Paid to Punish Mr. Wilson

I smacked my lips, turning my head from side-to-side, inspecting for any flaws in my makeup I should fix. My lipstick tonight was a bold, sensual red. The usual rule for a bold lip is lighter makeup on the eyes, but I knew what he liked. and that certainly was not a subtle eye. Thick winged liner framed my hazel eyes, with a shimmery, dark-gray smoky eye smudged around them, which shimmered gently in the low, warm lighting of the hotel bathroom. Sometimes I wished they put better lighting in these bathrooms, which would make it easier to fix my makeup, but I could understand why they kept it dim. The gold-framed mirrors and bowl-shaped crystal sinks would’t have the same charm under the cool, bland flood that makeup lighting would have produced.

The target was staying on the forty-eighth floor of the exclusive Jensen Plaza Tower. A crisply-uniformed young man sat at the kiosk in front of the blindingly-reflective elevators, doors polished to perfection.

“Name and room, miss?”

“I’m Ms. Starr, guest for Mr. Wilson in room 489.”

“Thank you, miss, one moment please.” He pressed a few buttons on the tablet screen built into the kiosk, checking the list of expected guests.

“Please step into the elevator, miss. Mr. Wilson will be notified of your arrival.” He paused momentarily before continuing in the same professional tone. “As requested by Mr. Wilson, your visit will be kept discreet.”

“Thank you, sir.” I smiled widely at him and he flushed slightly, squirming. As I turned and walked away toward the elevator, I could see the young receptionist’s eyes on my ass in the reflection of the elevator. For fun, I stepped sensually into the elevator with an exaggerated hip sway. He must have glimpsed a hint of my plump ass cheeks peeking out from under my red dress, because as I turned back around right as the doors closed, I caught him adjusting the front of his pressed, black uniform pants under the kiosk desk.

Knocking once on the door of 489, it opened for me almost instantly, betraying the eagerness of its occupant. Mr. Wilson stood there in a pink dress shirt, top few buttons unbuttoned, and dress pants that looked new. He looked great, as always, his brown and silver hair neatly combed in a fashionable side part.

“You’re late again, it’s rude to keep people waiting.” It was a shame that such a horrible attitude was wasted on such a handsome man. I chose not to answer and sauntered unhurriedly into the hotel room, slowly coming out of the dim entrance hallway into the orange-hued light of the room.

His eyes widened as he took in my tight dress and sultry makeup.

“God, Brittany… God.” He looked almost pained and I thought I saw the beginning of an erection in the front of his expensive pants.

“You can’t scold me the way you scold your wife, Mr. Wilson,” I said softly. “If you do, I won’t want to be here anymore and I’ll leave. You want me to stay here and keep you company, don’t you?”

His eyes widened and I could tell for a moment he was about to protest, but his lust took over and he closed his mouth meekly.

“Make me a drink. It’s rude to welcome a guest without offering a drink.” I made my voice derisive, knowing that turned him on. As he went to the wet bar to pour me a drink from a decanter, I strolled into the bedroom and set my phone to begin recording video. Then, I placed it on the stand underneath the enormous, wall-mounted TV. My black phone case blended in against the black speaker I set it against.

He came into the bedroom, handing me the glass of whiskey. I accepted it, but immediately placed it down on the TV stand, ignoring it, wanting him to feel demeaned for being at my service.

“Sit on the bed. Facing me.” My voice was still soft, but commanding. I stood at the foot of the bed, taking care to ensure there was a clear line of sight between my phone and the center of the bed, where his face would be clearly visible in the camera footage. He sat with his legs spread, back propped up on the numerous pillows.

I slowly reached under my short dress and began to wriggle slowly out of my lacy, skimpy, black thong. I kept the hem of my dress pulled down just enough that he couldn’t quite see what he ached to see.

He exhaled slowly, tortured, and his hands crept toward his crotch, where his erection was now straining tightly against the smooth, expensive fabric of his pants.

“No!” I scolded gently, clucking my tongue at him. His hands stopped dead in their tracks and he put them back down by his sides, clenched tightly into fists. His eyes devoured my body hungrily, up and down. I resumed removing my thong, measured and slow, bending over to get it past my high kitten heels, allowing him a glimpse of my cleavage. Mr. Wilson had started to pant audibly. I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra with the deft fingers of one hand. My dress and bra were strapless, so I was able to slowly pull my bra up and out of the top of my dress. I dropped it to the floor provocatively.

