Professional Excellence Ch. 11

I just finished stuffing the clothes from Michael's bed - scattered pants, socks and the odd shirt did not enhance the look I wanted for the room - into his drawer when there was a tap at the door. Show time.

Monty was standing there smiling. He was holding a large bouquet of flowers and an expensive box of chocolates. The pair of slacks he had over his arm were incongruous but explicable.

'Monique, ravishing as ever, lovely outfit. Some day, eh?'

'Get inside.'

My expression didn't even register with him. He was going on about the flowers being some kind of compensation from the florist as he passed me. I went over to my crop and picked it up.

'Shut. The. Fuck. Up.'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

We stood for a full minute. I wanted him to fully grasp that this session was going to be different. He held out the flowers and chocolates. I threw them into the corner of the room without looking at them, but kind of hoping the reservoirs of water the stems were sealed in didn't burst. I tapped the trousers with the whip.

'And what the fuck are those for? You expecting to shit yourself before we finish?

'I wanted you to see?'

'You wanted me to see, what?'

'The label.'

I swept the crop up between his legs and pressed the flexible stem against his balls.

'Not what is it, fuck face? What as in what. The. Fuck. Do. You. Call. Me.'

I thrust the crop hard to emphasise each word. He had the wherewithal to look pained and shamefaced.

'Ms Monique, Ms Monique.'

'That's right. Remember it. You were already going to get a thrashing. You've just made sure it'll be the worst you've ever had.'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

'And?'

'Thank you, Ms Monique.'

'Better. So what's so special about the label?'

'They're thirty four inches, Ms Monique.'

'Wipe that grin off your face, dog shit.'

'Yes, Ms Monique. Thank you, Ms Monique.'

I snatched the trousers. They were off the shelf, but from an expensive tailors. I surreptitiously felt the material whilst pretending to examine the tag. It was Howard's birthday soon. I threw them in the same direction as the flowers and confectionery.

'And that's special because?'

'Because you made me a promise, Ms Monique.'

'And that promise was?'

'That you would.'

He stopped and looked up at me briefly.

'That you would kiss me down there, Ms Monique.'

'That I would what?'

'That you would suck me, Ms Monique.'

I raised his chin with the end of the crop so that he had to look into my face.

'I've never used a phrase like kiss me down there in my life.'

'No, Ms Monique.'

'Do I look like a fucking nun?'

'Definitely not, Ms Monique.'

'Maybe you think I'm dressed like this in the hope that I can catch a late church service when I'm done with you?'

'Never, Ms Monique.'

I held the crop still for a moment before letting him drop his head again.

'I'm going to suck you off, alright. You're going to get a better blow job than you've ever had. When its done you'll be writing to the Oxford English Dictionary to ask them to revise their definition of fellatio to include a special mention of today.'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

'When you come to write your memoirs. To record every detail of your miserable time on this earth, you'll be devoting a separate chapter to the blow job I'm going to give you to ensure it enters the historical records.'

'Thank you, Ms Monique.'

'You'll be fantasising about the session were going to have every time you masturbate for the next decade.'

'I hope so, Ms Monique.'

I paused to encourage his brain to fill with fantasies about my lips around his knob.

'So why are you not bent over that chair waiting for this?'

I thwacked the crop against the mattress, making him jump. I'd pulled the chair out to a convenient position as I always did before our sessions. I needed to ensure I had plenty of room to swing easily. So unprofessional to inadvertently smash fixtures or fittings for lack of pre-planning. He dropped his trousers and customary boxers. I pushed up the top and what I realised was a T-shirt underneath - hyper-fashionable for Monty - and set to.

Our sessions were normally relatively short and not too intense. I would start with mild blows from the crop or the back of a large wooden hairbrush. I'd strike him hard only towards the end. Mostly the blows would be spaced with stroking and verbal abuse in between. I'd wait for him to say Thank you, Ms Monique before the next one. We had a safe word but he'd never used it.

Today, I just got stuck in, laying about him hard. He managed a few thank yous but I wasn't listening and soon, anyway, there was only the sound of cries, quiet sobbing and gurgling snot coming from his nose. The stripes I was leaving started the usual pink, then became livid and glowing red. The tell-tale marks of blue bruising began to appear. I began to wish for him to use the safe word so I could stop. A minute of that - between five and ten hearty slashes - and I was able to remind myself that I was in charge here, and that I didn't just have to keep going and wait for him to call a halt. I threw the crop onto the bed.

