Stories for When the Sun Goes Down (Sexy Anthology)

by Lily Harlem

  I pull in a sharp breath and try not to let out a whimper as the barman walks over and removes our empty glasses.

  “Would you like more champagne, sir?” he asks.

  The exploring finger begins to slowly push into my emptiness, filling me just a little. I can barely register what the question has been.

  “We’re fine thanks,” Hunk answers for me as he slides all the way in. I feel my spine soften and curl forward. I need more of what he’s doing but I can’t have it now, not here. I look up at the barman and see a fleeting, unreadable expression cross his face before he turns his back on us.

  Hunk pulls slowly out, realigns my knickers and straightens my dress to my knees.

  “Well,” I ask, feeling a flush of colour rise on my cheekbones as I re-cross my legs, pretending the whole thing never happened.

  My brooding client holds his hand up and the light catches my glistening juices spread on his finger. “Let’s see.” He opens his mouth and pokes his long, moist finger in up to the knuckle. Then, closing his eyes, he withdraws it very, very slowly letting out a small murmur of approval as he does so. “I think…” he says, hardly opening his hooded eyes. “You’ll do very nicely, but I’ll warn you, I don’t spend a thousand pounds lightly, I’ll be getting my moneys worth. You think you can handle that?”

  I practically melt into a boneless heap at the thought of him making sure he gets his money’s worth out of me. “I can handle plenty,” I say with a jut of my jaw that belies my jubilant butterflies.

  “Good,” he says, standing. “Let’s go.”

  He waits as I pick up my purse and then threads his fingers with mine. He leads me past the three men and out into the bright lobby.

  “You like my dress then?” I ask conversationally as we head across the lobby.

  “Not nearly slutty enough,” is his gruff response.

  We step into the waiting elevator. The second the door rolls shut he’s on me. Pushing me against the smoky mirrored wall with his big, powerful body and slamming his erection into my stomach. His mouth presses down on mine and his insistent tongue probes and explores. “No,” I manage to breathe as I twist and remove his tongue. “No kissing on the mouth.”

  “What?”

  “No kissing on the mouth, that’s the rule, stick to it or the deal is off.”

  He steps back and his weight is gone, I miss it already. A flash of disapproval, or maybe hurt, crosses his face and he runs a hand over his short, sharp hair. I have no time to explain it’s standard whore practice because the door pings open and an elderly, well-dressed couple step in.

  “Good evening,” they say.

  “Evening,” he replies through a strained voice.

  I smile and smooth my hands down my dress to remove tell-tale creases.

  We alight at the fifth level and he stops at the first door on the long, windowless corridor.

  “Next to the lift?” I say with a frown. “It’ll be noisy all night.”

  “You’ll be too busy working to notice,” he mutters, slotting in the key card, waiting for the green light then shoving at the door with a wide, flattened palm.

  I step in, move past the bathroom and glance around the high-ceilinged room delicately bathed in the buttery glow from a brass floor lamp. It’s a perfect square centred with a Queen sized-bed draped in a bottle-green eiderdown and bursting with pillows. A desk containing phone, TV, hairdryer and writing paper stands at its base with a minibar slotted neatly underneath the shining surface. On the far side of the bed a royal-blue sofa overflowing with densely embroidered cushions blocks drawn checked curtains. Two wooden occasional tables sit at either side of the sofa one of which is adorned with a bunch of citrus-coloured flowers.

  “It’s nice,” I say.

  He shuts the door without responding. Walks past me, throws his suit jacket on the bed and sits on the sofa. “Stand in front of me.”

  I place my purse by the TV and saunter with a practiced roll of my hips to where he’s gestured.

  “Take a step back,” he says, shifting as if settling down to watch a long movie.

  I do as he asks and wonder where the softness has gone from his face. He seems all business now. I guess it was the no kissing on the mouth thing, perhaps I should have forgotten that rule for tonight, after all, he is pretty hot—a good snog would have been nice. But no, I can’t let him think he’s anything special to me.

  “Take off your dress,” he says. “Slow, real, real slow.”

