Client #4 was a good surprise. His photo showed him to look like one of the cast of The Office. So bland you'd think he would disappear into the cubicle walls at work.
In person however, he was quite pleasant looking. Just scraped into my 4 beers or less fuckability system I think, but made up for it with a great accent and wonderful personality.
He was the first client to request a special outfit. I'd gone all out. PVC halter neck and skirt (and bless, bless I found a company on eBay that did them in XXL), killer gangster heels and fishnets.
My shoes were so high I could only clomp around the house like a little kid wearing mummy's high heels. I felt silly, rather than sexy, and was snorting with laughter and I tried to walk down my hallway with a swaying, sex kitten mince.
I must say with Client #4 never have I had a man so starved of the sexing. If he could have consumed me I'm sure he would have. I had to peel him off my clit after three orgasms for fear it would fall off.
The next day he wrote me a love letter of sorts. I think I'll treasure it always. You can bury it with me should I die, and if the family reads it they can just raise their eyebrows in wonder and speculate as to what my life was really like.
Among his many stirring lines of thanks was a mention I had the "sweetest pussy he'd ever tasted".
Bell has taken to calling me SugarLips.