I Say Ass, You Say Arse: Brighton

She stiffened. Including around the thick butt plug up her bum, which reminded her of what she must look like.

Bradley aimed to reassure her. "No hair, no face -- just this amazing ass, down to your stocking-tops..."

Emily supposed a wrinkled grey skirt could be anyone, right?

"OK. Take a few, then give me your phone so I can crop out anything I don't want in there."

He framed the shot, angling to try to get her pussy lips in view. Click. And a few more, for luck.

Emily swiped through them, deleting two blurred ones, content that none of her distinguishing features nor possessions showed in the pictures. Then she chuckled, given the butt plug's tell-tale shape was possibly the most distinctive possession she owned.

The sensation of the plug inside her, as she giggled, was perfect. Her arse was made to be filled up, that was all there was to it. Stuffed bum, happy Emily. Simple, really.

"Here you go. Email me one, when you have a minute. Now, if you're not going to attend to my other needs now, let's go get a drink!"

She stood, again savouring the feelings in her arse, and tugged down her skirt to its decent-but-suggestive point above the knee. Closer to knee than crotch, anyway.

Bradley drank in the look of her neat rounded breasts. He knew Emily wouldn't share pictures of them. He didn't quite get the logic, given she'd told him of her afternoons sunbathing topless in the south of France, but if he got to see and play with these lovely tits regularly, it would be churlish to argue.

She opened a drawer to grab a black T-shirt. It stretched snugly over her chest. Emily tucked it in efficiently and added the jacket which matched the skirt, also short and tailored, curving in at her waist and flaring out to draw attention to her sweet round arse.

Bradley did wonder if she'd gone shopping and asked for an outfit to show off her ass as much as possible.

Emily checked to ensure his zipper was back up and his face washed of her juices, and patted his bulge to bring it back up to full size. "OK, let's go down the stairs and get that drink!" She handed him another tenner. "You can go to the bar for us, can't you, sweetheart?"

Back to feeling like a kept man -- her making sure he was leaving the room with an erection made him feel more like a sex seller than the money did. He focused on her ass as she skipped down the five thickly-carpeted flights of stairs, visibly writhing around her plug, every now and then a lace stocking-top peeking out from under her skirt, as she descended the final stretch of the famous sweeping staircase to the ground floor. Bradley was loving that view, but nervous as to whether his erection might look too obscene for the bar. Which did shrink it down, but also meant he didn't notice something very important, until he returned from the bar with their drinks.

Emily was seated on one of the low leather couches, next to a hairy guy he didn't know, with a couple women he vaguely recognised on the far side. Emily's knees and ankles were demurely together. Just as well, or Sharon Stone's famous Basic Instinct scene would have had nothing on this. Emily's black top, cut to a low point, made a curved narrow V-shape, so little flesh was exposed. All perfectly respectable.

Just, if you knew the shape of Emily's cleavage normally, it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra.

You couldn't quite see it, with the jacket in the way.

Bradley suddenly wanted nothing more than to reach round and grope her tits, until it was obvious to everyone that only this one thin layer covered her nipples.

He sighed, passed her the drink, and returned her beaming smile.

"You're so generous! Thank you, Bradley," she lied, making him sound good. "I should be getting them in!"

"It's no trouble," he assured her, suddenly at ease. "Now, can you introduce me...?"

As usual, one guy round the table was someone Bradley wanted to meet and discuss work with. Unfortunately, that guy was the one sitting next to Emily, who seemed to have realised that her suit was more slut than smart, at least the way she was wearing it. Bradley went over to stand between them -- the man looked like he might grope her -- and reached his arm out to help Emily up out of the settee without any indecency occurring.

Knees still firmly together, she rose to standing. "Ah, that's better," she said. "I was getting backache. Yes, thanks, let's swap. You chat to Bernard here, I'll say hello to these guys." She indicated the women at the end of the table.

Bradley checked Emily was safely seated, then plumped himself next to Bernard who was failing to hide his disappointment, even if the man was trying hard to focus on an excellent conversation about biochemistry.

Bradley tried to be extra enthusiastic to make up for it. "Seriously? You add an extra copy of that gene and..."

He'd agreed to let Emily take him to bed at midnight, but they got distracted -- the discussion and drink continued until well past one. That was when two men at the next table nearly came to blows, thumping on the marble and shouting, one declaring that certain forces held particular cells together, the other contradicting. A few people who knew more detail rushed over to try to work out methods they could use to deduce who was right. Eventually a protocol was agreed and the pair of them shook hands, peace restored -- until more spirits were downed and they felt the need to sing...