  I let a hint of a smile tickle my lips as I raise my arms and undo the knot at my nape holding the top half of my dress in place. I don’t wear a bra, I don’t need to. As soon as the material is free it falls to my waist and exposes my pert breasts and dark, puckered nipples.

  I see a muscle twitch in his cheek as his eyes devour my tits. I can almost feel his hands on me, can almost imagine long thick fingers brushing across the tight nubs of my nipples and flicking them harder still. I feel my body respond just at the thought and the slight weight of my breasts doubles with need.

  I wiggle my hips and tug the soft skirt over my behind. When I know gravity can take over I straighten and let it fall. It lands in a heap and I step backwards over it, hook it onto the toe of my pointed stiletto and send it through the air towards him.

  It lands on his knees and produces a hint of a smile on his solemn face.

  I place my hands on my waist and jut my hips to the left. Raise an eyebrow in a bring-it-on kind of way and arch my back to show off my slim waist.

  “Take off those slutty red pants, whore.”

  The rumble of his voice saying such dirty words vibrates right through me. I hook my fingers into the elastic and feel a tremble in my skin as the lace rolls into a thin band of material.

  Once removed they, too, are shoe-tossed alongside the dress. He reaches for them, screws them into a ball and shoves them into his pocket. “I reckon for a thousand quid I get a souvenir.”

  I nod and run a hand over my narrow landing strip of dark pubic hair to make sure it’s at its fluffy best.

  “Turn around,” he instructs, undoing his belt buckle.

  I do as he asks and bare my naked behind for him get off on. Not my best feature, it’s a little on the round side, but I’m guessing from the straining bulge in his trousers he won’t be too critical.

  “Take off your shoes.”

  I bend my knees and squat to the floor to undo the silver straps at my ankles.

  “No, no, not like that,” he snaps. “Stand up. Bend from the middle, touch your toes and shove that whore’s arse in the air, I want to see you poking out from behind.”

  I straighten and feel my pulse quicken. The blood rushes to my head as I double at the waist directly in front of him and give him a good view of my most intimate hole, my plump, needy lips and the juice that’s collecting just for him.

  “Very nice,” he says as I struggle with the second strap. “Perfect in fact.”

  When the shoes are off I straighten and turn to him wearing just my black fishnets. I step right up between his knees and look down at him. “Tell me,” I say in a husky voice. “What do you want me to do next for you?”

  He reaches out to my pubic hair and slips a finger through the curls to my clitoris. My knees suddenly feel whacked from behind and I struggle to remain upright. But he pulls his hand away and the feeling is over before it’s had a chance to begin.

  “Get me a whisky,” he says. “From the mini bar.”

  I catch my breath, hardly believing he can think of a drink at a time like this. I’m so turned on I feel like I’m travelling in another dimension. “A whiskey?”

  “Yeah, a whiskey. I’m gonna drink it while you blow me off.”

  I move to the minibar, pull out a whiskey and slosh it into a glass.

  “Get your lipstick too,” he orders.

  I return and thrust the drink at him, impatient to get to the main event.

  “Hey, slow down, I’m running this show.” He sits forward s
o his face is inches from my breasts. Dips a finger into the amber liquid and slowly traces a wet circle around one nipple and then the other.

  I sigh at the touch I’ve been longing for. Clench my internal muscles and put a hand out to his rock solid shoulder for support. I want him to lick the whiskey off and suckle me into his mouth.

  He doesn’t—instead he blows and the icy cold wetness makes my nipples pucker to bursting point. I let out a low moan and my eyes flutter shut as he switches attention from one to the other.

  All too soon he leans back into the cushions and I’m forced to remove my hand from his shoulder. He takes a long, appreciative sip of his drink and shifts his pelvis towards the edge of the sofa. “All yours,” he says, taking a deep breath. “But I want more slut red lipstick first.

  I sink my knees between his legs, undo his suit trouser button and slide down his fly zipper that’s straining with the erection beneath. He lifts his hips and allows me full access by shoving at his undergarments. His penis springs out, dark and solid, the shaft heavily veined and the head shiny and wide. I reach forward and spread my flattened tongue over the top.

