I open my email and see a message from you and immediately click on it.

To: Abby
From: Al
March 21, 2013 9:00am
Subject: Service

Your services are required at the Adolphus Hotel room 2014. You'll be there on your knees waiting for me at noon during your lunch hour. Make arrangements that you'll be having a long lunch and will be late returning to the office. Dress appropriately.

I stare at the monitor for a moment and can't believe how bold you're being. We've been teasing each other in email, innocent touches, and flirty little looks for the past month, but nothing this serious. This must be a joke.

I look up and notice you standing near the break room with your morning cup of coffee. Your eyes bore into mine as you tip your mug to me in acknowledgment and then you walk off toward your office. I stand up, on slightly unsteady legs, and head in your direction following you to your office.

From behind your desk, you look up to see me hesitating in your doorway. "Did you need something?" you ask.

"I got your email..." I drift off, not sure what to say. My eyes fall to the floor.

"Was I unclear?"

"Umm.. No. You were quite specific. I guess I just wanted to know if you were serious," I answer.

You don't respond. The silence is palpable and when I look up you catch me with your stare. Tick Tick Tick. Your finger taps the lip of your coffee mug as you leer at me with an intensity I wasn't prepared for. You trap me with your eyes, a rabbit looking into the eyes of a wolf before he pounces. I am helpless, naked and vulnerable under your scrutiny. And like the rabbit I feel the urge to run.

"Yes, well. Ok then. I guess I'll see you at noon." I start to babble in my nervousness and dig my nails into my palms to keep from rambling. After several long, pregnant seconds without a response, I nod once and turn to walk back to my cube. My legs no less wobbly on the return trip.

I sink into my desk chair, exhausted, like I'd just gone ten rounds. I flick the mouse with a finger and the screen brightens to display your email again. I reread your word focusing on the last line. Dress appropriately.

I wish that I didn't know what you meant, but I do. I remember you once mentioned that we should go back to business attire here in the office. "How can anyone take us seriously when we're dressed like we're still in college."

I glance down at my jeans and t-shirt. In my mind I calculate the time it would take me to drive home, change into something appropriate and be back downtown to the hotel. "Fuck," I say under my breath. This will be longer than just a "long lunch."

I tell my boss that there's an emergency and am leaving for the day. I grab my purse and dart to my car.

I stand in front of my closet at a complete loss. My bedroom looks like a tornado whipped through it spewing dresses and lingerie all over. "Appropriate," I mutter. "What the fuck is appropriate?!?"

I am wearing two different stockings and two different high heels. A pair of mint green panties and a red bra. I can't even decide on the "appropriate" underwear. This is hopeless. I sink down onto the corner of my bed and drop my head into my hands.

I am not going to cry. I'm not.

I glance at my bedside clock and I try to reign in my tumultuous emotions. Kicking off the mismatched shoes, I pad into the bathroom to fix my makeup and hair. I'm a minimalist when it comes to cosmetics. I hate the feeling of all that goop on my face all day. Even when I do wear it, it's with a light hand. A bit of powder, a swipe of mascara and pink lipstick with a hint of gloss.
Now that my lips are a pretty pink, it will be easier to deal with my closet. A limited menu is best for me. I keep gravitating toward one particular dress. It's not what I'd call business or professional, it's more soft and pretty. I want to mold myself into the sexy secretary look, but it isn't really me.

I take the dress off its hanger and hold it up to my body. It's a white dress with bright pink and purple flowers that swirl around the sides leaving a white patch down the center and back, as if the flowers are hugging me. Wide shoulder straps leave my arms bare and it has a high neck and back. But because it hugs my body, it's not exactly demure. The hem is just above the knee and falls in waves. When I spin it flares out and reminds me of spring. And since it's the 2nd day of spring I feel this is "appropriate" even if it isn't typically business. At least it's a dress and not jeans and a t-shirt.

I peel off the one black and one blue stocking and pull out a pair of white ones, and then dismiss the idea of stockings altogether. This dress screams for bare legs. Now that I have the dress picked out, the shoes aren't a hard decision. When I bought the dress, I planned on wearing open toe spring wedges, but that really wasn't quite sexy enough for this engagement. I slip on strappy high heeled sandals instead.

