My confidence as a pooner certainly took a trouncing today. This is going to be a hard review to write; every chivalrous fibre of my being revolts against being publicly critical of someone who allowed me inside her lovely body.
After reading the (mostly) favorable reviews of Great Pharaoh I interrupt my Asian binge to check out this ritzy non-Asian MP that offers a $.7 all-inclusive.
I can't find the bell, so I knock. No response for 30 seconds. It occurs to me that, perhaps, this is a “let-yourself-in” place—and sure enough, the door isn't locked. I walk into an elegant but deserted reception area, read the sign by the desk and holler "Hello, hello, anyone here?"
Seconds later a striking Latino-looking lady named Dior appears to welcome me with a sueforum.xxxright smile. “I’d like to spend some time with one of the lovely ladies here,” I say and try to hand her the donation. She chuckles, “Don’t you want to see the ladies first?”
I'm shown three others, all of them enticingly packaged and absolutely doable—and each shaking hands while looking me in the eye!! Wow, I think, how classy. But I yield to the power of first impression: Dior herself is my first choice.
She guides me to an amazingly cozy room with a bed and a large clock (but no shower). She says I can take a shower down the hall if I want. I tell her I just stepped out of a bubble bath and hand her the donation.
She leaves for a few minutes and returns in a stunningly sexy outfit. The soft roundedness of her face and body type resonate deeply with some aesthetic pattern of ideal femininity in me (in part probably because I’ve had luck with a similar-looking Latino lady before). Although I’m not particular to tattoos, Dior is such a feast for my eyes that hers don’t distract me at all.
I had put on the bathrobe, and she chides me—I wasn’t sure whether jokingly—for having to wash it now. She tells me she bruised one of her eyes last night, and that I need to be gentle with her face. No problem. I feel compassion, which always intensifies my lust.
Wanting to savor the anticipation of becoming intimate with this gorgeous woman I decide to warm up to her touch by asking for a massage first. She has me lie face down and sprinkles oil on my back but applies almost no pressure, her hands just sloshing the oil around. She informs me that her hands are sore from taking a pole dancing class. Again, no problem, as long as her pussy isn't sore too.
Turning back to face her I ask her to get me hard with her hand. She obliges, though with a certain evident lack of enthusiasm. When I ask if she likes her job, she says she’d rather not answer. Under the circumstances, Junior seems none too eager to rise to the occasion.
Switching to stimulation from visuals, I take things into my own right hand while asking her to lie spread-eagled in front of me, touching herself. I ask if DATY is okay—a term she doesn’t understand. So I ask if I can lick her pussy, and she says no, she doesn’t allow that.
Well, I respect a lady’s resolve to play as safely as humanly possible. To my delight, Dior lets me help her gently rub that smooth-shaven, cutely crinkled, pussy-ring-decorated vulva, and suddenly she presses my fingers firmly inside her for deep DIGITS.
My cock is at cruising altitude now. I ask her to slip on the condom but she just puts on the tip and asks me to unroll it myself. Although her counter-request to my request isn’t exactly a gesture of devoted service, my excitement is kept solid by an unrequested but welcome CBJ.
We go into MISH, and she feels great to me, especially as she emits quiet moans and seems to work up a bit of passion, even pulling my face down cheek to cheek with hers. Next I motion her to go on top, and she obliges, and I enjoy holding her nice firm breasts with those hard nipples.
But our ideas of CG are not in harmony. I don't explicitly request Asian CG but I gently try to adjust her legs so that she would move up and down a bit more. Perhaps uncomfortable, she abruptly changes to DOGGIE.
Fine by me. The new vista inspires me to ask if she ever does anal, and she sharply says no—“never have, never will.” Then, still in DOGGIE, I think I hear her say in a low voice, “Hurry up.”
As we’re about 10 min into post-penetration FS, and I’m definitely a 20-minutes-at-least kind of guy, this is bad news. I pretend not to hear. But then she repeats, “I need you to finish soon.”
