Dirty Weekend Ch. 01

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When I walked in, you were sat at the bar facing away from the door, and I had no doubt that you will have been doing so since eight o’clock, just as I had specified. I was also sure that the fifteen minutes you had spent waiting for your client to turn up would have been somewhat disconcerting for you, but you waited patiently as I knew you would. I knew that you wouldn’t be leaving without a trick.

Finding an empty table near the door, I sat down and hung my suit jacket on the chair behind me. As the waitress carried my order back to the bar she led my eyes back to you, and I watched as she presented you with the glass of wine I had ordered for you, saying a few words. One of these words was ‘James’. You knew this James was probably me, but you couldn’t have been entirely sure; after all, the way you were dressed had been granting you a lot of attention that night. Either way, whoever’s eye you’d caught was probably training it on you at that very moment. Indeed he was. You didn’t turn around. Good girl.

I sat back smugly and tried to pretend that you weren’t so familiar to me, and that James was running his eyes over your beautiful form for the first time. Heels hooked over the brushed steel barstool, and the swell of soft, curvaceous calves accentuated by the black nylon that stretched thin over their fullness. I could not see the hem or the cut of your dress from where I sat, but I could see how it clung to you and flattered your delectably ample figure, how the straps ran under the dirty blonde hair which sat neatly on your shoulders; I was strongly tempted to oblige my instinct and walk straight over to you, smooth my hands down your sides, breathe you in, kiss your neck. But James didn’t know you that well. My whisky arrived, and as I warmed the glass in my hands I considered this moment where both of us were having to exercise discipline. There wouldn’t be many more of those for me tonight. I knocked back my drink and waited. You had until eight thirty.

I knew it would be difficult for you, another quarter of an hour wondering who it was that had taken a fancy to you, who your prospective client might be tonight, whose eyes were burning into you as you sat there looking so unmistakably, tantalisingly whorish. But my rules had been clear: no eye contact until I ask your name. My eyes remained fixed on you as I waited for your nerve to break, and as I did so I was undressing you, flicking through flashbacks of our previous encounters, considering what I might demand of you back at the hotel. Then your head tilted around, you scanned the bar and your eyes met with mine for the briefest moment before you turned back to your drink. There was shame in your shoulders and I watched as you began to fidget nervously with your glass. That was that. I would be demanding a lot of you tonight.

Eight thirty. I sauntered over. “How much?”

“One hundred an hour.” Meek, coy, lovely. You didn’t look up but I saw you watch my hand as it disappeared into my pocket. I folded two hundred pounds into yours.

“Pardon?” I flexed my voice of authority.

You shook a little. Then, softly, “One hundred an hour, sir.”

“Better. Come on.” I pulled you along to the door, my hand on your arm. Not used to your heels you stumbled a little, but you kept up. My darling obedient girl, always compliant, conscientious.

I sat down beside you in the taxi and was able to see the extent of the effort you’d made. Lips painted a deep, alluring red. Mascara, eyeliner, shadow, foundation, a little blush. You always looked beautiful but now here before me you smouldered, and I was ogling you unashamedly. Legs crossed, skirt riding up your thigh enough to show the tops of your stockings. Were you purposefully testing my restraint? Still your eyes were nonchalantly evasive, looking out the window, at the taxi meter, anywhere but at me, only your nervous fingers fidgeting with your hair giving away that this wasn’t such a regular job for you. But I wanted your eyes now.

“So, what’s your name?” I ventured.

When Ümraniye Sınırsız Escort you turned towards me and you looked at me with such care, I almost forgot myself for wanting to wrap my arms around you, cherish you, protect you. I felt that way too much of the time for my own good. You replied, “Whatever you want it to be. Sir.” Very well, I thought. With all my heart, I’ll cherish you. In about two hours. Minx.

I had already checked into the hotel, a soulless honeycomb of businessmen, rugby teams and conspicuous tourists; we cut a path through their hovering and flitting in the lobby towards the lift. I also looked the part, neatly turned out and sporting a suit, shirt and tie — anyone would take me for just another young professional. And so would you. I pressed a button marked ‘8’. The doors closed behind us and we stood there quivering like a hand on a pulled arrow. I looked at you in the mirror, a voyeur to my own lover.

“Busy night?”

“None of your business, Sir.”

“Quite. Come.” The doors pinged open and I led the way to my room, passing an older gentleman whose eyes I saw drop to your full cleavage, your pretty, shapely legs. I couldn’t blame him, what with the unmistakable purpose of how you presented yourself, and so convincingly. Jealous old fart, probably looking back over his shoulder to check you out. Enjoy your movie, I thought, and pushed open the door to room 801.

