Four Kinds of Service Ch. 01

This is the first chapter of four. It contains very little sex, (poor Nick!) but sets up the rest of the story. Do with that what you will.

---------------------------------------

The first kind of service is cock ring service. That's what she tells me.

"I'd like breakfast in bed today," Kate says. "Would you be a dear and go downstairs to the cafe and bring me coffee and something sweet?"

We're in a hotel in Chicago. It's Saturday. Sun is streaming in the window. I climb out of bed, and start to get dressed. She stops me. "Come here first," she says. She sits up, reaches into a little cloth bag that's sitting next to the bed, and takes out a small rubber cock ring. I'm naked and it's chilly now that I'm not under the covers. She takes my balls and starts to roll them in her hand, then slips the ring over my rising cock and then, as she works the ring down to the base, over my balls. By the time she's done, I'm fully hard.

She lies back down, pulling the covers up, lying on her side to regard me, stroking my hard cock with one fingernail. "Cock ring service," she says, her voice thick, "can only last about 30 minutes. After that, I have to take the ring off you. So it's for when I'm in a hurry. And I'm in a hurry now, so you'd better get dressed and go get me some coffee."

The ring is tight and snug up against my balls. I am rock hard, standing there. Dazed, really, by what just happened. Even as she's urged me away, she has not stopped running her fingernail over my cock, freezing me in place.

She told me last night that I should expect a weekend of service, but this is not what I was expecting. Honestly, I didn't know what to expect. Still, this was very hot, so I decided to play along. And anyway, I'd sort of agreed to all of this. So I broke from her caress, got dressed quickly, tucking my boner away and hoping it would recede before I made a fool of myself in public. I kissed her lightly, then headed out towards the elevator

What had I agreed to last night? We had been in the bar downstairs. Kate had arrived in town at the start of the week, working. I'd been on the road too, arriving that evening on a late flight, taken a cab in from the airport, and met her as planned in the lobby bar. She was drinking whisky neat, talking to the bartender, a tall young woman with short dark hair and a tuxedo shirt open at the neck. It seemed to me that the men in the room were all watching them, and I was briefly jealous. Kate could still command the attention of any room. Then Kate turned and saw me and her face lit up in a smile. She turned to say something to the bartender as I approached, and I saw them both laugh, but the moment was over by the time I'd reached her. It had been a week—Tokyo, then LA—and I was hungry for her. Kate stood, and I took her in my arms. She nipped my ear as we hugged, and she asked me, "Were you good, Nick? Like I asked you to be?"

Kate had asked me to not touch myself—not come—until we were together this weekend. I whispered in her ear, "Yes, I was good," and kissed her neck. "I was good, and it was hard," I whispered again, feeling very clever. She sighed, then gently pulled away and sat.

"Have a seat, and have a drink with me Nick," she said to me, then turned to the bartender and said, "He'll have what I'm having." The bartender smiled at her, then me, then made herself busy getting my drink.

"Your flight OK?" she asked me, and we caught up easily, smiling, touching. We've been together a long, long time, and the conversation was easy. The bartender returned with my drink, then left us to go dry some glasses or something at the end of the bar. I watched her go, her white shirt tight at her waist where it met the fabric of the black tuxedo pants that hugged her hips and outlined her long legs. I caught myself looking as Kate started to speak and I quickly met her eyes. "Nick, I've made some plans for us this weekend. I don't want to tell you too much about them tonight, because I know you like surprises."

This was true. I like surprises. Especially from Kate. She continued, "So I'm going to take you upstairs when we've finished these drinks, and we'll start in on what I've planned for us. I'll warn you that I'm going to ask you for favors." She paused and held my chin in her hands. "Lots of favors. Are you up for a challenge?" She dropped her hands to my knees and squeezed. She looked into my eyes expectantly.

I could see the bartender looking at us from the other end of the bar. Could she hear any of this? Was she smiling? Smirking? Was it my imagination?

I thought about Kate's question. She'd already put one challenge to me at the start of the week—and yes, I'd been good. A few nights waiting for her? Easy, I'd thought, though in reality, it had been harder than I'd expected. My cock stirred now thinking about getting her upstairs, but what was she up to? Still, I would do anything for her, and anything to get her upstairs and relieve the pressure she'd engineered in my pants. She was beautiful, sitting in the soft light of the bar.

I started to answer, but before I could, she put her hand on my arm and said, "Actually Nick, I chose the wrong word. Not favors. No... more like service. I'm going to ask you for service. For a weekend of service. Are you up for that?"

