Content Advisory: CNC, Butt Stuff
“Two two four,” she said, seeking his confirmation.
“Two two four,” he responded, and hung up.
She had done as he had instructed. Her exquisitely matched lace and mesh underwear under her long cream coat; the highest heels she had available and a small dot of perfume behind each ear. He hadn’t specified which one, which was unusual for him, but she knew what he liked; she wasn’t sure whether she liked or disliked the freedom she had been given. She parked the car in the hotel’s underground parking, made sure that her coat gave no indication of her state of undress and emerged into the cold winter air. She walked to the elevator and ascended to the lobby, her head spinning with the certainty that any woman who caught her eye would know she was, for the moment, a common slut. Would they know from a simple glance that she was under his command? She had always enjoyed making other women jealous.
As the elevator door opened into the hotel lobby, she surveilled the scene briefly and walked straight to the main lift, hoping it wasn’t one requiring a key to go up; she needn’t have worried; the lobby was busy, and she joined a group of three young men waiting for the next one.
When the lift door opened, she boarded first and turned around, and the three men filed in; one of them caught her eye and gave her a kind, gentle kind of smile. “Which floor?” He asked.
“I’m getting off on the second floor,” she said, surprised by the confidence in her voice. One of the men turned slightly to look at her.
“Pardon me for asking,” he said, as the lift door closed. “But may I ask the name of the perfume you’re wearing?”
She laughed.
“It’s Chanel,” she responded.
“It’s lovely,” he replied.
“Please forgive our drunk friend,” said the one with the kind smile. “He isn’t often allowed to speak to ladies.”
The lift arrived at the second floor. She stood forward.
“It’s Chanel number five,” she said, turning to smile warmly. “Have a lovely evening.”
“You too,” she heard them say, and, as the doors closed, one of them uttering embarrassed disbelief at his comrade. She had hit her mark.
The sign said turn left, so she did, walking to room 224.
As she arrived, she noticed the door was ajar. She gathered her wits and pushed open the door to the room; it was a large room with a huge white bed, a sofa and a desk. On the desk sat a closed laptop and an ice bucket, while a trickle of condensation rolled down what she knew would be an ice-cold bottle of champagne.
“Take it off.”
His voice was warm. Instructing, not commanding. No coercion, simple direction. She undid the belt of the coat and slipped it off her bare skin, revealing her tall slender body in its undoubted beauty. She could feel her cheeks begin to redden; she hadn’t worked out where he was in the room, but she knew he was looking, consuming her. She hoped he liked what he saw, but she had seen herself in the elevator mirror; she knew she looked powerfully beautiful and she allowed herself a moment of unspoiled vanity. She knew how he wanted her; he’d said so often enough, in those moments he couldn’t control.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, and now she was sure he was behind her. She felt his breath on her right shoulder, and then a hand on her waist. “The first touch is electric,” he had once told her, and she knew now what he had meant. She felt kisses on her shoulder and up her neck; she knew he had his targets, and for now he was targeting the dark tiny moles on her cheek.
“You feel warm,” she said.
“I’m just out of the shower,” he responded, and she could tell from he sensation of his face against hers, he had freshly shaved. He smelled of body lotion, ink and the forest, and, now, as she tried to identify the other sensations, she thought she detected cardamom and alcohol.
“You smell gorgeous”, she continued.
“Hopefully good enough to eat,” he replied, and she felt his hands on her shoulder, pushing her firmly to the ground.
The nerves disappeared. She suddenly felt great comfort in being commanded, and she complied.
“Good girl.”
—
He was wearing the hotel dressing gown, which she parted with both hands as she lowered herself to a squat. The scent of his perfectly clean, freshly showered body had not overcome the infinitesimally subtle, somehow familiar scent of his skin; she took his slowly stiffening shaft in her hand and nuzzled beneath it, kissing and licking him and navigating towards his balls. She knew he liked that; she knew how, later, he would become preoccupied with the idea of his own cum, and she wanted him to know that part of her obscene desire for the liaison was to empty these voluminous, warm globes of all his semen. She would work out where he wanted it later, though her quickly moistening pussy would make its own claim known. She sucked his balls and he experienced the first flush of the intoxicating power she always gave him. His hands lay lightly on her shoulders as he watched her kiss and lick him; the when she relented and licked along his shaft, he waited with more patience than he was comfortable with to see her beautiful mouth open to engulf the tip of his cock.
“Glorious,” he said, and she looked up to his eyes with a glance that betrayed satisfaction and determination.
She bore down on his shaft, sucking and licking, giving him every sensation he craved. She knew she had taken him to a place they had often discussed, and she hoped she would be repaid; she felt certain she would be.
His hands moved to her hair; either he was going to fuck her mouth, and she would take it like the good girl he wanted her to be, or he would simply stroke her as she sucked him. She wasn’t quite prepared for him to motion her upward, back to her feet, and kiss her.
“Was I not doing it right?” She asked.
