I Advertised Myself as an Escort and Chose the Most Well-Endowed Man

I’d been carrying that feeling for weeks, one that was already familiar to me but never any less urgent: my body asking for what my mind alone couldn’t give it. It was a very specific kind of hunger, a constant heat that no nighttime fantasy could quite quiet. I knew what I needed. I had always known.

My name is Valeria, and I’ve been trans for as long as I can remember, even if it took me years to find the word for what I felt. When I was young, I had friends, I had crushes, I had a life that looked normal from the outside. But inside there was always that other parallel life, that desire to be the one who receives, the one who is desired, the one who drives a man mad just by existing.

That week I decided to act. I posted an ad on one of those discreet platforms, with a well-groomed photo of myself and a brief but clear description: trans woman available for encounters, selective with candidates. Before an hour had passed, there were more than twenty messages.

I read them one by one with a mixture of amusement and genuine desire. I asked for photos from the ones who seemed interesting. Some sent awkward bathroom selfies. Others sent exactly what I had asked to see. When Rodrigo’s photo arrived—that was the name he gave me—I knew he was the one. Thickness, length, the perfect shape of a cock I hadn’t yet had in my hands that night but could already feel in a very concrete way, weighing in my stomach, making me wet without my having done anything.

We arranged to meet at a hotel fifteen minutes from my apartment. He would arrive first and wait for me in the room. I had two hours to get ready.

***

I got into the shower and took the time the occasion deserved. Hot water, sandalwood-scented soap, foam running over every curve of a body that had taken years to learn how to love. With the handheld shower I washed myself inside patiently, over and over, until I was clean as a glass. I slipped two soapy fingers in and moved them in circles, opening myself little by little, already imagining what was going to go in there. I came out wrapped in a cream-colored towel and stood in front of the large mirror in the room for a moment, just looking at myself, with my nipples still hard from the cold water at the end.

I applied moisturizer calmly, without rushing, from my feet to my shoulders. Then the makeup: light foundation, precise contouring, lips in a dark red that I knew worked and that would be marked around his cock within the hour. I put on the wig, chestnut brown with loose waves that reached just past my shoulders. The result in the mirror satisfied me. I wasn’t the discreet girl of everyday life. I was something else: I was a shameless slut, a pretty slut, a slut who was going to be fucked the way she deserved.

For the clothes I chose with care. Black lace thong, high on the hips and minimal in back, holding my cock tight against my belly and showing off my ass nicely when I spread. A matching bra, half-cup, lifting my breasts and leaving my nipples barely covered. Over that, a black sheer mesh bodysuit that showed everything without revealing it all at once. Stockings, black with a seam, held up by a very fine garter belt. Stiletto heels, silver, high enough to brush discomfort.

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time before leaving. Tonight they’re going to fuck me until I can’t close my legs. I took my bag, my keys, and went down to the car.

***

The hotel was modern, discreet, the sort of place where nobody asks questions. The receptionist didn’t even look at me. I took the elevator up to the third floor and knocked on the door to room 312.

Rodrigo opened immediately. He was taller than I expected, broad-shouldered, with the kind of build that comes from working with your body, not from a gym. He had short hair, several days’ worth of untrimmed beard, and dark eyes that traveled over me from head to toe with a slowness I felt in my cunt, if that’s what you can call what I have between my legs and that at that moment was already responding on its own.

“God,” he said, and it was almost a whisper. “The photos don’t do you justice. You’re good enough to eat whole.”

I went in without answering. He closed the door.

He took me by the waist with both hands and turned me toward him. His mouth went straight to mine, no testing, with that confidence men have when they know what they want. I kissed him back with the same intensity, shoving my tongue all the way in, biting his lower lip. He smelled of understated cologne, soap, of a clean, hungry man.

His hands moved over my back, down to my hips, slid under the bodysuit and grabbed my ass with both open hands, squeezing, parting it, with a pressure that wasn’t aggressive but was very clear. I felt one finger slip between my cheeks, barely brushing where the night was going to end. I moaned against his mouth. He answered by squeezing harder and rubbing his bulge against mine. He was already hard, hard and huge, and he was grinding it over the fabric as if he couldn’t wait.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against my neck, licking along the line of my jaw. “You smell like you want to get fucked.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” I whispered in his ear. “And not slowly.”

He led me toward the bed without hurrying. He sat on the edge and I stood in front of him, letting him look. He deserved it. I deserved to be looked at like that, too.

I lowered the straps of the bodysuit very slowly. He followed every movement with his eyes and with one hand between his legs, adjusting his cock inside his pants without hiding it. When the lace of the bra came into view, he reached out and touched it with one finger, tracing the edge of the fabric, then slid down my stomach to the thong and ran his fingertip over my bulge, pressing it gently, checking what I had there, too.

“Well, well,” he said, half-smiling. “You’re ready too.”

“I can take all this off,” I said.

