Mr. Smith

**Authors note: This story contains rough non-consent, degradation, and mind break... if these things don't interest you, beware... if they do, enjoy...**

The lights were dim in the hotel bar, the mixed drinks weak, and the shots short poured; all pretty typical fare that she was used to after years of traveling from city to city. She used to travel almost every weekend but now that Diana had married and gotten a proper job, she only traveled on rare occasion and ended up in hotel bars even more rarely. They were good places to pick up a casual fling back in her younger days, but tonight, she'd just come for the drinks.

"Another" she beckoned, motioning to the bartender with her empty glass.

He nodded in her direction and she felt a heat behind her before she heard him speak.

"Can I get that for you?" a deep voice asked.

She struggled to place the accent but didn't turn around. She'd played this game many times and slipped into the role without really thinking. Coy worked really well in this moment.

She nodded her head slowly in agreement and bowed down to reach for her purse. That served two purposes, it exposed the back of her long neck to her admirer as her silky hair fell to the side and it allowed her to discreetly slip her wedding ring off and place it safely in her change purse.

When she straightened back up, she turned slightly toward him, just enough to catch a glimpse of his brown skin and strong shoulders but as of yet, denying him eye contact. She turned her attention back to the bartender as he approached with a freshly poured drink.

"Put it on my tab," he told him.

"No problem, Mr. Smith" the bartender responded and Diana smiled. She'd have to come up with an alternative fake last name for the evening as it appeared her usual one was taken.

She took a long slow sip of her drink as she slowly rotated the chair to face her newly made acquaintance. He was handsome, strong, with beautiful dark eyes and full sexy lips. She made a show out of swallowing the drink down and licked her lips, normally it would have been purely for effect but tonight it was just as much in appreciation for his smile.

"Mr. Smith," she said, allowing his name to roll off her tongue with a slight drawl that might have been enhanced by the drinks she'd had before his arrival.

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "And you are?" he asked.

"Diana, Diana Prince" she said, almost laughing aloud at her choice and cursing herself for watching the Wonder Woman marathon she stumbled on to the night before, alone in her hotel room.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said with a smile and she realized with relief that he was clearly too young to have gotten the reference.

"Please, sit down," she said, motioning to the empty chair beside her.

He sat and they chatted about mostly nothing for a while, his chair inching closer to hers with every new drink he ordered. Before long, Diana was feeling quite warm and Mr. Smith was feeling the silk of her stockings as he caressed her thighs. It had been a long time since she'd felt the hands of anyone other than her husbands' and his hands were strong and their dark tone contrasted beautifully with her creamy white skin. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away and she couldn't seem to find a voice to tell him no as his fingers traced higher and began to slip under the hemline of her skirt.

They were the last of the patrons in the bar, the responsible businessmen and women having retired to their rooms to get a good nights sleep without them even having noticed. She tried to recall what Mr. Smith was in town for or where he was in town from, quite certain she'd asked those questions but his answers were a blur. She'd been distracted by the accent that, even when she'd asked and been told where he was from,she still hadn't placed as being familiar. It sounded rhythmic, soothing, almost hypnotizing and the alcohol clearly wasn't helping.

A jingle sounded from her phone and she leaned down to retrieve it, effectively trapping Mr. Smith's hand between her thighs. He pushed two fingers against the gusset of her panties and a soft moan escaped her lips before she could suppress it. One glance at her phone drew her back to reality and seemingly sobered her in an instant.

"Just got home from work. Not sure if you're still awake so I just wanted to text and tell you that I love you and can't wait until you get home. Hopping in the shower. Call me in 15 if you're still up." her husband wrote.

Diana put both hands around Mr. Smith's wrist and guided his hand back to his own lap. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled. "Are you alright?"

"I'm married. I don't know what I was thinking. You were so kind, very easy to talk to, and very, well, easy on the eyes... but I'm sorry. I love my husband and I can't do this. I can pay you for the drinks," she said, reaching for her purse.

She nearly fell forward as she leaned down and reached out to steady herself and found herself with a hand full of rock hard cock. She should have pulled away, made her actions match her words, but she couldn't. She stroked it gently through his slacks and felt it pulse in her hand.

