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- Jan 22, 2013
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- Male
This time, our rendezvous is at midnight in a luxury hotel. I hear you hesitating on the other side of the door; you've already slipped the key to room 502 that I gave you into the lock, but you're lingering in the hallway, second-guessing whether this is a good idea. Whether the pleasure I give you is worth the way I treat you. Vice wins out, and when you finally enter the room, I'm sitting there with a glass in my hand. "Strip," I command in a calm, icy tone.
You begin unbuttoning your shirt, showing that you've obeyed my orders to wear black lingerie. As you gain confidence, you look up at me, seeking approval. "Eyes down. Keep the shirt on and remove your skirt," I reprimand you in the same stern voice.
The skirt drops to the floor, exposing the stockings and garter belt you've worn for me. It makes me smile. I step closer, relishing the sight of you standing in the middle of the room, half-naked and vulnerable to my every whim. I slip your shirt off gently, unclip your bra with one swift motion, and let you remove it yourself. You shyly try to cover your breasts, as if you were innocent, but we both know you're a whore who came here willingly. You're my whore.
I move behind you and slide the glass down your back; the cold, wet touch of the glass makes you shiver, while my other hand trails down your belly. I let you drink from my glass, a strong liquor that burns your throat. I kiss you, savoring the liquor on your lips, and my fingers stop teasing the edge of your thong, instead slipping boldly under the fabric to feel the soft hair, the warmth, and the wetness of your pussy. Feeling that you're completely given over to me.
I set the glass aside and caress your breasts with my hand while kissing your neck. You purr with pleasure. All this sweetness, all these caresses... then, I suddenly rip off your thong, surprising you, tearing apart what must have been an expensive piece of luxury lingerie with just a couple of sharp pulls. I open the door to the room. "Step out," I say, and you hesitate once more.
You know you're free to leave, to gather your clothes and walk away, never to see me again. "Step out," I repeat calmly. Timidly, you venture into the hotel hallway, clad only in the garter belt, black stockings, and stiletto heels. "Walk to the end and back," I instruct.
You're anxious; it's late, but there's still a chance some guest might open their door and catch you strolling nearly naked through this upscale hallway. It's thrilling to watch you on those stilettos, the sway of your hips, the arch of your back as if you're clinging to some semblance of dignity. As you return to me, I smile again at seeing your expression of fear and shame, but despite that, your nipples are hard, and the wetness glistens on your pussy lips.
"You've done well and earned a reward," I say. I set down a saucer of milk for you to lap up on the floor, like the little kitty you are. No sipping—just use your tongue. On all fours, you start licking noisily, while I circle around you. Your ass is raised high, fully exposed, revealing your anus and the opening of your pussy. As you continue, I stroke your pussy, teasing your swollen labia and smearing the wetness that's leaking from within.
Your pussy is like a starving little creature, desperate for my touch. I quickly insert two fingers into you, and your pussy grips them tightly, as if trying to keep them inside. You're so aroused that you begin to breathe heavily, struggling to keep licking the milk, but I command you to go on. I thrust my fingers in and out languidly, hunting for your G-spot, all while my thumb teases your anus. You rock your hips, yearning for deeper penetration.
As I help you up, your face is adorably messy with milk, and I forbid you from wiping it off. I lead you to the balcony of our fifth-floor room. I bend you over the railing, securing your wrists to the bars with my tie. Roughly, I part your legs and enter you abruptly, driving in deep, then withdrawing slowly... Another powerful stroke until my balls slap against your clit. You're on fire, my little whore, and I'm going to fuck you for all the city to see.
You moan loudly, as if breathless, writhing and arching as I fuck you, pressing all my weight onto you to lick your neck and whisper in your ear that tonight you belong to me. I can feel your hot, wet pussy contracting around my cock, and when my hand slides down your belly to caress you and play with your clit, you can't help but let out a deep sigh.
On the adjacent balcony, a shadowy figure appears—a woman in a nightgown, timidly leaning out, no doubt awakened by your moans. But I don't stop; instead, I slow my pace to observe her. She hovers uncertainly, partially illuminated by the light spilling from her room, her expression a blend of shock and arousal. I flash her a brazen smile, acknowledging her voyeurism. Then, I resume pounding into you with renewed vigor, delivering a sharp smack to your ass that only serves to inflame you further, like a wild horse needing to be broken.
My hands roam to your breasts, jiggling with each thrust, your nipples stiff and begging for attention. I fondle them, pinch them, abuse them, and then soothe them, all while our arousal builds to a crescendo that makes it difficult to maintain this leisurely rhythm. Meanwhile, our spectator has begun to pleasure herself; in the soft glow, I see her fingers slipping beneath her nightgown, clearly relishing the spectacle. Gently but insistently, I tilt your head up so you can see her; the shame in your eyes is palpable, yet intertwined with undeniable excitement.
You mewl, "No, please, no," but the forbidden thrill only makes your pussy slicker.
