Marriott, Forest Hill, I’ve been here before.

Walking past the front desk feels almost like foreplay; I love the guessing eyes of the receptionists on me. My black and nude, lace-trimmed Gucci dress is revealing enough, and my make up is loud but both without being obvious. The guy behind the desk seems to know straight away; women only go up to a room alone, dressed like this for one reason. His amused, faint smile tells me he’s probably wondering, how much a call girl like me charges for a night. I flash a pouty smile into his direction. He is kind of cute, I’d certainly give him a discount.

The brunette girl on his left looks at me perplexed, her small lips agape with an unfinished sentence, slight shock and disgust on her face and a determined look of there’s no amount of money I’d sell my body for in her eyes. I walk past them, but she continues staring boldly, noticing my heels - which likely cost more than she earns a month - and now she reconsiders wondering, how would it feel to be in my shoes or ‘Choo’s’ to be precise.

As I reach the small, red-carpeted elevator hall, my red manicured fingers search my purse for my phone to check the room number: 316. I memorise it quickly as the lift arrives with a chime. A middle-aged couple steps out and the man forgets his eyes on me as they walk past, which earns him a scowl and tug of his arm by the wife. My own amusedly smiling face greets me in the elevator mirror. I comb my blonde curls into my face with my fingers then turn around to press 3 and wait. When I reach the third floor, I sashay to 316, knock gently, and wait for it to open.

My favourite regular greets me with a sexy smile and undressing eyes. His name is Richard, or at least he likes to be called Richard, but more than anything he likes to be called Sir. He is only around 40, making him my youngest regular and with short spiky blond hair, blue eyes, and James Bond body, without a doubt, he is the sexiest too.

But it’s not what makes him my favourite; underneath his perfect polite gentleman demeanour hides a wild, carnal bedroom-beast. For a girl like me, there’s nothing more entertaining than dancing with the devil.

He is half-naked when he invites me in. I resist the urge to snuggle up to his naked chest and inhale in his alluring scent, because even though he has paid for the wife experience, I just don’t do that sort of thing, even if with him, I happen to find myself gravitating towards that behaviour.

As he pushes the door shut behind me, he reaches for my hand. His other hand touching the small of my back as he spins me around.

“Very beautiful. Perfect choice.” he clicks his tongue approvingly, referring to my choice of dress. He is taking me to a work party and transferred a large sum to my account to get some show stopper pieces. My black and silver glitter gladiator heels catch his attention next.

“I like the idea,” he smirks, “but were they within budget?” he queries, ever the gentleman.

“Yes, thank you, sir.” I nod and cast my head down.

My posture and expression changes, grace and pride leaving my body. Here, between these walls, I’m not that tall elegant woman anymore. Here, I’m nothing but his plaything. And I wish more than anything that we didn’t have a party to attend and he’d start playing with me right now.

Just a touch, a kiss, a stroke of my hair...leading to whatever filthy plans he has for me tonight.

Instead, he states coldly that he has to get ready and points me to the already messed up king-size bed.

He walks back to the bedside desk with a large vanity mirror on it, fusses with his hair, and sprays some cologne on his neckline. Oh how much I want to be a naughty girl and bite it. The scent brings back memories of that Caribbean sunset on his yacht last summer.

“Your envelope is in the bedside drawer,” he says looking at me in the mirror as I try to get comfortable on the bed behind him.

“I’ll take it at the end.” I smile back at him, then provocatively add, “When I earned it.”

I do realise, I shouldn’t be poking the tiger, but I happen to have a perversion of liking to be mauled.

Cobalt eyes shoot ice daggers towards me as he catches me staring longingly at his reflection.

His fingers buttoning up his crisp white shirt - which I somehow find obsessively erotic- slow down to a halt as he takes the gauntlet.

"Come over here,“ he hisses as he pierces the large silver cufflinks through, without taking his eyes off me. “I was trying to resist those fucking red lips... But since you are asking for it, then you might as well give me a nice head.”

“I didn’t mean to be a tease, Sir.“ I lie, casting my head down again for the apology but only to hide my victorious grin.

His sexy, long fingers wander from his half-buttoned shirt over to his crotch to show off his hard-on through the material of his silky-black, tailored tux trousers.

"I can’t attend this stupid work do like this,” he says with mock annoyance. “But if you are making us late, I’ll have to punish you later.”

Mindful of my delicate dress, I get in a reasonably comfortable kneeling position in front of him, while he unbuttons his trousers.

My attention-seeking big mouth gets rewarded with a delicious, girthy cock and I contentedly run my tongue up and down the underside of its shaft then twirl my tongue around its head moaning joyously.

“You think we have time to fuck around?” he snaps, “Think again.” His voice is like thunder and there is a little, terrified girl in me, who wants to hide away from the lightning about to strike but the damn midnight minx loves to dance in the rain.

