Thomas

 

Grace’s sweet cunt was hungry enough to gulp in whatever I offered. Her stretch was glorious, enough to make my balls pain as I stared into glistening pink.

I was merely taunting her husband with the prospect of two inside her at once. His wife was far from up to taking that kind of strain, even if the spread of that tight little hole looked mighty impressive for a few hours of careful effort. I think the idiot had actually believed me, flinching at his own pathetic desires.

I would never have shared a beauty like his wife, especially not with a man like me. Not for fifty million, nor the finest hotel on the planet.

If only I could be lucky enough to see how much he’d regret it in the coming weeks. Basking in his pain would be a pleasure I’d appreciate far more in close proximity, but alas, it wasn’t to be.

Nevertheless, the night was still relatively young as I pushed that thick toy back inside his pretty wife’s tender hole and teased her clit with a brush of my tongue. Her excitement was a tightrope, taut between the heady rush of want and the pain of over-stimulation.

Luckily for her, I was a fucking master.

People may be quick to say it was a foolish endeavour to pay so much money to thrill another man’s wife for hours on end, but they’d be wrong.

It’s in controlling someone else’s pleasure that the real man finds his own. My own throbbing dick was demoted to the outskirts of my awareness, my focus razor-sharp on that beautiful woman’s enjoyment as she confronted sides of herself she’d barely known existed.

It was always like this for me in these situations, but this time more so than ever. This time more so than everything.

My instinctive awareness of the minutes passing dulled to a blur as I ploughed that slick, wet cunt with whatever toy took my fancy. Her juices were pooling under her ass on the plastic sheeting as I worked her into frenzy after frenzy, stopping at the most sadistic point of her crest time after time. Fingers, mouth, the sharp slap of my palm against that soft smooth mound whenever I knew her body could take it. The strain of a hooked toy against her sweet spot, the stretch of a dildo circled wide, more, more, always more, and she took it with the acceptance of a woman awakening to her deepest self.

Grace was a submissive who’d been slumbering through a lifetime of vanilla, ready to unfurl in just the right hands. Not a submissive in the sense of hard spankings and a red paddled ass, not even of sir as a means of address. The tools hanging on the drawer handles would be largely redundant, but it had taken intimate experience of her body to make that call.

She was submissive in the sense of naturally yielding to another’s instruction, soaking up the guidance of experienced hands and a sharp tongue with a delightful revelry. Her wide eyes became ever more eager in seeking mine out as the night drew on, her body switched on to mine as I took her in hand and pushed her to heights she’d have balked at a few hours earlier.

It was a delicious massage to my already proud ego to witness how her husband watched everything. Saw everything. No doubt felt everything.

I knew his dick was easily as hard as mine was, his balls just as tense with the urge to shoot their creamy load inside his wife’s sweet wet cunt as she stared up with rapture.

I guess there were more similarities between us than I’d ever dared to acknowledge — both of us transfixed by the delicious creature he’d claimed before I’d ever had the most basic of attributes required to snare such a wonder.

Her breaths were a dry rasp as she came down from another whimpering climax, her whole body collapsing flat to the mattress as she rippled in the aftermath.

It was time.

She didn’t move a muscle as I got to my feet, too caught up in the endorphins for even a shudder of nervousness as I presented myself at her side. She moaned in gratitude as I took the key to the cuffs from my inside pocket and freed her sore wrists from their shackles. Her arms pulled back to her chest in a flash, fingers rubbing frantically at the marks the restraints had pressed into her skin as I stepped away and sought out the minibar by the far bedside table.

Any suspicions she had as to my intentions had long dried up in the face of her body’s obedience to my will. She took the bottled water from me with a genuine smile, her eyes full of thanks as she unscrewed the top and took a swig.

“I needed that,” she told me, downing the rest of the measure and handing me back the empty bottle.

Then came the moment that tested the true reach of my inner cunt. I was surprised when my own bitterness came up short enough to offer a friendly lifeline where none was warranted.

Brett looked as surprised as I felt when I headed over and deactivated the infrared sensor in order to hand him a bottled water over the line. He offered a nod, if not a thanks, swigging back a decent mouthful with the same fervour as his wife.