I arrive at the hotel at 11:45. I walk toward the front desk and realize I have no clue what to say. Your email indicated you'd made a reservation, but under whose name? All I have is a time and room number, but I know that there's no way I'm getting a key without providing an ID.

"I have a reservation under Abby Grace Barnet," I say to the front desk clerk.

Thankfully I didn't have any issues. After providing my driver's license and a quick signature, the woman at the desk gave me directions to the room. I congratulated myself on conducting this transaction professionally and without any nervous hiccups, and then she asked if I'd need assistance with my bags.

"Oh, my bags. Umm. No, I won't need any help with my bags." I managed to get out and I knew I was blushing furiously. But did manage to pick up the door key without my hand shaking.

My heels clicked on the polished marble floor as I walked to the elevator. I could feel the desk clerk's eyes on me the entire way. I knew what she was thinking. I'd be thinking it too. Maybe next time I'd just wear a nametag that read "By The Hour."

When the door to the room shut behind me it was 11:55. In some ways this is probably a good thing. The longer I have to sit in here the more nervous I'd be. Hell, scratch that.. I'm already shaking I'm so nervous.

I head for the bathroom to do a last minute check of my appearance. I run my fingers through my hair and freshen up my lipstick. Hopefully I'm appropriate enough. I glance around the room and toss my purse onto the dresser. I turn to look at the door and walk toward it. There's a patch of tile in front of the door, but if I knelt there the door would hit me when it opened. I ended up on the carpet to the side.

11:57. These are going to be a very long three minutes. I can see myself in the mirror from the sliding glass doors of the closet. Kneeling on the floor in a hotel room waiting for a man so I can service him. I feel and see my cheeks redden and the nervousness is building into a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I press my hands against my belly in an effort to calm my nerves.

11:58. Each second is feeling like hours. I look into the mirror at my submissive position and my flushed cheeks and suddenly the nervousness is at war with my arousal. I feel how wet I'm getting. I press my thighs a little closer together to ease the pressure inside my pussy. I can't believe I'm going through with this. Actually I can. I've been wanting you for months now. Imagining what it would be like to have your cock in my mouth. I wonder how you knew that this is what I needed and wanted and craved.

11:59. I close my eyes. I can't look at myself anymore and I can't look at the clock either. I'm just going to kneel here and close my eyes. I've done this plenty of times before.. granted at church. This is just going to be a different kind of worship.

I hear the slide of a card key in the lock outside the door and my eyes fly open. It feels like my breath is caught, like right before the roller coaster climbs the first big hill, those few seconds that seem to last forever before it crests and drops and you're being pulled hard and fast toward the ground.

The door opens and I look up and watch you step inside the room and flinch as the door swings shut with a loud crash the way hotel doors do as they automatically lock. Kneeling so close to the door I feel it resonate from my knees up through my body.

You lean back against the door and look at me with your penetrating gaze that sears into my soul. I fidget as you stare at me, lowering my head and run my hands along the skirt of my dress smoothing out invisible wrinkles. Desperately hoping you don't notice how hands are trembling.

Your shoes click along the tile and I glance up to see you walk past me. You toss a bag onto the bed and return to circle me. I keep my head bowed while you're inspecting me. I feel like I'm on display at a meat market before realizing that's exactly what I am: on display. For you.

Your hand caresses down my cheek to cup my chin, and you tilt my head until I'm looking up at you. "I like that you're bowing your head, but right now I want you to look at me. Understand?"

I nod and my eyes drop back. Realizing what I did, I quickly look back up.

"Words, Abby. I need to hear them."

"Oh. Yes, I understand," I answer.

"Tell me why you're here."

I don't answer immediately. I'm at a loss and don't quite know how to answer you. "Because you invited me." It's almost more of a question than an answer.

"Yes, I did do that. But why did I invite you here?" you persist.

I drop my eyes to the floor again. "To have sex with me," I whisper.

"No." I look up showing my surprise and confusion at your denial. "What was the subject line on the email?"

"Service," I answer. I can answer any question regarding the text of your email. They're scorched into my brain.

"Right. You're here to service me."

"Oh." I know my cheeks are turning red again and my eyes concentrate on the carpet between my knees, my hair spilling forward hiding my flushed cheeks.

