A Rewarding Evening by UltSubAsh
It’s Friday evening, and we are in our suite at the Beekman Hotel on the edge of the Wall Street area in lower Manhattan. We have decided to take a long weekend in the city, visit some galleries, walk Central Park, have a couple of good meals, and use the opportunity to live out another of the erotic fantasies we have been writing about. This time it’s what has occupied our thoughts quite a bit recently – high class prostitution. Ever since you told me that you have harboured thoughts of being a prostitute for quite a long time, we’ve been eager to see how it might work out.
As always, the question is just how well reality will live up to our erotic imaginings. So, far, we have yet to be disappointed, but this one could be a little more hit and miss.
I’m enjoying helping you dress for the evening. The green silk corset has been laced up, and then I help you slide into the sheer stockings and attach them to your garter straps.
Somehow, as I am doing this, my fingers manage to slide all the way to your delicious pussy, and gently caress your moist lips. Then my tongue finds its way into that sweet tasting slit, arousing you still further. You tolerate it for a moment or two before punishing me for my impudence with a couples stinging blows from the flat of your hand across my face.
Now I sit back on the bed, nursing my gin and tonic, and watch as you wriggle into the tight black leather skirt, which just comes below your knees, and then as you put on the matching jacket, leaving the top button open so that just a glimpse of the green silk corset can be seen. This is one of my favourite outfits, the leather is so soft, and I can smell its scent from where I am on the bed. Then on go the five inch black leather pumps from Louboutan. I love the contrast of the red soles, very sexy. I think to myself that it will be very hard for any man to resist you in this outfit.
I continue to watch as you sit down at the dressing table and start to put on your lipstick. First the red, scarlet really, chosen to match the colour on your shoes. Then, carefully applied, a thin line of black ombre around the red. I don’t know why, but this always looks very dominant to me. Task completed, you stand up and turn around to face me.
“What do you think?”
“Perfect. Any man who would not want to take you to bed and fuck you to death, must have a serious problem.”
“Yes, but will a good looking black businessman be willing to pay for his pleasure?”
“Well, given what I am looking at, I would certainly think so.”
“Shall we go down?”
“Yes, it’s just past seven, so things should be moving along quite nicely by now.”
“You are going first?”
“Yes as we discussed, I’ll get myself a comfortable seat in one of those cosy corner booths, if I can.”
You give me a light kiss as I pass you towards the door, “See you down there.”
The bar is already quite busy as I squeeze myself into a corner table. The clientele is largely executives from the business district with a sprinkling of couples thrown in, much the same as we had seen the previous evening when we came down for a drink before dinner to scope out the scene. There are still a few seats left at the bar, and I note with interest that tonight it’s all men there, mostly in groups, but a few on their own, including three black men, two of whom are quite good looking.
I’m still studying them when I see their attention shift from their current focus to the entrance to the bar. It’s almost comical, watching all these heads swivel at once. Of course, I know the reason why, without even having to look for myself, although I do. They are all smitten by this vision of loveliness that has just arrived; a beautiful, elegant forty-somethingish woman in a stunning black leather suit, impossibly high heels, but with a reserved, unaffected air about her that is sexy in an understated way. You know that they are all asking themselves one question – is she alone?
You take a seat at one of the vacant spaces at the bar. Not, I note next to any of the black guys, but between two younger white males. We have always wondered what happens now. Do you buy your own drink, or does someone immediately offer you one? You have only been there a moment when a man in his mid-thirties detaches himself from the other two men he is standing with, walks over to you, and says something to which you nod. He calls to the barman, and then both of you walk back to the group he is with.
You stand and chat with the group for maybe twenty minutes, obviously enjoying their company. I wonder what the conversation is all about. Are they interested in you? Are you interested in them? They are all quite good looking, fit, and they seem to have a good sense of humour judging by all the laughter.
I am watching you intently, wondering just what will happen here. Then, I see your head swivel towards the entrance, and I follow your gaze, and I understand why your attention was distracted. He’s just walked in, hasn’t he? The tall, lean powerful black man we always thought might turn up in the bar. He appears not to notice you, and walks over to the bar, taking a seat by himself. He calls the barman over and orders a drink. Then he turns to the room and his eyes settle on you. After that, they never leave you, not for an instant. He doesn’t even look at his drink as he picks it up.
You continue chatting with the group for another few minutes, but then with a shake of your head, you politely wish them good evening and head back to the bar, drawn by his gaze to the empty seat next to him. Now my gut is churning. I’m excited, aroused, and I know that you are as well, probably even moreso. The game is on.
From the cut of his well-tailored dark blue suit, I guess that he is in the financial industry, and either in town on business, or stopping off for a drink before heading home. From his build, broad shoulders, tight waist, he definitely looks like he works out. He could even have been an athlete. I’d put him in his early forties.
He calls the barman over again and orders you a glass of champagne. The two of you are quickly into an animated conversation. I am sure that he is finding out what you are doing here, whether you are alone, maybe what are your plans for the evening? I watch as your knees come closer together, as his fingers lightly brush your arm occasionally, and then his hand comes to rest on your thigh. There is already an easy intimacy between the two of you. You appear to be totally absorbed by him, sparing me not even a glance for maybe half an hour, until you finally appear to take a look around the room, and giving me the briefest of smiles as you do so, but not sufficient to cause him to look in my direction.
He orders another round of drinks for the two of you, and you continue chatting for another twenty minutes or so. All the while I am watching the two of you intently. I don’t want to miss any of the little intimacies; the knee contact, his hand gently caressing your thigh, your hand resting on his arm. You could be two lovers out for a drink. But this is a man you encountered not even an hour ago. I wonder how excited you are, whether you are getting very moist between your legs? Whether you can’t wait to crush your lips to his, and feel his big hands running over your breasts.