Well, well, then, ‘Bettie Page’, what on earth did I do to receive a gift like you? A beautiful, feisty, retro girl who’s suddenly appeared to me like an angel from 1950s heaven?
John Smith considered having another drink from the mini bar, but, after a moment, he decided he didn’t need one. He was intoxicated enough already, after the barely more than a mouthful of gin he’d drunk downstairs. Far more excited than he’d been by a woman in a long time, and certainly more turned on than he’d ever been with an escort before. Not that he’d been with a professional woman in a while. Not that he’d been with a lot of them anyway.
It was interesting, though, to pretend to Bettie that he had.
Sinking into one of the big chintz armchairs, he took a breath and centred himself, marshalling his feelings. Yes, this was a crazy situation, but he was having fun, so why deny it? And she was too, this unusual young woman with her vintage style and her emotions all over her face. That challenging smile was unmistakeable.
‘Bettie, eh?’
Not her real name, he was sure, but perhaps near to it. She looked the part for Bettie Page, though. She had the same combination of innocence, yet overflowing sensuality. Naughtiness. Yes, that was perfect for her. But how naughty? As an escort she probably took most things, everything, in her stride. Surely she wouldn’t balk at his favoured activities? And yet, despite her profession, there was that strangely untouched quality to her, just like the legendary Bettie. A sweet freshness. A wholesomeness, idiotic as that sounded.
How long had she been in the game, he wondered. What if she was new to this? She was certainly far younger than his usual preference. His choice was normally for sleek, groomed, experienced women in their thirties, courtesans rather than call girls, ladies of the world. There might be a good deal of pleasure, though, in giving something to her in return for her services, something more than simply the money. Satisfaction, something new … a little adventure, more than just the job.
Now there was the real trick, the deeper game. And with any luck, a working girl who styled herself as ‘Bettie’ and who was prepared to take a client on the fly, after barely five minutes’ chat, was bold enough to play it.
Suddenly he wasn’t as bored with life and business as he’d been half an hour ago. Suddenly, his gathering unease about the paths he’d chosen, the insidious phantoms of loss and guilt, and the horrid, circling feeling that his life was ultimately empty, all slipped away from him. Suddenly he felt as if he were a young man again, full of dreams. A player; excited, hopeful, potent.
When he touched his cock it was as hard as stone, risen and eager.
‘Come on, Bettie,’ he whispered to himself, smiling as his heart rose too, with anticipation. ‘Hurry up, because if you don’t, I’ll come in there and get you.’
When Lizzie emerged from the bathroom the first thing she saw was another small pile of banknotes on the dresser.
‘Just in case I have a hankering for “fancy”,’ said John amiably. He was lounging on the bed, still fully dressed, although his shoes were lying on their sides on the carpet where he’d obviously kicked them off.
‘Oh, right … OK.’
Fancy? What did fancy mean? A bit of bondage? Spanking? Nothing too weird, she hoped. But it might mean they needed ‘accessories’ and she had none. You don’t take plastic spanking paddles and fluffy handcuffs to the posher kind of birthday party, which was what she was supposed to be at.
‘I don’t have any toys with me. Just these.’ The words came out on a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, and louder than she’d meant to. She opened her palm to reveal the couple of condoms she’d had stashed in the bottom of her bag. ‘I wasn’t originally planning to work tonight, but the event I was at was a bit tedious, so I thought I’d take a chance in the bar … you know, waste not, want not.’
What the hell am I babbling about?
John grinned from his position of comfort and relaxation. A tricky grin, as sunny as before, but with an edge. He was in charge, and he knew it. Maybe that was the ‘fancy’?
Something slow and snaky and honeyed rolled in her belly. A delicious sensation, scary but making her blood tingle. His blue eyes narrowed as if he were monitoring her physical responses remotely, and the surge of desire swelled again, and grew.
She’d played jokey little dominance and submission games with a couple of her boyfriends. Just a bit of fun, something to spice things up. But it had never quite lived up to her expectations. Never delivered. Mainly because they’d always wanted her to play the dominatrix for them, wear some cheap black vinyl tat and call them ‘naughty boys’. It’d been a laugh, she supposed, but it hadn’t done much for her, and when one had hinted at turning the tables, she’d said goodnight and goodbye to the relationship. He’d been a nice enough guy, but somehow, in a way she couldn’t define, not ‘good’ enough to be her master and make her bow down.
But golden John Smith, a gin-drinking man of forty-something, with laughter lines and a look of beautiful world-weariness … well, he was ‘good’ enough. Her belly trembled and silky fluid pooled in her sex, shocking and quick.
Now was the moment to stop being a fake, if she could. Maybe explain, and then perhaps even go on with a new game? And yet she could barely speak. He wasn’t speaking either, just looking at her with those eyes that seemed to see all. With a little tilt of his head, he told her not to explain or question or break the spell.