  “Lipstick,” he growls over my head.

  I pull back, roll up my lipstick and make a show of applying it ridiculously thick—I don’t stay within the borders of my mouth I just shove on as much as possible. His eyes are wide, his breath finally catching the same pace as mine as I take his shaft in my hand.

  I lean forward and with my slutty red lips swallow him deep, sliding him over the base of my tongue.

  “Oh yes. Whore, do it, do it. Whore.” He tangles a hand in my hair and applies a steady, dominant pressure. I begin to bob up and down, letting his thick, smooth head hit the back of my throat every time. He moans, sighs, shifts his hips upwards and I hear him slosh back a gulp of whiskey. I revel in his reaction to my skills.

  Just as I taste a delicious salty hint of pre-cum he pulls out of my mouth and tips me back on my heels. “Not like this… inside you.” His voice is tight and he holds his enormous body tense as if the slightest movement might tip him over the edge. “Get on the bed.”

  I stand, my legs giddy as I feel an anticipatory spasm of pleasure surge through my body. The thought of him inside me, filling me, shoving hard and fast into my core has me frantic with impatience.

  I lie on the bed but before I’ve even positioned myself he’s above me, desire surrounding him like a dark, heavy cloak. He whips off his plain grey tie and hoists my arms above my head. Thin silky material binds my wrists and he knots me to the slatted oak headboard.

  “Hey,” I make a feeble attempt at protesting.

  “Shut up, whore,” he says, removing his shirt.

  I’m distracted from my complaint by the sight of his sculpted chest, patterned with thick coarse curls of hair looming inches above me.

  “This is my show and I’m paying you good money to do it my way,” he says, shucks down his trousers, toes off his shoes and socks and mounts the bed beside me.

  I can smell him, taste him, I want to feel him. I manage to raise my head and kiss his chest, but he beats me at my own game and heads for my tits. Finally I get to feel the roll of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth pulling me in. I groan and shut my eyes, arch my back and hope his hand will travel lower.

  It does and I feel him parting my slick flesh like he did in the bar, delving into my moist pussy. “He could see us you know,” he says as he swaps breasts.

  “Who?”

  “The barman.”

  “What, how?” My eyes ping open and I catch his wicked grin.

  “The reflection in the window, he could see my hand in your cunt.”

  “Oh, shit.” I’m mortified.

  “You won’t be able to work The Grosvenor again.” He laughs at my ruination.

  “It’s not funny,” I say, but then catch my breath as he puts not one but two long thick fingers right inside me and begins to urge my G-spot into a state of euphoria.

  “I didn’t notice the depth of the reflection until we left.” He goes to kiss my lips.

  I turn away and screw up my eyes.

  He pushes more urgently inside me, circles my clitoris with his thumb and I feel the start of an orgasm building. “Get in me,” I say, tugging my trapped arms in frustration. “I want you.” I pull at the tie and it sinks deeper into my flesh. My hands tingle with lack of blood

  “It’s not about your fun.” He nudges my legs apart with his and climbs on board. “You’re at work, remember, you’re doing this for my pleasure not yours.”

  “Whatever, just be a man will you.” I give up politeness—I’ll say anything to feel that hulking big penis hit the spot. “Fuck me now, damn it.”

  He obliges by removing his hand and with one long, deep thrust penetrates my swollen, aching hole with his glorious cock. His pubis rocks up against my hungry clitoris and his shaft whacks against my G-spot. “You feel so good for a dirty old whore,” he grunts into my hair. “So good.”

  I want to wrap my arms around him, hold him close, but I can’t, I’m tied up and at his mercy. The best I can do is twine my stockinged legs around his thighs and force myself into his scratching, heaving chest, position my pelvis so it hits just right. “Don’t stop,” I grunt but know instantly it’s a mistake as I feel him withdraw.

  I’m flipped onto my stomach. Arms stretched above me, backside in the air. I whimper a protest. I can’t even get my hands down to do it myself.

  “Patience is a virtue,” he mutters. His hand slides a lazy journey from my shoulder blades, into the dip of my lower back and then on through the crack of my buttocks. I feel his fingertips pause and begin to ring the ridged skin around my anus.