Emily negotiated to do some joint experiments with a group in Amsterdam; Bradley wangled some antibodies to be shipped direct to his new lab in Montreal. They both drank more shots which someone had bought, to help drown out the Russian folk songs behind them.

At 2 am, the bar called for last orders. Given that almost every customer would have booze in their room that they could bring down, this caused little consternation. But it reminded Emily of their plan for the night.

"Are you coming to the party on the first floor?" Bernard asked Emily, hopeful again.

"I'm afraid not. We promised to pop in on one on the fifth floor. But if that doesn't work, I'll come look for you." She beamed. The man was mollified. "Come on Bradley, we said we would!"

Once in the elevator alone, Bradley slurred, "Where's this party?"

"In room 516." Theirs.

"Ohhhh..."

"You've got a bargain to uphold, in exchange for a bed for the night."

"Hey -- I may be a cheap hooker, darlin', ten quid to suck ya, twenty to fuck ya, but if you want pleasure all night, it'll cost ya."

Bradley was impressed he'd remembered the whole sentence he'd memorised, having searched the internet for prostitute role-plays and how to do them.

Emily merely smirked, and put her hands round him, sliding them down to his ass.

"I'm good for it, sweetie. Now, about the services already paid for?"

The elevator doors opened as she said it, but neither of them cared if anyone in the corridor thought they were discussing sex work.

"I keep my promises, don't you worry, ma'am. Question is, can you take it?"

Bradley pressed Emily up against the wall in the hallway. "I got this big cock what needs satisfying, lady. You've paid for it, sure, but can you handle it?"

He growled in her ear, unsure why his drunken brain thought cod-Texan was a good accent for a rent-boy, but figured it should clue her in that he was still play-acting. Just enjoying it.

"You just try me. I can take a boy like you five times a day and six on Sundays!"

He did wonder if she were aiming at a Southern Belle voice. Possibly via Liverpool...

He responded with equal passion, "I'm not a boy, I'm a man, with a man's cock what's going to be inside you quick, no matter what!"

There was a cough behind him.

Suddenly mortified and sobered, Bradley stood up from where he'd shoved Emily against the wall. Possibly just as well -- he'd been seriously contemplating taking her right there and then.

He was immensely relieved to see it was only Emily's friend, Rachel.

Emily giggled, then grabbed back onto Bradley for balance. Her skirt rucked up more, showing the lacy tops of her stockings, and her jacket was shoved sideways, skewing her top so that it exposed a great deal of one breast.

"It's OK, Rach. Rach? I'm not being assaulted! I've just bought Bradley's services..."

Rachel's dark eyebrows raised, seeming impressed.

"He's still a broke student until his first pay-cheque comes in. Couldn't afford to come over or get a room. So we've come to an arrangement. I pay, he keeps me well fucked..."

Bradley was amazed Emily was still that articulate, after that many drinks. The amazement overrode his embarrassment.

Rachel replied, approvingly, "Nice. I've heard how he's made you well-fucked before... Well, Bradley, much as I'd love to join you both, it's my Emma's last night here before she has to go home, so duty calls. You look gorgeous, Emily -- anyone would think you'd been fucked already today!"

"Oh she has, she has," Brad assured Rachel, all ideas of tact out the window. He figured if Emily had told Rach about their previous rendezvous, delicacy was unneeded.

"Good! Emily, Emily dear, it's a crying shame you're straight, you know."

"If anyone could convince me, you could, darling." The two women gave each other a hug and a double cheek kiss, then Rachel hugged Bradley. "Enjoy her for me, eh? Tell me all about it later, right?" she ordered him.

Bradley grinned.

They'd just reached their door when Emily called out, "Oi! Rachel!"

Rachel turned round, black leather jacket swinging at her sides. "What?"

Emily flipped up her skirt to moon Rachel with her bare arse, before Bradley could finish unlocking their room and usher her inside.

As Bradley double-checked the door was both locked and bolted this time against anyone who might wander in, he heard an inebriated Rachel screaming back down the corridor, "You lucky, lucky, jammy bastard!"

Bradley resisted the temptation to open the door as he yelled back, "Hell, yeah!"

"And I pay you," Emily murmured into his ear.