'You won't forget that in a hurry, worm. Say "thank you, Ms Monique" and then get on the bed and kiss the crop.'

He did as he was told and as he straightened painfully I went to the bathroom. I didn't need to pee particularly, but I did need to give myself a bit of a talking to.

I went back to the room and found him curled on the bed holding the crop like a teddy bear. His face was a mess, eyes swollen, his cheeks tear-stained and that crusty sheen running from nose to chin I hadn't seen since my son was a toddler. I grabbed a flannel and cleaned him up, mirroring his foetal body shape. I gave him a few more minutes to recover before grabbing a handful of his hair and forcing his head back. I was as gentle as the dominatrix rule book allows.

'You trying to get out of having your cock sucked, by pretending to be a teddy bear after its been savaged by the family puppy?'

'Nnn no, Ms Monique.'

'You mean you still want that pathetic excuse for a todger stretched to pencil size?'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

'I bought you a present.'

I whispered to him in as threatening a tone as I could.

'A present?'

I tightened my grip on his hair slightly.

'A present, what?'

'A present, Ms Monique. Sorry, Ms Monique.'

'That's better. Your arse looks like seared steak, but we can always start again. You think you need more lessons?'

'No, Ms Monique.'

I sent him over o retrieve the box and watched him open it. Inside was a top-of-the-range strap-on. A gleaming, smooth dildo emerged from a web of padded straps and fasteners. My friend Gina runs a sex-toy business. I'd asked her to get me the best money could buy. Monty looked at it, confused.

'This is Sally strap-on. She's going to become your best friend.'

'She is, Ms Monique?'

'She'll live under your pillow. You'll hold her every night and keep her warm.'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

'When you stroke yourself before you sleep and when I let you wank off, she'll be with you.'

'I understand, Ms Monique.'

'You will treat her as you would treat me. And we're all going to play together when I allow you to visit me.'

'Thank you, Ms Monique.'

'Shall I tell you why?'

'Please, Ms Monique.'

He was sitting beside me the box across his legs as we spoke. I ran my hand up his thigh and lightly gripped his cock. He always became semi-erect when I beat him. I was glad to feel he was slightly harder than usual, if anything. I firmed my hold and trilled my fingers,

'One day, probably quite soon.'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

I continue to play gently with his cock, feeling it get perceptibly harder.

'I'll be wearing Sally as we play.'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

'And you'll ask me to slide her into you.'

I held him now between my looped finger and thumb and began to play my hand more vigorously up and down his shaft.

'You'll cover her shining shaft with scented lube.'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

'And lay on your side while I play with you like I am now. You like this don't you?'

'Very much, Ms Monique.'

There was a catch in his breath as he spoke.

'And you think Sally deserves to feel nice as well, don't you?'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

'So while I give you your reward for all your hard work, you're going to lick and suck her as well.'

'Yes, Ms Monique.'

I pulled a pillow off the bed and dropped it on the floor next to his feet. I took the box and paper and threw it over my shoulder. He was now almost completely hard and I looked up, smiling.

'I'd forgotten how big you are.'

'Thank you, Ms Monique.'

'Don't thank me, thank Sally. I can see you are going to be good friends and I can't wait to see you sucking and kissing her.'

'Now, Ms Monique?'

'Yes.'

He pecked at the tip of the silver dildo as I slipped my other hand beneath his balls. I'd been on a steep learning curve so far as sucking men off was concerned. I'd done it enthusiastically as a teenager, but lust and premature ejaculation had prevented much consideration of technique. Howard was not a big fan - I later assumed it was because getting sucked off by your wife carried the implicit implication that you should go down on her. And of course, the ten-year hiatus in our conjugal relations had left me rusty at everything once I took up charging men for sex.

I ran my tongue along Monty's shaft enjoying both the warmth and the texture. I continued to juggle his balls in my hand. I could hear him begin to suck on Sally and took his head into my mouth for the first time. Experience had taught me that a good blow job - and by good, I mean quick - was best achieved by use of hands and tongue as well as mouth and throat. There are guys who just want to fuck your face, but most will surrender willingly to a well-applied combination.