“You were doing it perfectly, as you well know,” he smiled. “But I want this.”
He leaned forward and down and took her head in his hands, kissing her lips; she parted them and allowed his tongue inside her mouth; she could feel the need in him and it seemed to elevate her. His hands had found her ass; warm, enormous to the touch, she felt him cup her, the tips of his fingers stroking the mesh of her underwear, until they were on her sides, tracking upwards as he kissed her, towards the matching blue mesh of her bra; he had found her breasts, and he had found her nipples, each adorned with the bar of steel he had found so astonishing the first time they had met. He squeezed the globes of warm flesh and went down on his knees, worshipping her body and kissing her flesh.
“You’re mine,” he said, as he kissed the flesh beneath her right breast.
“I’m yours,” she said, exhaling this article of faith as her own hands found his hair and her fingers ran through it.
“I own this body,” he continued.
“Every part of it,” she agreed, as he kept on kissing her midriff. She thought she knew where this was going, and she was more than ready for it.
“Every part of you.”
“Every part of me.”
“You make me so happy.”
“I do make you happy. You deserve it.”
He slid her panties towards the ground, slowly down her legs, to the high heels.
“You’re perfect, sweetheart.”
“No,” she disagreed.
“You’re perfect for me.”
She moaned softly as she felt his hand rise up her left inner thigh.
“I want to be perfect for you.”
His hand arrived at her pussy not a moment too soon; she felt sure she was soaking there, and indeed she was. He ran his index finger around her vulva, transporting her slippery wetness, making her skin slick and his finger glide along her flesh. He nuzzled at her mound as he explored her, then gently found her opening and slid his fingers inside; she hadn’t been quite prepared for that so soon, but she had affirmed often enough that he owned her body, and she was enjoying his touch. He fingered her with a certain joyful dexterity; she buckled around him and urged him on.
“You really want to be inside me, don’t you?” She whispered.
“I do. All of me does,” he replied, then removed his hand and licked the finger.
“Where are your manners?” She asked, and took his hand to her own mouth and tongue.
“You’re such a glorious slut.”
“You’ve said already. How glorious?”
He took her over to the bed and bent her over.
“You want to be glorious, or just a slut?”
“I want you to use me,” she whispered.
“I’m going to. I’m going to use you like the filthy slut you were made to be today.”
“Just today?”
“Some days you’re meant to be less useful to me. Some days you’re meant to be the powerful, commanding, incredible woman you usually are. But some days…”
“Some days I remember that my favourite thing is being yours.”
“Some days I remember my favourite things,” he responded.
She felt his breath on her ass and wondered what he was craving at that moment; she didn’t have to wait long to find out. He roughly parted her ass and she found her breath stolen from her as he began to lick around her ass.
“Your new favourite thing,” she gasped.
—
It was. Before, he might have hesitated before playing here, but the first time he had ever heard her surprised little moan and her shocked little giggle, he had realised that truly owning her wasn’t determined by being able to rely on her doing things for him, but rather being able to exact total control on her. For right or wrong, with his tongue circling her asshole, and her tentative, self conscious pants that sometimes sounded like joy, sometimes like sobbing, she was his. She wasn’t going anywhere. She would have protested, if she hadn’t been in the midst of the sensational storm occasioned by his finger now gliding over her clit and his tongue probing at her, that she had never asked for this. She would never have lied that she didn’t want it.
He probed, he licked and he played for only a few minutes, but time may as well have stood still as he had, and now she was consumed with something approaching guilt and a cascade of desire for him to go further. She needn’t have thought too hard about it. Two of his fingers in her now wide open cunt, as his tongue continued to push against the core of her ass, causing her to feel just as vulnerable and just as sexually unleashed as she ever had before. She urged him on, and she felt hereself used, filled, fingered and fucked like the glorious slut he seemed to believe she was. She wanted his tongue to force its way into her asshole, and she was certain no thought like that had ever gone through her mind before. He roughly fingered her pussy and she approved – he was using her and she wanted to be used. She pushed back against his mouth and his fingers, and made sure he could hear her appreciative moans and breathing.
For his part, the sense of a girl being driven to something approaching pure lust was the end goal of this part of their limited time together. That and the tightness of her stretched vagina on his fingers, which was part of the goal itself.
“You fucking slut,” he snarled.
“I’m your fucking slut,” she replied.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.
“Fucking destroy me,” she said.It was. Before, he might have hesitated before playing here, but the first time he had ever heard her surprised little moan and her shocked little giggle, he had realised that truly owning her wasn’t determined by being able to rely on her doing things for him, but rather being able to exact total control on her. For right or wrong, with his tongue circling her asshole, and her tentative, self conscious pants that sometimes sounded like joy, sometimes like sobbing, she was his. She wasn’t going anywhere. She would have protested, if she hadn’t been in the midst of the sensational storm occasioned by his finger now gliding over her clit and his tongue probing at her, that she had never asked for this. She would never have lied that she didn’t want it.