One for Tonight

One for Tonight by John Warren
The minute I entered the club, she caught my eye. Tall and blond, she strutted about the stage with an obvious exhibitionism. One by one, she teased the customers, lifting her G-string and giving them a glimpse of the treasure hidden there. When she got to me, I held up a ten spot so she could see the zero, separating myself from the cheap bastards with their singles.

She grinned at me, a grin like a great jungle cat making up its mind which antelope was going to be dinner, and held open, not the waistband of her G-string, but the damp elastic between her legs. I grinned back and went to tuck the bill in place, but as I slid it between the elastic and her glistening pussy, she lunged, catching my fingers between her clutching legs. It was hot and wet, the pussy of a woman who had just been fucked … or who was about to be. As she held my hand between her muscular thighs, the grin intensified and she whispered, “Room 321, next door!”

Then, she was gone, waving her ass in the face of a guy four places over. For the rest of the dance, she didn’t give me a second look. She climbed down off the stage and walked to a door in the back of the club, ignoring the calls from horny patrons who wanted a bit of company, a lap dance or a chance at a feel.

I got up and tried to follow, only to bump into a guy who looked like his mother took steroids and felt like a brick wall. “Talent only,” he growled, pointing at the door. “But she …” I tried to explain, but he brushed me off.”She give you a room number?” he said, “Yes.””OK, so you’re the one for tonight,” he shook his head wearily. “Listen, pal, wait ten minutes then go next door to the hotel, go up to that room, she’ll be waiting.”

The “one for tonight” didn’t bother me. I’m a happily married man. Well, I’m married anyway, but Isobel, my wife, had been putting on the pounds and it took a couple of stiff belts before I could crawl in between those butterball thighs these days.

Besides, a man is supposed to be a hunter … and pussy is what I like to hunt. I settled down with another drink and watched another bitch strut her stuff. She was good looking, and at another time, I might have been interested, but with…I realized with a shock, I didn’t know what the blonde’s name was. Then I relaxed. I only need a name, I thought, when I want to talk… and talk was the last thing on my mind.

For this section of town, the hotel wasn’t all that bad, and the room clerk didn’t look up as I walked through the lobby and into the elevator. I knocked on 321, wondering if I might be a little early. I wasn’t. She called for me to let myself in. Stupid bitch, I thought as I opened the door. This isn’t the kind of neighborhood where anyone leaves her door unlocked.

The room was surprisingly comfortable, almost elegant. It was pretty clear that she lived here. It wasn’t just a handy place to fuck. A hint of steam coming from the doorway at the far side of the room hinted on where I’d find her. I crossed the room in a few quick strides and opened the door the rest of the way. The bubbles in the tub covered her much more modestly than any of the costumes I’d seen her in that night. In fact, with her long hair bound up on top of her head, she looked almost virginal… until I saw the look in her eyes. That, more than the body concealed under the suds, set my erection to pushing against the suddenly too tight pants.

She looked down, and the smile widened.”Ooo, you want me, Baby; don’t you,” she said. Shifts in the mounds of bubbles told me that she was running her hands over those magnificent breasts. “I want you, too.” Then, her voice took on a touch of steel. “But, I want you my way. Do you want to have me my way, Baby?” The last was almost a coo. I didn’t know what “her way” was, but at that point, if it entailed standing up in a hammock over a crocodile-infested swamp, I was game for it. I tried to answer, but what came out was more a croak than a word. She just had that kind of effect on me. The laugh was like steel bells, musical but hard. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.'”

She stood up, some of the soap bubbles sliding off, the rest remaining like an artful draping, emphasizing rather than concealing her charms. She posed for a minute, self-consciously lifting her arms and knitting her fingers behind her neck so that her breasts, behind their frosting of white foam rose erect. A pink nipple peeked at me through the white foam. Heedless of my clothes, I moved forward to embrace her, but she gestured me off. “My way! Remember!”