"Payment won't be necessary," he said. "I thoroughly enjoyed your company, as you can certainly feel."

She jerked her hand away. "You must think I'm some sort of whore. I'm really not. I don't know what came over me. I'm really very sorry."

She reached in and retrieved the ring from her change purse and slipped it back on her finger, avoiding eye contact as he gathered the bartender and closed out his tab without uttering a word to her.

"I have to call my husband, I really am sorry," she muttered, embarrassed at the way she'd been carrying on.

"Stop. You don't owe me an apology," he assured her before he walked toward the elevator.

****************************

Mr. Smith stepped on to the elevator, his cock still hard as granite with no desire to take care of himself with lackluster hotel porn or some escort he could find in a magazine. He'd been looking forward to drilling Diana since she'd walked into the bar. There was something about her, the way she walked, how her heels sounded on the marble floor, how she seemed to command the room. There had been easier marks in the room, women with tighter shirts, shorter skirts, heavier makeup, begging for attention... and he could easily be on round 2 or 3 with any of them right now but no, Diana Prince had stolen his attention. She'd stolen his attention, wasted several hours of his time, ruined his night, and left him in a predicament he didn't enjoy dealing with alone.

"Bitch," he breathed as he sat on the edge of the bed closing his eyes and seeing the curve of her neck as she'd leaned forward to hide her ring in her purse, not knowing he'd seen it as soon as she walked in the room. He preferred married women for these dalliances, less likely to want refuse what he wanted or cause any drama in his life.

"Whore," he spat out vehemently, remembering how silky her stockings had felt against his hands. How creamy and white her skin looked with his hands rubbing higher and higher. He could imagine how good it would look, watching his hard throbbing cock disappear between her thighs.

"Fucking cunt," he almost yelled as he replayed the sound of the moan she'd tried to suppress as he pressed his fingers to her mound. The bitch had been soaked. She was probably still sitting in the hotel bar talking to her pathetic husband telling him how much she loved him. He was tempted to go down there, to grab her by her hair and drag her back to his room. He imagined pushing her down to her knees and shoving his cock down her throat and the thought almost made him explode right in his pants.

He reached down to pull his cock out of his pants when a loud noise drew his attention to the hallway. He begrudgingly ignored his cock, stood up, and went to investigate. He opened the door and there she was, going down the hall like a ping pong ball, bouncing from one wall to the other and back. She looked up and made eye contact.

"I know you. Yeah, Mr. Smith. Can you help me? My key... my key isn't working," she slurred as she held the envelope out for him to inspect. "I have to get to my room. I told my husband I was a little tipsy and he told me to go directly to bed. He made me promise I'd call him when I was safe in my room."

He'd pitied her for a moment in her confused drunken state but the mention of her husband brought his anger back to the forefront. He looked at the envelope in her hand and realized she was on the right wing but the wrong floor. There was a part of him that wanted to load her on to the elevator and to her room but his cock wasn't on board.

He swiftly switched her key with one of his and handed her the envelope back. "Your room is right over here. Let's get you inside and call your husband so he knows you're okay."

"You really are so kind," she said as she fumbled with the key and struggled to get the door open. She fell inside and made a beeline for the bed in the darkened room, dropping her phone and purse as she went.

"Diana, you've got to call your husband. I've got your phone here. You don't want him to worry," Mr. Smith reminded, seemingly out of concern but more so out of a desire to make sure her husband wouldn't interrupt the plans forming in his head.

Illuminated only by the moonlight coming in through the window, Diana rolled over onto her back, her skirt riding up exposing those creamy stocking covered thighs and her shirt twisting exposing ample cleavage that had been hidden deceptively behind a modest neckline at the bar. His cock hardened once again. He handed her the phone.

"Might be smart not to mention me," he chided. "I'll leave you be as soon as I know he knows you're safe."

She nodded and made the call. "Aaron, baby. I'm back in my room." She rolled back to her stomach, her skirt riding up further as she continued to talk. "I know I shouldn't have drank so much. I was just missing you, daddy."