"And she pays me for it!" Bradley screamed wildly into the air, loud as he could, idly wondering if they would hear him in France.

He couldn't hear Rachel's reply, as the woman stomped off back to her girlfriend. But he could see Emily, smeared lipstick, skirt up round her waist, bare ass, and reaching round to her pussy which was all wet again...

"Shit, man! Emily, you are the sexiest woman around! No wonder Rachel wants you."

"She's used to it. Me turning her down, I mean. She swears if I just tried it, I'd enjoy it, but just... Nah."

"You mean I couldn't pay to have the both of you, some time?" It would be a good new daydream of his.

"Us together? I'm just not interested in women. It'd be like, I don't know, a towel. Now if you wanted her, I'm sure you'd just have to ask..."

"What about her Emma?" Being on the wrong side of the blonde Amazon seemed like a bad idea, not to mention he'd liked the woman, now he'd met her.

"What about her? Oh, you might have to have her, too. I'm not quite sure how their thing works. But yes, Rachel likes men -- if they aren't misogynist wankers. When she meets one of those, she starts making Richie look tactful! You'd probably qualify for her. Actually, what am I saying -- she did tell me last year, she wants it up the arse more than she gets..."

"Oh man! Don't tell me any more tonight, or I won't be able to think of you properly! I need to concentrate on what you need..." He tried to sound breathy and sexy. "I'm gonna serve you, like a good sex worker..."

He reached forward to play with her cunt, like she was doing.

"That's nice, but you know what I want," she told him.

"You still want your ass filled, even after that thick bumpy cock in it all night?"

"Exactly. I want something smooth and warm and squeezable. Up my bum!"

She looked coy as they kissed. She ripped his flies open, exposing his cock, which he was getting used to. He'd taken the edge off his own tension during a trip to the gents.

"Okay. Better take that plug out. Um, yeah." It occurred to him that some smooth, warm, squeezable contents weren't anything he wanted to encounter. "Shall I leave you to it?"

He motioned towards the bathroom.

"One moment." She strode to the en-suite.

He heard a gasp of relief, then less erotic noises. Eventually, he heard her wash her hands.

"I'm not sure I'm quite ready..." she apologised.

He'd read about this. "Then you need a massage. Full-frontal. Yes, take everything off your top half -- that beardy Bernard liked your tits, didn't he! Leave the stockings... Lie back on the bed. There."

"Shut my eyes?"

"Up to you."

He did a token stroke of her hair, her cheeks, then down to her smooth shoulders -- more muscle than he'd expected, maybe from the running she said she did more of, now? Then round her breasts, and over her breasts, kneading and squeezing her breasts, pulling the nipples upwards.

Emily squirmed happily, alternating having her eyes closed with staring at her hooker.

Fully dressed still, Bradley felt he could be professional. He pulled his zipper back up, blew her a kiss, then began to warm up her stomach. Next, he knuckled into areas going up, along and down her colon. Some vigorous petrissage, firm effleurage, round and round. He could feel her guts churning round.

Emily kept her eyes shut and breathed heavily, clearly embarrassed. Which was rather hot in itself.

"Okay, hon, there's this massage stroke some people love, some hate it, some just find they suddenly need the bathroom -- I'll give it a go..."

He rocked his hand across her belly, like a serpent. Once, twice, a third. Then moving his palm round in firm, clockwise circles. Emily could feel her intestines moving beneath him.

She kept her eyes tight shut. He repeated the actions.

"Okay... That may take a little while to do anything. Well, now, if I can't deliver my service," -- he stroked his cock through his pants, suddenly growing in confidence -- "I'm gonna need some persuading to stay here..."

It was obvious what he was asking for. Emily slowly hauled herself up, to sit up, expecting him to lie on the bed for her.

"No, no, ma'am. Kneel in front of me. Hell -- one moment. Put your jacket and skirt on again, first. Oh yeah, look at you. All that smart suit and stockings, but underneath it, you're just a desperate slut, aren't you?"

Emily nodded, obediently.

"Yeah. So much, you wanted a plugged ass all night, so now I've got to wait before I get to fuck you? That'll cost extra, a lot extra. You'd better start paying that off, hadn't you?"

She nodded again, leaned forward inelegantly -- she really was pretty drunk, though it had just removed her inhibitions, not her cognitive abilities. She grabbed his ass, then onto his ass inside his pants, and finally reached his happy ass inside his underwear.