"You've looked away from me three times now, Abby. You've racked up three punishments, and I don't think you'll want to add a fourth."

"Punishments?" My shocked eyes seek yours.

"Yes. You obviously need an object lesson to remind you to follow my directions."
The butterflies swarm back into my belly. I pressed my hands to my stomach again, but manage to keep my eyes focused on your face.

"Why are you here?" you ask again.

"To service you," this time my answer was quick, if not steady. My hands trembled against my abdomen.

"How are you going to service me?"

I catch myself before I look down again. "How ever you want me to," I answer.

"Not good enough. Tell me what you're going to do to service me."

"I'm going to suck your cock."

"Yes, you are. You're also going to drink my cum aren't you?"


"Yes, what?"

"Yes I'm going to drink your cum."

"Then get to it."

You're leaning back against the door and I walk on my knees to reach you, crossing from the carpet onto the tile. My hands are a little unsteady as I reach up to unbuckle your belt. In the back of my head I still can't believe I'm doing this. I had no idea when I woke up this morning that I'd end up in a hotel room blowing my office crush during lunch.

Once I have your belt open I cup your crotch and squeeze you through your pants before working on the button and zipper. I'm gratified to hear you suck in a deep breath because of my touch. I slide your pants down to your thighs, and forget about taking them completely off once I see your cock bounce free. My hands cup your balls and I press a kiss between my hands on your sac before continuing to lick and kiss my way up to your head, and I take you into my eager mouth. I suck on just your head as my fingers undulate beneath your balls.

My tongue swirls around your head and I'm rewarded with my first drop of precum and I moan against your cock as I get my first taste you. I can't keep from wanting more and I slide down and take you deeper into my mouth before sliding back off. I set a steady pace and bob my head up and down your cock.

You rest your hands on the back of my head and it makes me pause with your cock deep inside my wet mouth. I look up at you as my cheeks flex with my sucking and my jaw extended to sink all of you inside my mouth. It's not exactly a flattering position making my face the perfect receptacle for your cock, almost a male sex toy. I watch your eyes as they darken and glaze over while you take in the view.

Your hands fist into my hair and turn my head slightly toward the mirror beside us. "Watch yourself, Abby. How you're on your knees submissive to me and taking my cock into your mouth. I want you to see what I see when I watch you fucking my cock with your mouth."

I see a woman on her knees completely dressed and a man with his pants down to his knees while she bobs up and down on his cock. It's completely erotic, and I can't keep from speeding my tempo. I feel a tug on my hair preventing me from going faster. You force me to smooth out my movements, to slow down to the easy steady pace I had before.

Your cock is wet and shiny with my saliva and I can see my spit pooling onto your balls and coating my chin. My lips are stretched tight around your cock forming an "O" sliding back and forth along your shaft.

I slide up until I'm watching my lips brush across the top of your head. There's something really arousing about watching myself as I sink down while I watch your cock disappear into my mouth. I especially like watching my mouth contour around your thick head in the most sinful of kisses.
I sink beneath your cock and lick all the way up, my tongue dancing gracefully along your veins. I slow and exaggerate all my movements for a better aesthetic appeal. I never thought of making the act of cocksucking alluring. It's always been something earthy and raw and instinctual, but never what I'd consider elegant or beautiful.

Here I am in what my mother would call my 'Sunday best' while on my knees, turning an act that I'm sure has been performed numerous times in this room before, including those where money has exchanged hands, and I'm wanting to turn it into something magical and special.

"Look at her, Abby," you say. "Doesn't she look pretty with a cock in her mouth? Do you like watching her?" Your hand touches my chin to direct my gaze toward the mirror. Not that it was needed. My eyes were on the woman in the mirror already, watching her, fascinated by her. Aroused by her. "Look at her soft pink lips. See how they're stretched around my cock? They look like they were made to wrap around a cock, don't you think?"

Your words distract me from watching my mouth around your cock. I'm caught by the intensity in your eyes and the way that you're looking at me. I've never known another man who could strip me bare and lay me open with just his eyes. The heat of your gaze vanquishes the last of the butterflies from my stomach, and I feel more empowered than embarrassed.

