Hospitality Man Series I: His Babymaker Client (ENGLISH VERSION)

IN today’s world, being exceptionally handsome is both a blessing and a curse. Everywhere you go, heads turn, whispers follow, and eyes linger a little too long. Women of all ages—some mature, others young—can’t help but steal glances, their cheeks flushing as they try to hide their admiration. Even those who are older, with a certain boldness in their gaze, can’t resist the urge to look back, hoping for a moment of connection. It’s flattering, yes, but sometimes overwhelming. What can you do but let them look? After all, their admiration is harmless, confined to stolen glances and fleeting fantasies. When I jog along the sidewalks, it’s not uncommon for women to make their intentions clear. Some are subtle, others brazen. There are those who, despite being strangers, approach me with a confidence that surprises even themselves. Then there are the shy ones, the ones who fidget nervously when I pass by, their tension palpable, their reactions almost comical. It’s as if my presence alone sends a ripple through their composure, leaving them flustered and unsure. Even women who are already in relationships aren’t immune. They might be arm-in-arm with their partners, but the moment they catch sight of me, their heads swivel as if pulled by an invisible force. Their eyes follow me until I disappear from view, their partners none the wiser—until, of course, they notice and the inevitable argument ensues. It’s amusing, in a way, but also a stark reminder of the power of attraction. And then there are the bold ones, the ones who don’t bother with subtlety. Their eyes don’t start at my face; they go straight to where their imaginations run wild. It’s almost laughable how brazen they can be, their gazes lingering on the outline of my shorts or jeans, their thoughts written plainly on their faces. Modern women, it seems, have their own way of expressing interest, and it’s not always discreet. But for me, it’s not about the attention or the thrill of being desired. It’s about practicality. I’ve learned to capitalize on what I have, not out of vanity, but for survival. I work in hospitality, not for the sake of fleeting pleasures, but for financial stability. It’s a transaction, pure and simple. I provide a service, and in return, I’m compensated. There’s no room for sentimentality in this line of work. . . . . . . . . . . . . “Hey, you’re leaving already? Your shift isn’t over yet,” Rex called out as I packed up my things, the remnants of a busy evening still scattered around us. “Yeah… I’ve got somewhere to be,” I replied, my tone dismissive as I closed my locker. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation, though Rex knew me well enough to sense when something was up. His eyes widened, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Wait, you’ve got a client waiting, don’t you?” I sighed inwardly. Rex was like a brother to me, and he had a knack for prying until he got the answers he wanted. Reluctantly, I nodded, confirming his suspicions. “Rex, I’m heading out,” I said, cutting him off before he could ask more questions. I made my way to the door, but his voice stopped me in my tracks. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to the manager?” he whispered, half-teasing, half-serious. I snorted. “No need.” I returned to my condo to freshen up before meeting my client. Cleanliness is non-negotiable in this line of work. No one wants to engage with someone who doesn’t take care of themselves. I walked around my apartment naked, the freedom of living alone allowing me to do as I pleased. Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Pervince Tristan de Realonda, and I’m 25 years old. I’m the kind of man women dream about—chiseled features, wavy dark hair, and a gaze that can make even the most composed woman falter. My body is a testament to discipline, with six-pack abs and a physique that turns heads wherever I go. I’ve been called a masterpiece by the women I’ve been with, and I wear that title with pride. After my shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and dialed my client’s number. She answered almost immediately, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Hello?” she breathed, her tone soft and airy. I smirked, running a finger across my lips as I replied, “It’s me, Madame. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” I could feel her excitement through the phone, her eagerness matching my own. “O-okay,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been waiting for you. I can’t stand it anymore. Please, hurry.” Her words sent a thrill through me. I hung up, a sly grin spreading across my face. The more she anticipated my arrival, the more I would deliver. I dressed quickly, opting for a white tank top and tight jeans that left little to the imagination. Grabbing my keys and wallet, I headed out, hailing a taxi as soon as I stepped outside. “Manila Hotel,” I instructed the driver, settling into the backseat. The ride was smooth, the city lights blurring past as we made our way to the hotel. Within minutes, I was stepping out of the taxi and into the lobby, where the receptionists’ eyes immediately locked onto me. Their gazes were heavy, filled with