Though her confident stride masks it, Karen has butterflies in her stomach as she strides through the gleaming hotel lobby the next night. The hotel is upscale; the crystal chandelier dangling overhead casts specks of silver over the wealthy clientele. There are men in tuxedos and women in expensive designer clothes. Karen is one of those women, though her black business suit and seven hundred dollar strappy high heels cover considerably less tasteful underwear.
She heads directly to the bank of elevators and avoids her gaze in the shiny gold doors as she waits for one to arrive. Two middle-aged businessmen in well-tailored suits wait next to her murmuring about stocks and bonds and other subjects that Karen would normally find interesting. But not tonight. Nothing had been interesting since ten o'clock that morning. Nothing had tasted right or felt right and Karen had taken the afternoon off in an effort to hide her anxiety from her staff.
At ten o'clock that morning a courier had dropped off an elegantly wrapped package. Karen had not recognized the handwriting and even now she took a moment to send up a tiny thanks that she had opened the package in the privacy of her office and not in the reception room with an audience. The flat white box had contained a mound of tissue paper, scraps of black satin and lace she supposed could be called lingerie, and a key card with a distinguished hotel logo. Perhaps she was over-reacting - it's not as though the box had contained body parts. But Karen's heart had started pounding and her pulse had not slowed in the twelve hours since.
So now, shortly after ten o'clock that same evening, she finds herself stepping into the pristine elevator with gracious company and not a respectable thought in her head. Though she knows the situation is wrong - she's being blackmailed for sex, after all - she can't help but feel a little turned on. Okay, that's a lie. Karen is desperately, painfully aroused, and terribly ashamed of it. The past four days had shown her that her libido was not dead, after all, though Karen is sufficiently modern not to be bothered by this fact. What bothers her is that she's experiencing things with William that she has never experienced in a proper relationship with a man who would not go to jail for the things he was doing.
Despite her somewhat illicit past (documented on the sexually charged videos William possesses and now uses to his advantage), Karen has never partaken in any sexual activity or proclivity that could be considered anything other than perfectly "normal." And yet in the past four days she has had every kind of sex with a man whose last name she does not know and who threatens to ruin her reputation if she denies him. A man whose cock she has choked on and begged for, whose cock took her anal virginity without tenderness or mercy, whose cock makes her swallow her reservations and come so hard she worries she might die.
These thoughts make her face turn red and Karen hopes her elevator companions cannot read her mind. Indeed when she looks up into the mirrored elevator walls they quickly look away. Karen gulps in a breath of air and jabs impatiently at the button for the twenty-first floor. She glances at her watch - she's ten minutes late - and smoothes her already smooth hair back into place.
Finally - finally - the elevator doors slide open and Karen steps out into the plushly carpeted hallway. The hall itself seems to stretch into infinity, the doors widely spaced and elegantly numbered. Karen recognizes the disparity of the tasteful hotel and the acts she has arrived to participate in and goose bumps spring up along her spine. She checks the room number on the key card and stops in front of the corresponding door. Her eyes flick nervously to the peephole and she wonders if William is watching. She swipes the card though the lock and the light turns green. After an infinitesimal pause, Karen steps inside.
The room is pitch black. The carpet is so dense that Karen can't even hear her own footsteps. She enters just far enough to close the door behind her and wait for her eyes to adjust. She feels nothing, sees nothing, hears nothing. Her heart pounds in her ears and when, after a full minute has passed and nothing has changed, her vision has not adjusted, she begins to feel afraid. And then he touches her.
It is a large, calloused hand on the back of her neck, stroking the smooth skin below her tight chignon, tracing the tendons on the side of her neck and around to her clavicle. Karen closes her eyes and swallows thickly. The fingers linger over her throbbing pulse and a warm set of lips follows, applying gentle suction.
In quick succession Karen is stripped of her suit jacket and skirt, the blouse that cost more than this room, and each and every hair pin. She stands completely still in her gifted lingerie and heels, hair spilling down her back as William - who she assumes is William - continues his thorough examination of her body. He's so thorough, in fact, that Karen begins to grow impatient. She spots the red digital numbers of a clock across the room and squints to read them - nearly ten thirty. Just how long is she expected to stand here while William essentially feels her up?