“Stand.” You were still as a post as I circled you, inspecting you, wanting to take in this perfect picture of promiscuity before the inevitable dismantling of your attire. Almost perfect, anyway – one detail was bugging me; a feint line around your hips, under your dress. I lifted the hem, and peered down. They were pretty panties, just enough to be decent and very tasteful. But they were panties nonetheless, and I had specified otherwise. I yanked them down your legs and showed them to you, finding a line of sweet wetness.

“What kind of girl are you?” I said sternly, down into your wide eyes. “Are you trying to be some kind of high-class escort? Or are you the dirty little tramp I thought I was paying for?”

“I-I’m a dirty, little…”

“Tramp! Sir!” I finished your sentence for you, punctuating each word with a sharp smack on your exposed behind.

“Yes, sir.” you quaked.

I grabbed your arm and dragged you from the soft yellow light of the bedroom through to the ensuite bathroom, gleaming white tiles, formica and steel. I stood you in front of the mirror, the lights either side illuminating you brightly and clearly. “Look at yourself. What are you?”

“I’m a dirty little tramp, sir.” I was standing beside you, looking at you in the mirror. You returned my gaze. I bent you over and you steadied yourself with your forearms on the edge of the sink. You must have watched me as I lifted your dress and smacked out the words, “Look! At! Yourself!” When I looked back in the mirror, your eyes were trained on themselves, on your arms and shoulders, on the cleavage that rippled with my caresses and swelled with your breath. You’d adjusted your posture, too — back arched seductively, offering your behind to me, twitching proudly under my warm hand. I patted you softly. It was a welcome invitation.

“Don’t move.” I deftly unbuckled my belt and unfastened my trousers, pushing them down my legs with my pants in a vaguely ungraceful puddle of clothes around my feet. My cock sprang up and I began to stroke myself to my fullest. Standing behind you, you felt me rest the wet tip against your soft bottom as I slowly touched myself, leaving trails of pre-cum on your creamy skin. My other hand was busy enjoying the swell of your hips, teasing fingertips stroking your sides and studying your wonderful shape, grabbing you, filling my strong hand with the soft flesh of your ample bottom, drawing a moan from you.

“You like me being firm with you like that, don’t you whore?” Cool, calm, on top.

“Yes sir.” Blushing, bashful and Ümraniye Suriyeli Escort completely honest. Your words were cut short by a sharp gasp that accompanied the familiar sting of my palm on your rump, and then my fingers digging into your delicious flesh. My hand came away leaving its image in blood drawn to the surface of your skin.

“And like that?” I looked at your face in the mirror, your eyes closed for a moment as you focused instead on the sensation, opening slowly to look straight back into themselves. You were biting your lip. Good girl.

“Yes sir.” There was a shiver on your breath. You trembled as you felt my fingers between your legs, sliding one between your delicate folds and inside. It came out slick with your excitement, and I reached over to push my finger into your mouth. You sucked hungrily, cleaning my finger with your tongue, wallowing in your submission and probably quite enjoying the way you tasted.

“You really are a dirty little tramp, aren’t you?” I said partly for my own pleasure, my eyes trained on your pretty bottom as my hand came down on it again with a sharp crack.

“Yes sir. Yours, sir.” you gasped.

“You’re enjoying me treating you like this,” — smack — “making my mark on you,” — smack — “making sure you know you’re mine,” — smack — “aren’t you?” You whimpered an answer, lost in the truth of my statements. I drew you out of your trance with another sharp crack. “Aren’t you?” I said, my hand in your hair, pulling your head around to face me. Your eyes raised, hypnotised. “Yesss.”

Before you knew what was happening, I had sat on the edge of the bath and pulled you across my lap. I grabbed your wrists and pulled them firmly behind your back, holding them in place with one hand as I pinned you down, the other hitching up your skirt to pat you. Then a pause while I reached down to the floor for something — you heard my belt buckle — and the folded leather coming down on your beautiful behind, again and again. “Yes… Sir! Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir! Sorry Sir!” You panted, mouth hanging open, eyes shut tight, your whole body bucking with each blow as I left stripe after red stripe on your pale flesh. Feeling you squirm, I ran my palm over your glowing skin, enjoying the heat I’d brought to it.

“Now, are you going to behave for me, whore? Or will I have to discipline you again?”

“I’ll behave, Sir.”

“Good girl. Well, just to make sure…” Holding your wrists firmly together, I slipped the leather belt around and between them, knotting and buckling it tightly. “Free yourself.” I commanded. Still bent over my knees and prone, I watched you struggling with your ties until I was satisfied that you were truly bound. I pulled you to your feet, smiling, lost in our game.

