Spanish Porter

This is what an arse in need can do: yesterday I went to attend a client near Vauxhall. Another passive Brit, and working as a TOP for the whole week was driving me crazy.
As that thing of cruising in bars or saunas does not work for me, I ended up with a Spanish porter, yes the porter that works in the same building where my client lives.

I know. It would sound so much better if I wrote here something like ‘ I just had the must amazing sex with a tall, handsome, rich top guy I just met in Harrods’

However, being honest, we know those things only happen at Sidney Sheldon’s books.
In the real word, people need sex – even those ones in charge of selling it. Therefore instead a presidential suite facing the river, I had a small single room in a garage’s basement facing a wall. That was the porter’s place, full of empty boxes, a little table and a single bed.

Curiously, even it wasn’t my first time visiting that client I didn’t know about the porter’s sexual preference until a couple of weeks ago.

It was by accident.
As usual, I got there late (do you know Brazilians are always a little late?) and went to the main reception.

The porter wasn’t there as usual. I thought he went to get something to eat or help someone.
After 20 minutes waiting (yes, now I was very late!) I decided to get access through the garage by jumping a little wall.
I don’t know what that wall is for because even a 5 years old kid could climb it and have access to the garage downstairs.

Once I was inside the building, I heard some familiar noises coming from a little door at the back of the garage.
Wow! People fucking down here already! – I though childishly.
I didn’t want to disturb and just walked discreetly until I could reach the lift.

On my way, I gave a quick look through the window not closed properly and – bang! - The porter was fucking a Vietnamese guy!.
Well, as I guessed, the porter had a break to eat something. I just didn’t expect it to be Vietnamese take way!.
(to be continued).