But just when she thought she might break down and scream from the tension, he did speak.
‘Toys aren’t always necessary, Bettie. You of all people should know that.’
Had she blown it? Maybe … maybe not. Schooling herself not to falter, she shrugged and moved towards him. When she reached the bed, she dropped her rather inadequate stash of condoms on the side table and said, ‘Of course … you’re so right. And I love to improvise, don’t you?’
Slowly, he sat up, and swivelled around, letting his legs swing down and his feet settle on the floor. ‘Good girl … good girl …’ He reached out and laid a hand on her hip, fingers curving, just touching the slope of her bottom cheek. The touch became a squeeze, the tips of his four fingers digging into her flesh, not cruelly but with assertion, owning her.
With his other hand, he drew her nearer, right in between his spread thighs. She was looking down at him but it was as if he were looking down at her, from a great and dominant height. Her heart tripped again, knowing he could give her what she wanted.
But what was his price? Could she afford to pay?
He squeezed her bottom harder, as if assessing the resilience of her flesh, his fingertips closer to her pussy now, pushing the cloth of her skirt into the edge of her cleft. With a will of its own, her body started moving, rocking, pushing against his hold. Her sex was heavy, agitated, in need of some attention, and yet they’d barely done anything thus far. She lifted her hands to put them on his shoulders and draw the two of them closer.
‘Uh oh.’ The slightest tilt of the head, and a narrowing of his eyes was all the command she needed. She let her hands drop … while his free hand rose to her breast, fingers grazing her nipple. Her bra was underwired, but not padded so there was little to dull his touch. With finger and thumb, he took hold of her nipple and pinched it lightly through her clothing, smiling when she let out a gasp, sensation shooting from the contact to her swollen folds, and her clit.
Squeeze. Pinch. Squeeze. Pinch. Nothing like the sex she was used to, but wonderful. Odd. Infinitely arousing. The wetness between her labia welled again, slippery and almost alarming, saturating the thin strip of cloth between her legs.
‘I’m going to make you come,’ said John in a strangely normal voice, ‘and I mean a real one, no faking. I think you can do it for me. You seem like an honest girl, and I think you like the way I’m touching you … even if it is business.’
Lizzie swallowed. For a moment there she’d forgotten she was supposed to be a professional. She’d just been a lucky girl with a really hot man who probably wouldn’t have to do all that much to get her off.
‘Will you be honest for me?’ His blue eyes were like the whole world, and unable to get away from. ‘Will you give me what I want? What I’ve paid for?’
‘Yes, I think I can do that. Shouldn’t be too difficult.’
Finger and thumb closed hard on her nipple. It really hurt and she let out a moan from the pain and from other sensations. ‘Honesty, remember?’ His tongue, soft and pink slid along his lower lip and she had to hold in a moan at the sight of that too.
She nodded, unable to speak, the pressure on the tip of her breast consuming her. How could this be happening? It hurt but it was next to nothing really.
Then he released her. ‘Take off your cardigan and your dress, nothing else.’
Shaking, but hoping he couldn’t detect the fine tremors, Lizzie shucked off her cardigan and dropped it on the floor beside her, then she reached behind her, for her zip.
‘Let me.’ John turned her like a big doll, whizzed the zip down, and then turned her back again, leaving her to slip the dress off. He put out a hand, though, to steady her, as she stepped out of it.
She hadn’t really been planning to seduce anyone tonight, so she hadn’t put on her fanciest underwear, just a nice but fairly unfussy set, a plain white bra and panties with a little edge of rosy pink lace.
‘Nice. Prim. I like it,’ said John with a pleased smile. Lizzie almost fainted when he hitched himself a little sideways on the bed, reached down and casually adjusted himself in his trousers. As his hand slid away, she could see he was huge, madly erect.
Oh, yummy.
He laughed out loud. He’d seen her checking him out. ‘Not too bad, eh?’ He shrugged, still with that golden but vaguely unnerving grin. ‘I guess you see all shapes and sizes.’
‘True,’ she replied, wanting to reach out and touch the not too bad item, but knowing instinctively it was forbidden to do so for the moment. ‘And most of them are rather small … but you seem to be OK, though, from where I’m standing.’
‘Cheeky minx. I should punish you for that.’ He laid a hand on her thigh, just above the top of her hold-up stocking. He didn’t slap her, though perversely she’d hoped he might, just so she could see what one felt like from him. ‘Maybe I will in a bit.’ He stroked her skin, just at the edge of her panties, then drew back.
‘You’re very beautiful, you know,’ he went on, leaning back on his elbows for a moment. ‘I expect you’re very popular. Are you? Do you do well?’
