by Nicola Jane
His reply shows that he understands where you're going. A picture of a shadowed view into the waistband of the shorts. From what you can see, maybe you really should be at the hotel. A patch of dark hair is visible and a strong looking hand is grasping the base of the upright cock. You can see a few centimetres of it before the shorts form a tent.
Inspired, you take your next photo in the same kind of way. You lift the top of the thong and hold it up with the bridge of your hand. It was already low but it comes further down the sides of your hips and you hook your knees over the side of the sofa so more of you is visible to the camera. With your legs wider apart, you take the picture as a finger slides into you. You're so wet you slip all the way inside, snapping another photo as you go.
Your legs are shaking as you take a breath and decide which picture to send. The second one is less clear but the effect of the two together is sure to work as well on him as it is on you so you send them both attached to a message you can barely type.
I think this is why they invented hands free
This time you don't just lay there waiting for the next message. Your hand returns to push the tiny thong aside so you can move more easily. One finger slips back in and you move it in and out, soon joining it with another finger, already way over the edge. You take one more picture with the phone up somewhere near your knees but you don't bother to look at it as you hit send.
The phone rings, abruptly bringing you back to reality. You answer it, unable to speak. Your breathing is coming heavily as you wait to see what he will say.
'Don't talk,' he commands. 'I just want to hear you.'
With the phone next to your mouth, you give your full attention to what you were doing. You dip your fingers inside again and then bring them out and stroke your clitoris. Faster and faster you rub, then plunge your fingers inside the wetness, thumb pressed on the outside. Your breath comes in short gasps and then as the fingers inside you rub upwards and your thumb pushes down, you let out one long low moan as you come. The muscles tighten around your fingers and you let them linger as your thumb sends the waves deeper down. As the orgasm subsides you flick your thumb tightly on your clitoris again and shake as another, more violent orgasm follows the first. You cry out in a high pitch that only seconds later do you remember is shared over the phone.
'Multiple punishments,' you whisper.
'Just what you deserved.' He hangs up.
You lay there, shattered, hardly able to believe what just happened. That was an unexpected end to the evening. Honesty does pay, you think, glad you returned the money.
About ten minutes later you get a message. Maybe he needed time to conclude events too. It had certainly looked like it.
I'm staying at the hotel all week. You know where to find me if you need to return the thong…
You smile. Who knows? It's true, you do know exactly where to find him.
The end
Or...
Go back...
The Businessman
The words only take shape after they've left your mouth.
'I need a fuck.' You bore into his eyes with yours. 'And I'd say so do you.'
He looks as if he might bolt but then he picks up his whisky, drains the glass and puts it down with a determined smack on the bar. 'You're right. I've sent an urgent memo to myself, carried out a feasibility study and filed my report. A fuck is exactly what's called for.'
He's already perked up as he gets the bill and retrieves his briefcase from the floor beside him. He moves with purpose and his back has straightened out of its previous slouch. The chatter of the bar recedes as you leave together. You know how it must look to anyone who saw you come in not five minutes ago but you don't care. The tension that's been building inside you since you dropped that thong in the doorway of Room 942 needs a release.
As soon as the elevator doors close behind you, you take his hand and guide it under your dress to where you're already wet. Your blatant declaration of what you want has made you want it even more. If there was time before the elevator reached his floor, you'd make him fuck you now. He looks as if he can't believe his luck as his fingers slip straight inside you and a moan catches at the back of your throat.
The ping of the doors prompts you to readjust your dress and take a step back but the corridor is empty. He has his key card out and slotted into the lock before you can catch him up on your high heels. The room is the standard business deal and would dampen your ardour if you were here for romance but, as it is, you register the only important thing – the bed.
You already can't remember your conversation at the bar. Did he tell you his name? Does he know yours? You don't care. He could be anyone. His only salient attribute is that he was there and willing to accommodate your hot and horny mood.
You collapse onto the bed and fumble with his belt as he pulls his shirt out and yanks the knot of his tie. Zipper undone, you push trousers and boxer shorts down together, freeing his half erect cock. On your elbows you push yourself further up the bed and your dress falls back to reveal your open desire. You need satisfaction now and you're impatient that he's not as ready as you. You're already offering him everything, he can think again if he expects you to get him hard.
'Use your mouth.' He stops the clumsy battle with his half mast trousers and looks at you in surprise. 'Eat my pussy,' you elaborate as he hesitates. You throb inside as you give the orders. He's obviously used to being told what to do as he kneels down by the edge of the bed and you push his head down with your hands.
You're so turned on it hardly matters that his attentions are far from precise. His tongue laps at you like a dog licking an ice-cream and you spread your knees as far apart as possible to try to make him hit the mark. As soon as his haphazard tongue roams over your clit, you grip the back of his head to keep him there. Even with your assistance he's all over the place. He runs all the way down and then loops up and around, covering ground with enthusiasm but only nudging the right spot about once every three circuits.