“Not yet. Come here first.”

I took his face in both hands and kissed him again, this time more slowly, while my fingers found his belt, then the button on his pants, then the zipper. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His cock sprang free, hard, thick, with marked veins and the tip already shining with a thread of clear fluid. I took it in my hand and it didn’t fit all the way around. It was exactly like in the photo, maybe better: hot, firm, with that specific weight that’s hard to describe but can be felt even in your teeth.

“Oh, what a beautiful cock you have,” I told him, and it wasn’t performance. It was true. I squeezed it, pumped it a couple of times slowly, felt it throbbing in my hand. “I’m going to suck it all the way down.”

He gave a low laugh and put his hand in my hair.

“Go on then. Suck me like you know how.”

***

I knelt on the carpet in front of him. There’s a way of sucking a cock that turns the act into something more than a service: it means taking your time, not going straight for the obvious, treating that cock as something worthy of worship.

I started at the base, flattening my tongue and licking from his balls to the tip, very slowly, wetting it all over. I took his testicles in my hand, weighed them, squeezed them carefully while I kept working with my tongue. I heard his breathing change. I took one whole ball into my mouth and sucked it calmly, then the other, then both at once while my hand gave him a slow wank.

“Fuck,” he let out. “Fuck, you do that so well.”

I worked my way up the shaft with my lips closed, squeezing, never quite reaching the tip. Then my tongue, slowly, following every vein, every contour, until I got to the glans and circled it without fully closing my mouth. He moved involuntarily toward me, pushing his hips to force the tip into me. I pulled back a centimeter and smiled at him.

“Don’t do that,” he protested, his voice rough.

“Don’t do what?” I asked, looking up at him with all the innocence in the world, while I kept giving him a slow handjob with my saliva-soaked hand.

I repeated the move two more times, drawing little drops from the tip and cleaning them off with my tongue, before opening my mouth properly and taking him the way he deserved to be taken. I went down slowly the first time, letting my throat adjust to him, and when the tip touched the back of my throat I breathed through my nose and went a little farther. I felt his hand in my hair tighten, felt him hold me there for a second before letting me come back up for air.

“Like that, take him all the way down,” he said, his voice altered. “All of it.”

I began to move faster. One hand worked his base, the other caressed his balls, and my mouth moved up and down at a rhythm he only half-set by tugging my hair. I loaded his cock with saliva on purpose so everything would be heard, so he could hear his cock going in and out of my mouth. Every so often I pulled off entirely and gave the underside long licks, making it shine, or flicked it across my cheeks and lips.

“Look at me while you suck me,” he ordered.

I raised my eyes and took him back to the hilt without breaking eye contact. I saw his mouth open, his neck tense, his eyes squeeze shut for a second before opening again. The look on his face was one of such complete satisfaction that it was hard not to cum in my thong just from seeing it.

I spent almost twenty minutes on that. When I felt him swelling more than usual and starting to move on its own in my mouth, I slowed down. I made the mistake of pausing to look at him and regretted it, because he couldn’t hold on any longer.

“Stop,” he said at last, yanking hard on my hair so I’d sit up. “Stop or I’m going to cum in your mouth and I don’t want to. Not yet.”

I stood up with my mouth dripping and a smile. He took off my bra with one hand, quick and clumsy-free. He lowered his head to my breasts and treated them with the same attention I’d given him before. He sucked my nipples one after the other, bit them slowly, stretched them with his teeth until I let out a long moan I hadn’t meant to give. Meanwhile, his hand went down to my thong and pushed it aside, and his middle finger, wet with saliva, found my hole and began making circles there, pressing, going in a half-knuckle, coming out, going in again.

“Put it between my ass cheeks already,” I whispered in his ear, my voice broken. “I want to feel what it’s like before you shove it all the way in.”

“Take that thong off,” he answered. “I want to see your ass.”

I obeyed. I was left in my stockings, garter belt, and heels. Nothing else. He turned me around and bent me over the bed, braced on my elbows, with my ass held up toward him. I felt his hands spreading my cheeks, and then his tongue, flat and hot, sliding up from behind my balls to my hole, stopping there, pressing, pushing in. I screamed into the mattress.

“Fuck, you love that,” he muttered, laughing softly as he kept eating my ass like it was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

He licked me for minutes. He pushed his tongue in as far as he could, then one finger, then two, scissoring them, opening me little by little. When I was already moving my ass against his face, begging for more, he stood up.

***

I lay face down on the bed, still with my ass in the air. He positioned himself over me, his weight distributed on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush me, and slid his cock between my cheeks, moving slowly, up and down, without entering me. I had put oil on before leaving home, right there, being prepared. With that and all the extra saliva and oil he took from the nightstand, the result was perfect friction that made it hard to breathe. The tip of his cock caught at my hole every time he came down, threatening, never quite deciding.

“Like this?” he asked, panting in my ear.