‘Not too badly.’ It seemed a bland enough answer, not an exact lie. She had the occasional boyfriend, nothing special. She wasn’t promiscuous, but she had sex now and again.
John nodded. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it, but she didn’t stop to worry. The way he was lying showed off that gorgeous erection. ‘Do you actually, really like your job, then?’ He glanced down to where she was looking, unashamed.
‘Yes, I do. And I often come too. The things you see on the telly. Documentaries and stuff … They all try to tell people that we don’t enjoy it. But some of us do.’ It seemed safer to cover herself. If she didn’t have a real orgasm soon, she might go mad. He’d barely touched her but her clit was aching, aching, aching.
‘Show me, then. Pull down the top of your bra. Show me your tits. They look very nice but I’d like to see a bit more of them.’
Peeling down her straps, Lizzie pushed the cups of her bra down too, easing each breast out and letting it settle on the bunched fabric of the cup. It looked rude and naughty, as if she were presenting two juicy fruits to him on a tray, and it made her just nicely sized breasts look bigger, more opulent.
‘Lovely. Now play with your nipples. Make them really come up for me.’
Tentatively, Lizzie cupped herself, first one breast, then the other. ‘I thought you were going to make me come? I’m doing all the work here.’ A shudder ran down her spine; her nipples were already acutely sensitive, dark and perky.
‘Shush. You talk too much. Just do as you’re told.’ The words were soft, almost friendly, but she listened for an undertone, even if there wasn’t one there.
Closing her eyes, she went about her task, wondering what he was thinking. Touching her breasts made her want to touch herself elsewhere too. It always did. It was putting electricity into a system and getting an overload in a different location. Her clit felt enormous, charged, desperate. As she ran her thumbs across her nipples, tantalising herself, she wanted to pant with excitement.
And all because this strange man was looking at her. She could feel the weight of his blue stare, even if she couldn’t see him. Were his lips parted just as hers were? Was he hungering just as she did? Did he want a taste of her?
Swaying her hips, she slid a hand down from her breast to her belly, skirting the edge of her knickers, ready to dive inside.
‘No, not there. I’ll deal with that.’
Lizzie’s eyes snapped open. John was watching her closely, as she’d expected, his gaze hooded. Gosh, his eyelashes were long. She suddenly noticed them, so surprisingly dark compared to his wheat-gold hair.
In a swift, shocking move, he sat up again and grasped the errant hand, then its mate, pushing them behind her, and then hooking both of them together behind her back. Her wrists were narrow and easily contained by his bigger hand. He was right up against her now, his breath hot on her breasts.
Bondage. Was this one of his fancy things? Her heart thrilled. Her pussy quivered. Yes. Yes. Yes. He held her firmly, his arm around her, securing her. She tried not to tremble but it was difficult to avoid it. Difficult to stop herself pressing her body as close to his as she could and trying to get off by rubbing her crotch against whatever part of him she could reach.
‘Keep still. Keep very still. No movement unless I say so.’ Inclining forward, he put out his tongue and licked her nipple, long, slowly and lasciviously, once, twice, three times.
‘Oh God … oh God …’
His mouth was hot and his tongue nimble, flexible. He furled it to a point and dabbed at the very point of her, then lashed hard, flicking the bud. Lizzie imagined she was floating, buoyed up by the simple, focused pleasure, yet tethered by the weight of lust between her thighs.
‘Hush … be quiet.’ The words flowed over the skin of her breast. ‘Try not to make any noises. Contain everything inside you.’
It was hard, so hard … and impossible when he took her nipple between his teeth and tugged on it hard. The pressure was oh so measured, but threatening, and his tongue still worked, right on the very tip.
Forbidden noises came out of her mouth. Her pelvis wafted in a dance proscribed. A tear formed at the corner of her eye. He dabbed and dabbed at her imprisoned nipple with his tongue, and when she looked down on him, she could see a demon looking back up at her, laughter dark and merry in his eyes.
He thinks he’s getting the better of me. He thinks he’s getting to a woman who’s supposedly anaesthetised to pleasure, and making her excited.
Hard suction pulled at her nipple and her hips undulated in reply.
I don’t know who the hell this woman is, but the bastard’s making me crazy!
Lizzie had never believed that a woman could get off just from having her breasts played with. And maybe that still was so … But with her tit in John Smith’s mouth she was only a hair’s breadth from it. Maybe if she jerked her hips hard enough, it’d happen. Maybe she’d climax from sheer momentum.
‘Stop that,’ he ordered quietly, then with his free palm, he reached around and slapped her hard on the buttock, right next to her immobilised hands. It was like a thunderclap through the cotton of her panties.
‘Ow!’
The pain was fierce and sudden, with strange powers. Her skin burnt, but in her cleft, her clit pulsed and leapt. Had she come? She couldn’t even tell, the signals were so mixed.
