A long day at the office had come to an end. After going through her core routine at the corner gym, she’d been looking forward to a quiet night home by herself. No company to think about except for the TV and her cat. The athletic silhouette of the body she took such great care of, bathed itself in the haze of the locker room shower where she blow-dried her medium-length, silky black locks in front of a foggy mirror. In the light, they shined with natural hints of a dark cherry cola red.
She never engaged in gossip, and rarely made small talk unless it was absolutely required. Even to those who claimed to know her well, there remained a certain aura of mystery surrounding someone whom despite being rather physically gifted, didn’t seem preoccupied by meticulous beauty regiments and the self-adulation which so many other beautiful girls of her generation had been consumed by.
At twenty-nine years of age, the relative success and respectable degree of normalcy she had achieved up until this point in life, betrayed her impoverished and otherwise rather enigmatic upbringing. There was little she cared to mention of a past life that one can only assume had caused her a great deal of pain. Her complete disengagement from this apparently unpleasant previous existence, seemed to hint at a childhood that'd be hard for any empathetic human to process. When someone displays that certain degree of emotional austerity, and social disengagement despite showing great intelligence and a socially competent demeanor, an introspective onlooker can’t help but become obsessively intrigued.
Her phone usually stayed in her pocket, but when it began to buzz in its characteristic way, she knew that her plans for the night were about to change for the worse and glanced over to read the incoming message.
It was the escort service texting with an impromptu appointment request for her service that evening. Sighing with disappointment, she carried on blow drying and staring back through her own icy gaze in the mirror. She always needed extra money, and same-day appointments like these earned her a handsome cash bonus for the inconvenience, so she reluctantly agreed despite wanting more than anything to ignore it and stay in for the night.
The name on the lead was familiar, a client whom she had already been acquainted with half-a- dozen times before. As with most of her clientele, the thought of foreplay and engaging in sexual charades with someone she barely knew and who was twice her age, made her cringe a little. But business was business, and she had been steadily improving her ability to shut off the part of her brain that cared about someone’s attractiveness.
Pulling back the thick strands of shiny hair into a tight bun, she exited the gym locker room with her typically methodical and deliberate walk, and stopped by home to get ready. While dabbing her warm spots with a perplexing fragrance she had found overseas, her favorite new panties, which had specifically been reserved for lonely nights at home like this one was supposed to have been, caught her eye. On a whim, she had decided that tonight was going to be about her and slid them up her smooth legs.
The automatic doors slid open and she graced the hotel lobby with a calm and somewhat authoritative demeanor, as though her business there were as important and respectable as anyone else’s in the building. Personnel who were pushing luggage carts, paused briefly in her wake to engorge their senses in the clean and delicate sillage which trailed just behind her sleek, passing figure. The receptionist greeted her and filed through notes until she retrieved the one instructing the desk to hand Sylvia one room key card for Executive Suite 22 on the ground level. The Middle Aged Woman handed the key over nonchalantly, but not without imparting a disapproving glance to this cool and collected young woman with the impenetrable gaze. If this was to be a staring contest, there’s no doubt Sylvia would win, but merely engaging in one would imply that she cared at all about this woman’s suspicions, and care she most certainly did not.
Mr. Fitzgerald, as Sylvia referred to him, had his lonely silence interrupted by a gentle knock and the sound of a plastic card sliding in and out of the small opening, before a sturdy click brought the heavy door to a graceful open swing. Her curvaceous backside entered first as she gently closed the door and engaged the remaining locks with an experienced precision. Skintight black leggings contoured her fairly powerful legs all the way down to a pair of short leather boots. Making her way gracefully through the dim living room in this master suite, she opened the refrigerator door and placed a bottle of water inside. Setting her purse on the table she removed a small black bag which she concealed under one arm, and sauntered over to the window where she briefly scanned the nearly empty parking lot. Then, after appearing to deadbolt this back door just as she had done with the front, she finally turned to acknowledge her awaiting client. She at last approached the recliner he was seated in, and enveloped him in her radiant scent. Though he anticipated a kiss, she turned herself away at once, as if to greet him with her backside, and settled down into Mr. Fitzgerald’s lap to his delighted surprise. A wave of his scotch leapt over the edge of the glass and onto the table, as he shifted his position in an attempt to accommodate his now increasingly filling lap.
“Hello to you too” He remarked, as she gave a disinterested and barely audible chuckle that he felt vibrate through her back and into his now compressed rib cage. She was reclining into him and allowing the updrawn hairs just above her delicate neck to tickle his now overstimulated nose, but while his senses were abuzz with surprise and delight, she was privately dreaming of lying back on her own bed instead, with no obligations but to simply fall off into a deep and restful sleep.
