As soon as the doors closed, I spun her ninety degrees and pressed her roughly against the wall of the hotel elevator car, forcing the weight of my own body into the back of hers, squeezing her tits and stomach against the mirrored glass. I stabbed the button for the ninth floor then pulled her arms behind her, where I crossed and clasped her wrists together, holding them firm with one hand. With the other, I slid free the knot at my neck and yanked my tie out from my collar with a fast "swish." I looped the silk around and under, over and around, binding her hands tightly in the small of her back. She gasped a little with the last pull of the knot before I grabbed her elbows and spun her around again to face me, and I shoved her back against the mirror.
With the bonds at her wrists pulling her shoulders backwards, her chest was arched forward, exaggerating the swell of her firm, round tits beneath her black and gold leopard print cardigan sweater. I kissed her hard on her mouth, tasting the tart combination of vodka and lipstick. At the same time, my hands grabbed the hem of her tight black skirt, which I pulled up and over her hips, exposing the black lack panties beneath. I slid my thumbs into either side of their waistband and, in one swift motion, I crouched and yanked them down over her black fishnet thigh high stockings. In another second I pulled them over each of her cream colored stiletto heels, lifting one and then the other to slip the panties free. I stood back up and crumpled her panties into a little wad.
"Open your mouth, whore," I ordered, her throat now firmly gripped between my thumb and fingers while I held her against the wall as my prisoner in the mirrored cell. She complied immediately and I pushed the little lace wad in with my other thumb. She closed her mouth and sucked on my thumb like I knew she would later be sucking my cock. I slid my thumb out of her mouth slowly through her pursed red lips.
We reached the ninth floor and the elevator doors slid open to the sound of a muted bell. The vestibule and hallway were empty, but I nonetheless pulled her skirt back down to cover her sex before I marched her by a fistful of her long, jet black hair in front of me to the door of my hotel room. I reached past her and unlocked it with my key card. The lock beeped and unlatched, and I turned the handle, pushed the door open, and shoved her through the entry. She stumbled in her heels, but didn't fall. I followed her through and the heavy door swung shut with a loud thud.
Her name was Alyssa. I had marked her as a submissive little slut from the moment I'd boarded the plane and taken my seat in the first-class cabin, where she offered to hang up my suit jacket and bring me a drink. She was about forty, tall and fit in her uniform skirt and blouse. She wore the ubiquitous flight attendant's silk scarf tied around her neck.
The flight was not very full, so we had been able to chat for a fair amount of time, and the flirting was unequivocally mutual. By the time we landed we'd made a date to meet for dinner at the airport hotel where we were both staying. After catching the same shuttle over, she'd had just enough time to change from her uniform before we met at the bar for a couple of drinks before dinner -- vodka martinis for her, Old Fashioneds for me. She was on a two-day layover, so didn't have to worry about a twelve hour "bottle to throttle" rule. We'd ordered another round and taken them to our table. I had specifically requested the hostess seat us in a booth, so when it was time to move there from the bar I had slid in on the same side as she did. By dessert, Alyssa's skirt was up around her waist and I was exploring inside those panties. While other travelers went about their anonymous evenings in that restaurant, I had sipped from the highball glass cradled in the fingers of my left hand while the middle finger of my right hand slid up and down the slick swell of her cunt, rubbing her clitoris rhythmically until I'd felt the muscles in her thighs and pelvis contract, and a sharp exhalation of breath escaped her lips.
The waiter had brought the check and I'd paid it. He may have seen Alyssa shimmying her skirt back down, but if he did, he didn't let on. As we'd slid out of the booth, my arm around her waist, I'd whispered in her ear, "We're going to go upstairs to my room. I'm going to tie you up and I'm going to fuck you like the dirty little whore that you are." She had taken my hand, licked the tip of my index finger, and led me to the elevator.
Now we were in my room and she faced away from me in the small entry hall. I had left the lights on in the room, so I had a full view of her from the rear: from the points of her heels, up the length of her fishnet thigh highs; up the black knit skirt and the form fitting sweater, its muted print contrasted by the shock of color in my yellow tie that bound her wrists; and up her long, black hair to the top of her head. My dick was throbbing, trying to stand at attention but held fast by my own underwear.
I gathered another handful of her hair and directed her into the bathroom to our right, where I pressed the top of her thighs against the counter and surveyed her image in the mirror that covered the entire wall. I pressed my own thighs and crotch against her ass and tugged her hair down with my hand, forcing her chin up, elongating her throat and thrusting her breasts forward.
My other hand reached around and cupped the swell of her breast. There was no bra under the sweater, and I pinched her hard nipple through the soft material. Before she could react, I stepped back from the counter and pulled her with me, the back of her body flush with the front of mine. She exhaled sharply but didn't resist, as I knew she wouldn't. I let go of her nipple and slid my hand down to the bottom of her skirt.
"Let's see that pussy, whore," I growled. I released her hair and with both hands gathered the hem of her skirt and slowly pulled it back up over her hips, my fingertips brushing her skin and my eyes locked on the mirror as it revealed the clean-shaven crotch and delicious gash I'd explored earlier at dinner. I rubbed my hands up and down the sides of her legs, from the bare skin of her hips to the rough meshwork of her fishnet stockings. I reached around and lightly traced the vertical crease of her cunt, pressing a little deeper with each pass. Alyssa let out a soft moan that was muffled by the panties still stuffed in her mouth.
Once again, I gathered her hair in my left hand and, with just a little sharp tension, rotated my fist down so that she was firmly under my control. My right hand reached up to her lips and I pushed my thumb and forefinger in, grabbing the panties -- now damp with her own saliva -- and pulled them out of her mouth. I stuck my middle finger into the wet lace and used the rest of the material to pull it taught across my fingertip. Then I slid my panty-covered finger between the lips of her mound and began rubbing slow circles around the button of her clit.