I rolled my tongue around his head making appreciative noises whilst I did. I moved my hand up and began a quick staccato rhythm at the base. My mouth filled with saliva so I dribbled and spat it over him when I took a breather. Monty had fallen onto his back and was holding Sally tightly while he licked her as instructed. I raised myself on my knees, still working his shaft with vigour, before slowly taking the whole of his length. Monty's dick was about six-inches or so and had a decent girth. It was about my favourite size: big enough to satisfy, but not large enough to give the owner ideas above his station.

It didn't take long to make him cum. I pushed down until I gagged a few times, then a little licking - including the balls, never forget the balls - more wanking while I caught my breath and before I'd really got back into a rhythm on the deep-throating, I felt my mouth fill with glutinous semen. And fill and fill. He must have been depriving himself of orgasms for a fortnight. I had to swallow one load and his dick was still twitching between my lips as he pumped more into my mouth.

I swallowed again when he finished and licked his sticky cock clean. The skin below the purplish mushroom was taut and red still when I finished. I climbed up next to him and held him as he slowly detumesced. I listened as his breathing became more regular. Sally dropped between us feeling wet and warm herself.

'You enjoyed that.'

'I did. Thank you, Ms Monique.'

'You've been very good. You need to be punished when you're bad - and that is far too often - but when you're good there are rewards.'

'Yes, Ms Monique. I shall try to be very good in the future.'

'You'd better. And you liked playing with Sally, didn't you?'

'I did, Ms Monique.'

'And thinking about her sliding into your tight bottom.'

He didn't reply and I didn't press him. I'd part-won a strap-on playing pass-the-parcel at a Ladies' Night not long before. Part-won because my new friend April and I had been teamed as I was the hostess and couldn't give the game my full attention. It stayed at my house and wherever I put it in my room, it seemed to be in the way. Howard had picked it up when he'd knocked on my door, fifty pounds in hand, in urgent need some fellatio. He didn't ask any questions, but I spotted him examining it. He'd taken to picking it up and stroking whenever he came for a session with Monique. I recognised the pattern. He'd been the same with the crop and now he regularly enjoyed some mild attention to his bottom from it. It was watching him thinking about pegging which had given me the idea that introducing Monty to some of the same was as good a way as any to reinforce the hierarchy in our relationship.

When I'd thought about this part of the evening, I'd assumed I'd need to shuffle Monty out once we'd finished. But as Michael was out on the town, I let him linger. It was almost cosy lying there. I stroked his hair and ran Sally up and down his body. I waited until he began to doze before getting up and tidying the room. The flowers and chocolates had more or less survived. I stuffed Sally's wrapping paper into the bin and put her back in her box ready to travel. After showering and drying my hair I shook him awake and told him it was time to go. I stepped out into the corridor with him. I had wrapped myself in a robe after my shower.

'Big day tomorrow, Monty, we'd both better get some rest.'

'I know there's a thousand things to do, but I'm looking forward to it.'

'Me too.'

I kissed him on his cheek and watched him walk delicately down the corridor towards the lifts before going back into the room. I picked up my book. I was reading something by the Polish Nobel literature prizewinner with an unpronounceable name. It was the sort of book husband's bought for wives when they wanted to seem smart. I'd doubted I'd get into it, but after the first few pages I'd become fascinated both by the plot and the style. I was lost for over an hour and only realised how much time had passed when my phone beeped to indicate a text from Michael.

We'd agreed we'd meet in the bar when he got back from his night out. I'd expected to have finished with Monty, but the last thing either of us wanted was Michael knocking at the door while Monty still had his willy out. It was difficult to think which of them would be the most mortified.

I stopped off at the reception desk to check everything was still quiet. It was. I left the chocolates for her and her colleagues to enjoy. You can never have too many friends. The bar was standard for a mid-market watering hole. Several lone men's eyes followed me as I went to get a drink. I was glad Michael arrived a minute or two later. Had I been less tired, I might have exploited the market potential of the room. As it was, I would have had to spend the time until rescue fending off unwanted attentions.

Michael was a little flushed. I handed him the Irish whiskey I'd bought him and led him to a private booth. He let his features relax and raised his glass to me when we'd made ourselves comfortable.