A glance at the clock tells me there’s a good twenty minutes left. When I point this out to her in my most mild-mannered fashion, she says she has a class, in half an hour, in a Vancouver suburb that’s probably more than half an hour’s drive away. She'll be badly late.
Noticing my erection wilt slightly at this turn of events I don’t prolong the conversation but switch to good old MISH for a quick, dignified finale. I can feel the condom threatening to slip off—so I pull out to manually fortify my erection while holding on to the condom. Though my fingernails are short, I must have inadvertently pinched her because she screams, using a mild expletive: “*#%@, don’t pinch me!”
Crash and burn? No! My stubborn “blow-your-load-come-what-may” attitude kicks in. I apologize and resume pumping, using auto-suggestive fantasy and talking dirty in my native language (which she luckily doesn’t understand). She’s a pretty good sport enduring this desperate 5 min pumping effort without movement, except for telling me two more times to finish. With 14 minutes of my time left, and far from reaching my plateau, I psych myself into letting a weak orgasm trickle forth.
As I’m cleaning myself up I ask Dior, in my friendliest voice, "Why didn't you tell me right in the beginning you have a class to go to and would be in a hurry?" She answers that she has rent to pay. I ask if she considers me a difficult client. She says no.
On the way in, at the reception table, I had noticed a message from management saying they didn’t condone sessions being cut short. I decide to put this to the test and ask Dior to give me a 10-min massage during my remaining time. She agrees, engaging in the same feeble sloshing of oil around my back as before. I ask if she plans to take massage training, and she says “No, I know I give a lousy massage.”
Well, becoming the world’s best massage parlor SP is understandably not Dior’s first ambition. Though I couldn’t find a review of her services, she said she has been at GP for a year—so clearly, most clients must be satisfied most of the time, and the fault this time is perhaps largely mine, for not being a better lover. Here I was, riding the crest of a wave of pooning success, and yet I failed pathetically to establish meaningful rapport with this lovely creature and and turn her on.
A salutarily humbling reality check, a small bump on pooner’s road.
After reading the (mostly) favorable reviews of Great Pharaoh I interrupt my Asian binge to check out this ritzy non-Asian MP that offers a $.7 all-inclusive.
I can't find the bell, so I knock. No response for 30 seconds. It occurs to me that, perhaps, this is a “let-yourself-in” place—and sure enough, the door isn't locked. I walk into an elegant but deserted reception area, read the sign by the desk and holler "Hello, hello, anyone here?"
Seconds later a striking Latino-looking lady named Dior appears to welcome me with a sueforum.xxxright smile. “I’d like to spend some time with one of the lovely ladies here,” I say and try to hand her the donation. She chuckles, “Don’t you want to see the ladies first?”
I'm shown three others, all of them enticingly packaged and absolutely doable—and each shaking hands while looking me in the eye!! Wow, I think, how classy. But I yield to the power of first impression: Dior herself is my first choice.
She guides me to an amazingly cozy room with a bed and a large clock (but no shower). She says I can take a shower down the hall if I want. I tell her I just stepped out of a bubble bath and hand her the donation.
She leaves for a few minutes and returns in a stunningly sexy outfit. The soft roundedness of her face and body type resonate deeply with some aesthetic pattern of ideal femininity in me (in part probably because I’ve had luck with a similar-looking Latino lady before). Although I’m not particular to tattoos, Dior is such a feast for my eyes that hers don’t distract me at all.
I had put on the bathrobe, and she chides me—I wasn’t sure whether jokingly—for having to wash it now. She tells me she bruised one of her eyes last night, and that I need to be gentle with her face. No problem. I feel compassion, which always intensifies my lust.
Wanting to savor the anticipation of becoming intimate with this gorgeous woman I decide to warm up to her touch by asking for a massage first. She has me lie face down and sprinkles oil on my back but applies almost no pressure, her hands just sloshing the oil around. She informs me that her hands are sore from taking a pole dancing class. Again, no problem, as long as her pussy isn't sore too.
