His hands were warm. Calloused. But once my wetness coated them, they were perfect. Strong. Diligent, just like his mind, just like him. 

Gil was a good worker. Efficient. 

I know it sounds like I’m describing some machine, or some automaton.  But ever stop to wonder why so many women turn to machines to give them pleasure? 

Gil, unlike a machine, had a compassionate heart, a shrewd mind, soulful dark eyes, and a sexy accent. He didn’t speak much English yet. But, hell, I’d grade him on the curve, if that curve was the way his lips smirked at me, when he felt me cum apart around his calloused fingers again and again.  

Saying the only German word I knew over and over again. 

Once my breath slowed, he took his hand from me. I trembled lightly. His eyes on mine as he brought his fingers to his lips, sucking me from his skin. 

“Danke,” he whispered, as he always did. 

“Bitte,” I said again, smiling.