by Rylee Swann
I hold onto him until he finally pulls away just enough to nuzzle against my ear. He bites down on the lobe to give me the shocking sizzle of pain he knows I love. My mouth feels empty, and I whimper both in lust and need.
“My god, Kim,” Michael breathes against my ear. “You are the sexiest fucking thing I have ever known.” He doesn’t give me a second to reply before his tongue is fucking my mouth again. I just shut my eyes and hold on for the ride.
Too soon, oh much too soon, Michael is pulling away again but keeps me on his lap, his hands dropping to my breasts to tease and torment.
“A moment of business, I’m afraid,” he says with a touch of true regret in his voice.
“Mmm…” is all I can manage to say. He’s tweaking my nipples now, and I’m not even sure what the word “business” means.
He laughs and pinches hard, forcing my eyes to pop open. “Good girl. Now, business?”
“You are an evil, evil man,” I say with a pout, and he resumes his torturous attack on my ripe buds.
“Pay attention,” he says as he tries not to laugh. He knows what he’s doing to me, and I just throw my head back, a victim to his ministrations. “Are you at least listening?” he asks, and this time he does laugh.
“Mmm… yes.”
“Good. The performance will start soon, and I want you to keep something in mind.” He pauses to fully lift one breast from its strict confinement and swirl his tongue around my swollen peak.
I’m pressing down hard onto his cock. I need him inside me. It’s a desperate, urgent need, and I think I’ll die if he’s not soon hammering into me. “Whoa, Kim, whoa. Not yet.”
I whine again in frustration. “Then stop touching me!” I cry, and a deep rumbling guffaw rises from Michael’s throat and sends corresponding shock waves to my sex. I shiver, and he envelops me in his warm, safe grip.
Against my ear, he breathes, “It’s alright to look foolish tonight, Kim. The voyeur doesn’t want a professional stripper. He wants the husband and wife experience, so tripping, laughing, wardrobe malfunctions are all okay. Understand?”
Huh?
Wait.
What?
Earth calling Kim, come in, Kim. Okay, okay, I’m trying really hard to concentrate. Did he just say what I think he said?
“Are you giving me permission to be a klutz?”
“Yes, you can put it that way.”
I laugh. “Okay, maybe you’re not quite as evil as I thought.”
In reply, he slaps my ass and tosses me from his lap. “Go put those shoes back on. The voyeur’ll love it.”
I don’t know if he’s joking or not but have no time to ask because someone knocks on the hotel room door.
Show time.
I heave in a breath, stick my breast back into my bustier, grab my fuck-me high heels, and scurry to the bathroom in preparation to make my grand entrance.
I wait in the bathroom with my ear to the door like a… well, like a true voyeur. I have to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing and continue to listen as Michael greets the real voyeur and reiterates the rules. There aren’t many. It’s mostly just sit there, be quiet, and don’t touch.
When there’s been no talking for about five minutes, I take a deep breath, throw open the door, and take a step into the room. I allow myself a quick glance at the voyeur and have to keep myself from making a face, a very negative, oh that’s not pretty face.
The voyeur is disgusting. It’s not just that he’s morbidly obese, he’s wearing clothes so tight that his fat hangs out in places. They’re actually busting at the seams, and I can see every bump, ripple, and small bulge at his crotch. His black hair is long and stringy, clearly unwashed and greasy. His eyes are small and beady, and so lust filled that they remind me more of a stalker than a normal guy who just wants to watch.
He leans forward in his chair and his tongue darts out to lick his puffy, red lips.
My skin crawls, and when I take another couple of steps into the room, I trip over my stupid shoes and flounder around like a blind, flightless bird.
The voyeur laughs, his expansive belly shaking with a personal earthquake. He slaps his thigh with one beefy hand and points at me with the other. “Yeah, yeah, clumsy oaf! Yeah, yeah!”
