He paced the hotel room nervously awaiting her text message. He had arranged the largest suite he could, hoping to impress her while also ensuring adequate space. He was showered and clean, as required. Bottles of whiskey and coke sat on a table next to a canister of ice per her instructions.
It was past 9:00 pm, the appointed time of their rendezvous. She was unpredictable and had left him waiting before, although she had never canceled. But deep down he worried she may decide he wasn't worth the time. He was particularly on edge tonight, feeling needy, aching for her firm, yet loving hand. As a CEO he struggled to reconcile his confident professional persona with the pathetic submissive he became around her. She brought out something primal in him, a desire to serve, to give up control, to have his mind and body consumed and overwhelmed by her.
He turned his thoughts to her tall, lithe form, head to toe a chiseled masterpiece, her fire-red hair completing the image of a siren. Her seductive voice, vibrant youth and artful way with words contrasted her surprising strength and ability to physically and mentally impose her will. Standing 6'1" in bare feet she was a commanding presence, in stiletto heels she towered nearly 9 inches over him. He had trouble keeping up with her sharp wit, she remembered everything, every detail, and could use it against him at will.
His phone buzzed and he snapped it from the bedside table to read the message. "Open the door and leave it propped on the latch. Dim the lights. Get undressed and lie naked in the middle of the bed on top of the sheets. Put a pair of your underwear over your eyes." His heart jumped. Any time now.
He followed her instructions, leaving his clothes neatly folded in the closet. Lying on the bed, eyes covered, his mind drifted to wondering what surprises might be in store. He had seen her three times before, each time more exhilarating than the last. She always kept him guessing, on his heels, at a disadvantage. The uncertainty tantalized him. He had never met a more sexually charged, powerful individual. She played his emotions and sexual desire like a virtuoso musician. He felt inadequate with her, lucky for every second she offered her attention, yet angry with himself for being so vulnerable. He imagined her towering above him and he felt the heat in his cheeks as shame and intimidation began to rise. He began touching himself. Slowly at first but he reflexively increased the rhythm. He told himself not to do it, but the mere thought of seeing her was almost too much.
No, he told himself, don't finish too fast. Don't waste the build-up. He enjoyed a long, gradual rise; the teasing and foreplay were his favorite part. He wanted to make it last and savor it. He took a deep breath, put his arms to his side and waited for what felt like an eternity.
***
The door rattled and swung open and then back again, hitting the latch and remaining slightly ajar. He heard the whoosh of her long gait, nylon-covered thighs rubbing together, soft pads of shoes on carpet, then silence. He could sense her eyes staring at his overweight middle-aged body and he was immediately embarrassed, his small erect cock began to shrivel.
After a couple minutes, she moved to the bathroom and closed the door. He heard the water run and the knock of objects hitting the sink. Finally, he heard the door open and the light flick off. Ice dropped in a glass, soda poured and fizzed, then liquid hit liquid as the whiskey was added. Ice cubes rattled as she tipped back the glass, taking a few gulps. He heard her move quietly toward him, unsure how close.
"Do you want me more than you've ever wanted a woman?" she whispered in his ear, leaning over the side of the bed.
He flinched from surprise and felt his dick spring back to life.
"Yes, Miss, more than anyone," he whispered, his eyes still covered, facing up.
"I know, little one," she said more loudly, standing back up. He could hear her walk around to the foot of the bed. She stood silently, seemingly considering the possibilities.
Suddenly, hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him hard, swiftly down the length of the bed and over a bench, twisting him to his front and onto the floor. As his forehead hit the carpet, he didn't have time to register the pain as a hand turned his head to the side and pinned it to the ground. He opened his eyes and saw black stiletto sandals encasing neatly pedicured toes in sheer black stockings.
"Worship my foot, kiss every inch," she ordered, releasing her grip. He crept toward her and did as instructed, kissing the long, exquisite foot of his goddess. He started with her large, shapely toes, working his way down the outside of her foot, then to the top and finally around to her high arch. The stockings smelled clean and new.
"How often have you masturbated since our last session?"
"At least one to two times per day, Miss," he replied between kisses.
"And what did you think about when you did?"
"You, Miss."
"Always me?"
"Always you, Miss. I can't even imagine anyone else and porn has become useless."
"Good. Other foot. And you may massage my calves with your hands."
He shifted his position and twitched as he felt the tip of his engorged penis rub the carpet. He began kissing her other foot, starting with the top and reaching his hands up to grasp her calf. He kneaded her taut muscles, they were hard and thick, yet shapely: a perfect feminine leg. As he massaged, he felt her subtle movements in the rippling muscle. He could sense her well of stored energy, ready to be unleashed.
"And what do you think about when you have sex with your wife?" she asked in a matter-of-fact way.
He stopped kissing and hesitated to speak a moment too long. She lifted her free foot and stepped on the back of his neck.
"When I ask a question, I expect an answer!" she said, raising her voice and digging in a sharp heel.