"Look in her eyes. Do you see how much she fucking loves having my cock in her mouth? Take a good look, Abby. She's a good cocksucker isn't she?" you ask.

I can't answer your questions with your cock impaled in my mouth, and I don't think you mean for me to, other than with my renewed rhythm of sucking your cock deep into my throat. I don't consider myself a particularly good cocksucker, but the woman in the mirror certainly looks like she is. She looks like a fucking pro.

I can't keep from watching how sensual she looks. The way her throat moves as your cock fills her mouth and the way her cheeks hollow out as they're tugging against the skin of your thick shaft. It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that the woman in the mirror is actually me. No matter what my inner desires are, this isn't me. I don't do things like meet a colleague for a lunchtime rendezvous. Especially one that revolves around me servicing him, and savoring every fucking minute of it.

I've never been a fan of porn before, but can see the fascination as I watch your cock being swallowed up by my mouth. I never knew that watching myself in such a sexually explicit act would ignite such a fire inside in me. I wonder if we're to have future lunch meetings like this if you'll bring a video camera. My already wet pussy tightens at the thought of being able to watch this new wanton version of me over and over.

"I knew the day I set eyes on you, Abby. Did you know that?" you say as your fingers comb through my hair, holding it back so that I have an unobstructed view of my face as I use my mouth to stimulate your cock in such a wicked and carnal way. "I knew you would get on your knees for me. I saw it in your eyes, your body language. That you're a woman who would suck a man's cock in a hotel room on her lunch break."

I don't know how you knew or what sign I may have given, but I'm grateful that you saw it. That you're exploiting it. Me. I thought I did a better job of hiding it, this hunger of mine to be forcefully taken and used. It's something I camouflage with an innocent facade of pretty dresses, soft pink lips and delicate blushes. No one has ever looked deep enough to see the submissive that lives just under the surface of my good-girl exterior, until you with your penetrating eyes.

"It feels dirty, doesn't it, Abby? Meeting a man just to suck his cock. What kind of girl would do that?" you ask. "I think you need a reminder of what you are." Your hands tighten in my hair and pull me back off of your cock. "Tell me what you are."

I know what you want to hear, and oddly enough I want to say them. "I'm a cocksucker." My pussy clenches and I feel my juices soak into my panties as I speak my secret sinful words aloud. I press my thighs together to ease some of the pressure building inside of me.

"Yes, you are, and you need a reminder of that."

You walk pass me into the room and come back carrying my purse and start to rummage through it. I open my mouth to protest, but am silenced by your sharp look.

You pull out my phone and drop my bag onto the floor. "Tell me again what you are," you demand as you slap your cock against my cheek.

This time the words come easier, like my mind and mouth just needed to get used to forming the words. "I'm a cocksucker."

"Then why isn't my cock in your mouth?"

I open my mouth and take you back down into my throat, sinking all the way to your balls like a good cocksucker would. During my retreat back up along your shaft I hear the click of a camera. I look up to see you taking my picture with my phone.

"That's it, Abby, look up into the camera," you say as you keep clicking pictures. "Show me what a good little cocksucker you are."

I try to forget about the click of the camera and go back to a steady rhythm of drawing your cock into my mouth. But you won't let me forget. You keep telling me how good my mouth looks in the pictures. And what would my mother think if she saw them. Her baby girl, down on her knees sucking a cock in her pretty floral dress.

Even bringing up my mother doesn't deter me from clutching your rod with my mouth. In some twisted way it even adds to the excitement of acting so far out of character, or more accurately, out of my public persona. The woman kneeling here using her mouth to service you is the real me.

"You're going to keep these pictures on your phone, Abby. I want you to look at them everyday to remind yourself what you've become, and every time I call you into my office you will show one to me."

I hear my phone drop to the floor onto my bag and feel your hands threading into my hair again. This time your touch isn't gentle. You make fists and pull me down hard onto your cock as you thrust forward with your hips. This is the deepest your cock has been in my throat and I'm gagging on it. The hotel room is suddenly alive with the sounds of your balls slapping my saliva soaked chin, the suctioning sound of me trying to control the overproduction of my saliva, my gagging, and your grunting. What was a leisurely cocksucking has turned into a ferocious face fuck.

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