Dirty Weekend Ch. 01 by MrParsons

Dirty Weekend Ch. 01 by MrParsons

Dive into "Dirty Weekend Ch. 01" by MrParsons, an enticing adult sex story filled with passion, intrigue, and unforgettable encounters. Explore the thrilling adventures that unfold over a steamy weekend getaway. Perfect for readers seeking tantalizing escapism and romance. Read now!<br/>

When I walked in, you were sat at the bar facing away from the door, and I had no doubt that you will have been doing so since eight o’clock, just as I had specified. I was also sure that the fifteen minutes you had spent waiting for your client to turn up would have been somewhat disconcerting for you, but you waited patiently as I knew you would. I knew that you wouldn’t be leaving without a trick.

Finding an empty table near the door, I sat down and hung my suit jacket on the chair behind me. As the waitress carried my order back to the bar she led my eyes back to you, and I watched as she presented you with the glass of wine I had ordered for you, saying a few words. One of these words was ‘James’. You knew this James was probably me, but you couldn’t have been entirely sure; after all, the way you were dressed had been granting you a lot of attention that night. Either way, whoever’s eye you’d caught was probably training it on you at that very moment. Indeed he was. You didn’t turn around. Good girl.

I sat back smugly and tried to pretend that you weren’t so familiar to me, and that James was running his eyes over your beautiful form for the first time. Heels hooked over the brushed steel barstool, and the swell of soft, curvaceous calves accentuated by the black nylon that stretched thin over their fullness. I could not see the hem or the cut of your dress from where I sat, but I could see how it clung to you and flattered your delectably ample figure, how the straps ran under the dirty blonde hair which sat neatly on your shoulders; I was strongly tempted to oblige my instinct and walk straight over to you, smooth my hands down your sides, breathe you in, kiss your neck. But James didn’t know you that well. My whisky arrived, and as I warmed the glass in my hands I considered this moment where both of us were having to exercise discipline. There wouldn’t be many more of those for me tonight. I knocked back my drink and waited. You had until eight thirty.

I knew it would be difficult for you, another quarter of an hour wondering who it was that had taken a fancy to you, who your prospective client might be tonight, whose eyes were burning into you as you sat there looking so unmistakably, tantalisingly whorish. But my rules had been clear: no eye contact until I ask your name. My eyes remained fixed on you as I waited for your nerve to break, and as I did so I was undressing you, flicking through flashbacks of our previous encounters, considering what I might demand of you back at the hotel. Then your head tilted around, you scanned the bar and your eyes met with mine for the briefest moment before you turned back to your drink. There was shame in your shoulders and I watched as you began to fidget nervously with your glass. That was that. I would be demanding a lot of you tonight.

Eight thirty. I sauntered over. “How much?”

“One hundred an hour.” Meek, coy, lovely. You didn’t look up but I saw you watch my hand as it disappeared into my pocket. I folded two hundred pounds into yours.

“Pardon?” I flexed my voice of authority.

You shook a little. Then, softly, “One hundred an hour, sir.”

“Better. Come on.” I pulled you along to the door, my hand on your arm. Not used to your heels you stumbled a little, but you kept up. My darling obedient girl, always compliant, conscientious.

I sat down beside you in the taxi and was able to see the extent of the effort you’d made. Lips painted a deep, alluring red. Mascara, eyeliner, shadow, foundation, a little blush. You always looked beautiful but now here before me you smouldered, and I was ogling you unashamedly. Legs crossed, skirt riding up your thigh enough to show the tops of your stockings. Were you purposefully testing my restraint? Still your eyes were nonchalantly evasive, looking out the window, at the taxi meter, anywhere but at me, only your nervous fingers fidgeting with your hair giving away that this wasn’t such a regular job for you. But I wanted your eyes now.

“So, what’s your name?” I ventured.

When you turned towards me and you looked at me with such care, I almost forgot myself for wanting to wrap my arms around you, cherish you, protect you. I felt that way too much of the time for my own good. You replied, “Whatever you want it to be. Sir.” Very well, I thought. With all my heart, I’ll cherish you. In about two hours. Minx.

I had already checked into the hotel, a soulless honeycomb of businessmen, rugby teams and conspicuous tourists; we cut a path through their hovering and flitting in the lobby towards the lift. I also looked the part, neatly turned out and sporting a suit, shirt and tie — anyone would take me for just another young professional. And so would you. I pressed a button marked ‘8’. The doors closed behind us and we stood there quivering like a hand on a pulled arrow. I looked at you in the mirror, a voyeur to my own lover.

“Busy night?”