I pick up the pace, and we both climax in a thunderous release, almost in unison. The woman starts, as if to retreat, but her voyeuristic desires overpower her modesty once more. She steps forward into the light, discarding her nightgown to display her ripe, alluring figure, her own arousal evident from the moisture glistening in her pubic hair. Pleased, I smile and quickly untie your hands, helping you stand as my seed begins to seep down your thighs.
You begin unbuttoning your shirt, showing that you've obeyed my orders to wear black lingerie. As you gain confidence, you look up at me, seeking approval. "Eyes down. Keep the shirt on and remove your skirt," I reprimand you in the same stern voice.
The skirt drops to the floor, exposing the stockings and garter belt you've worn for me. It makes me smile. I step closer, relishing the sight of you standing in the middle of the room, half-naked and vulnerable to my every whim. I slip your shirt off gently, unclip your bra with one swift motion, and let you remove it yourself. You shyly try to cover your breasts, as if you were innocent, but we both know you're a whore who came here willingly. You're my whore.
I move behind you and slide the glass down your back; the cold, wet touch of the glass makes you shiver, while my other hand trails down your belly. I let you drink from my glass, a strong liquor that burns your throat. I kiss you, savoring the liquor on your lips, and my fingers stop teasing the edge of your thong, instead slipping boldly under the fabric to feel the soft hair, the warmth, and the wetness of your pussy. Feeling that you're completely given over to me.
I set the glass aside and caress your breasts with my hand while kissing your neck. You purr with pleasure. All this sweetness, all these caresses... then, I suddenly rip off your thong, surprising you, tearing apart what must have been an expensive piece of luxury lingerie with just a couple of sharp pulls. I open the door to the room. "Step out," I say, and you hesitate once more.
You know you're free to leave, to gather your clothes and walk away, never to see me again. "Step out," I repeat calmly. Timidly, you venture into the hotel hallway, clad only in the garter belt, black stockings, and stiletto heels. "Walk to the end and back," I instruct.
You're anxious; it's late, but there's still a chance some guest might open their door and catch you strolling nearly naked through this upscale hallway. It's thrilling to watch you on those stilettos, the sway of your hips, the arch of your back as if you're clinging to some semblance of dignity. As you return to me, I smile again at seeing your expression of fear and shame, but despite that, your nipples are hard, and the wetness glistens on your pussy lips.
"You've done well and earned a reward," I say. I set down a saucer of milk for you to lap up on the floor, like the little kitty you are. No sipping—just use your tongue. On all fours, you start licking noisily, while I circle around you. Your ass is raised high, fully exposed, revealing your anus and the opening of your pussy. As you continue, I stroke your pussy, teasing your swollen labia and smearing the wetness that's leaking from within.
Your pussy is like a starving little creature, desperate for my touch. I quickly insert two fingers into you, and your pussy grips them tightly, as if trying to keep them inside. You're so aroused that you begin to breathe heavily, struggling to keep licking the milk, but I command you to go on. I thrust my fingers in and out languidly, hunting for your G-spot, all while my thumb teases your anus. You rock your hips, yearning for deeper penetration.
As I help you up, your face is adorably messy with milk, and I forbid you from wiping it off. I lead you to the balcony of our fifth-floor room. I bend you over the railing, securing your wrists to the bars with my tie. Roughly, I part your legs and enter you abruptly, driving in deep, then withdrawing slowly... Another powerful stroke until my balls slap against your clit. You're on fire, my little whore, and I'm going to fuck you for all the city to see.
You moan loudly, as if breathless, writhing and arching as I fuck you, pressing all my weight onto you to lick your neck and whisper in your ear that tonight you belong to me. I can feel your hot, wet pussy contracting around my cock, and when my hand slides down your belly to caress you and play with your clit, you can't help but let out a deep sigh.
On the adjacent balcony, a shadowy figure appears—a woman in a nightgown, timidly leaning out, no doubt awakened by your moans. But I don't stop; instead, I slow my pace to observe her. She hovers uncertainly, partially illuminated by the light spilling from her room, her expression a blend of shock and arousal. I flash her a brazen smile, acknowledging her voyeurism. Then, I resume pounding into you with renewed vigor, delivering a sharp smack to your ass that only serves to inflame you further, like a wild horse needing to be broken.
My hands roam to your breasts, jiggling with each thrust, your nipples stiff and begging for attention. I fondle them, pinch them, abuse them, and then soothe them, all while our arousal builds to a crescendo that makes it difficult to maintain this leisurely rhythm. Meanwhile, our spectator has begun to pleasure herself; in the soft glow, I see her fingers slipping beneath her nightgown, clearly relishing the spectacle. Gently but insistently, I tilt your head up so you can see her; the shame in your eyes is palpable, yet intertwined with undeniable excitement.
You mewl, "No, please, no," but the forbidden thrill only makes your pussy slicker.
I pick up the pace, and we both climax in a thunderous release, almost in unison. The woman starts, as if to retreat, but her voyeuristic desires overpower her modesty once more. She steps forward into the light, discarding her nightgown to display her ripe, alluring figure, her own arousal evident from the moisture glistening in her pubic hair. Pleased, I smile and quickly untie your hands, helping you stand as my seed begins to seep down your thighs.