“Look at yourself now.” I spun you around and lifted your skirt so you could see your backside, hot red stripes framed beautifully between the black stocking tops and the hem of your lifted skirt. “Better?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good. Come.” Grabbing you by your elbow, I led you through to the bedroom and firmly pushed you down to your knees beside the bed, unceremoniously feeding my strong, wet cock into your hungry mouth. There was little tenderness about it, I wanted to show you that I was willing to use you just as you wanted to be used, and that I wasn’t afraid to test your limits. We would develop a new etiquette in trust, and be free to express our deepest and most pressing urges. Right now my urge was to feel your sweet, warm, wet mouth enveloping me, so I watched your pretty painted lips glide down my shaft, accepting inch after inch of me so eagerly, so willingly. Then my hand clutching at a fistful of hair and pushing you down on me, I took your soft, pretty mouth as mine, enjoying feeling my cock filling your mouth completely, testing the opening to your throat and listening to you gag just a little. And I was adoring you, every second I adored you, my wonderful girl.

I pulled you off me, and turned Ümraniye İranlı Escort your face up to look at me. Your eyes opened languorously and met mine in a deep, smouldering smile, showing me how happy you were to be taken like this, to be tested, to obey. I stroked and patted myself against your soft cheek, making your skin glisten, every little action a reminder of my power over you, and an opportunity for you to show your willing subservience. I looked down at you; your dress fanning over your pretty thighs, it rode up past your stocking tops and showed off the swell of your hips. My sweet little whore. I’m going to fuck you now, I thought to myself.

Wordlessly, I grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet again, shoving you down on the bed and rolling you over on to your front. Now my hands on your hips to pull your sweet behind up towards me, then in your hair to push your head firmly down against the mattress, your wrists still bound, your body still prone, your mind still willing, and — I ease a finger inside you — your sex still wet and ready.

“Horny little slut,” I mutter to myself, lifting your skirt up once more and planting a firm smack on your still-red cheek, making you buckle and moan. “You want to touch yourself, don’t you?”

“Yes sir…” you moaned.

Smack — “Show some manners, girl.”

“Yes sir, please sir…”

You were waiting for me to unfasten your wrists, but instead you only heard me fumbling through my wash bag behind your back. A pause as I rolled the condom down while you waited patiently, exposed and utterly vulnerable. Then you felt it — the smooth cool tip, parting you, teasing you, opening you, and pushing steadily deeper inside you, stretching and filling and fitting. My hands grabbing your hips and pulling you to me until your buttocks are pressed hard against my lap. Only then did you feel me tugging at the belt, loosening it, freeing you; I watched your fingers find your clit and begin rubbing, glancing against my cock as I held myself there deep inside you.

“I’m far too good to you.”, I muttered distractedly, holding you still while I withdrew myself almost completely, just so I could enjoy feeling your warmth enveloping me completely again and again, moving faster, stronger, deeper. Hungry for me, you started to push and pull against me, urging me to take you harder, faster. Naughty girl, trying to take control; I smacked you very sharply once, twice, and filled my hands with your soft flesh as I started to fuck you so strongly, shoving you back and forth, on and off me in a blur, using my darling girl as the fucktoy that you had so convincingly presented yourself as. I felt myself swell inside you as your pussy milked me, sucked at me, instinctively coaxing me towards filling you with my seed as you approached your orgasm.

But I had another idea, another way I could make you feel the whore you were for me at that moment. I could sense your disappointment when I withdrew, more so when you heard me hurriedly pulling off the condom, but I’d paid to do as I wished to you, and I would do exactly that. Laying my heavy cock on the small of your back, slippery in the groove of your beautiful arse, I began to rock back and forth with my hand holding me against you, easing myself towards my orgasm. I pushed your dress up to expose your back, and placing one hand on your blushing bottom I patted you firmly and fondly, drawing appreciative squirms. Your stifled, girlish cries pushed me close to cumming all over my sweet, obedient girl, as I watched your hand moving in a furious blur between your legs, desperate to cum for me, for you. Your breathing deep and irregular, your body shaking, and then it was all happening at once — my body tensed as I came with you, across your back, in your hair, on your dress, marking you, my sweet lover, my beautiful whore.

“Good girl, my good girl…” I barely knew what I was saying as the waves of pleasure faded away. Slumped beside you, dizzy and sated, I looked into your eyes with all my love and as much mischief as my hand softly smoothed over your arse. “Can I have my money back now? I’d like to spend it on you again some time.”

You shot me a cheeky faux-shocked look. I flicked off the light and dove at you, and after the giggles petered out we lay glowing against each other until the morning.

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