Hong Kong Relief

Andrew hauled his sorry carcass back from Hong Kong stuffed with duty-free crap nobody needs. The Madam greets him at the door with a smile that promises every service ever printed on the little menu board behind the counter. After Andrew spits the usual two minutes of nonsense about his flight, he gets paraded past a row of girls. He picks Naomi. Smart mouth, long legs, you can tell she knows the scoreboard already. She takes him upstairs, oil on the table, lights low, polite small talk about Hong Kong prices, all of it. Two songs later Andrew rolls onto his back, cock standing at attention like it’s saluting the national anthem. Naomi leans in with the fake casual reach for more oil and one heavy tit slips right out of that loose robe. She watches his eyes follow the show, doesn’t bother fixing it. Instead she quotes the extra like she’s negotiating two dozen apples at the wet market. Andrew grins and pays. Then Naomi strips the rest of the pretense, hikes her foot onto the table and starts stroking him with slick toes while her fingers make lazy circles under the head. Andrew’s eyes keep bouncing between the nipple brushing her robe and the arch of her foot working him over. When his breathing starts running like a busted fan, Naomi lowers her chest and lets him finish right between her tits, warm spurts painting freckled skin while she keeps that same light smirk like she bets everyone tips the same. Story ends with a towel that’s never quite enough, a wink, and the Madam already calling up the next name.