as thick ropes of cum flooded my pussy. I felt every pulse, every spurt, until it leaked out around his shaft.

We collapsed sideways, still joined, breathing hard. The sea breeze cooled our sweaty skin. Marcus brushed damp hair from my face, a lazy grin spreading.

“So… did I inspire any art?”

I laughed, light and free, the tension gone. “Maybe tomorrow. Right now I’m thinking round two on the balcony.”

He chuckled with me, the sound warm and easy, like the waves rolling in below.