I felt a flush of heat. I felt it in my balls, my chest, my neck, my face. I was sure everyone was looking at us. I looked around. No, it wasn't everyone—just the bartender, who was watching us openly now. "Service?" I asked.

"Yes Nick."

"OK, then," I had said then. "Service. Yes, Kate, I'm ready for that."

***

The elevator doors open, and I step into the lobby and consider my choices for getting Kate's breakfast. There's a Starbucks across the street, but I reject that option immediately. She hates Starbucks and I want to please her. I could go lowbrow: there's a Dunkin down the block, and I could get coffee and donuts and make a joke about cockrings and donuts. Or, 10 minutes away there's a bakery that makes excellent croissants and fantastic coffee—I know she'll love those, but it's a long walk and they're slow there and it might be crowded and I've only got a few minutes, and I'm standing here wasting time. I feel my cock stir at the predicament—and the cock ring seems to tighten. I think about our conversation last night, and decide that this is no time for jokes. I decide she's going to want good coffee and better food and that I'd just better get to work. I head for the bakery.

***

I make it back to the room with no time to spare. While I had been gone, she'd gotten up and found a hotel robe, and was sitting on the bed, propped up by an extravagant collection of pillows. She looked regal in the morning sun. "Bring me that breakfast, Nick," she says. "I thought you might never come back. Oh, and take off your clothes and join me in bed."

I bring her the coffee. Our suite has a little bar station in the living area, where I find a couple of saucers. I use them as plates for our croissants. I bring them to her, then take my pants off and get in bed next to her. My erection is throbbing now, the ring feels tight.

"Oh Nick," she says, with exaggerated sympathy. "We really have to get that cock ring off you, you know. We absolutely can't risk damaging that precious cock of yours, can we?" She's smiling at me.

"I am grateful for your concern," I say, trying to match her playful tone. "Would you like me to take it off myself or do you want to do it?"

"I'm busy with my breakfast Nicky," she said, "You do it."

I'm disappointed because I was hoping to feel her hands on me. Did I mention that I still hadn't come yet? Last night when we'd made it upstairs to the room, she'd sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room with a great—perhaps even a theatrical—sigh. "I'm soo tired, Nicky," she'd said. "I started at 6am this morning with a breakfast meeting, and I've been on my feet all day. Maybe you wouldn't mind rubbing my feet while I tell you about my plans?"

She'd kicked off her heels, crossed her legs, and held a foot out to me like a question mark dangling in the air. I pulled the ottoman up to her chair, took her foot in my hand and started to rub while she talked.

"Nick," she said, suddenly very serious. "I'm too tired to make love to you tonight. I know you must be disappointed. I know I am—I was looking forward to this evening. But, to be totally honest with you, I've had one too many glasses of whisky—Marianna at the bar is such a dear. I've gotten to know her quite well this week—I'll tell you more about that tomorrow dear—and now I'm afraid I'll just be no good to either of us. So let me tell you what I have in mind, and then we'll turn in and start again tomorrow."

I didn't say anything, just switched to her other foot.

"Now Nicky," she said, "You know that I'm good to you. Loving. Attentive. And you—well you're good to me too, but you are not always as attentive as I'd like you to be." She paused, then said simply, "You don't pay attention to me the way that you used to."

This was the whisky talking, but it wasn't lying. I nodded. "I...," but she cut me off.

"Shhh..." she said. "Tomorrow, as I said, I'm going to ask you for attention. You're going to pay attention to me, and you're going to show me that you're paying attention by spending the weekend in service."

I continued to rub her foot, looking down, putting all my concentration into the arch of her sole. When we'd met, it was probably 25 years ago, I was early in my career, working as a photographer's assistant at a shoot for a big fashion brand. I'd thought she was one of the models, but she was working for the creative director of the brand. And even then she had a way of commanding attention. People looked at her when she was in the room. People paid attention when she spoke. I paid attention when she spoke. But now...there are times when, I suppose there are periods... I suppose that I'm prone to, well, maybe living in my own head from time to time? Maybe more than time to time.

"Nicky?" she asked, and I lifted my eyes from her feet to her face. "I want to get in bed now."

She stood and started taking off her clothes. She'd dressed for the occasion. She was wearing her green dress, the one I like, the one that shows off her long sexy neck but is somehow still impeccably professional. She turned and I unzipped her. The dress fell to the floor. She was left in just a bra and the barest of panties skimming her skin. These hit the floor too, and she shivered in the cool of the room, and then with unsteady strides, crossed the room and climbed under the crisp white covers.

"Come to bed, Nicky," she said. "Take off your clothes and keep me warm tonight."