A damp London Winter evening. I'm toying with my Scotch when your unmistakable form bustles into the hotel bar out of the wet. You are a little flustered, escaping from the downpour, getting your bearings in the unfamiliar locale, but you pull yourself up short when you spot me, and compose yourself. I watch you take a deep breath and approach my table. I stand, we kiss cheeks conventionally, a stilted first greeting - but then there is a moment when you take my hand and slowly, reverently, kiss the back of it. I feel our roles locking into place.
We walk together to the desk, to pick up the key. To any onlooker, it's an unreadable relationship - are they friends, colleagues, married, lovers? We give no clues, staying close, but not touching, padding down corridors of fragranced carpet - but once the door clicks closed behind us, we are in our arena. I hold my position, back to the door, and you stand before me, head tilted up, trying to read your Sir's face. I think I sense your hand wanting to take mine, but instead you retreat, and find a place in the centred of the warmly-lit room. I move to the deep armchair by the bed, cast my coat over the back, sit and cross my legs. I pick a stray thread from my knee as you silently begin to undress.
Your clothes are work clothes, and you treat them with care as they come off - your coat gets a hanger, your jacket and the skirt you slip out of are folded neatly and placed on the side. You pause momentarily on getting to your underwear - black, detailed, expensive, sheer - to let your Sir look you over, but you are wary of vanity, and need no signal or token of approval to resume. I remain blank as your hands go behind you, and you bare your big breasts, the rosy nipples hard and tight already. You slide your panties down in a single gliding motion, and step gracefully out of them, finally resting in an erect stance, head lifted, hands behind your bottom. I allow myself a thin smile at the sight of your smooth bare cunt, adorned with no more than my initial, in slightly smudged mascara.
"Let me see if you recall your positions, cunt." Your hands are raised instantly and placed behind your head, breasts pushed forward, and feet a pace apart. "First, Sir." I nod, and roll my index finger. You sink to your knees smoothly, bringing your hands onto your thighs, palms open and upward. Your knees are apart, and your cunt yawns, glistening. "Second, Sir." I nod. Now you bring your hands up behind your head again, and open your mouth, extending a broad flat tongue. "I know that's the third, cunt, beautifully achieved - no need to speak. And your last?" You roll over promptly, laying your face flat on the carpet, and reaching back, knees apart as before, you pull the cheeks of your bottom apart, presenting your wet cunt and dark anus. "Fourth, Sir." I let you hold your fourth position for a good long while before I get to my feet and approach you with a panther's pace.
The look on your sideways face discloses your keenness to show your Sir that you do not require the enforced restraint of bonds. Your eyes turn up to me as I undress. My cock, semi-erect, hangs above your head - can you inhale its scent? Once naked, I reach down and tenderly stroke your hair, then curl it around my hand and lift you into a kneeling position.
I sit before you, resting on my elbows,legs open, and instruct you to suck my balls. You get down and crawl towards my groin, moving in between my thighs. Your face presses against my sack. You suck each ball into your mouth in turn, gently, and then nuzzle my sack, burying your nose and mouth in deep, taking my scent all over your face. Your eager tongue then probes lower, darting back and forth across that sensitive ridge that divides balls from hole. You kiss my perineum, making it glossy with your sucking and kiss, and lower, lower goes your tongue.
At last the tip arrives at my pucker. I lean back further to let you in, and widen the spread of my thighs. You dab your tongue tip gingerly at first on my tight knotted shithole, then start to swirl it over the ridges and around. Growing more daring, you begin to kiss my arsehole, then suck at it. I roll over and use my hand to spread myself, letting you in. You guzzle hungrily now at my shithole, seemingly starving for it. I force my hole out for you, feeling your tongue push against my opening. You succeed, and your slick tongue writhes inside my dirty hole, your face forced deep into my arse crack. You guzzle as if I'm delicious.
I reach down and pull your head out of me by the hair. Your sticky messy face shows a delighted and triumphant expression. "And now, would you like to taste your Sir's cock, cunt?" You nod, and very correctly answer that you would, very much. "Very well - you may kiss your way along my length, from balls to tip, but you will not take me in your mouth, and you will not use your tongue. Your hands, of course, will remain on the floor."