If you had asked me before then, if a naked, available woman could have stopped me from grabbing her, throwing her to the tile floor and fucking the shit out of her, I would have laughed at you. But, I stopped. Her eyes and her voice held me.”Wait,” she commanded, and bent down, took a dipper of bath water and poured it sensually over her, washing away the last of the concealing bubbles. Stripped of makeup, in the relatively harsh glare of the bathroom lights, she was even more beautiful and infinitely more desirable than she had been, powdered and colored under the cleverly positioned lights of the club’s stage.

She stepped out of the tub like Cleopatra alighting from her barge. I should have stepped forward, held her, kissed her, taken her, but she hadn’t given me permission, and that kept me still, hands at my sides, waiting. She looked at me, eyes cutting deep into my soul. Her tongue brushing her upper lip. “Dry me.”I took the fluffy bath towel and set to work, drying that incomparable body. At times, she arched her back and hissed in pleasure, but mostly she stood passively, lifting an arm or spreading her legs so I could reach all parts of her.

Finally, she said, “Enough for the first part. Now, I want you to finish drying me.”

Finish? I wondered. I looked about in stupefaction. The one I held was the only towel in the room. What does she mean?

There was an edge to her voice as she snapped, “Your tongue, slave. Finish the job with your tongue.”

Slave! The word cut deeply into my soul… and released something that I didn’t know was there… or had I simply buried it so deeply that I had forgotten its existence. Part of me watched in horror as I sunk to my knees, trousers soaking up the remnant of the bath, my tongue extended to offer homage to her thighs. The skin was soft and warm, perfumed with a mixture of the scent of the bath salts and the bouquet that was natural to her.

I looked up. Framed by those perfect breasts, she was smiling down at me. The smile of contentment… the smile of victory.

She lowered the seat of the toilet and sat down, extending her leg. I took it in my hands as if it were a precious gift. My old self wanted to lick higher and higher, find the juncture of her thighs, make her scream in pleasure as I possessed her with my tongue make her submit to my will through the pleasure I commanded. But my new self knew.

Her foot was lovely. I ran my tongue over the delicate arch eliciting a moan ripe with passionate promise. Each toe was a confection to be sucked and savored while occasionally stealing a glance at my goddess.

When her other foot reached out and gently caressed the strained fabric over my swollen cock, it was like an electric shock. As she playfully ran her toe up and down the length of my manhood, I sucked harder and harder until I was almost in a delirium.

Nothing remained of the bathroom, the hotel or the world; there was only her foot and my mouth.

Then, a firm hand took hold of the long hair at the back of my head, jerking it upward and away from her foot. Her face was enormous, lovely and powerful. It filled my vision, my world.

“Strip!” she commanded.

In a frenzy of obedience, I ripped off my shirt, popped buttons flying. The pants zipper jammed; I ripped it apart.

Naked, I dropped back to my knees, ready to continue to service her, but she had other things in mind.

“Come.” The word wasn’t snapped. I could tell she had no further need of the steel that had underlain her voice. She knew I was hers to command. What was more important was the I knew it. I could feel the old me throwing itself in a frenzy of frustration against the bars behind which my resurgent desires had imprisoned it. They were too strong. As long as this woman’s scent surrounded me, as long as I could look up at her lovely body, I was a willing prisoner… for whatever she wanted to do.

I started to rise, but she firmly pushed me back on my knees. “You are mine now,” she said. “You will remain on all fours unless I order you to stand. For now, stay down there and follow me.”

Content, I followed her into the bedroom, eyes on that exquisite ass. She sat on a chair. I knelt before her. Reaching into a black lacquered box with ivory inlays, she took out a handful of leather straps with steel rings and arranged them on her thigh. Picking up one, she reached around my neck and fastened it in place.

Looking at me, all humor and passion put aside she said, “This is a symbol of your slavery. As long as you wear it, you are mine. You can put aside your slavery at any point by saying ‘red light.’ I will stop what I’m doing and remove the collar, but at that point, you must put on your clothing and leave and you’ll never see me again. Do you understand.” The steel was back in her voice for those three words. I tried to speak again, but my tongue was too big for my mouth and my lips felt dry and cracked. I nodded, violently, three times.

“Give me your wrists.”