He had requested the usual, anal sex with her twice tonight and once the next morning, which had become the usual for Mr. Fitzgerald, a man who with little money to throw around, was evidently more interested in quantity at a bargain, than quality at a price. She, however, certainly felt that he deserved no better than this, the dirtiest place on her body, the filthy P.O.S., but at the same time it seemed to drag her down a little bit each time she engaged in this kind of intercourse. There was definitely something misogynistic about the nature of an act that both sexes are equally capable of receiving, but only one sex is expected to make good on. He breathed her in with all his might, and she fantasized once more about being in her safe and cozy apartment when she was abruptly interrupted by his cold hand making it’s way around the front of her pants and slowly up her shirt until it cupped and rested over her nipple. The discomfort continued to grow until he began to adjust once again in his chair and she got up and walked over to the bed to begin preparations.
He finished his drink and clumsily rose up and followed her with his glossed-over grin leading the way. Standing and facing the bed with her back turned to his approach, she discreetly zipped open the small black bag she had just placed on the comforter. Disguised as a purse, this little bag had been making it’s way into her arsenal on those particular nights when she felt it was time to shake things up a bit.
His arms encircled her abdomen from behind and his overgrown stubble scratched the delicate skin on the back of her neck with an unwelcome abrasiveness, while his protruding stomach pushed into her waist. His hands made their way down her abdomen until they reached her waistband. Brimming with excitement, he aggressively yanked and jerked at her drawstring, pinching her skin and making her face hot with irritation.
“Stop!” She demanded. “Turn around!” His irreverent grin now increased as his face was flush with a little embarrassment which turned into more excitement. He turned around where he stood and faced the opposing wall. She yanked up on his baggy shirt until it was above his head and tossed it on the chair. “Arms behind your back.” She cooed into his ear. He rolled his eyes at the unnecessary foreplay he wasn’t fond of engaging in, but he reluctantly complied with a menacing, wolfish chuckle. She slid a wide, pre-looped zip-tie over his wrists and cinched them firmly together with one strong pull and then undid his sleek, narrow belt, and placed it on the bed. Adrenaline flooded her body and gave way to a surprising sexual excitement. “Sit down right here on the bed.” She ordered, in a tone that to him, seemed to foreshadow a sexy encounter that he was sure to enjoy.
He sat just where he needed to be and she moved in, kneeling alongside him on the bed. While letting her deep subconscious lament fuel her next actions, she firmly grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of his head and forced him face down onto the comforter with his head facing straight into the pillow.
In shock and growing concern, he was silent and at a loss for words, still confused about whether to continue going along with what was becoming a major detour from what he had initially expected. She placed one hand firmly down onto his lower spine to keep him immobilized, straddled directly over his very lower back, and sat all of her weight onto this spot, pinning him even more helplessly to the bed. He grunted, stuttered, and then just froze in place in an effort to catch his breath. It seems that the total lack of control he now experienced had dammed up the flow of words he would otherwise have let out. She reached into her black leather bag and his ears perked up like those of an eager dog trying to decipher a new sound. Head still face down in the pillow she clenched the hair behind his head and pulled his face out into the fresh air just long enough to push a large ball-gag between his gasping lips. Without apology the straps attached to this device were cinched tightly behind his head and secured. His nostrils flared and his eyes, which only minutes before were engaged in a cocky stare of entitlement, were now as big as saucers as they tried to turn 180 degrees to look up and engage hers. His sprawled legs were writhing around, trying to gather the power to buck her off, but the leverage was all hers, and his effort was pathetic at best.
Sylvia's night was finally ready to begin. After placing an eagerly awaited text message to a friend, she turned a deaf ear to her struggling captive, grabbed the remote from the bedside table, and proceeded to watch the show she would’ve otherwise missed. The surges of effort below her would build in intensity until they reached a pinnacle, and then taper off until his heavy breathing once again commenced and the oddly pleasurable vibrations diminished once again. She didn’t know exactly why, but this rapid struggle beneath her began to excite her. She’d watch a segment of her show until the surges began once again, at which point she’d hit mute, listen to the muffled cries, and rub herself until they again stopped and she was forced to wait until they returned.
