Late 2

Looking in the rear view mirror, I take a moment to apply my lipstick and check my reflection once again. I always feel this jittery, nervous flutter when approaching his house. But then, I never quite know what to expect.

Walking up to the door, I can see a handwritten note wedged in the glass. "You are late. Use the back door. You know what I expect." Even more intimidated by the tone of his words, I slink around to the back door and let myself in as quietly as possible. Just for a moment, the option of leaving crosses my mind, but only for a moment.

As I enter I can hear the drone of the television. I follow the blue light through the darkness. There he sits. He has heard me and knows I am near.

He doesn't even blink, let alone turn his head in my direction. I catch my breath, intimidated by his dark composure and his silence. He might have greeted me in the light - cheerful and charming. We could have chatted on and on, as old friends are likely to do. We might have gone out for a drink and a bit of fun before returning to the familiar warmth of his bedroom. But, not tonight. There is a price to pay for my tardiness and his stillness is ominous.

As my eyes adjust, I can see that in the time I made him wait he gave up his normal attire for a soft, comfortable robe. The smoke from his lit pipe swirls like a halo around his head. It draws me in, pulling me into his world. A splash of brandy remains in the snifter on the table. Without a doubt we are in for the night and I am bound to make whatever amends he requires of me.

I drop to my knees and slide over to his chair. One slight tug and his robe falls to the side, revealing the object of my desire. He gazes intently at the television and does not acknowledge my presence. My heart races faster. As I lean in as if to take him into my mouth, I glance at his face again, seeking his approval. Afraid to move, I inhale deeply, taking in the smell of his skin. As I exhale I know he can feel my warm breath, but still there is no indication. Cautiously I open my mouth and bow my head barely touching him with my lips.

As I begin slowly moving downward, willing him to respond to me, I begin to softly suck. After once taking the whole shaft into my mouth, I pull away for a moment to lick up and down his lengthening cock. I wrap my hand around it, touching him for the first time. I can feel his strong thickening as my fingers stroke him. I place my lips at the tip, and suck him in eagerly. I begin a steady rhythm with my mouth working all of his hardness as deeply as I can take it. His magnificent cock is wet and slick and small sucking noises escape now and then despite my efforts to keep quiet.

Intent on my task of giving him pleasure, I realize that at some point his breathing has become deeper. This puts me a little more at ease and as I suck him in, he thrusts up into me, and I am finally able to take his full length into my throat. I moan, holding him there. And, then I begin sucking harder, alternately establishing a rhythm and then randomly abandoning it to pull away and feel his cock with my lips. I taste the first drop of excitement from him. Taking his shaft in my hand, I rub it all over my face, smearing the wetness and my lipstick, making me look like a whore. His strong hand grabs it from me and smacks his dick against my face - slightly at first, then harder. The unexpected blows startle me and low groans escape my lips. I can feel the wetness of my arousal drip down the inside of my leg.

Suddenly, he roughly takes a handful of my hair and forces me back down on his hard cock. He uses my mouth there, taking his own pleasure as my lips and throat are bruised and aching. Loud slurping sounds fill the room as I struggle to keep up with the assault.

Finally, he speaks, "Tell me, girl. What do you deserve?"