Princess Diana was the people’s princess. I am the people’s slut. I write about my adventures for you, the people, in the hope that you will be amused. I hope you find my writing at least moderately enjoyable. Even if you don’t enjoy it, I don’t care. I’ll continue writing even if the only one reading my posts is me. I fear that my current adventures might soon come to an end because of the lack of quality peens out in the world and my difficulty in locating said peens. It is exhausting being a slut.

To clarify, as a slut, I do not fuck every guy who shows interest. There’s just no way. Most of the men who contact me on AFF are not my taste (i.e., they’re icky). Most who contact me there would not even be allowed to put fuel into my car, much less reel in the delights of my giblets. I mean, even sluts have standards and I am selective and will only fuck a man that somehow amuses me. Not every man I meet gets to get up close and personal with my #pinkbits. Most men I meet, in point of fact, have absolutely no interest in my bits at all. It’s true.

I’m sitting here in Las Vegas the morning after my evening with the gigolo. I think we’ll call him Man Bun. For those who recall my meeting with Giggy back in February, know that Man Bun was my first choice, but he was traveling during the time I’d be in Vegas.

I put on my black maxi wrap dress, exposing just the right amount of cleavage. My hair was a rat’s nest since my blow dryer diffuser did not fit on the hotel’s minuscule hair dryer. DAMMIT. In hindsight, bringing my fancy-schmancy Dyson blow dryer would have been a good idea, but it doesn’t matter now. I looked acceptable from the boobs up, even with my funky hair. Below the boobs was another story entirely. I felt lumpy and cow-like, but it was too late to cancel and out the door I went.

The hotel lobby was buzzing with activity. There were lots of families and couples…and me. I sat there alone looking like a dork. There are not many people in Vegas alone. It is all couples, families, or groups of bachelor/ettes. Right before 8 p.m., I got a text from Man Bun’s agent (pimp, whatever) saying he just parked and was walking into the lobby. Holy crap! I stood up and started walking over to the entrance. My glasses are at home (because I am a moron) on my kitchen counter, so I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t miss him.

Oh, there was no way I’d miss him. The man is remarkable. He’s 6’1″ with long, shiny, black hair which was, at this point, not in a man bun. He has lovely dark skin and lots of tattoos. His chest was broad. His smile was sincere. Kind, even. Man Bun wore a black t-shirt that skimmed over his ridiculously sculpted torso. He wore distressed, rather right jeans, and red (?) high-top sneakers. I walked over to him and we hugged and kissed. He happens to be 10 years my junior, if you were wondering.

Man Bun and I walked over to the bar to grab a drink. I had a margarita – rocks and salt – and he had a Red Bull and Tito’s. We talked for a bit. He is worldly and thoughtful in his speech. Did I mention how handsome he is? His looks combined with his physical appearance put him head and shoulders above Giggy. After maybe 20 minutes, he suggested that we go up to my room and off we went to the 19th floor.

We entered my room and he sat on the foot of the bed. I walked over to him after flicking off my shoes (no, not the Louboutins….one does not flick Louboutins) and he pulled me in close and began to kiss me. I am not usually big on kissing, but I let myself become engulfed in his warm kisses. His hands were strong as he moved them over my body. I stood between his legs and then he grabbed my ass, stood up with me wrapped around his waist, and then sat back down on the bed, with me still wrapped tightly around his midsection. He. Is. Strong. Fuck, that’s a turn-on. I’m not a small girl, so any man who can lift me up like that is okay in my book. We grinded against one another and I could feel what was to come.

The kissing continued and I was not offended by it. He had very good technique and didn’t Hannibal Lecter my face. We gently bit one another’s lips, but it was not cannibalistic and unrefined like with the Fetus. He started to unwrap me from my wrap dress (“Oh, is this a wrap dress,” he asked as he tried to unwrap me.) and he nuzzled and kissed my tits after removing my bra with one masterful move. One thing he didn’t really do that I love quite a lot is talking. PG and I talk a lot during our encounters and it makes it so good. He did, however, tell me many times that I was sexy and that he loved my body. Hearing that from someone so chiseled made me feel confident about being totes nekked with him.

We stopped kissing and I dismounted my dark steed. Man Bun put his silky hair into a, well…a man bun. He stood up and removed his shirt. Fuck me. His hairless, chiseled chest was even more amazing in person than in the photos of him online. His nipples were pierced. Man Bun unbuttoned his jeans and slithered out of them. (He’d already removed his sneakers before the kissing began, but I hadn’t noticed till he removed his jeans.) He stood there for a moment in just his underwear, but they didn’t stay on for much longer. His engorged peen was finally set free. Mother. Of. Ass.

I was still partially in my dress (it was kind of hanging off my waist, stuck on my ass) and I dropped to my knees to gaze at his peen. I was pleased with his offering and took him into my mouth. Do note that my hand could not fully wrap around him, praise Jeebus. He was not ridiculously long, but the man was giving me GIRTH. I knew I’d soon have the delightfully stuffed feeling I so strongly crave.

Using all of my dicksucking skills from years and years of practice, I could tell that he appreciated my oral gymnastics. Only some men warrant me deepthroating them and Man Bun was the recipient of said activity. I was down there for quite a while, rather taken by the moment. He finally pulled away from my mouth and I stood up. He lifted me over to the bed and again I marveled at his strength. (Honeytoes’ extra tip: Make that blowjob sloppy! Use your saliva as lube when you suck a dick. Spit on your hand and on his dick and slide your hand and mouth all over his shaft. Don’t forget the ultra-sensitive head or the underside of his shaft. Those balls aren’t only ornamental, so give them some attention as well, but be gentle till you see what he likes. If you’re feeling bold, massage that taint. Feeling bolder still? Finger – or tongue – his ass a bit. Don’t put anything inside, however, unless you know he wants it. Look up at him, too, while your mouth is filled with his dick. Guys love that eye contact.)

I saw him grab a Magnum (JOY!!) from the nightstand he hovered above me. We kissed and he entered me. I finally had my well stuffed feeling…a stuffed clam, if you will. Sort of like clams casino…appropriate since I am staying in a casino hotel, no? I had seen him online demonstrating different pelvic thrusting techniques and I can unequivocally state that the man has skills.

While the room’s air conditioning was running at full blast, it was hotter than hell in the room. We were sweating and that sweat acted as body lube. Our bodies slid against one another with each thrust. I tend to love a firm, deep, deliberate dicking and Man Bun delivered.

After the festivities, we talked about a lot of things: religion, science, sex…he’s thoughtful, passionate, and well traveled, too. We talked until about 20 minutes after our appointment time. It was a 2-hour appointment. He mentioned he is free this evening, but I am not sure I’ll take him up on it. I plan to be at the pool in my cabana all day long and after a day of doing nothing, I’ll need recovery time. I do come to #Vegas a few times a year, though, and I suspect this might not be our last encounter.

Oh, one last thing…He did not consent to photos of our encounter, so now I wonder whether I should even bother telling PG about our evening. He will be disappointed that there are no pics for his masturbatory fantasies.

…and always remember: Ho is life, y’all!

Sluttily yours,
#notesfromaslut #honeytoes #hoislife

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