The cuffs went on. They felt that they belonged there… or perhaps, I belonged in them. She gave me the two larger cuffs and had me fasten them on my ankles. Then she had me get on the bed and lie face up while she attached the cuffs to chains.

I couldn’t believe it. I was naked, helpless, and a beautiful naked woman was going to… I realized with a shock that I didn’t know what she was going to do.

I watched with a sense of unreality as she went about the room, lighting candles on the bed tables, closing the shade, filling a glass with chopped ice and then pouring in a bit of water from a carafe. Then she stood over me, sipping the water and running her fingers lightly over my skin. I moaned and wasn’t sure it the moan derived from the overwhelming passion filling every cell or the agony coming from my overwrought cock that threatened to explode at any moment.

“Thirsty, Slave?”

I was so overwrought that it took me a moment to decide if she were asking a question or simply stating something that seemed so obvious to me. Then, I nodded, expecting her to bring the glass to my lips. Instead, she took a mouthful of water, bent down and kissed me, letting the icy fluid drain from her mouth into mine.

From a drawer in the bed stand, she took a coin-shaped object. Cracking it, she extracted a condom. I could feel my whole body arcing, trying to reach the penultimate object. Then, she casually slipped it onto her mouth.

She bent close, letting me see how it rested between her lips and her teeth; teasingly, she poked it a bit with her tongue. Then, she took my cock in her hands and slowly, sensually, slid it into her mouth, letting the condom unroll around the cock as it entered. I expected her to withdraw after an inch or so and finish the job with her hands, but inexorably, sensually, she continued until she had possessed all of me. Then, with tiny downward jerks that threatened to vanquish what little self control I had remaining, she slid her mouth off my cock.

“See, you’re all ready, Slave,” she said. “All ready to pleasure me.”

And, without another word, she leaped on the bed and her oven-hot pussy enveloped me. Automatically, as much as I could bound the way I was, I tried move my cock in and out of her pussy.

“STOP!” The word was like a whipstroke across my face. I froze.

“This is for my pleasure, and I’m not going to have my pleasure rushed” She began to move slowly up and down, squeezing delightfully on every downward stroke. The hair that had been bound up for the bath fell free, giving her a wild and barbarous look.

I couldn’t stand it. Boiling lava filled my groin, and I shook as the orgasm began. She leaned forward, and I thought she was going to embrace my helpless body and ride the orgasm with me. Instead agony shot through my chest. The churning, rushing orgasm vanished. When I could focus, I saw her sitting back my cock deeply in her pussy and one of the candles from beside the bed in her hand.

The cooling wax pulled and teased at my nipple. As if to emphasize a point, she leaned forward, dropping a bit more wax on my other nipple. This time, I screamed. She leaned close, but all I could see was the tiny pool of wax growing in the bowl-shaped tip of the candle. However, her voice was loud and clear.

“I said, ‘This is for my pleasure. You can come when I’m finished and not before. Understand?”

Wordlessly, I nodded.

Again, she began. At first, I couldn’t take my eyes off the candle, but as the tempo grew, I became trapped by it. I was in bliss, I was coming, I was coming.

The strength of my scream startled even me.

This time, I held myself into control until it was her scream of pleasure that filled the room.

She lay still against me for a blissful eternity. Then she sat up and smiled.

“This one is for you.”

The movements were even more intense; she gripped my cock with her pussy even more tightly even her eyes sparkled more. I had no need to hold back my passion and again it rose and I thrust upward, deeply into her.

With a smooth, practiced motion, she scooped up a handful of the crushed ice from the drinking glass, and reaching behind her, pressed it against my clutching balls.

The orgasm was mind-blowing. I was barely aware of her getting up and walking across the room to a connecting door.

“Thank you; thank you,” I babbled.

“You don’t need to thank me, Slave. I did it as a favor for a friend. A college friend who’s been getting bored recently.”

She opened the door, and Isobel, my wife, walked in.

She was wearing a black corset that framed but did not hide her full breasts or the luxuriant patch of blond pussy hair… and she was carrying a whip.