There was silence on her end as she listened to him talk and it was clear from the raised voice on the other end that he was admonishing her but what intrigued Mr. Smith was that she seemed to like it. Her thighs were rubbing together and her hands began massaging her breasts through her shirt. He stepped back into the shadows and watched as she rolled over and began to speak again.

"Yes, daddy. I'll be a good girl. I promise no more drinking and I'll take my spankings like the naughty bitch I am when I get home.... my flight leaves at 8am... yes, daddy... good night daddy."

His cock was hard as steel now as he watched her roll over and hug the pillow to her chest. He quietly walked to the window and pulled the drapes closed, blackening the room before making his way to the bed. He climbed in beside her sleeping form and pressed himself against her. In her semi-conscious drunken state she pushed herself back to him, and wiggled her bottom against him. He reached around and found her ample breasts, "Oh daddy" she moaned.

He squeezed gently at first and then harder before massaging her globes out over her bra and out of her shirt. He took a chance and tweaked the nipples hard and he was rewarded with a loud moan and her ass pressed firmly to his cock. He slid his hands down her body and bunched her skirt up over her hips and she opened her thighs to him. He longed to see the contrast of his skin to hers but it was too soon for that. He started massaging her thighs getting closer and closer to her center and she started to whimper. The smell of her sex filled his nostrils and he knew he needed to taste her.

He slid down the bed and in one violent motion he ripped the stockings from her soaking wet pussy and nothing but a thin piece of cotton stood between him and his feast. She was shaking with anticipation but he wanted her to beg for it so he began to lay soft kisses across her thighs and across the material. She was pushing her mound up off the bed trying for contact but he was holding her legs firmly in place.

After several minutes of delicious torture, she called out "Please, daddy, please make me cum. I can't take anymore".

Mr. Smith pulled her panties to the side and dove in. She tasted as sweet as he had imagined and the way she was moaning and writhing on the bed, he knew it wouldn't take long to coax an orgasm from her. She nearly drowned him in her juices when she came all over his face screaming "Oh God, daddy, fuck daddy, oh God I'm cumming!"

He loved hearing her call him daddy but he wanted to hear her say his name and as her breathing evened out and she drifted away, he knew just how to make that happen.

Mr. Smith pulled out the restraints he always carried with him on trips for the occasions when he came across more adventurous prey. He very gently stripped off the sleeping woman's clothes and secured both wrists and ankles to the bed frame and slipped a blindfold over Diana's eyes. He drew back the curtain and let the moonlight wash over her smooth white skin. She was stunning in this light. She looked like an angel which just made him harder when he recalled the words "the dirty whore that I am" having come from her soft peach lips. He would hear those words again but this time, she'd say them to him as she begged him to fuck her.

He let her drift in and out of sleep for a short time but watching her was like some sort of an addiction and he soon found himself back between her thighs.

*******************************

Diana was having the most delicious dream, Aaron was there, between her thighs, his tongue driving her toward yet another orgasm. It felt so real and she didn't want to wake up but she opened her eyes but saw only blackness. Not darkness, black and she felt, sensed, that something was covering her eyes. She reached for the blindfold but could only move her arms a few inches and her legs were restrained too. She was tied up, tied up and blindfolded, she tried to think, tried to remember how she got here. Was this just another vivid dream? It had to be. She remembered calling Aaron from the hotel bar and getting on the elevator but then everything went blank. She couldn't remember getting off the elevator, getting to her room, calling Aaron... she was trying to will those memories back when the orgasm hit her and she felt her juices flow from her body.

"Oh God, yes, daddy, I'm cumming!" she screamed out. It was weird to hear her voice aloud in her dreams. It didn't seem to be in her head. His tongue was snaking up her mound, around her belly button, across her breast, and finally found her hard nipple. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, batting it with his tongue, biting down softly at first and then hard as she moaned in both pleasure and pain. She remembered him telling her she would have to be punished. She'd flirted with a stranger, led him on, touched his hard cock... daddy was angry. He bit down on the other nipple and she cried out.

"Daddy! It hurts. I'm sorry. I want to be your good girl. Please don't hurt me."

