It was an upscale restaurant with three Michelin stars - of course it was. Why would he take her anywhere less than that? It's an intimate space in the middle of downtown, somehow managing to give off a homey vibe in spite of the gilded cutlery and fine china.
There are no other diners in the restaurant, only she and him. Their waiter says the kitchen is fully staffed, though for safety purposes it would just be him and a sommelier serving the two. She wanted to tell him she could pour wine herself and the sommelier should spare his own life, but instead she followed his lead and simply smiled and thanked their two servers.
The food was delicious, though she's barely aware of it. She's been on many dates with sugar daddies from various seven-figure income brackets; she knew the drill.
Smile, bite her lip once in a while, blow her eyes open in adoration, bat her lashes, execute perfectly timed "coincidental" brushes against their hands or their feet, under the table.
In no time, his business-like formality has melted into warm smiles and hand holding, his fingers caressing hers upon the pristine white tablecloth of the restaurant.
She let him ramble about the latest addition to his luxury watch collection: a special edition Patek Philippe with a little painting of Berlin's cityscape at its center, his grandparents' hometown. She dutifully leaned over his wrist to listen to its ticking, cooing oohs and aahs at the technical tidbits he rambles out, apparently this thing was a marvel of craftsmanship.
Seeing his open smile as he narrates its technical history, she felt her resentment fade away a little, her corresponding smile turning more sincere and less effortful.
He really could be quite adorable, when he got into the things he's passionate about. In anyone else, his generosity and depth of knowledge and the excitement with which he talks about them, would immediately classify him as a nerd, but with that handsome chiseled face and his luscious hair, he just looked like an insanely intelligent and fiery hottie.
She leaned into that thought. Fucking him would be easier, after all, if you don't completely hate him.
He owned a penthouse in one of the luxury apartment buildings making up the city's skyline. This was one of his bases, he owned properties in every corner of the country, of course, though these days he mostly used it for his dates with her.
One time he did offer her to stay here when he's away, but she politely declined. As tempting as living in the penthouse was, she needed her freedom.
Can't risk his household staff sniffing out her vibrators and dildos, and where was she supposed to record the videos for her OnlyFans, with them around? Luckily he responded by renting her current apartment for her, so honestly it all turned out perfectly.
"I have some business matters to take care of," he says. "Would you like to freshen up as you wait?"
He smirked. "If you go to the guest bedroom, I have a surprise waiting for you."
She smiled and snaked an arm around his, then stood on her tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"You really don't have to spoil me, you know? I like you nonetheless."
"I know. But I want to. Now, if you'll excuse me?"
She let him go to his office, then went to the guest bedroom.
On the bed lay a pink Agent Provocateur box, tied with a black satin ribbon. Her heart starts pounding, curiosity tingling at the pit of her stomach. She closed the door and walked toward the box.
The ribbon slipped undone in a simple tug. She lifted the lid of the box and peeked inside.
Oh.
It was a black corset, all satin and tulle and lace, with skin-colored paneling on the breasts and down the center of the torso, giving the illusion of partial nudity, of black floral lace swirling around her nipples.
But what truly got her curious was the panties that came with it: a matching black, a thong, and barely that, because the bit that was supposed to cover her pussy was actually just a soft transparent tulle.
It was topped with more lace and a tiny black ribbon, and held together with three strings that merged at her hip before wrapping around her.
Very flimsy. Very revealing. And definitely screamed sex.
She'd known for a while that he had a lingerie fetish, but he wasn't always this open about it. He had started out subtle: an elegant Carine Gilson floor-length kimono, befitting a queen, then a matching silk dress that was luxurious but sensible, something she imagined a rich and respectable wife would wear.
And then it had gotten progressively flirtier since then: silk floaty shorts and a camisole, an ankle-length slip dress, a thigh-length kimono paired with lace-and-satin bra and shorts, then a slip dress that barely covered her ass.
But this was the first Agent Provocateur that he's got. The first that was unmistakably lingerie-for-fucking.
She felt her heart beating in her throat. The space between her legs clenches. It's gonna be quite a night.
She slipped out of her Versace dress and went to the en suite bathroom for some body lotion. Her hand stopped as she's reaching out for the bottle, she had an idea, and it painted a big grin onto her face.
She grabbed her phone out of her purse instead, propped it against the bathroom mirror, and fired up the camera.
Getting ready for sex with you could be the video title.
It should get her some hundreds, maybe thousands, of dollars. After all, this was also a job, not just a date, right? The more she could milk out of it, the better.
She let the lotion drop into her palm and then began massaging her tits, moaning as she teased her nipples. She made sure to get a close up shot of her tits, glistening with the lotion.
Her audience loved that sort of stuff. Then, when her whole body was thoroughly moisturized, she put one foot onto the counter, exposing her pussy to the camera, and started rubbing.
She closed her eyes and imagined the reason she needed to do this at all: His cock. That sexy, massive thing required her to be as wet as possible, and the more of a headstart she had, the better.
With her pussy damp, she put on the Agent Provocateur lingerie, layering it with the fit-for-a-queen kimono he gave her a while ago. Then she walked out of the room and into his office.
"Are you done?" she asked, her floor-length kimono swirling around her feet.
She'd left it open and untied, so that he could see the corset and her bare legs and her almost bare pussy.
He looked up and smiled. "I suppose I am, now."
The dark velvety charm of his voice teased goosebumps out of her skin. It was hard to not be sucked into the magnetic power of his handsomeness and what he stood for.
He wasn't merely a king; he was an emperor, and when he fucked her, it felt simultaneously like ruling an empire and being the emperor's slave. Every note in his voice reminded her of what this felt like. She's got work to do. Pleasure had a high price to pay, when she was around this guy.
She glided to a stop a few steps away from his desk, standing with her hands behind her back and chin tilted down, waiting for him to tell her his wishes.
"How do you like my gifts?" He murmured.
"How do you like them?" She returned his question gently, teasingly.
"I asked first."
"I love them."
"In what way?"
She bit her lip, dropped the pitch of her voice down into a soft huskiness, and the volume into a whisper.
"I love the feel of the silk against my naked skin. So soft, so luxurious. I love its airiness and the way it swirls around my feet. It makes me feel like a... goddess riding the wind, though I know I'm not that. And...," she paused, then raised her gaze and stared into his eyes.
"I love how it makes me feel exposed, for you."
His eyes darkened, a smile tugged one corner of his lips, so slightly; he was still the haughty emperor apart from it.
"Show me!" he ordered.
