An erotic story at the intersection of work and pleasure, by Pimenta Cítrica.

The Miami Callboy

Well, most of them are beautiful. A lot of them are older, but they do have a ‘MILF’ style and class. To be honest, I’m a simp for a good MILF. They are kind, generous, and interesting. In general, I would much prefer spending a weekend with a 50-something widow looking for a good time than go to a bachelorette party of whiny white girls who act like they are too good to pay for sex 

, and then they go back to their boring ass men in boring ass Middle America.

Oh, how rude of me. My name is Daniel but call me Dan.

I was born in Brighton – a small beach town just south of London – to a working-class family. Growing up was fun; I was always going around with the lads, got into some trouble, had luck with the ladies. But Brighton was a bit too small for me so I packed my bags and moved to London as soon as I finished school.

Like in the US, going to uni isn’t cheap in the UK. I wanted to go, but I wasn’t even sure what to study, so the plan got pushed back year after year. I had jobs here and there and then started making quite a bit as a club promoter, so decided to visit America for the first time – New York and then Miami.

Florida is the complete fucking opposite of Britain. In London everything is gray and serious and there’s a solemnity to everyone. People are cold and stiff. Florida is like a tropical cocktail on acid. Everything is colorful and fun and ridiculous. People allow themselves to let loose here like nowhere else. The things I’ve seen from celebrities, politicians… It’s nuts, man. I loved the atmosphere in Florida, and the weather… For a Brit like me, it was heaven.

I ended up extending my stay. Then again, and again… It’s been six years.

The sex gig only came about one year in. Look, I’ll be honest, I know that I look good. I’ve known since I was a teenager. As I started to grow up, I’d notice how women (and men) would steal glances at me. They’d have desire in their eyes. I like to be wanted but I’m no Jersey shore obnoxious asshole. I mostly keep to myself – plus, I never imagined I could make money off my looks.

I was doing a catering job at a party – upscale event, old-money type. This woman came up to me and told me to call her after my shift was over. I was totally oblivious: to me she was very attractive and I just thought I had gotten lucky. The next morning, she paid me $300 cash. 

I like my job. Sure, some days it sucks, but isn’t it like that with every job? 

I got a couple of regs and I make good money. I try to keep my British accent as much as possible because clients love it. I get to live in a city where there’s sun 80 percent of the year and I even send my folks some nice gifts from time to time.

Of course, my Facebook says I’m a model, which, in Miami at least, pretty much means you’re a sex worker.

Anyway, I’m getting ready to check potential bookings for the weekend. It’s just after spring break and the city is quieter than usual. I log into one of the escort platforms I use and can my new messages. One of them catches my attention:

Hello, Dan. I flew in from Berlin for a job and need somebody to show me around and help me have a good time. Would love to have a couple of hours of your time. You can check my IG to see what I look like.

There’s a link. I click on it and raise an eyebrow. She doesn’t look German, but then again, some people say I don’t look British either, so what does that even mean? She definitely looks very attractive and cool, but what stands out is that she looks nothing like anyone who usually hires me.

She has this hipster air to her, tattoos, berets and culottes that give her a very European flair (along with actually using full sentences on a text, of course). She has a boyish edge to her too and a very pretty face that for sure grants that getting laid would never be an issue for her. Plus, she looks kind of young to be able to afford my rate. I’m intrigued...

U got my attention. Would u like to meet privately or go out?

I think I would rather go with you to a bar and then see if we are a good fit for anything else. I’m prepared to pay you for the total time you stay with me, of course.

Going out with a clients is nothing unusual, but a lot of the time we come as ‘entertainment’ to private parties or we are paid to go to a club. 

A few minutes later, a message notification:

At a hotel downtown. I’m happy to hop on an Uber to meet you somewhere.

I can sense she wants to meet on a public setting and that’s fair enough. I think about taking her to South Beach but maybe she’d have a better time in a less mainstream place, so I suggest Wynwood.

Let’s meet outside the Wynwood Walls? Say around 8?

She’s a bit late and I’m taking the time to smash my Candy Crush records. The night is nice and warm. When she comes, she stands out. Not everyone in Miami goes for a night out in tailored pants and Converse. Her style is quite obviously European and I reminisce a little for the girls over the pond. It’s not better or worse than Florida girls, it’s just 

. Scarlet-painted lips, petite frame, nice smile, cappuccino skin. I’m curious about her, and as we make it into the first bar, we order a couple of margaritas. She seems a little awkward.