You feel as if your skin is pulling away from your bones. Every sensitive place is screaming to be touched, rubbed or bitten – something to convert the potential energy into fireworks. You angle your hips and grind yourself against his face, not caring if he can breathe or not but then his tongue is still and he fights against you for a few seconds to come up for air.
'Give me your hand,' you pant. The gleam in his eye shows his mistaken assumption that your breathlessness is down to his technique.
You guide his fingers to your clitoris and circle it with them. They glide over and around it, oiled up from your juices and his mouth. Your fingers are drawn in as if by a magnet and you slip under his, sending pulses of pleasure down and inwards. 'There. Right there.' You hook your hand under his chin and pull him back towards you.
This time he goes straight to target and mimics exactly what you demonstrated. His head bobs up and down and his tie trails down and tickles your buttocks. You tighten up inside, muscles poised for the orgasm that's building. You push him away again, a pause before to let the tide of sensation out before it can rush back in and overwhelm you.
He looks up, puzzled. 'Is something wrong?'
'No, not at all.' You're telling the truth now and he grins with satisfaction.
'Let me finish then.'
You look down and see his erection in retreat. If he's insisting on going down on you, you're not going to argue and you sink back with one last command.
'Put two fingers inside me.'
He jams them in without much finesse but it doesn't matter. Your pussy is greedy and sucks them in. He bows his head and resumes work with his tongue. Each stroke matches his fingers sliding in and out. Your breathing comes louder and you pant out whispers of encouragement. 'Yes, there, right there.' His confidence grows and he innovates. The pressure of his tongue lightens and he flicks the hooded nub. A tautness ripples outwards from the packed nerve endings . You push his head back down again to increase the pressure. A cold hea
t spreads down your inner thighs and across your stomach. Your body jolts. It spasms. You're coming. You're coming. You come and come. He stills his tongue and holds it there. You come. The contractions run deeper so the waves fan out from your clit to where his fingers press against your walls. You're coming. Your cry bounces around the walls of the room. You've come.
As you shake like the tremors after a quake, he remains bowed, as if in total obedience or as if he wants to absorb the pleasure he has created. When you can focus again and your breathing comes at a normal rate, you note the wide smile on his face. He doesn't seem at all put out that it was such a one way street.
'That was just what I needed,' he says.
'Well, it was exactly what I needed but…er…you didn't–?' You don't know how to finish the sentence.
'I haven't felt like I've achieved anything all day.' He underlines the point by pulling up his trousers and neatly re-tucking his shirt. 'But no one can say I didn't just get some great results.'
'Yes.' You curl your legs under you as you get up off the bed. 'A pleasure doing business with you.'
You offer your hand to shake, a far more formal farewell than the way this exchange began.
The end
Or...
Well you are certainly one satisfied customer, but there’s plenty more fun to be had so you retrace your steps...
The Offer
'Hi.' Her voice is as throaty as you'd expect for an escort answering her work phone but deeper than you remember it from the last time you heard it in person. Now she's actually on the line instead of just being a built up figure in your imagination you're intimidated by her again. How on Earth do you explain who you are?
'Hello.' You sound overly formal in your own ears.
'How can I help?' she says in a more normal tone. She must reserve the dirty siren tone for male callers.
'Ah…well, you probably don't remember me. We met at the hotel Carlston a while ago.'
'Is that where you want to meet this time?'
'No, I mean…er…maybe. You gave me your card. I'm not a – a – ' Not a what? Not a customer you were about to say. This isn't going very smoothly. Maybe you should just hang up. 'We met in the bar. There'd been a kind of mistaken identity.'
'Ah, of course. My more innocent twin. Or not, seeing as you're calling.'
You don't feel innocent so much as naïve. The things that you've been imagining since your freak meeting would seem like Mills Boon nonsense to her.
'Maybe you're busy. Sorry to bother you.' Your apology tumbles out and a rush of uncomfortable heat sticks your blouse to your back.
'I'm about to be busy. A job shared is a job halved. That is why you called isn't it?' It's not so much a question as a challenge.
Even a glimpse into her world, or the one you imagine she inhabits, is enough to arouse your curiosity – amongst other things. 'What kind of job?' You can't help asking.
Or...
If it's Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday go to 44...
If it's Thursday, Friday or Saturday go to 13...
Maybe you had a different idea in mind? You decide to retrace your steps...
All Tied Up
'The second one.' Something that only requires your passive participation sounds better for a beginner. Not that you're a beginner at being a prostitute since you're not going to make a career out of it. This is just a one off.
'Okay, baby. I just need to make a quick call.' She shoos you back, positioning herself between you and your car to block your escape route. Whatever she's saying on the phone is too quiet for you to hear and is over in a matter of seconds. Your stomach is jittering with nerves and adrenalin and your mind is in overdrive wondering who she's called.
She flips the phone closed and smiles at you as if she's sold your house and car and sunk the profits into her offshore account. 'All set.'
'What do I have to do?' The words come out in a half croak.