unspoken desire. I gave them a small, knowing smile as I approached the front desk. “Good evening, sir. How may I assist you?” the head receptionist asked, her voice trembling slightly. I could see her struggling to maintain her composure, her eyes darting to her colleagues, who were equally affected by my presence. “I’m here to see a guest,” I said, my voice low and commanding. She nodded, her fingers fumbling as she searched for the room number. “She’s on the 25th floor, room 25-69,” she finally managed to say, her cheeks flushed. I thanked her and made my way to the elevator, shaking my head at the effect I had on people. It was both amusing and perplexing. When I reached the room, I knocked softly, waiting for the door to open. Moments later, Madame Maxine appeared, her eyes widening as she took me in. She was an actress, a cougar who had seen her fair share of the world, but even she seemed momentarily stunned by my presence. “May I come in?” I asked, my voice husky. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of the cityscape filtering through the curtains, casting a soft, golden hue over everything. I barely had time to register what was happening before she pulled me inside, her grip firm yet urgent. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in a world of our own. Her eyes burned with a hunger that was both wild and intoxicating. She pressed me against the wall, her body flush against mine, and I could feel the heat radiating from her. Her hands roamed over me, exploring every inch as if she wanted to memorize me by touch alone. There was a desperation in her movements, a craving that went beyond mere desire. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered, her lips brushing against my neck, leaving a trail of kisses that sent shivers down my spine. Her voice was low, almost a purr, and it stirred something deep within me. I gently stopped her, my hands firm on her shoulders. “Let me take control,” I said, my voice steady but soft. She nodded, her eyes locking with mine, a silent understanding passing between us. She was Madam Maxine, a woman of elegance and fame, an actress who had aged like fine wine. There was something magnetic about her, a confidence that came with experience. She was a cougar, and tonight, she had chosen me. I lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed. She began to undress me, her fingers deftly working at the buttons of my shirt. I let her, my hands moving to remove the bathrobe she wore, followed by the rest of her clothing. The air between us was charged, electric, as we shed the layers that separated us. Her hands found my belt, and soon, I stood before her, exposed and vulnerable, yet empowered by the desire in her eyes. Her bra came off, and I couldn’t resist the urge to taste her. My lips found her n*****s, and I sucked gently, then with increasing intensity. She gasped, her back arching as pleasure coursed through her. Her moans filled the room, and for a moment, I worried someone might hear us. But then I remembered her assurance—this room was soundproof, a sanctuary for our shared secrets. I laid her down on the bed, the city lights outside painting her skin in soft, flickering patterns. She was older, yes, but her body defied time, a testament to the care she had taken of herself. Money, fame, and perhaps a touch of science had preserved her beauty, and I couldn’t help but admire it. Her eyes kept drifting downward, fixated on my arousal. There was a hunger in her gaze, a longing that mirrored my own. I leaned in, my lips tracing a path from her neck to her chest, down to her abdomen. I paused, glancing up to gauge her reaction. Her breath was shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was waiting, anticipating what I would do next. I continued my descent, my lips and tongue exploring every curve and contour until I reached the apex of her femininity. Her body tensed, and I could feel the heat emanating from her. “Spread your legs,” I commanded, my voice low but firm. She obeyed without hesitation, and I began to play her like an instrument, my fingers strumming the chords of her desire. Her hips moved in rhythm with my touch, and I switched from my fingers to my tongue, tasting her, savoring her. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, and I could feel her body trembling beneath me. She grabbed my hair, pulling me closer, urging me to continue. I obliged, my tongue delving deeper, exploring every inch of her. Her legs tightened around me, and her cries of pleasure only fueled my own arousal. I wanted her, needed her, but I held back, prolonging the intensity. My own body ached with desire, but I forced myself to focus on her, on the pleasure I could give her. Finally, I stood, my tongue nearly numb from its efforts. Madame Maxine sat up, her body glistening with sweat, her chest heaving. She looked at me with a mixture of admiration and hunger. “Guide me inside you,” I said, my voice commanding yet gentle. She reached for me, her fingers wrapping around my length, and guided me to her entrance. Our eyes met as I thrust into her, and her lips parted in a silent gasp. She swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she spoke. “You should be proud of it,” she said, her