I'm in the bathroom putting the final touches on my lipstick when there's a knock on the door. Smacking my lips together to distribute the color evenly, I don't hurry to answer. I know he'll still be waiting when I get there. We've danced this dance for months. Years, maybe. Now that our time had finally come, no one was backing out.
I cap the tube and sit it on the counter, admiring in the mirror the dark red shade, the color of old blood, coating my lips before tightening the sash of my satin robe and stepping into the passage.
I release the chain guard on the door; unnecessary in this high-end boutique hotel, but I enjoy the sound of things being unlocked and anticipate the effect it has on my visitor. I open the door just a crack at first, pretending to be thinking about whether to let him in, but he takes hold of the handle and pushes inward, insinuating himself into the space as if he owns it, as well as me.
Which he does, if only he knew it.
Now he is standing before me in the center of the room, dressed all in black as is his usual habit. The short sleeves of his button-down shirt reveal most of the tribal designs inked on him from wrist to shoulder. My eyes scan down his jeans all the way to where they brush the tops of his classic low-top Doc Martens. Without a word, he toes off the shoes and slides them under the bed with the side of his foot.
Instead of lifting my eyes to his face, I turn towards a leather club chair in the corner, certain his eyes are following the sway of my hips as I walk. I take a breath and sit, arranging myself to give him a bit of a peep show through the slit in my robe when I cross one long, brown leg over the other.
I lean to one side and prop my chin in my hand. I'm not unnerved by his continued silence. It's just how he is. I need no verbal acknowledgement. I know he sees me. I know he wants me. All that is left is the formalities of my surrender. As well as his.
Finally, his low voice slices through the quiet.
"Is there anything off the table?"
I pause, considering.
"No urine or feces. No drawing blood or breaking the skin in any way." I shrug. "Aside from that, as the saying goes... 'do what thou wilt.'"
"Tell me what you want."
I finally look up and meet his gaze. Eyes the color of arctic blue ice stare back at me, waiting. Under the full force of his scrutiny, my tongue sweeps across my lips and I shift in my seat, but I don't look away.
"I want your hands on my tits. Squeeze hard, maybe bite my nipples a little. Don't worry about hurting me. I'll like it if you do."
The barest hint of a curve bends his lips, and he gestures for me to continue.
"Then, I want to feel those nice, thick fingers of yours inside me. And don't tease me with just one. Two is a good start. Three might even get you a scream."
"And a fourth?"
My eyes widen a bit and I glance at his hands speculatively.
"I don't know, but you're welcome to try and find out at any time. Besides that, there's only one more thing I want."
"Saving the best for last?"
I feel my lips shape themselves into an echo of his earlier expression.
"Hardly last, I hope."
He hasn't moved from the spot where I left him, but somehow I feel him inexplicably closer, anticipating my next words, which I waste no time in delivering.
"What I want is for you to spread my legs as wide as you can, smash your face into my cunt, and eat me until your beard is soaked with my pussy juices," I tell him, locking my eyes onto his. "I want to rub myself all over your face until all you can see and smell and taste and feel is me."
He runs a hand down his face and beard, then takes a deep breath, the only sign that he is affected by my words.
"Is that all?"
I'm not fooled by his cool tone. I settle further back into the seat and sigh happily at even this minimal loss of composure on his part.
"Yes, for now. The rest I leave up to you."
"In that case," he says, beckoning me with one finger, "come here."
I rise without argument and go to him, stopping just before the point where our bodies would touch. Without asking, I go down to my knees on the floor in front of him, the shimmery material of my robe pooling around my legs.
"Good girl," he says, running his hand down the side of my face before burying his fingers in my hair.
I resist the urge to lean into his touch like a contented kitten and instead reach for his belt buckle. It takes me a minute to fumble it open, but then I hook my fingers into the sides of his waistband and drag everything down around his ankles so that he can step out of them.
Oh, my. His perfect cock bobs once then points straight up at the ceiling. It's not absurdly long, but it is marvelously thick and I can't wait to feel it in every one of my holes. I know his intention right now is to sex me into submission, but I can't resist the treat in front of me. I lick my lips once more at the sight of a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. I lean forward and swipe it up with the tip of my tongue, savoring the taste before pulling back.
"So," I say, tossing the pants across the luggage rack next to the dresser. "Your turn. Tell me what
