Beautiful
She is very pretty, with long, dark hair and soft curves under a small, red dress. Her eyes are large and almost completely black, and her red lips curves into a teasing smile when she notices that I'm looking. Her legs, covered in black pantyhose, are crossed at the knees. I order a drink for her and when she receives it, she turns and waves me over.
I climb up on a bar stool next to hers, giving the bartender a nod in greeting; they know me here. "I hope you like martini," I say.
She doesn't answer, but her smile is enough, and she takes the olive out of the glass, licking it clean seductively. "What is your name, stranger?" Her voice is light, intimate and sweet.
"Lei." No need for more. I push a stray lock of black hair away from my face, my hand ending up at the collar of my shirt. No tie tonight, and the top buttons are open. I look good. I picked out the white shirt and black pants in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, purposefully avoiding the clothes that I know he likes to see me in, but when buttoning up the shirt, I realised that he would probably have liked this as well.
"Pretty, pretty Lei. Pink lips and long hair. My girl." Not tonight. I'm a man tonight.
"I'm Linn."
She brings me back. I watch the way her fingers curl around the glass, sipping the martini expertly. "Beautiful," I say, though what I'm describing I don't know. It pleases her though. She asks if I want a cocktail, but I'm done drinking. Just drunk enough for a pleasant buzz. Drunk enough not to be afraid, but sensible enough to stay away from trouble. "Surely you are not all alone here? No friends with you? No suitors? Someone good enough for daddy, thinking the world of himself and wagging his tail at everything you say?" She looks the type for it, rich daddy's girl, though mature enough to take care of herself. Probably in her early thirties in fact.
She laughs and shakes her head. "My friend found herself a man for the night and went off somewhere. So now I'm all alone." It isn't always this easy; some times they must be coaxed and other times they are looking for more than I want to give them, but this girl, Linn, she desires what I desire, and we both know it.
A bit unexpectedly, she finishes the martini in one swing and looks at me with a playful glimmer in her deep, dark eyes, "There is a very nice hotel just down the block. What do you say? Daddy's paying." I nod and climb down from my chair, offering her my hand. She accepts, and grabs her purse before letting me lead her out into the night. Many pairs of eyes follow us as we leave. A pretty couple, a perfect picture, off to spend the rest of the night having perfect sex. Let them dream.
It is a bit chilly outside, but not unpleasantly so. We walk down the block and the hotel comes into view. It is actually quite impressive, towering ten stories high and shining like a giant light bulb. She doesn't let go of my hand, not even when we enter the lobby and she talks to the receptionist with the same practised ease with which she handled her martini. She gets us a room on the eight floor and we take the elevator up.
Alone in the metal box, she wraps her elegant arms around my neck and kisses me. I lean back against the wall and cradle her, slipping my tongue into her mouth. Memories distract me, ghosts that pin me to the wall and take my lips forcefully, giving me no other option but surrender. She runs her fingers through my hair, sharp, red nails brushing my scalp, so different from the painful grip that would force my head back to expose my throat to bruising bites.
The elevator stops with a ping and the doors swish open. It's her turn to lead me, down the quiet corridor until she finds the right number. Her high heels make no noise on the carpet. Room 114 is large, tidy and well furnished. The bed is double, with white covers and soft pillows. She lies down and pulls me on top of her. I bury my face in her hair and breathe deeply of her scent, a feminine perfume, so faint it is only detectable for an intimate partner. Our clothes fall quickly, and the first touch of skin against skin makes my body tingle with excitement and need.
But she can be beautiful, funny, active, passive, experienced or innocent…it doesn't matter. My memories won't allow me a moment's peace. I close my eyes, arching my back and groaning as I enter her. She moans underneath me, meeting my thrusts eagerly, her nails scratching my back, but right now I can't even remember the colour of her dress, lying crumpled on the floor. I can almost feel you; your hands clamped around my wrists, your thighs against my thighs and your hard length against the cleft of my ass. You're whispering dirty things in my ear, telling me to fuck her hard, telling me it doesn't matter because it won't make me a man anyway, telling me that my conquests mean nothing because I will always be your bitch.
She reaches orgasm, clutching me and pulling me over the edge with her, becoming almost unbearably tight around me. I hide my tears in the pillow, gasping and shuddering.
She sleeps like an angel, her warm, soft body wrapped in the sheets, while I stand naked by the window, watching the sun rise. It hurts, beneath my ribcage, deep inside. Last night was incredible, no man should ask for more, but I've had better. The knowledge is what hurts so badly, the knowledge that despite the pain and humiliation inevitable in his company, I long for him. His chains still bind me, I'm still his toy.
"Why do you do this to me, Bryan? Why?"