He gathers my hair – which I’ve spent an hour and a half doing – into a ponytail, turns my head sideways, and thrusts the whole length of his cock down my throat. His free hand touches my mouth and he runs his fingertips over my puffy lips. He pinches and scratches my lips like a wild cat and I’m sure a part of him is contemplating ripping them off for later use. His thumbnail cuts into the soft skin; I would let out a quiet scream, if I could.

I knew he will like my new fuchsia-red lippy, suitably named unzipped. As if it was made it just for me. And for this voyeuristic, perverted Fuck.

“Were you hoping for this, slut?” he grunts. “A fine little face fuck?”

I couldn’t answer even if I wanted to with my mouth so full of cock.

He keeps my head on his shaft longer than he knows I can bear. And I gag and try to breathe, then attempt to push him away.

“Oi! Not so chatty now are we?“ he chuckles as he pulls out stopping at halfway, which allows me to breathe but not to swallow; the mix of my saliva and his precum pools my mouth.

A sound escapes from me that is halfway between a whinge and a moan as he goes on to repeat his ill treatment of my chatty box.

After a few minutes, he grants me a break and requests his 'heavy and full' balls to be licked and sucked. They are perfectly round, shaven and so full of cum.

I gleefully oblige, moaning, pleased as a kitten with a jug of cream. I’m sure he’s been keeping himself for me. Mmmmm, I can’t wait to taste it.

When he had enough of my tongue-job, he twirls the whole length of my hair around his fist and keeps me secured as he invades my throat again and again, each time keeping me stuffed just a second longer than I can comfortably handle.

“You’re getting worse at this lately, I swear.”

His pathetic attempt of an insult makes me want to smile. He knows my limit exactly and he is deliberately ignoring it as a punishment. Maybe one day I will learn my lesson and bite my tongue. But today hasn’t been that day. Again.

He lets go of my hair so I can breathe easily for a while and he pulls out a pair of handcuffs from the bedside drawers.

“Fuck.” I mutter, more to the grey carpeted floor than to the outside world and definitely not for Richard’s ears to pick up.

What was I thinking? I must have known this was coming. It’s 'his thing': deepthroat with my hands cuffed behind. And I did try to push him away after all. What the hell was I thinking?

But now there’s seem to be a new element to his show; once my hands are secured behind my back he leads me to the bed and forces me down sideways like a weeble-wobble toy; my head pushed into the edge of the bed, the right side of my face resting on it, my body in a half on-half off position; torso and hips on bed, legs dangling in the air, desperately trying to touch the floor for stability.

He needs to bend his knees slightly to be at the perfect height to invade my mouth again. As he slides his cock through my sensitive lips he runs his fingers around them again, this time in a fashion, as if it was pitch dark and he needed to find the entrance. He grunts and moans approvingly as the swollen head of his cock hits the back of my throat.

Can’t say, I’m comfortable, but this position definitely gives him a better, deeper access and makes me gag less too. Well, anything for my favourite john.

I have no control over how he’s using me and I’m helpless to stop my teeth accidentally touching his cock. I fear, it will earn me a pain-threshold-bordering whipping later. I need to avoid that at all cost.

I try positioning my head in a way that gives him the smoothest possible route down my throat. Extremely difficult when he’s pushing my head into the soft memory foam with both hands now (lucky mattress to keep such lewd imprints for memories).

He is drifting more and more away from the physical reality as his need to empty those enormous balls grows. The last miniscule bits of consideration he held for me slowly evaporate and I’m being reduced to a mere provider of his pleasure.

He doesn’t care, that I’m nearly falling off the bed, only the rhythmic merciless thrusts of his hips keeping me on. He doesn’t care, that I’m drooling on the floor or that my cuffed hands are tapping the bed behind me as a coping mechanism.

And he is not even aware, that my knickers are soaking wet and my pussy clenches painfully empty with every thrust of his cock.

His volatile treatment of my face just makes me want him even more. That urge, that need to be used takes over me and I moan uncontrollably pushing my hips forward in a futile attempt to get his fingers into my knickers. My pussy screams I want some of that!

Of course it’s not happening.

“You need to swallow,” Richard says through ragged breathing, “we can’t be messing up your dress.“

The beauty of deepthroating is that you don’t actually have to swallow. It shoots straight down your throat. Neat and clean job. Just what we need.

My face and hair is another matter. I’m horrified looking into the mirror. I don’t think a brush and extra lippy will sort THIS out. Especially not if he keeps staring at me and his watch every fraction of a second.

I decide that my hair is beyond saving and fishing a clip out of my handbag, I pin it up into a semi-elegant bun.

As I lean forward to the mirror to rub off the old smudged one and re-apply my lipstick, I feel Richard’s hands on my bum as he lifts up my dress and pulls my knickers down.

What a nice pleasant surprise. I naively think.

It’s too good to be true though. Correcting myself, I cover my gritted teeth with freshly-tinted, blood-red lips.

As much as I want to say something smart and hopeful like I thought you didn’t want to be late, this time I keep quiet.

“Don’t get too excited,“ he lectures, reinforcing what I already suspected “you’re just getting some remote ben wa balls to spice up the work party.”