She stood still in front of the full length mirror gazing up and down her form with a critical eye. Turning to see her rear, she reached to straighten the slightly misaligned seam on her stocking. He liked them perfectly straight. Perfectly.
“He” was Mister. That was the title he’d given her on their first date. No name, no other personal information. Just Mister. She’d shrugged off the secretive nature at the time, as it wasn’t uncommon in her line of work. Husbands hiding from wives, politicians hiding from voters, employees hiding from bosses, celebrities hiding from fans. It didn’t matter to her who they were hiding from. She was paid to perform, sure, but she was mostly paid to keep secrets.
Faces and names didn’t matter. Usually. She’d been employed as a call girl with London Escort Girls 4 U long enough that the faces blurred, the names tangled. But somewhere along the way, this one had begun to intrigue her. She’d had lots of repeat clients, lots who requested her by name. This was the first one who, when she’d been told she’d been hired to see Mister again, had caused a shiver to crawl along her spine and nerves to flutter in her tummy.
That had been many dates ago now. She’d learned him well by now. Knew his preference for perfume scents. Knew he disliked her fake flirty giggle. Knew he could tell when she was faking an orgasm. Come to think of it, she thought, she didn’t actually know anything about HIM at all, only what he wanted from HER.
She leaned in close and gave her make up one more scan. Sultry, smokey eyes under perfectly plucked brows, heavily mascaraed lashes, bright red lips. Lightly blushed cheekbones highlighted her peaches and cream complexion. Enjoy it, she thought to herself. It won’t look like this when he’s finished with me. She slid her feet into high heels, gave her dress one last smooth over her hips, and then click-clacked her way out the door.
The car met her outside. Sleek, black and shiny under the streetlights. She slid into the passenger seat and immediately turned to him. His eyes crawled over her face, her hair, down to her cleavage. Politely, she inquired “Where are we going, Mist-?”
He held up a finger to silence her and thrust his hand at her crotch. She promptly spread her thighs, lifting her ass slightly from the seat; the cool night air tickled the warm moist folds of her cunt and she shivered. His fingers roughlly groped at the folds, seeking entrance. She spread farther. Accommodating.
The fingers entered her unkindly, pinching at the delicate skin. Her brow creased before she remembered to smooth it. She stayed spread, silent, waiting. He thrust in and out for a minute or more, his eyes never leaving her face. Boring in, watching, testing. She kept the mask carefully, expertly, in place. Lips slightly parted, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow. Just as he liked it.
He yanked out of her and sat back, putting his slick fingers to his nose and inhaling deeply. The silence that settled after the crude wet sucking sound of his rough finger fucking was palpable. She waited, a blush rising from her chest to her cheeks.
“It smells good.” he said, finally.
“Thank you, Mister.” she replied, her voice small.
He put the car in drive then and they rode in silence. He didn’t welcome small talk. He didn’t answer questions, he asked the questions. Arriving at the hotel, she followed him quietly down the carpeted hall and into the room.
“Sit.” he commanded, pointing to the edge of the bed.
She sat, primly.
He poured himself a drink and loosened his tie, leaning against the table across from her. She straightened her posture and he quirked a brow, giving a small nod of approval. Then:
“Are you sore? Have you been fucking lots of men?”
She looked down at her lap, suddenly not able to look him in the eye. “A little, yes. I mean a little sore, not a little bit of men….there have been some. Not a lot. Not… so many.” she stammered to a stop, flustered.
He liked to fluster her.
“How many? How many since I last fucked your pussy?”
“I..I’m not sure. I didn’t keep count.”
“Estimate.” he said softly.
She swallowed, her throat clicking. She shifted slightly on the bed, her recently violated cunt clenched, begging to be filled again. “I think, maybe, six or seven, Mister.”
“Was it six or was it seven?”
“I.. si… seven. It was seven.”
“Seven!” he gave a low, exaggerated whistle. “Did all seven of them fuck your pussy?”
“All seven of them fucked my pussy.” Her voice had begun to tremble and she plucked at her dress in discomfort.
“Stop fidgeting,” he admonished, slapping her lightly on the back of her hands. “Tell me more.” She stilled her fingers in her lap. “Look at me,” he said quietly and she lifted her eyes to his and was trapped. “Tell me. Did they fuck your ass?”
Her face flushed deeper. “Yes, Mister. Some of them did.”
“Fou..five of them.” she stammered.
“I had five cocks in my ass, Mister.”
“Did you suck their cocks?”
“Yes.” she whispered.
“All of them?”
“I sucked seven cocks.”
He was quiet for a moment, the only sound seemed to be her heart hammering in her chest and the rapid pace of her breathing.
“Seven.” he repeated. “Seven cocks in your pussy. Seven cocks in your mouth. Five cocks in your ass.”
She whimpered, soft and low. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. It took all of her willpower to keep her hot cunt on the bed and not climb across to straddle his lap, to not grab his hand and shove his fingers back inside.
He shook his head and sighed almost regretfully. He began to unbuckle his belt.
Her cunt convulsed and she moaned.
“That’s a lot of spankings. That’s an awful lot of spankings.”
“Oh, yes, Mister,” she breathed.
He reached over and plucked at a loose thread on the hem of her dress. “And that’ll add one more.”