  “That’ll cost extra,” I manage, though right now I’m not really bothered about negotiating, I just want it any way I can get it

  “How much extra?”

  I pluck a figure out of the air. “Five hundred.”

  “Fuck that,” he says removing his finger and sending it lower. “There’s a perfectly good hole here, lubed and paid for, waiting just for me.”

  Head on my forearms and up on my knees, I remain submissive, restricted by the tie. I feel big hands wrap around my hips as his thighs edge between mine.

  “You’re gonna take it all now,” he says.

  “Oh, yes.” I wriggle my butt. Invite him in.

  “I’m gonna fuck you really hard, reckon you can take it, whore.”

  “Yes, yes, I can take it.”

  “No more Mr. Nice Guy. He’s gone.”

  “I don’t want Mr. Nice Guy,” I say as I feel his fingers parting me and his dick sliding in. “I want it hard… now.”

  His grunt is pure Neanderthal as he shoves into the hilt and his hips jar against my buttocks. I can feel him pushing at my womb and I let out a yelp of pleasure. He’s amazingly thick and long, filling me to absolute capacity and rubbing all the best spots in just the right way.

  I pull at the tie, once again wanting to get my hand down to my clit. Fortunately he takes pity on my struggle and sends the pads of his first two fingers around to rub me. It’s exactly the right pressure and combined with the thrusting feels like Nirvana, Paradise and Heaven all calling me at once.

  His breaths are coming thick and fast, same as mine. He has one hand pinned to my left hip keeping me steady as he shunts forward with increasing power and determination. I brace hard with my arms straight out and clutch the slats the tie is looped around. “Oh, God, don’t stop.” I hear myself beg into the eiderdown. “Don’t stop, Jack, don’t stop.”

  “No fucking names, whore.” He slams all the harder for my mistake and I feel his hand move from my hip and begin circling my anus again. I whimper with delight and let myself catch the orgasm rollercoaster, no longer needing to search it out because it’s here, taking over, covering my body in pleasure, and the moment he shoves not just one but two fingers up my back passage it roars through my veins like an earthquake. Both holes filled I can do nothing but surf
the spasms of bliss, clench and tremble and scream out in ecstasy.

  He curses violently overhead and I feel him bashing high up inside me, urgent and desperate. His cock is as hard as any cock can possibly go. He’s near to the edge and I let myself be impaled by his pleasure. Use it to eke every last drop of satisfaction from my glorious climax as he comes within me. Pours his seed into my body and lets out an unholy praise to the Good Lord above as he does so.

  I keep my back arched as he trembles and shakes for several long seconds. With his fingers deep inside me and his penis pulsating within I can’t remember when I last had such naughty fun.

  “That was…” I don’t bother to raise my head as I speak. “Intense.”

  “Just a bit,” he replies, removing his fingers from my arse and his dick from my swollen folds.

  He flops on the bed next to me and I twist my neck to look at him. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead and tiny droplets have formed on his top lip. His eyes are shut and his breaths are still fast and jagged. I look at his chest and see his dark curls of hair matted and stuck like miniature coils. He’s truly a fine specimen of a man and this is the best I’ve seen him all evening. It makes me hot for more. “Untie me,” I say quietly.

  He rolls to his side and reaches for the constricted knot. “Bloody hell, you pulled this a bit tight.”

  “You were teasing me.”

  He pokes it loose and it slides from my wrists. “Sorry about that.” He rubs the reddened skin as though he can erase the marks of our passion.

  “It’s OK, it’ll be gone by morning.” I flex and un-flex my hands to encourage a return of blood flow.

  “I hope so.” He drops back down and scoops me against his chest. I can hear his heart pounding strong and steady against his ribs.

  “I take cash or cheque,” I say as I finger the curls around his flat nipples. “Either is fine, but with a cheque I require a banker’s card.”

  A rumble of amusement bubbles from his stomach and I raise my head to look into his eyes. “What’s so funny?” I question with a frown.

  “I’m afraid I’ve already spent your earnings.”