'Good evening?'

'Yeah, fun. You? How did George get on?'

Michael barked.

'Night of his life. His little mate treated him like he was from the aristocracy when he saw him with Ruth.'

'It is every young boy's dream.'

'What?'

'Having a mate who rubs shoulders with strippers.'

'Not just shoulders.'

He explained that the little blonde had flirted with both boys while they had a drink before she went on. Michael didn't know about the twenty I'd given her and was almost avuncular in his proud description of the way she incorporated the pair into her routine. To the point where he was convinced she'd made George cum in his pants. She told Michael afterwards she'd asked the other girls if they'd keep an eye on the lads for the rest of the night.

'Between Ruth and the porn you bought him, I think George is going to be fit for work tomorrow. If you get my meaning?'

'Let's not labour the point, eh? How'd the rest of the evening go?'

'Pretty well, pretty well.'

Michael had stood at the bar in another pub and a working men's club chatting to the staff while Ruth got her kit off. He expressed bemusement that she had been worried about something happening. I didn't tell him that I wasn't surprised nothing had. He'd be top of my list of minders if I ever needed one. Not because of his physical presence. He just had the permanent air of a carnivore which hadn't been fed lately. They'd ended up at the bar as Ruth had promised. There Michael was a positive hit. The owner/bartender recognised an expert when he met one and Michael had joined him to provide the clientele with the night of their lives. It would be some time before Ruth would have to pay for another drink in there, I guessed. His face rearranged into a more serious expression when he'd finished his narrative.

'Our truce is still on, isn't it?'

'Yes. I think its going pretty well, don't you?'

'Yeah, great, great.'

He took another sip of his drink and almost braced to speak again.

'Can I ask you for some advice?'

'Anything. I'll help if I can.'

'It's just I don't have any friends.'

'We'll always be friends. Truce or no truce.'

He faltered. He was probably as surprised as I was at us both being open about our friendship in almost-public.

'Is it Ruth?'

'Yes.'

'You like her, don't you?'

'Well, I suppose so, yes.'

'She seems to like you as well. Why don't you ask her out after the show?'

'It's gone a bit beyond that.'

'How so?'

He needed more whiskey to go further.

'She invited me back to her flat. Said she always likes a good fuck after she's done her last gig of the week.'

'Lucky you. Congratulations.'

'I'm a bit worried.'

'"Cos you've not?'

'Nah, nothing like that. I have arrangements with a few girls in your line of work.'

'You have?'

'I'm not a monk.'

'So what's the problem?'

I was intrigued to find out why, if that was the case, he always, always turned down my offers. But this was neither the time nor the place.

'It's her friends.'

'Her friends? They want some too? You sure you've not been overdoing the boasting?'

He barked again. I was glad he took it like that. We were straying close to the taking-the-piss border.

'It's just that they're so young.'

'Same age as Ruth, I presume.'

'Yes. But we get on fine. One-to-one. She said she likes older men and we're interested in a lot of the same things.'

'You are? Like what?'

I was genuinely interested.

'Cocktails, stripping and sex.'

He was modestly blunt, so I wasn't as shocked as I might have been in the Hideaway.

'But spending time with a group of them. I don't know.'

I understood him completely. When I'd been screwing my son's friends, the non-sex part had been trying. However polite and tolerant we all were, it was difficult to interact without being either bored or patronising.

'Why not use the room? I'll be tied up for a few hours after the show.'

'But what if she wants to stop the night?'

'I'm going to be socialising with some of the committee in a suite, I can always go back there to sleep.'

'Working?'

'Well yes, but if you put a sock or something over the door handle, I won't interrupt you.'

'I don't know.'

'The offer stands.'

'Thanks.'

We moved on to less embarrassing ground. He was borderline enthusiastic about the cocktail bar. We fantasised about what it would be like for him to open one of his own. We soon called it a night and went back to the room. I got straight into bed, turned off the light over it and didn't laugh out loud after sneaking a peek at Michael in his pyjamas when he snuck in from the bathroom.

The early rise the next morning was achieved without embarrassment and we were both pretty chipper as we went down to get breakfast. We planned a complete dress rehearsal of our act, particularly the finale. We were engrossed in discussing what we needed, so didn't particularly notice the change in atmosphere.