Turning back to face her I ask her to get me hard with her hand. She obliges, though with a certain evident lack of enthusiasm. When I ask if she likes her job, she says she’d rather not answer. Under the circumstances, Junior seems none too eager to rise to the occasion.
Switching to stimulation from visuals, I take things into my own right hand while asking her to lie spread-eagled in front of me, touching herself. I ask if DATY is okay—a term she doesn’t understand. So I ask if I can lick her pussy, and she says no, she doesn’t allow that.
Well, I respect a lady’s resolve to play as safely as humanly possible. To my delight, Dior lets me help her gently rub that smooth-shaven, cutely crinkled, pussy-ring-decorated vulva, and suddenly she presses my fingers firmly inside her for deep DIGITS.
My cock is at cruising altitude now. I ask her to slip on the condom but she just puts on the tip and asks me to unroll it myself. Although her counter-request to my request isn’t exactly a gesture of devoted service, my excitement is kept solid by an unrequested but welcome CBJ.
We go into MISH, and she feels great to me, especially as she emits quiet moans and seems to work up a bit of passion, even pulling my face down cheek to cheek with hers. Next I motion her to go on top, and she obliges, and I enjoy holding her nice firm breasts with those hard nipples.
But our ideas of CG are not in harmony. I don't explicitly request Asian CG but I gently try to adjust her legs so that she would move up and down a bit more. Perhaps uncomfortable, she abruptly changes to DOGGIE.
Fine by me. The new vista inspires me to ask if she ever does anal, and she sharply says no—“never have, never will.” Then, still in DOGGIE, I think I hear her say in a low voice, “Hurry up.”
As we’re about 10 min into post-penetration FS, and I’m definitely a 20-minutes-at-least kind of guy, this is bad news. I pretend not to hear. But then she repeats, “I need you to finish soon.”
A glance at the clock tells me there’s a good twenty minutes left. When I point this out to her in my most mild-mannered fashion, she says she has a class, in half an hour, in a Vancouver suburb that’s probably more than half an hour’s drive away. She'll be badly late.
Noticing my erection wilt slightly at this turn of events I don’t prolong the conversation but switch to good old MISH for a quick, dignified finale. I can feel the condom threatening to slip off—so I pull out to manually fortify my erection while holding on to the condom. Though my fingernails are short, I must have inadvertently pinched her because she screams, using a mild expletive: “*#%@, don’t pinch me!”
Crash and burn? No! My stubborn “blow-your-load-come-what-may” attitude kicks in. I apologize and resume pumping, using auto-suggestive fantasy and talking dirty in my native language (which she luckily doesn’t understand). She’s a pretty good sport enduring this desperate 5 min pumping effort without movement, except for telling me two more times to finish. With 14 minutes of my time left, and far from reaching my plateau, I psych myself into letting a weak orgasm trickle forth.
As I’m cleaning myself up I ask Dior, in my friendliest voice, "Why didn't you tell me right in the beginning you have a class to go to and would be in a hurry?" She answers that she has rent to pay. I ask if she considers me a difficult client. She says no.
On the way in, at the reception table, I had noticed a message from management saying they didn’t condone sessions being cut short. I decide to put this to the test and ask Dior to give me a 10-min massage during my remaining time. She agrees, engaging in the same feeble sloshing of oil around my back as before. I ask if she plans to take massage training, and she says “No, I know I give a lousy massage.”
Well, becoming the world’s best massage parlor SP is understandably not Dior’s first ambition. Though I couldn’t find a review of her services, she said she has been at GP for a year—so clearly, most clients must be satisfied most of the time, and the fault this time is perhaps largely mine, for not being a better lover. Here I was, riding the crest of a wave of pooning success, and yet I failed pathetically to establish meaningful rapport with this lovely creature and and turn her on.
A salutarily humbling reality check, a small bump on pooner’s road.