Page 25 of Hired Help

I rest my forehead against her shoulder, breathing heavily into the side of her neck, feeling the ripple of her muscles tightening in response.

“Is that good?” I ask as I clamp onto her erect nipple, rolling it between my fingertips, letting my rough prints catch on her tight tender flesh. “Does that meet your exacting specifications, or will you demand a refund?”

Her tits aren’t sensitive and that’s how I prefer it. It means I can pinch her harder, get more satisfaction from the grip than I could if she were shying away from pain.

“Your audience wants a performance. Are you going to give it to them?”

There’s another vibration from her throat, this one more feeling than sound. I love that she’s getting into this, that the thought of displaying herself, opening her body up to voyeurs, turns her on.

What I wouldn’t give to take her to a club in town, strap her to the bed on a mounted platform, and give every member a glorious performance. Make them chide at not being able to bring their phones inside to record it for posterity.

I haven’t had the chance to slide my cock into her sweet, tight pussy, not yet. She told me she wants her first time with me to be special and I sat there, listening to her, watching her cheeks catch fire with a sexy glow and didn’t stop her, didn’t explain that she needed to be careful where she puts her affection, didn’t remind her I’m a sex-worker not a boyfriend.

Much as I try to tell myself I held back to spare her feelings, in reality, it’s because her fantasy dovetails too neatly into my own thinking. It’s hard to chastise her for treating me like a boyfriend when I’ve caught myself half a dozen times thinking of her as my girl.

Work has never left me in a muddle like this. A client’s needs have never so neatly dovetailed into my own preferences.

“They deserve to see all of you, don’t you think?”

She hums in agreement and I give her nipple a last rough flick from my thumb then head downwards, sliding into the waistband of her skirt, straining the seams as I thrust my hand far enough to cup her, rubbing the dampening underwear against her pussy until the fabric must be turning dark with the spreading stain.

“You’re so fucking horny for me,” I whisper. “Time to give the audience what they want.”

I release the fabric pinning her arms, stripping it from her shoulders until she can reach her shaking hands behind her to fumble the button of her skirt open, tug the zipper down.

Rather than pull at the fabric, she shimmies her hips, deliberately arching her rear end back against me, teasing my cock until I can barely hear over the pulse thumping in my ears, head abuzz with the deep-seated ache of lust.

“That’s my needy girl. Flash that pussy at the glass. Give everyone a show.”

She kicks the fabric away, following with her panties a moment later.

Her teeth worry at her bottom lip as she follows my instructions, shivering as the glass transfers its cold to her centre. I nuzzle into the crook of her neck, my teeth pinching the skin there, nipping at it, then laving it with my tongue to ease the sting.

Then my hands move to warm her, slipping inside, her pussy lips so wet there’s no resistance at all to my intrusion. I rub my fingers up and down, the arc growing longer, stopping off to circle her clit, to tease her entrance, feeling the muscles clench against my legs as she fights to increase the friction with every stroke, becoming more needy.

Her eyes are still screwed shut, depending on me for a visual story.

“Put your hands flat on the glass so everyone watching can see you don’t want me to stop. You’re not fighting to push me away.”

They slap against the glass, eagerness making her clumsy. My cock strains at my jeans, tenting the thick fabric until I have to adjust myself, then do it again, finally unzipping so it’s not constrained.

Brooke groans when I press her back against me, the thin briefs so different from the stiff denim.

“They’re waiting for me to fuck you against the glass,” I murmur, thrusting against her as my fingers increase their rhythm, slipping and sliding through her folds, feeling her muscles contract and release, urging me to tease them further. “Do you want me to shove into you while they’re all watching? To make you come in front of the crowd on my big fat cock.”

I won’t, her rules are clear, but the pulse of sensation running from the head to my balls doesn’t know that.

I clamp my hand across her mouth, enjoying the jerk of surprise. “Aren’t you going to tell me no?” I ask as she bucks and writhes against me, the pretence shooting her libido into high gear. “Aren’t you going to beg me not to fuck you while everyone watches? If you don’t tell me not to, I’m going to shove my cock into you in three… two… one…”

She convulses around my fingers, body sagging until I’m supporting half her weight. In a retaliatory tease, she flattens her tongue against the palm I have over her mouth, getting it properly wet with spit while her shoulders shake with laughter.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, little girl?” I remove my hands from her mouth and cunt, wiping them dry on her belly. Then I hug her, lifting her toes off the ground while she squeals. “How’d you like me to stick my tongue wherever I wanted?”

I change my grip, swinging an arm under her legs to carry her over to the sofa and dumping her there, smiling as she gives a startled cry, then bursts out laughing. I take off my boots and settle beside her, curling her against me, rubbing my hands along her bare skin in long, soft strokes, bringing her down from her high.

This is our fifth session and each time, she’s able to reach her climax with more ease. The pathways through her brain are cutting deeper with each repeat performance, guiding her where she needs to go.

Soon she won’t need a helping hand and she’ll cut me loose. I know it but I still push the thought away, preferring to stick my head in the sand and hope for the best.

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