I step behind you as you stand, trembling slightly. I run my eyes over you, the curve of your ass in the tight black pencil skirt. Your black stocking-clad legs and the shoes with the small heels you wear for work. But you aren’t at work.

You are dressed in your work clothes so he wouldn’t know. The pale blue blouse and black skirt and stockings you wear every day to the office. But today, as you got on a different train, getting off at a different stop, you phone the office and tell them you are sick.

Perhaps you are sick, you think as you travel up in the lift to the seventth floor. Glancing again at the text on your phone. “7th floor - room 716.” As the lift doors open, you press delete. Removing all traces so he won’t find out.

As you walk the richly carpeted hallway, you pass a chambermaid cleaning a room. She looks up, smiles and continues with her work. You glance both ways as you reach the door.

716 is written in stark black letters on a plain white door. There is no glimpse, no hint of what is waiting on the other side of the door. Your hand reaches out, your left hand, with the shiny engagement ring. A simple rat-a-tat-tat beats out the signal to let you in.

I open the door, smiling, stepping to the side to let you enter. I watch you as I close the door behind you. You look around, admiring the room then take a few steps forward to stare out the window, admiring the view of the city from our elevated perspective. I step behind you, my fingers reaching out to brush your hair to one side as I lean in and brush my lips against your neck.

I hear your breath catch in your throat as my lips kiss your neck, my fingers gliding down your sides and over your pert ass cheeks. My hands slide over the front of your skirt and up, feeling the swell of your breasts as I cup them through the blouse.

I feel you tremble slightly as my fingers undo the first button. My lips moving along your collarbone as I unpeel your blouse, revealing your definitely-not-for-work lingerie. The pale green lace bralette hangs, almost floating over your cute little boobs. My thumbs stroking the nipples, feeling them harden through the material.

Your back arches slightly and the tiniest groan escapes from your mouth. I press myself against your back as I inhale your scent. Your blouse is open, pulled out of your skirt. My fingers glide over your flesh, pulling the blouse down your arms then dropping it untidily to the floor. My fingers now sliding along the waistband of your skirt as you inhale involuntarily, letting my fingers dip inside it.

In a matter of moments, the zip is down, the material sliding over your hips to land in a crumpled heap around your ankles. I glance down at the matching pale green silk French knickers and the lacy tops of your hold up stockings. Still, you stand there, motionless. Letting me slowly strip away your layers of resistance.

I can see you reflected in the window as my hand reaches round and I dip my fingers between your legs. Your eyes close, your mouth opens and a sigh escapes. The fingertips of three fingers stroking your mound through the silk, feeling the dampness that is pooling there already. As I stroke your knickers, you shuffle your legs apart for me, signalling your neediness.

My mouth is on your neck, kissing you as I slip my fingers inside your knickers. I feel the curls of your hair brush against my fingers as they slide over your mound, your lips slick with your juices. Two fingers spreading your lips open as the middle finger traverses your wet needy slit, smearing your sticky juices over your clit. Feeling it awaken, hardening, as I circle the tip of my finger around it.

My fingers removed, I raise them in front of you. You stare at it, your juices glistening on the tip. I wipe my finger on your neck, like perfume. The flowery fragrance of your Armani Code mixed now with a musky, earthier, needier scent.

Your only response is to groan softly, silently willing my fingers to return. And return they do. Pushed roughly inside your knickers, my hand cupping your sex. Two fingers pushed inside you, fingers curled round, pressing on your wet velvet walls as I take you hard. Pushing my hand against you, the heel of my palm pressed against your clit as you lean your head back and moan with pleasure.

One hand inside you, the other on your breasts, my fingers under the bralette, pawing at your right tit. My fingernail scraping the rock hard nipple. You seem oblivious to the fact you are in the window as I grope you. My hand pulled from your knickers again. Hands pulling the bralette over your head, stripping you, your pert tits on display, the light pink nipples hard, needy, aching.

With one swift pull, your knickers are over the curve of your ass and round your ankles. You daintily step out of them and stand, naked but for stockings and heels as I press you against the glass.

Your face turned to one side, the cold glass against your cheek. You can see office blocks in the distance and for a fleeting moment wonder if they can see you when all thoughts are wiped from your mind as the sound of my hand smacking your ass cheek fills the room.

“Owwwww! Fuck, that hurts!” you yelp, realising that is the first sound either of us has said since you entered the room.

My response is to grip your long brunette hair hard, pressing on you, holding you against the window as I slap your ass a second time. Your response is to groan and push your ass out a little.

My fingers slide over your cheeks, watching the pale flesh turn red as two handprints appear. I dip my hand between your legs, feeling your juices dripping out of you. My fingers smear the juices along your ass crack, coating your tight puckered little dark star as you push your ass out for me.

I press your back with the arm holding your hair, your nipples pressed against the glass, the cold making you gasp. Your naked body on display from the seventh floor. Your hands raised, pressing on the glass either side of your head.

“Please,” you whisper.

I release your hair, stepping back to pick something up. You relax slightly and are taken by surprise when I grab one wrist and attach the cold metal of the handcuff. Before you have realised what is happening, the cuff clicks around the other wrist and you now stand, arms by your side, hands cuffed behind your back.

“Open your mouth,” I order, whispering in your ear as you stare out the window. As you open it, I slide the dildo over your body, letting you see it. The plastic girl-cock attached to a strap with a large ball gag on the inside of the strap. I push the ballgag part into your mouth, your eyes opening wide in confusion as I strap it around your head. You can see the dildo pointing out in front of you as the realisation hits home.

“On your knees,” I tell you and as you obediently, immediately drop to your knees, with a rustle of cloth, my own dress falls to the floor, my knickers swiftly following.

I sit on the chair with my legs open. The dark triangle of dark curls pointing to my wet sex.

“Crawl,” I order, beckoning you with a finger. Watching you as you approach on hands and knees, your pert ass swinging, boobs swaying as you crawl between my legs. You look up at me, eyes wide, asking for permission.

I reach down and grip your hair, pulling your face to me. You move your head to guide the girl-cock along my slit, pushing the tip inside me. I arch my back, lifting my ass off the seat as you impale me. Letting my walking dildo fuck me.

You stare up at me, your eyes showing some of the humiliation you feel as you fuck me with the girl-cock on your face rather than your tongue or fingers.

I push the back of your head, encouraging you to press your face deeper into my sex. Your nose rubbing my clit as you fill me with the plastic cock. I look down at you, staring into your eyes as I use your face to get myself off.

“That’s it you fucking slut,” I growl. “Fuck me.”

My hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair, pulling your face in and out of me. Using you like you are nothing more than a masturbatory aid as I feel my juices flood out of me and smear over your face.

I start to fuck myself with your face-cock harder and faster, pulling your hair as I slam you into me, then pull you off me and slam you back in again. Grunting, I feel myself getting wetter and wetter as you kneel before me.

“That’s it, you fucking dildo, fuck me,” I groan, my breathing getting ragged, panting as I use you to fuck me. Your eyes rolling a little in your head as I pull on your hair, the skin on your nose and face turning red from being rubbed against the curls of my pubic hair.

“Oh fuck, you dirty little whore,” I groan, hearing me squelch as I push your face and the face-cock deeper into me.

With a growl, I orgasm, my thighs clamping against your head as I explode, flooding your face with my girl goo. Pressing on the back of your head, forcing your face deep into me, your nose squashed against my clit as I buck and writhe on the chair.

Finally, I collapse, my thighs open, allowing you to drop onto your heels as you kneel before me.

I lean forward, unstrapping the face mask.

“You can lick me clean, then you can go.”