I know my face has reddened, but the show must go on. I’m a professional. Hell, I’ve been doing this for months now. Mentally bracing myself against the unpleasantness, I know that Michael will intercede if things get too out of hand. Like before, I kick off my shoes and start a long, slow strut to the bed. Remembering at the last minute that this is a striptease show, I stop a couple of steps from the bed, somewhere midpoint between Michael and El Disgusto, and slowly, seductively run my hands down my body.
Michael nods almost imperceptibly and I’m grateful for his encouragement. Still moving slowly, I begin to strip for the beautiful man in front of me. I unbutton, unzip, untie, and unsnap while keeping my eyes focused on his.
He nods again and breaks into a grin. I start to relax and forget about El Disgusto. He’s not there. It’s just a chair.
With a flourish, I reveal my breasts to Michael, and I can see his appreciation grow, big and hard. It always thrills me how I can have such an effect on him with just my tits.
“You are so fucking sexy, babe,” he says in a throaty growl, and I smile, bending to roll my stockings off.
They get caught on something dangling from my unhooked bustier. I fumble and try to keep from falling while the voyeur laughs, probably pointing that beefy finger again. I’m embarrassed. No, I’m mortified. Michael clears his throat to get my attention, to settle me. I meet his gaze and his eyes are telling me that I can do this.
I take a deep breath and remember what this show is supposed to be all about. “Oh, fuck this, baby. You know I’m no good at this,” I say, and with a good hard tug I rip off the nylons and fling them to the “empty” chair.
Michael laughs, and it’s just the two of us again.
Until I hear loud snorting sniffs.
Oh god, he’s smelling my stockings.
Mortification reasserts itself.
I need this show to be over as quickly as possible.
Struggling out of my bustier, I realize I’m grunting and groaning with the effort. Do I care? No, not at this point. I just want to be naked and throw myself at Michael so he can take control and make this all better.
I dearly hope Michael charged this guy a king’s fortune.
I’m naked now, finally, and I take a deep cleansing breath and shake my head, allowing the curling hair at the nape of my neck to sway in a becoming, sexy way.
My eyes want to stray to El Disgusto as if they have a mind of their own, and Michael knows this. “You’re fucking gorgeous, lover,” he says to keep my attention on him, only him.
Lover. For a second that word gives me pause, makes me think of Jay, my alcoholic ex. He always called me that. With a start, I realize that I am finally and truly over him. I’ve moved on. Life is good and getting better all the time. Warmth rushes through me and I smile at the man in front of me.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say in a teasing tone and cup my breasts with my hands, lifting them up, offering them to him. He groans and his cock twitches. “You want these, don’t you, baby?” I’m still teasing him, keeping the show going, a striptease of the flesh now. Tap dancing my fingertips over my left breast, they find my hardened and erect nipple and linger there, pinching, pulling, rubbing. My other hand starts to explore the rest of my body, moving excruciatingly slowly down the curve of my right breast to the swell of my hip and to my thigh, stopping there as I readjust my stance, spreading my legs in anticipation of my hand moving to my pussy.
“You’re a tease, such a tease,” Michael breathes, and I smile and start to stroke myself with my index finger. I’m surprised to find that I’m wet. I thought El Disgusto would have left me high and dry, but no, performing for Michael is more than enough to arouse me. I throw my head back and gasp as
I flick my clit with practiced precision.
As Michael’s nostrils flair, I bring my index finger to my lips and suck it slowly into my mouth, twirling my tongue around it, tasting myself, fucking my mouth with my finger.
“Yeah, yeah, fucking slut, yeah yeah,” El Disgusto grunts. Apparently, he likes what I’m doing. He’s so gross. I can’t help it, I glance at him and pinch my nipple hard, taunting him. Foolish of me, I know, but I also know he’ll love it. “Slut!” he cries out in agonized joy.
My smile is knowing now as I throw my left foot up onto the bed to give Michael a perfect view of my pussy. I’m spread wide for him, beautifully pink and engorged, and dripping wet. My fingers find my clit again and resume their steady, familiar stroking as my breathing becomes more rapid. I’m panting, eyes glazed. My fingers know the territory, and in mere minutes I’ll come. I have to force myself to slow the action, to move my fingers to my slick lips, to tease and torture myself.