Mr. Wilson’s eyes were even wider now, strained, and he groaned once, painfully.

“Shush,” I said sharply. “Or I won’t let you touch me like this… I grabbed my own breasts in my hands, squeezing them roughly, before finding my own nipples over the thin, silky fabric of my dress and pinching them gently. He was absolutely riveted; he couldn’t look away as I twisted and tugged them. They started to become large and firm, pushing outwards from the bust of my dress. I moaned quietly as the sensation in them increased and seemed to spread down my stomach and bloom into warmth in my clitoris.

“You wish these were you hands, don’t you? Tell me how badly you want to do this to me.”

When he tried to speak, his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“It’s killing me. Please, Brittany, let me touch you there. I can make you feel good. Please, let me show you.”

“Not yet,” I said, teasing. “Only if you’re very good.”

He licked his full, rosy lips. “I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. Anything you say.”

I crept up onto the bed, out of his reach, and began to lean back, slowly opening my legs. Slowly granting him a view of my naked pussy.

Leaning back on my elbows, I let him look. His facial expression was nearly delirious with desire.

“I can see that you’re wet. I see that you want me, too. Please, let me touch you,” he gasped as he saw the glistening at the opening of my cunt, and the pinkish glow of my throbbing clit as it slowly swelled. I was becoming more and more aroused to see his chiseled features contorted with desire, to know how turned on I could make him. And I had the power to turn him on even more, to drive him to insanity.

I reached between my legs, dipping two of my fingers in the wetness that was starting to drip out of my pussy. I slowly massaged the wetness onto my clit, letting a hoarse moan escape from the back of my throat as I touched myself with a feather-light pressure, in slow circles. It felt so good, the pleasure radiated out from my fingers into my thighs and I clenched my stomach in ecstasy, moaning again, more loudly.

This sent Mr. Wilson over the edge and he groaned in defeat, hands jumping to his swollen cock, desperately trying to touch himself inside his pants.

I leapt forward on the bed and slapped him square in the face. He gasped in surprise, but also with arousal. He loved to be slapped like that. He started panting again.

“You naughty boy. You don’t deserve to touch me, not with those naughty hands.” I grabbed the tie that was sitting on his nightstand. “Give me your arms.”

He held out his arms, excited, and I bound them with the tie in a practiced motion. Each wrist was bound to the opposing elbow in a almost straitjacket position. He had pulled his hardened cock upward to the waistband of his pants, and I could see the wide, round head of him exposed, with a bead of precum at the tip. I liked the look of his sizable member and I did wonder what it would feel like, covered in my juices and stretching me open. However, I had other plans for him.

I laid back again, hiking my dress up past my stomach, watching his eyes jump down to my pussy, almost instantly, lips parted slightly with lust.

“Pleasure me,” I commanded. He looked confused. “With your mouth, moron.”

He could not hide his eagerness in the way he crawled forward, almost falling over himself. Arms still tied, he propped himself up on his elbows and lowered his face to my sex. He stuck his tongue immediately into my opening, moving the tip of it around just inside my opening. He moaned in complete ecstasy as he tasted me for the first time.

“Not like that, that’s not how real men give head. You want to make me feel good, don’t you?” I was enjoying his tongue inside me, but I wanted more. I grabbed his thick, silvery hair and forced his head up, forcing him to look at me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually didn’t know how to give good head. A self-centered douche like him probably had never cared about anyone’s pleasure but his own. Up until now.

“Yes,” he panted, putty in my hands. “Show me how to please you.”

“Stick your tongue out,” I said sharply. Holding fast to my fistful of his hair, I guided his face back down towards my sex and used the tip of his tongue to brush lightly against my clit. And again, in a longer, harder stroke, which gave me a shiver of pleasure that made me arch my back and moan. His beard tickled the soft, smooth skin on either side of my clit and the added sensation soon had me panting too as I moved his head faster and faster, back and forth over my clit, which somehow was still growing larger, more swollen, and more sensitive with each pass of his plump tongue.

