Room 437

She stares nervously at the number on the door: 437. Fighting her instincts, her urge to cut and run, her hand reaches up and swiftly raps on the wood. Immediately it opens, as if he were waiting on the other side, equally anxious of their first meeting. Her eyes lock on his beautiful brown ones, his handsome olive complexion, his black hair sprinkled with a few grays. The wicked smile that grows on her lips cannot be contained.

"Hello," without intention her voice is saturated with her need of him.

"Hello," he replies breathlessly before allowing her entry.

She seems confident, in control of herself as she walks into the room, waiting for him to shut the door and guide her towards an arm chair. She sits, unconsciously she licking her lips while watching him kneel before her.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks with a sweet, soft, accented voice as he takes her feet with trembling hands and removes her shoes.

"No, thank you," her reply is curt but heady.

As he massages her feet, his eyes creep up her body from her bare calves to the bunch of her dress at her hips, across the soft curves of her breast to her neck until he finally meets her gaze once more. He opens his mouth to speak but his words allude him.

She takes the initiative—it is a shade outside of her normal demeanor but something about this man, this stranger, causes her to let loose her inner dominance, "How was your flight?"

He smiles brilliantly, "It was fine, thank you. This airport is substantially smaller than I have been subjected to before."

When his hands creep up to her calves, she doesn't restrain herself; leaning forward, she firmly grasps his jaw, "Stand up."

Though it catches him by surprise he does as she asks; it is evident that he is worried he did something wrong. She rises from the chair and while she is shorter than him her affect exudes that she is in charge. It takes effort to still her jittery hands as she begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, unwrapping him like a much anticipated present. When he tries to assist, she playfully smacks his hands aside, drawing it out until he remains in just his boxers. Trailing her touch over his brown skin, she circles around him, tormenting his nerves. As she stops before him and hooks her fingers into the waistband of his final cover, his breathing quickens. She doesn't bother hiding her smirk at his unease, instead she pushes them down, slowly crouching with them to the ground until her face is level with his cock. She wants to lick it, to suck it but she refrains.

Slowly, she rises to her feet, her voice coming out softly yet the command is clear, "Kneel."

The sight of such a handsome man, such a keen and intimidating stranger prostrating himself before her causes her heart to race. Losing her restraint, she gives in to her lust and bends at the waist, hungrily pressing her lips to his. It is unclear as to if the mewl comes from her or him but the passion behind it echoes in their ears. Her hands gently glide across his jaw, her touch tender as she runs them through his hair until she clenches her fists into it, tilting his head back so that she can access his neck.

Her legs straddle his and she forces him backwards onto the floor. His eyes seem hazy, his breathing shallow; when she lowers herself down onto him, he can feel the heat coming off of her cunt and it becomes clear that she is not wearing anything under her dress.

She knows what he desires but she wants to make him beg. Licking and nipping her way down his body, she writhes against him until faced with her prize. Drawing her tongue up the length of his shaft, she keeps her eyes glued on his while encasing the tip of his cock in her mouth. He groans.

"Please," he manages to say.

Briefly, she releases his cock, "Please what."

"Let me please you."

In one slow motion she swallows him whole before pulling free again, "Beg for it."

"I want to taste you. Please," his tone is shaky, his desire earnest.

"Only good little whores get the privilege of my cunt."

"I want to be a good whore. I want to be

your

whore."

*

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This work is the property/creation of E.G. Dusk and may not be reproduced or used without the express written permission of the author.