“Like this,” I confirmed. “But not just like this. Now. Put it in. Now.”

He opened my legs with one knee. With one hand he held his cock and placed the tip at my entrance. He began to prepare the ground patiently, with real care, without rushing, pressing and yielding, pressing a little more. Not all men know how to do that. Rodrigo did. I let him go deeper little by little, guiding the rhythm with the pressure of my hips, pushing back too, to swallow his cock.

“Rodrigo,” I said.

“Tell me.”

“Put it all in me. Now. In one go.”

I felt the pressure at first, that resistance that isn’t pain but the opposite: the sign that something is really happening. He advanced slowly, stopping every time I tightened my body, waiting, advancing again. I felt him open me centimeter by centimeter, thick, hard, insistent, until I felt his balls against my ass. When he got all the way in, we both stayed still for a second, and I let out a long, deep moan that came from a place in my body that hadn’t been visited for weeks.

This is exactly what I needed. A hard cock, all the way in, to the root.

He started moving. First carefully, pulling halfway out and plunging back in, then with more confidence when he saw I was responding with my whole body, moving my hips to his rhythm, searching for the angle. His hands on my waist were firm. Each thrust went a little farther than the last. I heard the wet smack of his hips against my ass, the slick snap of oil, my own voice moaning into the pillow.

“More,” I begged. “Harder. Don’t hold back.”

He didn’t need me to repeat it. He grabbed my hair with one hand, my shoulder with the other, and started fucking me for real. Every thrust was a hard blow that shook me whole, made my breasts slide against the sheets, pulled a muffled cry from me. His cock hit me in a very specific place, very deep, and with every movement I felt my head fall back on its own.

“What a ass you’ve got,” he panted. “What a tight ass, fuck.”

“It’s yours,” I answered without thinking. “It’s yours tonight. Break it.”

He pulled his cock out in one sharp motion and turned me over on the bed onto my back. He lifted my legs, rested my ankles on his shoulders, and slammed back into me in one full thrust. I screamed. From that angle I felt him even deeper, and I could see him: his concentrated face, his clenched jaw, sweat running down his neck. I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss him while he kept thrusting.

He changed positions without pulling out again. He put me on my side, with one leg raised, and fucked me from behind while his free hand pinched my nipples. Then he sat me on top of him, him lying on the bed and me astride, and let me do the work. I began to rise and fall, spearing myself on his cock, setting my own pace, looking down at him while he looked back at me with his mouth open. I took his hands and brought them to my tits so he could squeeze them. With my other hand I grabbed my own cock, hard as stone, and started jerking off to the same rhythm as he was fucking me.

“I’m going to cum,” I warned him. “I’m going to cum just from feeling you inside me.”

“Cum,” he said, squeezing my hips to drive it in deeper. “Cum on me.”

I came like that, riding him, with his cock all the way inside and my hand working my cock. A long, hot spurt shot out and landed on his stomach and chest. I felt everything inside me tighten around him, my ass squeezing him in waves, and he gave a groan that was almost a roar.

“Me too,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m cumming too. Where?”

“Inside,” I answered without hesitation. “Inside me. Fill me up.”

He took my hips with both hands and thrust up into me four, five, six more times, each one harder than the last. At the moment of the finish I felt it in my whole body: he went more tense, deeper, more frantic, and then a long spasm that filled me with heat from the inside. I felt each throb of his cock emptying into me, one jet after another, and I let out a short cry, eyes closed. He stayed still underneath me, breathing hard, with his hands still dug into my waist.

I let myself fall onto his chest without pulling out. I felt him soften inside me little by little, and his semen trickling out between my cheeks and wetting his thighs. Neither of us said anything for a while.

***

We lay there for a long time. He had one hand on my hip, I was looking at the ceiling of the room with such complete physical satisfaction that it was almost funny. Outside, city traffic could be heard, muffled by the window’s double pane. I could feel his cum sliding down the inside of my thigh and I did nothing to clean myself up.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Very okay,” I said, and it was the most honest answer I’d given in weeks. “You fucked me exactly how I needed to be fucked.”

He gave a low laugh and squeezed my ass with his open hand.

When he got up to shower, I stayed in bed a little longer, not moving, with my legs still open and my body pulsing slowly. I wondered if I’d do this again. Probably yes. Not for the money, which was the least important part. But for this: the certainty that the body knows what it wants, and that every now and then it’s worth giving it to yourself without complications, with a hard cock all the way in and without asking anyone’s permission.

Rodrigo came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, got dressed with the efficiency of someone who has somewhere else to be, and before closing the door he turned back.

“That was incredible,” he said. “Next time I’ll fuck you in front too, if you let me.”

“I know,” I replied, smiling. “And I’ll let you.”

The door closed. I was left alone in the warm room, with the mixed scent of the two of us still in the air, with his semen still inside me, thinking about absolutely nothing. It was a very pleasant feeling.