He continued to bite and suck on her nipples and started to roughly fuck her pussy with first two, then three fingers.

"Daddy. I'm sorry. Please. I won't be a whore. I love you daddy. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me," she begged but her body betrayed her. Even in her dreams, she couldn't begrudge him anything he wanted. She needed release. Needed to cum.

"Please daddy, please fuck me. I need to feel you inside of me. Please daddy, please," she begged.

She felt empty as he pulled his fingers from her pussy and stopped his assault on her nipples. She whimpered at the loss of contact. She really was a slut who needed to be fucked she thought.

She felt him rub the head of his cock against her folds. His touch was electric and she pushed up to meet him but he pulled away. He rested his weight against her and she could feel his thick cock on her thigh. He traced a finger around each aereola, just avoiding the nipples. It was torture but not his normal torture. Instead of hurting her he was depriving her of what she needed, it wasn't like any dream she'd had before. He pushed the head of his cock just against her folds while holding her thighs tight to the bed. He made light easy circular movements just barely breaching her entrance.

"Oh God daddy, fuck me. Please daddy, I need you now," she cried.

He sank into her in one long slow movement. "Oh, fuck," he moaned.

Her body went rigid. This wasn't right. The accent. Was she dreaming about the stranger? Was she dreaming at all?

Suddenly the blindfold was gone and as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight from the window, Mr. Smith's hand covered her mouth.

She pulled against the restraints, flailing her arms and kicking her legs, completely aware that she was not dreaming.

Mr. Smith looked her deep in her eyes and began to thrust slowly into her body, drawing nearly all the way out before plunging in as deeply as he could go. She struggled against him, but her body was betraying her, gripping his rock hard cock and lubricating his way.

"Fuck, you're so tight and so fucking wet," he moaned.

She cursed her body for betraying her and fought against the restraints. She tried to scream, "please stop" but it was muffled and he laughed.

"Stop? You were just begging me to fuck you. You begged me to make you cum. You promised to be my good girl. You told me you loved me."

She shook her head violently no and tears began to stream down her face ruining her makeup. His cock grew impossibly harder inside of her and she moaned involuntarily.

"You love this. You're nothing but a dirty whore. You teased me all night and then sent me away with a hard cock," he said angrily as he just barely began to move his cock in short quick thrusts.

"No,"she cried. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." she mumbled.

"I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth. If you scream, I'll make you regret it," he said with a look in his eyes that made her believe it.

She nodded her head and he released his hand from her mouth.

"What didn't you mean, you little whore," he began as he started to quicken his thrusts, "you didn't mean to take off your ring?"

He grabbed a nipple and pinched hard "answer me! Did you mean to do that?"

"I'm sorry," she cried.

He slapped her hard across the face. "You answer me, yes, Mr. Smith or no, Mr. Smith. Do you understand me?"

She nodded and he slapped her again. "Use your words. Do you understand me you stupid whore?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith," she answered.

He pinched her other nipple harder than the first and she cried out. "Did you mean to take off your ring?" he asked again.

"Yes, Mr. Smith," she answered.

He thrust deep inside of her and the moan escaped her lips against her will.

He slapped her hard. "I didn't say you could moan. You don't make a sound unless I ask you a question cunt. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith"

"Did you mean to let me buy you drinks knowing you weren't going to fuck me?" he asked.

Yes, Mr. Smith"

"Did you mean to turn me on with those sexy fucking stockinged thighs?"

Yes, Mr. Smith"

She was growing more ashamed of her behavior with every question but as he was beginning to stroke deeper and quicker, not moaning was becoming more and more difficult.

"Did you mean to grab my cock with your soft fucking hands?" he hissed as he hit a rhythm that he liked.

"Noooo, Mr. Smith," she moaned as her body betrayed her.

He slapped one cheek and then the other.

"Did I say you could fucking moan?" he yelled as he began fucking her with a vengeance.

She couldn't open her mouth without moaning so she clamped down and the tears flowed. He kept fucking her as he roared "answer me!" and slapped her again.

"No, Mr. Smith," she sobbed.