“None of your business, Sir.”

“Quite. Come.” The doors pinged open and I led the way to my room, passing an older gentleman whose eyes I saw drop to your full cleavage, your pretty, shapely legs. I couldn’t blame him, what with the unmistakable purpose of how you presented yourself, and so convincingly. Jealous old fart, probably looking back over his shoulder to check you out. Enjoy your movie, I thought, and pushed open the door to room 801.

–

“Stand.” You were still as a post as I circled you, inspecting you, wanting to take in this perfect picture of promiscuity before the inevitable dismantling of your attire. Almost perfect, anyway – one detail was bugging me; a feint line around your hips, under your dress. I lifted the hem, and peered down. They were pretty panties, just enough to be decent and very tasteful. But they were panties nonetheless, and I had specified otherwise. I yanked them down your legs and showed them to you, finding a line of sweet wetness.

“What kind of girl are you?” I said sternly, down into your wide eyes. “Are you trying to be some kind of high-class escort? Or are you the dirty little tramp I thought I was paying for?”

“I-I’m a dirty, little…”

“Tramp! Sir!” I finished your sentence for you, punctuating each word with a sharp smack on your exposed behind.

“Yes, sir.” you quaked.

I grabbed your arm and dragged you from the soft yellow light of the bedroom through to the ensuite bathroom, gleaming white tiles, formica and steel. I stood you in front of the mirror, the lights either side illuminating you brightly and clearly. “Look at yourself. What are you?”

“I’m a dirty little tramp, sir.” I was standing beside you, looking at you in the mirror. You returned my gaze. I bent you over and you steadied yourself with your forearms on the edge of the sink. You must have watched me as I lifted your dress and smacked out the words, “Look! At! Yourself!” When I looked back in the mirror, your eyes were trained on themselves, on your arms and shoulders, on the cleavage that rippled with my caresses and swelled with your breath. You’d adjusted your posture, too — back arched seductively, offering your behind to me, twitching proudly under my warm hand. I patted you softly. It was a welcome invitation.

“Don’t move.” I deftly unbuckled my belt and unfastened my trousers, pushing them down my legs with my pants in a vaguely ungraceful puddle of clothes around my feet. My cock sprang up and I began to stroke myself to my fullest. Standing behind you, you felt me rest the wet tip against your soft bottom as I slowly touched myself, leaving trails of pre-cum on your creamy skin. My other hand was busy enjoying the swell of your hips, teasing fingertips stroking your sides and studying your wonderful shape, grabbing you, filling my strong hand with the soft flesh of your ample bottom, drawing a moan from you.

“You like me being firm with you like that, don’t you whore?” Cool, calm, on top.

“Yes sir.” Blushing, bashful and completely honest. Your words were cut short by a sharp gasp that accompanied the familiar sting of my palm on your rump, and then my fingers digging into your delicious flesh. My hand came away leaving its image in blood drawn to the surface of your skin.

“And like that?” I looked at your face in the mirror, your eyes closed for a moment as you focused instead on the sensation, opening slowly to look straight back into themselves. You were biting your lip. Good girl.

“Yes sir.” There was a shiver on your breath. You trembled as you felt my fingers between your legs, sliding one between your delicate folds and inside. It came out slick with your excitement, and I reached over to push my finger into your mouth. You sucked hungrily, cleaning my finger with your tongue, wallowing in your submission and probably quite enjoying the way you tasted.

“You really are a dirty little tramp, aren’t you?” I said partly for my own pleasure, my eyes trained on your pretty bottom as my hand came down on it again with a sharp crack.

“Yes sir. Yours, sir.” you gasped.

“You’re enjoying me treating you like this,” — smack — “making my mark on you,” — smack — “making sure you know you’re mine,” — smack — “aren’t you?” You whimpered an answer, lost in the truth of my statements. I drew you out of your trance with another sharp crack. “Aren’t you?” I said, my hand in your hair, pulling your head around to face me. Your eyes raised, hypnotised. “Yesss.”

Before you knew what was happening, I had sat on the edge of the bath and pulled you across my lap. I grabbed your wrists and pulled them firmly behind your back, holding them in place with one hand as I pinned you down, the other hitching up your skirt to pat you. Then a pause while I reached down to the floor for something — you heard my belt buckle — and the folded leather coming down on your beautiful behind, again and again. “Yes… Sir! Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir! Sorry Sir!” You panted, mouth hanging open, eyes shut tight, your whole body bucking with each blow as I left stripe after red stripe on your pale flesh. Feeling you squirm, I ran my palm over your glowing skin, enjoying the heat I’d brought to it.