Once triangulated, as it were, she lowered her head to his desperate cock. Her mouth was hot and heavenly.

Too short a time later, Bradley was starting to ponder the most important question in the universe. Namely, should he stay still and let Emily's red mouth and wonderful tongue bring him off?

Or should he push her away, to ensure he would stay hard enough to fuck her, in whatever orifice was available? He'd drunk more than intended, thanks to a lab head from Dublin insisting that a half didn't count and Bradley had to be bought a proper drink -- and that was after the shots.

"One minute, pet." Emily got up hurriedly and ran to the bathroom.

Bradley groaned in frustration, even if he was slightly grateful to have the decision made for him.

She had the door shut, and the extractor fan came on, but there was no mistaking the noises declaring that Emily's bowels were emptying thoroughly. Now, a quick rinse, and she'd be ready.

"Mr Owens?" she called.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Could you -- I mean, I paid for your service -- could you check everything is sufficiently hygienic there? Please? I... I do wish to be squeaky clean with you."

She opened the bathroom door, now wearing only her stockings, garter belt and a neat isosceles triangle of brown pubic hair.

She was blushing. Bradley liked that. Sluts should be embarrassed. More to the point, he liked ever-professional, efficient Emily being more insecure than he was.

"I should hope so," he told her, much more stern than he felt. "Are you sufficiently empty?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"You have a douche?"

"Yeah, the bathroom's got... Huh? Oh! Is that American for a cleansing bulb? I mean, douche is just French for shower..."

She showed him the bulb she owned, which seemed to be what he'd expected, then realised what she was implying permission for.

Bradley took a deep breath. He wondered if this counted as more kinky than he was willing to get into.

He concluded, by the time he'd exhaled that breath, that Emily's ass was definitely something he would happily get into no matter what. Bradley reassured himself it was nothing soap and water couldn't sort out, if needed.

"Okay... warm water, yeah?"

She nodded. "That's all. It's probably not really necessary.... but just in case..."

She blushed more, both cheeks burning scarlet. That redness was rare, now that he and she both knew the other liked anal, particularly involving her ass.

"I'd cope. But is it more, you just want me to be washing out your ass? Pushing this tube inside you, filling your asshole with water?" As he spoke, his enthusiasm for the idea grew.

Her face got even more crimson. She nodded, looking at the floor.

"Doing it again if you're not completely clean? Well, lady, this isn't part of what we negotiated, is it? I'll need extra recompense, later."

"Oh, yes!"

He replied in his normal voice, not shaming her further. "It's a deal. Now, you tell me exactly what you need me to do, here. For your ass to be perfectly clean and ready for me to fuck."

Back in what he was liking to think of his classy escort mode, he shook his head, slow and mock-sad. "I expect my customers to be ready and waiting and not waste my time. You don't get to receive this level of talent by taking it for granted, you know. You want to be on my list of favorite customers, don't you?"

As he said the words, not meaning them seriously, he was struck with the fantasy of a dozen women, all desperate to pay him to get regularly butt-fucked. Man...

"Oh, you're getting a client list! Fantastic!" And he knew Emily really would be happy if that were true. "I know Rachel would love to be on it. But I won't ask, client confidentiality and all."

Emily gave him a beaming smile and dropped to the floor, lying across half a dozen fluffy towels and bathmats. She curved, pointing that beautiful butt towards him.

Bradley, still fully dressed, felt the power differential as he looked down upon her smooth naked body. She was not just nude, but wanting him. He'd never thought of himself as a dominant type, but he was happily in charge of Emily right now. Dr Emily Bannatyne, his secret sex slut...

"So sexy," he told her. "Cutest ass ever."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she replied, looking coyly up at him and attempting to flutter some eyelashes.

"Only the ones who get naked for me and beg me to play with their buttholes," he retorted. Which did now number more than just Emily, but still counted on fingers of one hand.

"Mm. OK. You've got a litre of water there, right? Is it warm?"

"It's about a quart." He hastily tried to assess the volume in comparison to a lab measuring cylinder, as she rolled her eyes at the non-metric measure. "I guess. It's nice and warm. Not too hot, don't worry."

He'd seen videos of women taking enemas and all. Quite a few, in fact. Something about the facial expressions, as well as the obvious lovely asses. He knelt down to fondle Emily's butt -- definitely firmer than six months ago, from all her running along French coastlines -- and aimed the long soft nozzle where it was needed.