'Hey, you're going to be a natural at this. That voice is just exactly right.'
You've no idea what she's talking about. You sound terrified not sexy.
'It's simple. All you have to do is walk down the driveway of the hotel towards the highway. A black car with the license plate BPG will follow you and someone will jump out and grab you. Act scared and fight back.'
'That's it?' That doesn't sound so bad.
She looks at you oddly and shakes her head. 'You don't get it, do you? But, if anyone tries to grab you from a different car then they really are going to rape you!'
Understanding hits you like a floodlight. 'You mean your customer is paying for sex but he's really acting out his perverse fantasy?'
'My my, aren't we judgemental all of a sudden? You weren't acting out a thief fantasy when you stole my money, were you?'
You can't think of a reply. How can a hooker and a sex maniac be the ones with the moral high ground here?
'Anyway, it's time you got walking. He'll drop you off at your car when you're done.'
It seems there's little choice. You turn away, glad at least that you don't have to listen to her needling you anymore. Crossing the car park is easy, but, as you enter the driveway, the hotel and the safety of its electric lights disappear behind the high bushes. Your heels suddenly sound far too loud as they tap on the concrete.
At the roar of a car behind, you start. Your heart speeds up as if you're sprinting instead of frozen in place. Headlights sweep over you as the car passes and you breathe out in slow consideration of your situation. At this rate you won't need to act to come across as scared. You note the license plate as it drives away – definitely not your guy.
But, your guy, you reason to yourself to calm your fears, is part of a controlled scenario. There's something sexy and forbidden about the idea of being overpowered, submitting willingly to pure masculine strength and surrendering to desire as if you had no choice. The thrill of actively choosing to relinquish control, you recognise as excitement in your fear. Your nerves are on red alert, pulses throb in your throat and thighs and your senses are deliciously aware. The night air caresses your skin like a lover and distant cars whisper promises.
You walk on, instinctively slowing your pace as you approach a darker spot where the lights are further apart. A car screeches out of nowhere and swerves in front of you, just on the edge of the darkness where the trees hang down over the side of the road. As it flashes past you see the number plate says BPG and your insides ripple with barely permitted anticipation. The car creeps forward away from you and now it's too murky to see if anyone is getting out or not.
You force your feet to drag on the concrete. Despite your urge to speed up, there's a game to play out however much you yearn to be caught. Hanging branches scrape over your shoulders and there's a click as a car door opens. You can just make out a shape standing next to the shiny metal vehicle but your eyes haven't adjusted properly so when it moves you can no longer get a fix on it. Adrenalin surges through you now. Your palms sweat and the charged silence magnifies your breathing.
Suddenly, noiselessly, a rough skinned hand clamps over your mouth and you're pulled up against a man's body. You automatically attempt to free your mouth but your arms are held against your sides. You squirm and try to kick but his hands encircle your arms as if you were a doll.
With some difficulty he drags you so that you're pushed up against the side of the car, putting an end to your kicking. The trunk-like arm gripping you around the middle loosens and his hand wanders over your breasts, squeezing them almost hard enough to hurt. The beginning of his erection presses against your back and the more you struggle, the harder he gets.
'I wanted to tie you up but you know, you're– you have to fight back a bit less,' he says. 'I mean it's great and everything but...'
His words bring you back to your senses. This is not real. The instinctive panic you felt seeps away and is replaced by a curiosity that sends waves of longing through your pinned limbs. You go limp in response. If you speak at all you'l
l ruin the illusion he's paying for. He fumbles in his pocket and brings out something that turns out to be rope. He snakes the coarse loops around your wrists and binds your hands behind your back. Once bound, it's your cue to start wriggling in pretended escape.
You tell yourself you're just trying to do a convincing job so the escort won't be mad at you and this can all end tonight but now that you're tied up, the simulated helplessness is erotic. He's got you bent over the hood of the car which groans in protest as you resist more strongly, trying to break away from the weight of his body. It's definitely turning him on and the heat building inside you suggests it's having a similar effect on you too.
One hand pushes on your shoulder blades, pinning you against the car. Your cheek lays flat against the engine heated metal. The other hand yanks up your skirt and rips your panties down. The chill of the air meets your naked skin and you hear him unzip. His hard on probes at your thighs and butt and he grunts with effort as he tries to find a way in. You squirm and pant, the exertion is as genuine as the pulse that beats in your pussy and you wonder how authentic it will be for him if you enjoy it. At least you can try to make it as difficult as possible for him so you keep your legs pressed together as tightly as you can. The increased pressure between your legs turns the pulsing walls into a steady beat that begs to be satisfied. The more you writhe in his grip, the more you want to surrender.
He wedges his body between your legs and his cock manages to find the right angle to drive into you. He slams forward, and thrusts. The roughness heightens the sensation of his cock pounding deep into you. The axis of sexual pleasure tilts even further as your hips bounce against the car hood and your body gathers all the tension of the last fifteen minutes into one vortex of clasping, clenching muscles.