“Suck me. Swirl your tongue all around me,” I demanded breathlessly. I released his hair, laying back and pushing my clit hard into his mouth. He put his lips around my entire clit and I let out a loud moan at the sudden warm, tugging sensation that sent a wave of pleasure all the way up to my navel. Now, his tongue was swirling around in delicious circles. I cried out each time it slid over my most sensitive spots. I was pushing my hips up off the bed towards his face, involuntarily by now. Pushing toward the pleasure. Just as the pleasure started to peak, I backed away from him.

“Stop.” I was able to see him more clearly after sitting up, and his desperation positively shone in his eyes. He longed so deeply for more and I could see him squirming, grinding his hips along the bed in an effort to pleasure his aching, neglected cock.

“Stop moving. You aren’t allowed any pleasure until I say.” This made him groan. I shushed him before asking, “Did you get what I told you to bring?”

He nodded and indicated with his chin the nightstand. I opened the drawer and pulled out the dildo inside. It was cock-shaped, huge and perfect, with a slight curve, thick veins, and a smooth head that would feel good in the mouth. It was firm, but had a pleasant give.

“Good boy,” I praised, “You got the perfect thing. Do you know why I made you get it?”

He shook his head helplessly.

“I want you to picture it as your own cock as I pleasure myself with it. I want you to wish you were this dildo. You’re going to wish it more than anything else in the world.”

I slowly put my lips over the head of the dildo, moistening it with my tongue. Mr. Wilson stared, wide-eyed, as I slipped it in and out of my mouth sloppily several times before I started to lap at the underside, making soft noises of enjoyment.

“I love sucking dick, Mr. Wilson, I love making a man feel so good. I love it as he gets harder and bigger in my mouth as I suck him.” At this, he looked thunderstruck, almost paralyzed.

I spread my legs again, giving him full view as I put the smooth dome of the dildo at the entrance to my pussy. I was still absolutely soaked. When I pushed in just the tip and pulled it back out, some of my wetness dripped off the head onto the bed in front of me. The cock felt so real, its head felt so lush and large. I couldn’t wait to feel the rest of it.

“Oops,” I purred, “Do you see how wet I am? I am dripping for this good cock. This good cock that isn’t yours. If you’d like to help, I can give you a job to do.”

I untied his arms and retied his large hands around the dildo, at an angle such that he could still use it to enter me as he lay prone on his elbows.

“Now, give it to me, gently, or I won’t let you help anymore.” I pushed my hips up toward his hands, inviting him. As he slipped the head slowly into me, I sighed sensually.

“Out again. Slowly. Spread my wetness everywhere, I want that cock covered with me.”

He licked his lips, a low, agonized sound escaping from his chest as he slowly moved the dildo obediently.

“In again.” He slowly pushed the dildo back into me, and the enormous head pushed gently against my g-spot. I gasped.

“Yes, there, that’s the spot, right there, keep moving it there.” He complied with my breathless command, nudging it back into place again and again. He was breathing hard now, partly from the strain that the awkward position put on his shoulders, which were bulging beneath his dress shirt, but also from having a front row seat to my wetness shining on the surface of the dildo and from seeing my pussy lips part around the big toy each time it pushed back in.

The urgent sensation of g-spot stimulation became stronger with each stroke, until it filled my abdomen and began to spread down to my thighs, which became clenched with orgasmic tension as I crept toward climax. My walls began to tighten, sucking the dildo in deeper each time it entered, and soon Mr. Wilson was panting at the exertion of having to pull it out from my eager grip every thrust.

On the next stroke, I came, crying out huskily with abandon as my pussy walls swallowed the toy, contracting around it rhythmically, the spasms making me buck my hips up and writhe sinuously on the bed.

I let the warm, pulsing heat of orgasm fade from my body. I pulled away from the dildo and stood up from the bed, tugging the hem of my dress back down.

“Did I do well, Brittany? Is it my turn to feel good?” Mr. Wilson’s face was so hopeful that I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

I picked up my thong and panties off the floor, and then went to the TV stand where my phone was still propped up. I picked it up, stopping the recording, and saw confusion cross his face.

“Wha… You recorded us?”

“It’s your turn to sign the papers, Mr. Wilson. See you in divorce court. Mrs. Wilson sends her regards.”

I turned and walked out of the room without a second glance, leaving him with his hands still tied around the dripping dildo, his puzzled face just starting to show signs of anger at the betrayal, betrayal of trust as well as lust– His cock was still throbbing and wanting. Even so, he didn’t try to follow me.


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