“So, what brings you to Miami?” I ask, trying to ease into conversation.

“I’m a sex-activist. I’m here for a sex tech convention, actually.”

“Oh, wow, really? I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. People are making millions with sex toys. Soon enough having sex with other people will be obsolete.”

“Oh my god, that was an awful thing to say. I don’t even believe in it. I’m just nervous, sorry.” I look at her sideways.

“Can I ask why you hired an escort? I mean, you don’t seem like the kind of girl who needs to pay for sex.”

“Well, maybe I’m just the kind of girl who needs to pay for 

sex.” A pause. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you. I’m in Miami, which is a city I never thought I’d be in. I decided to just do new things. I have had a lot of lame one-night stands, I’ve been single for a while now and… Well, I just want to have a guaranteed orgasm. Like, I want to be able to tell you what I like and

“Plus, you’re really fucking hot, and not the type of person I usually date, so you know... I wat to get out of the comfort zone.”

I let out a hearty laugh at that. I don’t think I have a type; I get along with many types of women and find most of them attractive. I’m not sure if I should feel offended or flattered by the jab. Either way, she’s fucking gorgeous and I like her honesty.

I want her to tell me what she likes so I can do it for her.

A couple of drinks and a round at a club after and we end up in her hotel. She’s staying in a nice boutique hotel downtown, all paid for by her work, she says, and I can tell she’s having a good time. She’s a smart girl, clearly successful, and it seems like for her this is a break from real life, like she’s stepped into an alternative reality.

For me, it’s the type of night of work that reminds me why I love my job.

She told me she wants me to go down on her until she cums, no matter how long it takes. She’s tired of men who are lazy in bed and she’s paying to climax. She’s expecting technique – and I know I can deliver.

It’s a good challenge because a lot of women come to me to feel wanted and desired. She’s not on the lookout for that. She wants to get her money’s worth of grade-A sex.

She is wearing black lace lingerie under her clothes. Her body is petite but strong, skin fresh and glowing. Fuck. Looking at her makes me hard. She raises her eyebrow at me from the bed, in her skimpy lingerie.

Absolutely not. The only thing better than looking will surely be tasting.

I lay down on top of her, and take my time. She warned me that she’s very sensitive, so I have to build things up slowly. My tongue finds the skin of her thighs, nibbling and licking slowly and torturously, making sure she is relaxed and wet before I can have a taste. She’s pliant and clearly ready to enjoy herself, responsive and not holding back at all. It’s a welcome change to the type of clients where, after 20 years of being married to a lazy asshole, waking her libido up again can be hard.

I really do take my time; I want to impress her. It makes me mad to think a girl this breathtaking 

She grabs my hair and my cock pulses painfully in my boxers. I lick around the edges of her panties, teasing, torturing, until she is panting loudly and pressing her hips against my face. Only then do I slowly remove her underwear. 

Pussy is pussy, and I love them all, otherwise I wouldn’t do what I do for work. There is nothing better than seeing one shiny and wet in front of you, waiting to be licked and taken. I go slow, mindful of her words. She moans and opens her legs on the spot. 

. So fucking hot, it’s making me ache. I want to make this sweet, spicy, beautiful girl cum.

I roam my tongue all around her vulva, drinking in her sweet wetness. 

 I am kind of fucking the bed by this point, just grinding against the mattress, my cock diamond-hard as I am intoxicated by her taste and smell.

But I increase pressure gradually, until she’s whimpering and whining and begging me to go harder, then I suck her clit into my mouth, slurping on it. She screams and I shove my tongue inside her, move it around, and by then she’s thrashing on the bed, mumbling incoherently, and when I suck her clit again, she pulls at my hair so hard it’s painful, lifting her hips off her bed and moaning beautifully. It just takes the tip of my finger to get inside her for her to cum all over my face.

I can feel her vaginal walls contracting around my finger and I ride it out with her, licking and sucking until she pushes my mouth away. My chin is soaked. Her pussy looks even more beautiful. 

I look at the clock. It’s only 4am. She has paid for the whole night and I’m gonna make sure she gets every penny’s worth.