My Gigolo Experience in Kerala

Hey guys, I’m back with another experience of mine. I asked a client if she would allow me to write about her experience with me here. She agreed as long as she wrote it from her perspective. So, here it is. Hope you like it.

Sana’s POV:

I had one rule when I travelled for work — never mix business and pleasure. But tonight, in this overpriced hotel suite in Kochi, I was ready to break it.

Maybe it was the humidity. Maybe it was how long I’d been dry, stuck between men who talked big but fucked soft. Or maybe it was him.

Arjun.

The women in that secret Telegram group raved about him — Kerala boy, broad as fuck, knows exactly how to fuck you senseless and leave you craving more. No fake promises, no sleazy lines. Just quiet, confident filth.

I told myself I was only curious when I texted him. But I booked the suite. I shaved. I packed the lingerie. I was already too far gone. And now, I’m standing in front of Room 314, palms sweating, pussy aching under my dress.

I raise my hand to knock. The door opens before I touch it. And shit — I nearly forgot how to breathe.

He’s taller than I expected. Maybe 5’11, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his plain black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show veined forearms. His skin’s that rich brown, darker than mine, sun-soaked, sharp jaw, eyes so damn steady.

It’s like he’s already fucked me in his head twice.

“You coming in, Sana?” His voice is low and smooth. Teasing, but not boyish. All man.

I swallow, walking in, heels clicking against the cool floor. His eyes stay glued to my ass. I feel the heat between my thighs worsen already.

“First time with a man like me?”

I smirk, shaking my head, lying through my teeth. “I know what I want.”

“Good,” he mutters, closing the door, stepping close — fuck, he’s close. The space between us disappears. His hand brushes my waist, thumb dragging slowly along the line of my dress.

“And right now, what you want’s dripping through your panties, isn’t it?”

My throat tightens. His other hand slips lower, bold, pressing between my thighs — fingers finding the heat, the wet patch ruining my lace.

I gasp. He chuckles, dark, low. “Soaked, just like I thought.”

It escalates fast. His hands were strong, rough, but precise. Tug my dress down, mouth crashing against mine, tongue slipping in, tasting, claiming. His body presses me against the wall, hard cock pressing against my belly through his jeans, thick, heavy, making my pussy clench with pure need.

“Strip,” he orders, voice gone rough, eyes dark.

I don’t argue. Dress down, lace panties sliding off, my tits bare, nipples tight. I should feel nervous. I only feel hungry.

He steps back, strips slowly, buttons open, shirt off, broad chest, solid abs, arms built to pin me down. When his jeans drop, my eyes widen. His cock was thick, long, curving upward, veined, and dripping at the tip. My mouth waters.

“On your knees, pretty thing,” he growls, hand fisting the base, stroking slowly. I drop, fingers trembling, lips parting as I take him in — head pushing past my lips, stretching my deep throat. He hisses, one hand gripping my hair.

“Fuck… you’ve got a filthy mouth,” he groans, guiding me down, deeper, my gag muffled as spit trails down my chin.

I suck, sloppy, desperate, fingers pumping what I can’t fit. He’s thick, heavy on my tongue, cock twitching as he fucks my face gently, eyes never leaving mine.

“That’s it… choke on it, messy girl,” he mutters, hips flexing, fucking my mouth till my eyes blur with tears.

He pulls out suddenly, smirking as I gasp for air. “Bed. Now.”

I climb onto the sheets, legs wide, pussy dripping. His eyes roam, devouring me, cock thick in his fist as he strokes slowly, teasing.

He drops between my thighs, mouth on me — hot, sinful, tongue flicking my clit, fingers stretching me open. He eats me like a starving man. Lips sucking, tongue working my clit until my back arches, legs shaking, orgasm ripping through me embarrassingly fast.

“One down,” he chuckles, lining his cock at my entrance.

“You want it raw?” His tip nudges my slit, teasing, spreading me apart.

“Yes… please…” I beg, voice wrecked.

“Say it filthy.”

“Fuck me raw… stretch me till I can’t think…”

That’s all he needs. He thrusts in, thick, hard, my walls stretch painfully perfect, cock filling every inch till I gasp, nails clawing his back.

He moves. His hips pounding deep, steady, controlled. His hands grip my thighs, pushing them wider as he ruins me, cock slamming inside, balls slapping my ass, the room thick with filthy sounds.

“Tight fucking pussy… dripping all over me,” he groans, pace brutal now, eyes locked on mine.

I can’t think — just moan, beg, come undone again as his cock hits deep, stretching me raw, his thrusts precise, relentless.

“Cum on my cock, baby,” he demands, hand pressing my clit, thumb circling rough till I explode, pussy clenching, body shaking, gasping his name like a prayer.

He flips me — ass up, face down, cock slamming back in hard. His hand wraps my hair, pulling gently, voice filthy against my ear.

“Have you ever been ruined like this?”

“N-no…” I choke, fucked too dumb to lie.

“Good… remember who wrecked you raw.”

His cock drills deep, thick, stretching me till my eyes blur, cum leaking down my thighs as he pounds harder, rougher, hips slapping against my ass. He groans, deep, filling me with every last drop, cock pulsing inside, his cum spilling, hot, raw, perfect.

We collapse — bodies slick, breaths uneven. He dresses quietly, cock still heavy, smirk dangerous.

“Worth it?”

I nod, wrecked, thighs trembling. He slips a card onto the nightstand, fingers brushing my jaw gently. My pussy still aches, my mind’s fogged, my body marked. Fuck, I’m already craving him again.

And that was the story, fellas. Do let me know about this via my email: [email protected]. All are welcome to talk to me.