Page 18 of Room Service
It’s like I’m on autopilot as I push the material over my shoulders and let it drop down the bottom half of my body, until it’s pooling at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my underwear, socks, and shoes. I inwardly cringe at still having my shoes and socks on, and before he can tell me to remove them, I quickly bend down and do it, kicking my shoes off to the side and throwing my socks right along with them.
“Did I tell you to take your shoes off?” he asks, his face deadpan.
“N… No,” I stutter, feeling all kinds of foolish.
“Get on your knees,” he barks, and I slowly lower to the ground, my whole body trembling with nerves, and also excitement of what he might do.
“Good girl,” he says as he walks towards me and circles me like a predator sizing up its prey. “Take off your bra.”
“But…”
“But what, Elise?” he asks as he stops in front of me, looking down on me and making me feel… I’m not sure. Small? No, that’s not right. I mean, I want to be here, but how I can already feel the wetness between my legs when he hasn’t even touched me? How can I possibly be thinking this is the hottest thing to ever happen to me when he hasn’t even done anything but make me get undressed? When he’s made me kneel before him?
“I… What about you?” I ask, because I wouldn’t mind seeing underneath his clothes before I get naked.
He crouches down, lowering his face until his eyes are level with mine and he’s gripping my chin with his fingers and thumb. “Are you questioning me, Elise?”
The power with which he speaks has me replying, “No.”
“Good. Then do as you’re told and take your fucking bra off.”
He lets go of my chin and stands back up, waiting, and there’s something inside of me that desperately doesn’t want to keep him waiting. I move my hands to the back of me, unhooking my bra and letting the straps fall down my arms, until I’m removing it completely and letting it drop in front of my knees.
My eyes meet his, and I bite on my bottom lip as I see the hunger in his eyes.
Fuck. I’ve never been looked at this way before. My husband used to just grunt and roughly grab my breasts before putting his dick inside of me and riding his way to the goalposts, leaving me unsatisfied and having to go to the bathroom on more than one occasion to finish myself off. So this is uncharted territory for me.
“Now stand up,” Dorien commands, and I push up from my knees until I’m stood to my full height, my back arching a little to show off my breasts, which I know aren’t the biggest, but fuck it. I’m here and I asked for this.
“Take off your knickers, Elise, and then get on the bed.”
I hesitate momentarily, wondering what he thinks of my body, wondering if I’m good enough, if I’m sexy enough, but then I push back the comments Derrick used to make about me being too small on top and needing to have some work done, and I bend over, pushing the material down my legs and stepping out of them before I make my way to the bed. I have no idea how I even have the strength to do all of this, and I can only put it down to the adrenaline coursing through me.
I sit on the edge of the mattress and wait for his next instruction.
“Move back and spread those legs wide,” he says, and I shimmy back on the bed, lying down so I’m looking at the ceiling as I spread myself before him.
“Fuck… already wet for me, Elise,” he whispers. “Do you feel how wet you are?”
“Yes,” I manage to reply, anticipating the moment he does what I asked and fucks me hard.
I jolt as I feel his finger brush up the middle of my pussy, and my head flies up to look at him as he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks the taste of me from him.
“Jesus…” he says on a breath, and I wonder if that’s a good or a bad thing, but he quickly puts my doubts to sleep as he says, “Fucking delicious.” And just those two words alone make me feel something akin to pride. Pride about my taste? Dear God, I have been suppressed for far too long.
I watch as he walks around the bed and goes to the side table, where he opens the drawer and pulls out a condom before he’s back at the bottom of the bed, looking at me.
His hands go to his trousers, and he undoes them, pushing his boxers down with them until they free his cock. Oh my Christ, he’s huge, and I find myself licking my lips in anticipation of how he tastes. He takes his dick his hand and starts to stroke, hardening even more in front of my eyes. I’m mesmerised as he works himself, not an ounce of shyness about his actions.
“Touch yourself, Elise,” he says when his eyes connect with mine. “Show me how you get yourself off.”
I should be shocked by where this is going, but I fail to give a shit as I move my hand and play with my clit, moving my finger in slow circles because I don’t want this to be over too soon. I want to savour this night where I gave myself to a man who I may never see again. No attachment. No expectation.
I moan as watching him touch himself heightens everything I’m feeling, making it more intense, more intimate, more everything. I close my eyes and let my head roll back on the bed as I let out a groan. And then everything becomes more sensitive as I feel his mouth joining my fingers, his tongue connecting with my clit. I nearly jump off the bed from the sensations coursing through me.
“Oh my god,” I moan out loud, and then I feel his finger pushing inside of me, moving in and out slowly as we work in sync. My orgasm quickly builds, and just as I am on the cusp of release, he pulls away and pushes my hand off my clit. I’m momentarily confused as I lift my head with wide eyes and look at him.
“No yet, buttercup. Sit up and move to the edge of the bed.” He’s no longer touching his cock as I move on trembling limbs to the edge, sitting before him, waiting expectantly. Does this make me look desperate? Does this encounter make me look weak because I’m doing everything he’s asked of me?
