Facesitting

I had been following Juliana Garcia for years across social media. I don’t remember exactly how I stumbled onto her profile , the algorithm probably pushed those sculpted thighs onto my timeline and I, weak as I am, clicked. From that moment I became a fan. A chiselled body, stage presence, an energy that blended strength and sensuality in a way I rarely saw. But there was a catch: she wasn’t from Rio. As far as I knew, she lived far away, in another state, and that kept my admiration in the safe realm of fantasy , something beautiful to look at, impossible to touch.

Until one day, scrolling through listings, I came across a profile of hers tagged with a Rio de Janeiro location. At first, I thought it was fake. You know how it goes , scammers love stealing photos of beautiful women to bait people. On top of that, when I tried to save her contact, the messaging app showed a suspicious warning. That only deepened my mistrust, so I let it go.

I have always been physically weak. Not in ambition or in the way I build relationships,those parts of my life are solid. But the structure I was born with refuses to grow much without chemical shortcuts, and the family history of health issues convinced me not to gamble with PEDs. I accepted long ago that, in pure strength, I am fragile.

Back in the late eighties I saw a TV special about women paid to beat up men. The men hired them, desperate to taste that fetish. When the internet finally landed in my home I went looking for that same energy and found the clips that shaped me. These weren’t standard BDSM scenes; they were contests of raw force and humiliation. Male physical supremacy got flipped upside down, and I loved every second.

I have always craved for big asses. I mean from the very beginning. As a skinny guy, since my first masturbation was thinking of big asses of chubby women.

I can remember one of the first porn pictures I saw on the Internet where a woman was sitting over a man’s face, which turned me on almost instantly. More than that, she was making him as a throne and as a toilet. Demoting him and magnifying her. I don’t appreciate scat; however, at that time, that scene turned me on. There were many signs there, which I had to decrypt after, and it was confusing to me, too much information.

Over the years I’ve become convinced I’m happiest when I’m nasty and dirty. I’m a forty-year-old man whose favorite thing is being buried in a woman’s ass. I like to imagine myself as the throne for a lust queen.

It didn’t happen overnight. In my twenties it was just a thrill; by my thirties it was an ache. I remember the first time a partner settled fully on my face and refused to budge. The world shrank to weight and heat and the sting of her nails in my scalp. That moment rewired something. I stopped pretending this was a side kink and accepted it as my core.

I had been following Queen Mellzn for about a year. Her curves make me feel small, and every photo turns up the heat. Months earlier we managed a quick call; the geography made a meeting impossible then, but she promised she visited Rio often. I kept watching, hoping it was more than sweet talk.

About a month ago I noticed her tour calendar and saw Rio on the list. I marked the dates, shuffled my own schedule, and crossed my fingers. On the eve of our planned Saturday session everything collapsed,obligations consumed the day. We regrouped, settled on Sunday, and committed to “whatever it takes.”

I decided that if I was going to explore everything I fantasised about, it was time to book my first BBC session. Malu and Michel answered the call,she the orchestrator, he the calm giant. We had hours to spare and the trio chemistry clicked from the moment we met from the very first second.

We started in the shower. Warm water, slippery skin, hands everywhere. The bathroom light filtered through steam and made every body gleam. Malu stood between the two of us, small and commanding, while Michel and I traded knowing glances. She pulled my head to her breasts and his mouth to her neck , orchestrating every move like a conductor with her symphony.

I am in the middle of a personal experiment: say yes to the kinks that refuse to stay quiet. Paid sex has become the palette for those hidden desires, and after weeks craving muscular women I spotted Carol Garcia’s ad. Domination, strength, a teasing smile,it all clicked. A powerful woman sharing the squat rack earlier that day primed me, and by evening I was ready to pay for the fantasy.

We scheduled for 19:30. The plan was simple: once I reached the neighborhood she would drop the exact apartment. I arrived early, nerves humming, and ducked into a greasy spoon for a cold Heineken to calm the pulse. Halfway through the long neck her message blinked,time to come up.

Tuesday in Centro carried the promise of a new adventure, so I headed to Dani D’s address with a plan in mind. I pinged her on WhatsApp as soon as I was nearby, and we locked in a 13h slot. While the clock crept towards the hour, I settled into a café on the esquina, nursing a coffee and watching the building where she waited.

She opened the door with a smile and scarlet lingerie that hugged every curve. Juicy in all the right places,hips, thighs, and those heavy, natural breasts that felt soft and authentic beneath my hands. The apartment mirrored her welcome: clean bathroom, quiet hallways, a space that already felt familiar.

I have always craved for big asses. I mean from the very beginning. As a skinny guy, since my first masturbation was thinking of big asses of chubby women.

I can remember one of the first porn pictures I saw on the Internet where a woman was sitting over a man’s face, which turned me on almost instantly. More than that, she was making him as a throne and as a toilet. Demoting him and magnifying her. I don´t appreciate scat; however, at that time, that scene turned me on. There were many signs there, which I had to decrypt after, and it was confusing to me, too much information.

It was my birthday. I was home alone on a work-from-home day and decided to give myself a gift I had been putting off for ages , my first time with an escort. I was in an open relationship at the time, which lifted the guilt but not the butterflies of a first-timer. I researched, I chose, and Érica Chocolate’s profile grabbed me instantly: a fit, sculpted mixed-race woman, a wide smile, a body that screamed hours at the gym, and an energy that mixed tenderness with filth in just the right proportion.

We set the time, but I didn’t count on the wildcard: the meeting. She arrived at my apartment while I was still trapped in a call that was dragging way past its scheduled end. I apologised with my eyes, showed her the couch, offered water and coffee. Érica accepted with a calm that already soothed me , you could tell this wasn’t her first nervous client. I explained it was my first time with a professional and she smiled, saying she’d take care of me. The meeting finally wrapped and I could breathe.