words a mix of awe and pleasure. “I am,” I replied with a sly grin. I wanted to move, to lose myself in her, but she had other plans. She wanted to taste me, to feel me in her mouth. I obliged, standing before her as she took me in, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony. The sensation was overwhelming, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. “Do you like it?” she asked, her voice muffled but filled with mischief. “Yes,” I replied, my voice strained. “Keep going.” She did, her mouth taking me deeper, her warm saliva coating me. I could feel her testing her limits, and when she gagged, I gently pulled away. I didn’t want to push her too far. I laid her back down, folding her legs to her chest. “Guide me inside you again,” I commanded, and she obeyed, her fingers wrapping around me once more. I thrust into her, and she moaned, her body welcoming me. Her hands found my waist, pulling me closer, urging me deeper. We moved together, our bodies in sync, our breaths mingling. I could feel her tightening around me, her moans growing louder, more desperate. She was close, and so was I. “Protection?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “No need,” she replied, her voice trembling. “I’ve had a procedure.” She shifted, wanting to take control, and I let her. She rode me with a fervor that surprised me, her body moving with a grace that belied her age. Her moans filled the room, and I could feel her climax building, her body trembling with the intensity of it. When it finally came, it was explosive. She collapsed onto me, her body spent, her breath ragged. I held her, my own body still throbbing with the aftershocks of pleasure. “I have to go,” I said after a moment, gently pulling away from her. She nodded, her body still trembling. I dressed quickly. "Pervince," she whispered, her voice soft and tinged with exhaustion. I could see the weariness in her eyes, the way her body seemed to melt into the bed, spent and satisfied. "The envelope is on the sofa," she murmured, her words barely audible. A grin tugged at the corners of my lips as I moved toward the sofa. My fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the envelope, and I picked it up, feeling the weight of it in my hands. I opened it, my eyes scanning the contents. It was more than we had agreed upon. "Thanks," I said, my voice low and appreciative. She mirrored my grin, a faint smile playing on her lips. "No, you don’t have to thank me. I doubled the gift," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of pride. She lay sprawled on the bed, her legs slightly apart, her body still trembling from the intensity of what we had shared. A faint trace of moisture glistened on her inner thighs, evidence of the passion that had consumed us both. "Take care, Pervince," she said softly, her voice trailing off as she closed her eyes, savoring the lingering warmth of our connection. I didn’t need to respond. I simply smiled at her, leaving her there, still lost in the afterglow. I considered offering to help her, but she seemed content to remain where she was, basking in the fleeting yet electric moment we had created together. I had work early the next morning at the coffee shop, and I had already clocked out early without even saying goodbye to Ms. Manager. I couldn’t afford to be late tomorrow. The last thing I needed was to get fired. She was a spinster by nature, and her temper was as sharp as her tongue. As I made my way downstairs, just before I stepped out the door, a receptionist called out to me. She was alone at the booth, likely covering the night shift after her colleagues had left. "Excuse me, can I have your number?" she asked politely, her voice smooth and inviting. I paused, studying her for a moment, my mind quickly assessing her. I prided myself on being a good judge of character, and so far, my instincts had rarely led me astray. I flashed her a grin, and her demeanor softened, a smile lighting up her face as she waited for my response. "Sure," I said, taking the piece of paper and pen she offered. I scribbled down my number and handed it back to her with a nod before stepping out into the night. I walked along the sidewalk for a while, the cool night air brushing against my skin, until a taxi appeared. I flagged it down and slid into the back seat, letting out a quiet sigh as the city lights blurred past the window. When I finally arrived at my condo, I headed straight for the bathroom, the warm water cascading over my body as I washed away the remnants of the night. I was sore, but it was a pleasant ache, a reminder of the passion that had left me both exhilarated and drained. After my shower, I prepared for bed, my mind drifting back to the events of the evening. A small smile crept onto my face as I replayed the moments in my head. That *encounter* with Madame Maxine—it had been unexpected, to say the least. I had never imagined I would enjoy it the way I did, the way she had made me feel. It was strange, but that’s what lingered in my thoughts. I slipped into bed, the sheets cool against my skin, and closed my eyes, ready to let sleep take me. The night had been unforgettable, and as I drifted off, I couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow might bring.