I whimper, and Michael leaps forward and attacks my right breast, clamping his lips down on my sensitive nipple, biting and sucking. I need him inside me, and my finger is a poor substitute as I plunge it deep within me, desperate to hit my walls but stopping just short.
Torturing my nipple the way he knows I love it, he places his hand over mine, guiding my finger in and out, fucking me with my own finger. I’m on fire. This is a new move, and I add a second and a third finger while Michael thrusts them harder and faster into me.
His other hand moves to my ass, slapping a hard, stinging blow across my cheeks as he thrusts my fingers into me in tandem, again and again. I feel the heat on my cheeks, the fire in my pussy, and I cry out my need.
I’m not coming yet, and the sound is one of pure lust filled desperation.
In the background, El Disgusto chants, “Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah…”
Until I want to kill him.
Michael spanks me once more, the hardest yet, then drives his finger into my asshole. In shock, I scream in pain-pleasure. He gives me no time to adjust to the intrusion and fucks my ass hard with his finger while continuing to guide my fingers into my core.
I’m filled to bursting, and he doesn’t relent, driving his finger, my fingers into me harder and faster. I can’t breathe. I’m panting and crying, and Michael bites down hard on my nipple at just the right moment. I cry out, coming harder than I’ve ever come, shuddering and shaking.
“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah…”
Thrashing and trembling, my legs won’t hold me upright for another second. Michael grabs me by the waist and throws me to the bed. On my back, I’m still wracked by my orgasm when Michael shoves my legs apart and rams his enormous cock into me. I scream myself hoarse as he fucks me. It’s his turn, and he is ruthless in his thrusts.
“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah…”
Michael’s lips find my earlobe and sucks.
I’m a wild beast with no coherent thought as I come again, crying and arching my back while grinding against him as he fucks me even harder. I’m writhing uncontrollably, my nails digging into his back, begging for more abuse but unable to take another second.
“Yeah yeah yeah yeah…”
Then, suddenly, Michael stops, becomes motionless. He hasn’t come yet, I know this, and I look at him, begging with my eyes for more, but he just bares his teeth in a semblance of a smile.
“Don’t stop, baby, god, don’t stop,” I pant, but he just shakes his head. I don’t understand. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he grunts with effort. “I was about to come, but you’re going to come for me one more time before I do.” He gives me another primal baring of teeth before he starts to slowly rock inside me again, building the motion until he’s pounding with crazed, wild abandon.
“Yeah yeah yeah yeah YEAH YEAH YEAH!”
I stare at Michael wide-eyed. “Please, no, I… can’t… no more… please…” He doesn’t listen, and I’m soon lost, coherent thought flying from me, our sweat-slicked bodies slapping against each other, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the exhausted pain pleasure of a third orgasm builds in me. I’m crying out again, tears flowing from my eyes, my nails digging into his flesh, and I come, even harder than before. I’m faint, dizzy, pain pleasure wracked, my world growing dark.
Michael collapses beside me, panting, swirling his fingers playfully over my overly sensitive nipples.
“My god,” I say.
“Yeah,” Michael replies, causing me to laugh.
He realizes and laughs with me.
“The chair is creepy,” I whisper softly into his ear.
“Yes, but it’s still just a chair.”
From the corner of my eye, I see El Disgusto laboriously stroking his small limp dick. I wonder if he was ever hard at all.
Soon enough, Michael is up, pulling on his jeans, and walking El Disgusto to the door. A little obligatory business is conducted, and he’s gone, but not before looking back at me with a sick leer upon his bloated face.
I suppress a shudder.
I just had the fucking experience of a lifetime, but I didn’t like who was watching. Not one little bit.
Michael returns to the bed, stripping off his jeans and lying beside me, skin to skin.
“I’m sorry about that one, Kim. My kink got the better of me. I should have said no.”
