Hotel Girl

(My husband and I recently watched an Asia Argento film and then we talked about what the medical people called her 'affect', or perhaps what you would call her charm. Some women hate discussing other women with their special man, but we've learned to love it, or shall I say, he's learned to be careful :^) Together, we plotted this vignette for your pleasure and after we blocked it out, I wrote it down. (Okay, we practiced.) A caution - be careful mixing passion and necks. You can be firm without hurting. Love each other.)

She is a hotel girl, elegant and classy, comfortable in rich surroundings, yet somehow friendly with people of all walks of life. If I tell you what she looks like, you'll translate, won't you? I mean, if I constantly fall in love with shoulder length dark hair, you'll make it brown in your mind, if that's what you like, please, even if I mean black. I want you to feel the same as I do, not get tangled up in details.

Shoulder length dark hair, the back cut in some saucy way that looks sexy and flirty and promises of intelligent passion and imaginative challenge and response.

Asking a lot of a haircut, am I? Just respond the way you would, if you fell in love with her, someone utterly new, someone who captivated you and now fills your dreams.

If I say she is slender, perhaps I mean young and you can see her as curvy and soft as you like, or perhaps skinny and bony and tight with defined muscles and the veins almost showing, so hard for most females with that tiny bit of extra fat and so meaningful that this is someone who pays attention to their Pilates, their kickboxing, their yoga. The firm muscles down her spine that pulse when she comes, the evil smile you just get a hint of then, and later when she's enjoying the sight of you when she thinks you're not watching...The promise of pleasure to be taken later, of joys yet undiscovered, of something you never want to know who taught her, the bastard, male or female that made her so exquisitely desirable.

If I slip in a word about her breasts, you'll see them, won't you, make them the size you like, large or small, the nipples filling your lips, the texture beneath the soft warm skin a map you wish to explore forever, and the flesh filling your mouth because you know she loves you to do that and always sighs with pleasure and you've learned to tease her, almost sucking it in but stopping, over and over and over and one time you went too far and she slapped you in frustration but the look on your face made her laugh and then you knelt before her in the submissive posture you'd discussed from that film you so both enjoyed and she jumped right in and dom' d you, making you please her, revealing so much of the things she enjoyed, so many of the places she'd wanted you to kiss but had never been able to tell you. You switch off, taking turns being the overlord and the love slave, your imaginations intertwining like the helix that all of you are made of, the limits you thought you had, that you thought she had, falling about you like the pile of silk at her feet when you gaze upon her astounding body for yet one more time, the temple you've found worthy of worship, of devotion, and that you've finally let yourself feel the fear of losing.

What, the border of love becoming obsession, of passion becoming possession, of the little death edging toward the big one, your life ending because there cannot possibly be any more pleasure, any more sensation, any more her filling your life. You sleep, then wake and listen to her breathing, a satisfaction greater than your favorite symphony. It's so, so dark and you imagine you can almost see her, the sweet curve from her shoulders, her waist you like to lick and lick, even though you have to tie her arms because she's so ticklish there, the lovely feminine swelling of her hips and you realize you're hard as a rock and you dare not wake her, she will be so mad if you do, so you stroke it yourself, trying to be quiet and not wiggling too much, you've learned it's best if you try not to think of her pussy shaved, oh shit, you can't, that's your trick to maximize your...hand going down, up, down up, trying not to think of the sight of your rod sliding in and out of her, try not, up, down....Suddenly her hand clamps on your neck and without a word she slides on top of you, her pussy screaming, steaming hot, soaking wet, surrounding you she's sitting on your hands you can't she holds your neck tight, the other hand fingers sliding into you mouth, "You bastard, that's mine, you can't possibly think it's okay to fuck yourself while I'm sleeping, suck my fingers to say your sorry," the hand tightens on your neck and you suck, her rhythm constant, teasing, taunting, her hips fucking you, making you give it up for her and somehow you can't come while she holds you this way and you can't move your arms and you feel your thighs and butt responding to her, she laughs, "You're such a butt, but you can't resist can you, you're mine, all mine, I'll have to fuck you this way more and she screams and comes and comes and you try to stop sucking her fingers so she pulls them out and slaps you again, "No, bitch, suck them and when I let your neck go, you're going to come inside me and it will feel like your balls are turning inside out and then you're going to spend hours licking and sucking me clean."

You moan a mixed frustration and pleasure and only hear her laugh. It ends just like she says.

She's clean now and you savor the taste of her and you and the feeling of giving yourself, no, of being taken by her, you're happy but you realize how much you love her now, more than when she was just giving it to you, letting you have your way. It was your rules, then her rules, now you just hope...

....hope she'll never, ever leave you.

Later.

"I love you." She looks up, surprised, but happy that you said it.

"I love you, too."

"I'm sorry, I was, ..."

She laughs at this, "You've been punished. No apology is necessary." She leans over and kisses you that kiss that you share, that you've practiced. It's a repeat of your first kiss, honed to be the one you use when you have to share the satisfaction you feel with each other that includes a hope that you'll both always be what you are at that moment.

You call it the 'together' kiss.

"I won't do it, again. I promise, just..."

She looks at you, seriously, suddenly shy but her eyes smiling at you, "But? What?"

"I like what you did to me. I like..."

"You don't have to say it. We won't talk about it. When you deserve it, I'll do it again."

"But, what if I want you to do it?"

"Tell you what, today is the 18th. Each month, on the 17th, if I come home from work and you've done three things, I'll have you after midnight, not the same way, but in a way I'm sure you'll find familiar."

"What do...?"

"Clean the house, spic and span, and have all the clothes ironed and put away and the dishes washed, dried and put away. Spotless, or the whole thing is off."

"Okay."

"No, that's just one thing." She laughs.

"What else?" She laughs again, mocking me for my enthusiasm.

"Buy me a gift. It must be special in a special way - you have to learn without me knowing of something I want but would not buy or could not buy. The gift doesn't have to be expensive, just thoughtful, indicative of your willingness to exert effort and imagination to please me."

"That's more of a challenge, but okay. What is the third thing?"

She thought for a minute, laughed, and looked me straight in my eye. I thought, oh, shit, this will be ...special.

"Have your nails done on the way home from work - fingers and toes. Stop at Esme's - I'll have phoned in the color they'll use and I'll pay for it. She may have something for you to wear home, too. If you're going to be my bitch, I want you to look pretty."

I almost...thought about it.