As the witching hour arrived, the ballroom exploded with noisemakers and celebratory shouts. He leaned into her for a passionate kiss and dropped a room key card into her purse. "Go up to the room. You will find a collar waiting for you in the bathroom. I expect to find you waiting for me on your knees."
She smiled broadly and headed for the elevator. He remained behind, taking one of the ubiquitous plastic flutes of champagne and a few chilled shrimp on a clear plastic plate. He was in no hurry. The anticipation would build, he knew, as he delayed his arrival.
The ballroom began to empty out shortly afterwards as couples hurried to their rooms or homes to complete their festivities in a more intimate setting. Few, he knew, would be celebrating as he was about to. Soon enough he had finished his snack and moved to the elevators, now largely empty. One couple shared his ride to the top floor about half the distance. Alcohol had almost completely stripped them of their inhibitions as they kissed and groped each other openly. Amateurs.
She was waiting for him as instructed, on her knees, off to one side of the room, out of view from the door. She practiced being patient, thought of standing up until she heard him at the door, but thought better of it. She would obey his instructions.
He let himself in with the second key and paused to remove his shoes at the door. Without a word, he stepped into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and washed his hands. He placed his cufflinks onto the counter top and stripped completely, then redressed in his shirt and trousers only.
Now that the stage was set, he emerged to find her on her knees, hands on her thighs. Her eyes were downcast as she awaited his lead. Now it was his turn to smile.
Taking the chair in front of the small work desk, he addressed her at last. "Come here, slut."
Her legs were stiff from the long wait, but she managed to comply. Standing directly before him.
"Assume the position."
She placed her hands behind her head and spread her long, shapely legs. He reached out with his right hand and traced the curve of her right leg, from the hem of her dress upward, feeling the smooth nylon of her stocking and one of the straps of her garter belt as his hand rose higher, neither fast nor slow. She wanted to beg him to touch her THERE. He did.
Sliding one finger between her soft, well shaved labia, he slid just the tip of it inside her. She was very wet, indeed. As he withdrew, he used the wet fingertip to give her clitoris a few gentle strokes. A moan escaped her lips, and she squatted just a little, trying to rub herself against his hand.
"I see we're looking forward to this."
(To be continued.)