“It’s alright,” I say as I cuddle up against him, my fingers tracing the dips and curves of his perfect chest. I lean forward and kiss his shoulder then trail a few more kisses up to the crook of his neck. He doesn’t pull away, and I’m emboldened. “Do you have any more surprise moves in your repertoire?”
He chuckles. “Maybe.”
“Tease.” I slap his arm.
He nuzzles my neck. “What fun would it be if I told you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something to look forward to?”
He puts an exaggerated expression of mock disappointment on his face. “Ah, you wound me to the core, Kim, to tell me that you don’t already look forward to our sessions just for what they are.”
I pick up a pillow and whack him in the face with it. Or at least, I try. He’s fast and with a little sexual growl, he grabs my wrist, pins it to the mattress, and climbs on top of me. “Tell me,” he says in a rumble that makes me want him again. “Tell me you look forward to me fucking you. Tell me you crave it.”
Against my mound, his cock is already semi-hard — he is an amazing man — and I struggle against the weight of his body on me. I struggle partly to arouse him even more, but also because I just love the feel of him against me.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll purposely look for a voyeur who wants to see how long I can play with you without letting you orgasm.”
“Oh my god!” I gasp. “You wouldn’t!”
He smiles that devil’s smile of his. “Try me.”
For emphasis, he presses his hardening cock between my legs, the friction setting a fire blazing there. “It would go like this, Kim. I bring you right to the point of orgasm.” He speeds the friction of his cock against me, stoking the fire and sending waves of heat through me. “And when you’re crying, begging for it, I stop and maybe suck on a nipple for a while. Then, just when you’ve relaxed enough to simply enjoy the sensations, I take your clit in my mouth and suck hard to bring you right to the point of orgasm again.” He stops and reaches between my legs and spreads my lips, giving him better access to my throbbing mound. “I can do that all night long, Kim, especially when we’re being paid for it.”
I’m whimpering now, and he smiles that devilish smile again and stops rubbing against me. “Tell me you crave it.”
I take his face in my hands. “I crave it, Michael. You know I do. I don’t just crave it. I love it. I love sex with you.”
“You love it?”
“Yes, oh god, yes! You don’t believe me?”
He chuckles. “I believe you. I’m a damned good fuck.”
I buck my hips up to get contact with him again. “And conce
ited too.” I laugh. “But you love it too. You love having sex with me,” I say, teasing him, mimicking what he just did to me. “Tell me!”
His eyes cloud over, and his smile disappears. “Careful, Kim,” he says in a quiet voice. “How you toss around the ‘L’ word with your boss.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “We’re just having fun. I know you don’t believe in love, but—”
He rolls away from me and sits up, his muscles taut, his mouth set in a grim line. “Don’t do this. Don’t start this conversation.” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, his back to me. “We’re having fun, aren’t we? And making money? Good money?”
“But…” All other words fail.
He sighs. “I’d much rather discuss something innocuous like our favorite colors.”
“Mine is orange,” I offer weakly.
He looks back at me with a half smile. “Really? So is mine. I love the vibrancy, the notes of Fall.”
I stare at him open-mouthed. He’s sharing with me. This is unprecedented. “Autumn is my favorite season too.”
He’s still looking at me and nods. “Summer’s ending soon. Fall is approaching.”
I feel so close to him in this moment, and it becomes imperative that I understand his aversion to love. “Please tell me, Michael, please.”
Another sigh escapes him, and he stands, starts gathering his clothing, gets dressed. “Leave it alone.” He walks to the door. “You don’t need to know this about your boss.” His hand on the doorknob, he pulls it open and looks at me for a long, lingering moment. “You were fantastic tonight. I’ll call you soon.”
He leaves, and I’m alone, left once again to do a walk of shame by myself.
I start to cry, not great heaving sobs, but tears fall from my eyes and turn the hotel suite into a watery shimmering landscape.
***
It’s midnight inky blackness as I walk to my car. The overhead parking lot lights are out. I can’t see a damned thing, and I have to squint into the darkness to see where I’m going. It doesn’t help much, and I realize I’m going in the wrong direction much too late.
