The Client’s Command
The party was a blur of champagne and polite nods, a social performance I played with practiced ease. My client, a distinguished man in his mid-forties with salt-and-pepper hair and an air of quiet authority, watched me from across the room. Every so often, as we agreed, I would lean in close, my hand grazing the front of his trousers in a fleeting, secret touch. I let out a long, theatrical sigh, making sure he saw exactly how much the anticipation was affecting me.
Within ninety minutes, the tension had reached a breaking point. He didn’t say a word; he simply took my hand and led me toward the waiting taxi. The ride to his penthouse was silent, the air between us thick with a hunger that bordered on aggression. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the polished businessman vanished, replaced by a man driven by raw desire.
“Do not move,” he commanded, his voice dropping an octave. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. He stepped into my space, his hands gripping my breasts with a firmness that pushed the boundary of pain. I instinctively reached for his belt, but he swatted my hand away with a sharp strike.
“I told you not to move. You do nothing until I give you permission. Understood?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He delivered a stinging slap to my chest, his eyes dark with intensity. “You will answer ‘Yes, sir’.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, a thrill of submission coursing through me.
He didn’t waste another second. He tore through my blouse and ripped my bra in two, exposing me to the cool air of the room. He devoured my nipples, biting and sucking with a ferocity that left me breathless. He stripped away my trousers, leaving me in nothing but my stockings, a lace thong, and my towering stilettos.
He shoved me toward the bed, guiding my legs up over his shoulders while he remained standing. With one swift motion, he pushed aside the lace and drove himself deep inside me. I cried out, my voice echoing in the room as he hammered into me, his pace relentless and hard. “That’s it! Feel it! Feel how I fit inside you!” he groaned.
Suddenly, he pulled back, leaving me gasping and empty. He sat me on the edge of the bed and gestured downward. “Take it.” I slid forward, taking his length into my mouth, my lips tight around him. He gripped the back of my head, pushing me deeper, forcing me to take every inch. I moaned around him, the taste of him filling my senses as I worked him with a desperate hunger.
He flipped me over onto all fours, the heat of his body pressing against my backside. He teased me first, sliding the head of his cock across my clitoris and the curve of my cheeks until I was drenched. Then, with a powerful thrust, he entered me from behind. The penetration was deep and uncompromising. He pounded into me, punctuating each thrust with a sharp slap to my rear.
“I’m going to fill you up!” he roared, his breath hot against my neck. He drove himself in one final time, shuddering as he released a flood of hot semen deep inside me. He withdrew slowly, admiring the sight of his mark on me before giving me one last parting swat.
“I’m heading to the shower. The envelope is where it always is, with extra for the clothes. Use the guest bath,” he said, disappearing into the hall.
I stood up slowly, collecting my payment. As I cleaned myself, I reflected on the strange paradox of my life—how much I loathed the words he used, yet how deeply I craved the truth of being completely mastered.