She shudders as his lips finally trail up her thigh and his tongue swipes over her cunt, exposed thanks to the crotchless panties she received that morning. A moan escapes and the tongue stills. William chuckles and rises. Karen can feel his clothing - no jeans and leather this time: it feels like he's wearing a suit and tie - and he confirms this when he whispers, "Take off my tie."
Grateful for something to do, Karen reaches up and smoothly loosens his tie, sliding the silky fabric through her fingers and around his neck until he takes the material from her and wraps it around her eyes. Karen's hands reach up automatically to pull it away, but William stops her. She has a split second to wonder why she's being blindfolded in a dark room, but those questions are answered when the lights switch on. William adjusts the tie so she is sufficiently blinded, then, with his warm hand on the small of her back, guides her across the room. When he stops she stops, and she hears him settle into what she presumes to be a chair next to her.
"Kneel," he says.
Karen kneels. It is somehow easier to "obey" his commands with her eyes covered. Easier to heed someone she has yet to see. She hears a zipper lowering and a slight rustle, then a hand on the back of her head bringing her forward. She knows what's coming and opens her mouth to receive the fat head of his cock. He pushes her too far the first time and she gags slightly, pulling back. He relents and lets her set the pace for the first few minutes.
Karen feels her pussy weeping, juices dampening the inside of her thighs. She has her hands on his knees, bracing herself, and the cool air in the room brushes along her spine and the exposed crack of her ass. William pushes himself further into her mouth and she opens as wide as she can as he bumps the back of her throat. He's made her deep throat him before and this time is no different. A few more practice runs and he is burying her nose in his pubic hair, his satisfied grunts spurring her on despite some minor discomfort. She sucks him noisily, saliva coating his shaft, and she can taste the salt and musk of him. His thrusts become shorter, harder, and Karen sucks him accordingly. Finally and without warning he comes in her mouth, spurting his come onto her tongue until he is spent. Without being asked Karen tilts her head back and parts her red lips, revealing his gleaming deposit. With her mouth open, she swallows the creamy mass. William's warm hand strokes her cheek.
"Stay here," he says, rising and slipping past her.
Karen remains kneeling before the empty armchair. She feels anxious and exposed and very turned on. She thinks about feeling afraid but reasons that William has already done everything she would have tried to stop him from doing had he had not had his leverage, so she waits.
"Turn around," William calls from across the room. "Stay on your knees and rest your arms on the chair behind you. Keep them there until I say otherwise."
Karen shuffles around so her back rests against the soft fabric of the chair, her elbows and forearms sinking into the cushion. Her back arches slightly, thrusting her breasts forward, her nipples peeking out over the extremely low-cut demi-cups.
"Spread your knees more," William orders, this time from much closer. She feels the cold tip of his shoe inside of one leg and widens her stance until he is satisfied. The smooth leather trails up the inside of one thigh, through the juices gleaming there, and slides through her glistening labia. He nudges the clasping entrance to her body and Karen's heart stops. After a second he moves away and she resumes breathing. She hears the sound of a cork popping and soon after the sound of liquid being poured into glasses.
"Champagne." William answers the unspoken question. He presses a glass against her lips and she opens her mouth to gratefully accept his offering. Karen doesn't drink often, but she recognizes money when she tastes it, and William had clearly spared no expense. He does not remove the glass until it is empty and Karen licks her lips. She hears him drink his own beverage then there is a muted thud and a slight movement on the ground below her.
William's fingers swipe through her pussy, separating her labia, and his free hand comes to rest on her shoulder, pushing her down. Karen obeys until she feels the cold glass bottle nudging her seeping core. She freezes. "No," she says.
"Do it," William orders.
Karen shakes her head. "No."
"Trust me," he says.
Karen stills. How far can she reasonably be expected to trust her blackmailer? Enough to fuck a champagne bottle? No. Never.
"No," she says again.