“Don’t think my hospitality grants you any liberties,” I told him as I reset the device, and his eyes flashed with offense at the implication.

“Would take a shitload more than a bottled fucking water to make us pals,” he said. “And I know full fucking well what I agreed to and where your pissy little red line is.”

I was coming to grudgingly admit that he was a man of greater moral compass than I’d given him credit for, even in the most perverse of circumstances. If I wasn’t such a careful guy I’d have even considered turning the thing off again and trusting our gentleman’s agreement.

But I am a careful guy.

I took a water for myself and stared out at the dark night through the window as I drank my fill. I could see him in the reflection of the pane to my left, his gaze seeking out his wife’s as she rolled onto her side to face him with her thighs clamped tight.

I had to give them credit. Usually by this point in proceedings the communication between the couple was already stretched thin, both of them knocked sideways by the realisation that things would never return to normal.

But not here. Not yet.

I dropped my empty bottle on the windowsill and turned to the pair with a smile bright with cockiness.

“Enjoying yourself considerably more than you expected,” I goaded. “Both of you, nonetheless. If I’d have known this was going to be such a pleasure for all parties involved, I’d have negotiated the terms a lot harder.”

Brett’s voice was every bit as bullish as I predicted. “Like fuck you would have. Cut the crap, Heath. This shit ain’t new for you. You’ve got plenty of fucking experience at this game, and paying for it.”

“Astute,” I said with a tip of the head. “Who’d have ever thought there was such a brain behind your macho sports field grunts?”

It was my first slip up.

I saw my words rattle loud behind his eyes, the venom in my question far too alive to be spoken by a passing stranger in this backward slice of paradise.

“You seem that type,” I added in a breath, but it didn’t undo the damage.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked me, ever blunt in his communication.

“Nobody you know,” I responded. “Just a man who’s paying handsomely to fuck your pretty wife while you watch.”

“I call bullshit, you weird ass sonofabitch,” he snapped back, and it made me smile with genuine amusement.

“Call whatever you like, Mr Foster, but do it on your own time. This is mine, bought and paid for, so quit with the caveman speculation.”

The unspoken standoff lasted almost a full minute as I forced myself to relax back against the window, inwardly cursing my poor grip on the situation. There was no red line in the world that could hold him back from storming over and demanding the truth with a pummel of fists. Not if he was so motivated. There was also no smooth mask of cool disinterest that could gloss over the crack in my polished veneer.

“This isn’t over,” he told me as he dropped his empty bottle at his side and adjusted himself in his seat. “Whatever fucking beef you’ve got with me, you can spit it out when we’re done or forget about it. I don’t fucking know you, and I don’t fucking want to. Believe me, however our paths have crossed in the past, I don’t fucking remember it.”

“Paranoid as well as possessive,” I goaded, but he shrugged me off without a blink of self-doubt in his suspicions.

It was Grace whose eyes were flickering with some dull half-light of speculation as they stared up at me. I hated the twist of concern in my stomach, hated the way the ground felt set to crumble underneath my backtracking steps.

“Any false move from either of you and this whole deal is off,” I told them both, making sure my voice was bristling full of the confidence I feared crumbling under me. “No cash, no financial lifeline in this shitty hole you’ve wound up in, bye bye, sweet hotel dreams.”

It was Grace who held up her hand this time, shaking her head as though I was preaching to the converted. Maybe I was.

“You can ease up with all this,” she told me. “We know the deal here. Both of us.”

I settled grudgingly back into my stride, discomfort appeased for the short term at least. Grace reclined back on the mattress, her eyes still fixed on mine as she struggled to keep up with the choppy sea of interactions in this one tiny hotel room.

There was only one way to truly ensure she didn’t blurt out any unwelcome questions, and her distraction would be my pleasure, quite literally.

“I think it’s about time you returned my very generous favours, don’t you?” I asked her, and finally shrugged my suit jacket from my shoulders.

Thank fuck for endorphins and the consuming lust of a pussy driven wild.

Her thoughts were right where they should be as my fingers went for my shirt buttons.