When her show eventually ended, she turned around and faced his feet while still keeping her butt firmly planted on his pelvis. Not that he could go anywhere anyways, he wasn’t a very big guy to begin with, and his cuffed arms made him nothing of a threat, but she liked the feeling of him beneath her and so she remained there. His belt slid off easily and for the most part, despite his kicking legs, so did his pleated pants. This flailing of his legs made it easy to remove his shoes and socks which as a result, were easily within reach. His white briefs were the last article of clothing to be removed, but she enjoyed taking them off the most. “Only virgins are supposed to wear white!” She scolded him. Every movement or utterance she made now commanded his full attention, given his utter helplessness. She held the bundled white briefs like a trophy in her fist, spat onto them, and then lowered this dampened rag of sorts down until it breached the crevasse which lead to his rectum. With a gentle push, she pressed them onto the region where she knew his opening to be, and then held this white rag up to the dim light of the lamp. “I’m impressed!” His eyes winced from the humiliation and buried themselves into the relative anonymity of the sweat dampened pillow. “You really kept yourself clean. Must have known what was going to happen tonight, huh?”
Hit with a stark realization, his body clenched into a severe and sudden fit. Her hips now were bucked a couple inches off of his back with each strenuous convulsion he mustered, fueling in her some immense excitement and satisfaction about what was to come. But in the end, it was useless to protest, and he was ultimately forced to surrender to his darkening predicament and allow himself to be pressed deeper into the bed by her unrelenting position.
A cold wetness suddenly decorated his inner thighs and cheeks surrounding his tight virgin hole. A disgusting sound of thick liquid being forced out of a plastic container, seemed to taunt him through his captive ears. He immediately clenched up and with his remaining strength, brought his legs together forcefully in some last-ditch effort to delay the inevitable. Unwilling to exert her energy and pry them apart, she grabbed his testicles which had tucked themselves into the seam where is legs met, and held them up while she slid the narrow belt off the bed and threaded it underneath and around the scrotum. Then she weaved it through the belt loop where the slack was pulled snugly and secured. His legs immediately parted ways for her, but she still didn’t release the belt. “Try that again and you’ll be truly sorry.” She cooed. All the struggling, writhing, flopping and grunting suddenly died right there and gave way to a victorious and almost palpable silence. But a pathetic sounding whimper began and slowly took it over. It was a shrill and squeaky sobbing that was bittersweet to her, as it brought her the most thorough satisfaction she remembered ever having during one of her paid late-night encounters. As she held the belt in one hand, she realized that she now truly had him in the palm of her hand.
With a coated middle finger, she traced a line from the bottom of his spinal cord, straight down into the parting of his mounds, until she encountered a silky forest which give way to the slightest, almost undetectable depression. She orbited this region to be sure that this was the destination, and that there was no miscalculation in her coordinates. She zero’d in and felt an inadvertent pulsation from that very spot give itself away. The whimpering now ceased and she let more lubrication journey from her palm, down her finger, and onto the newly exposed entrance to his masculine identity.
She pulsated with slight degrees of pressure as if knocking gently at a fortified palace door. Each push on this door was met with an equal and greater push outwards. But she changed her rhythm playfully until eventually his timing was foiled, and the sacred entrance he fought so very hard to protect, had been breached by a less powerful force of cunning and wit. Her finger led a foray through the entryway and managed to sneak down the hallway before being overwhelmed, and forcibly expelled. But the defenses had been weakened from the initial assault and eventually it was decided that the damage had already been done. The walls had already been breached, the army had one foot in the door, and they were ready and eager to explore their prize, so at this point, complete surrender was his best and only option. She explored the depths of his most private region, and even let in another two fingers which had his eyes watering once again from the pain. But struggling only made the pain intensify, and he at last settled into a reluctant submission.
His sigh of defeat was so affecting it was almost palpable. While she explored the back doorway unopposed, she kept one eye on the other rear entrance which lead to the hotel room from the parking lot. A pair of headlights had penetrated the drawn blinds, and briefly projected the shadow of her and her hapless prisoner onto the wall, filling her eyes with a powerful image of revenge and dominance. “I think he’s here” she whispered down to him in a delighted tone that seemed to suggest Mr. Fitzgerald should be equally excited. The door to the parking lot opened without any unlocking, and a large mixed race man appeared. It was Devon.
“Well, what do we have here?” Devon asked in a melodic tone. Mr. Fitzgerald had resigned himself to his defeated state, but that didn’t prevent another desperate wail from escaping his gag. The two paused, and responded with a burst of laughter. He kicked off his shoes as he made his way to her awaiting lips which throbbed with unequaled desire.
(This is the end of Part 1) This is my first story and I plan on doing more.