‘What’s the matter, little escort girl? Are you getting off?’ He mouthed her nipple again, licking, sucking. Her clit jerked again, tightening.
‘Could be,’ she gasped, surprised she could still be so bold when her senses were whirling, ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, let’s make certain then, eh?’ Manhandling her, he turned her a little between his thighs. ‘Arms around my shoulders. Hold on tight.’
‘But …’
‘This is what I’ve paid you for, Bettie’ His blue eyes flashed. ‘My pleasure is your compliance. That’s the name of the game.’
She put her hands on him, obeying. The muscles of his neck and shoulders felt strong, unyielding, through the fine cotton of his shirt and the silk of his waistcoat lining, and this close, a wave of his cologne rose up, filling her head like an exotic potion, lime and spices, underscored by just a whiff of a foxier scent, fresh sweat. He was as excited as she, for all his apparent tranquillity, and that made her dizzier than ever. This was all mad, like no sex she’d ever really had before, although right here, right now, she was hard pressed to remember anything she’d done with other men.
‘Oh Bettie, Bettie, you’re really rather delightful,’ he crooned, pushing a hand into her knickers from the front, making her pitch over, pressing her face against the side of his. His hair smelt good too, but fainter and with a greener note. He was a pot-pourri of delicious male odours.
‘Oh, oh, God.’ Burrowing in with determined fingers, he’d found her clit, and he took possession of it in a hard little rub. Her sex gathered itself, heat massing in her belly she was so ready from all the forays and tantalising gambits he’d put her through.
‘If you have an orgasm before I give you permission, I’ll slap your bottom, Bettie.’ His voice was low, barely more than a breath. ‘And if you come again … I’ll slap you again.’
‘But why punish me? If you want me to come?’ She could barely speak, but something compelled her to. Maybe just the act of forming words gave her some control. Over herself at least.
‘Because it’s my will to do it, Bettie. Because I want you to come, and spanking your bottom makes me hard.’ He twisted his neck, and pressed a kiss against her throat, a long, indecent licking kiss, messy and animal. ‘Surely you understand how we men sometimes are?’
‘Yes … yes, of course I do … Men are perverts,’ she panted, bearing down on his relentless fingertip that was rocking now. ‘At least the fun ones mostly are, in my experience.’
‘Oh brava! Bravissima! That’s my girl …’ Latching his mouth on to her earlobe in a wicked nip, he circled his finger, working her clit like a bearing, rolling and pushing.
As his teeth closed tighter, just for an instant, he overcame her. She shouted, something incoherent, orgasming hard in sharp, intense waves, her flesh rippling.
The waves were still rolling when he slapped again, with his fully open hand, right across her bottom cheek.
‘Ow! Oh God!’
John nuzzled her neck, still making magic with his finger, and torment with his hand, more and more slaps. Her body was a maelstrom, her nerves not sure what was happening, pain and pleasure whipping together in a froth. She gripped him hard, holding on, dimly aware that she might be hurting him too with her vice-like hold.
‘Oh please … time out,’ she begged after what could have been moments, or much longer.
The slaps stopped, and he curved his whole hand around her crotch, the gesture vaguely protective … or perhaps possessive?
‘Not used to coming when you’re “on duty”?’ His voice was silky and provocative, but good-humoured. ‘It’s nice to know I managed to make you lose it. Seems that I’ve not lost my touch.’ He pressed a kiss to her neck, snaking his arm around her back, supporting her.
Lizzie blinked, feeling odd, unsorted. She hadn’t expected to feel quite this much with him. It had all started as a lark, a bit of fun, testing herself to see if she could get away with her pretence. She still didn’t know if she’d achieved that, and she wasn’t sure John Smith would give her a straight answer if she found a way to ask him.
Either way, he’d touched her more than just physically. He’d put heat in her bottom, and confusion in her soul.
For a few moments, she just let herself be held, trying not to think. She was half draped across the body of a man she barely knew, with several hundred pounds of his money in her bag and on the dresser. His hand was still tucked inside her panties, cradling her pussy, wet with her silk.
‘You’re very wet down there, sweetheart,’ he said, as if he’d read her thoughts again. He sounded pleased with himself, which, she supposed he should be if he really believed she was an escort and he’d got her as dripping wet as this. ‘And real, too … not out of a tube.’ He dabbled in her pond.
‘It’s not unknown, John. I told you that … Some of us enjoy our profession very much. We make the most of our more attractive clients.’
‘Flatterer,’ he said, but she detected a pleased note in his voice. He was a man and only human. They all liked to be praised for their prowess. His hand closed a little tighter on her sex, finger flexing. ‘Do you think you could oblige this attractive client with a fuck now? Nothing fancy this time. Just a bit of doggy style, if you don’t mind.’
In spite of everything, Lizzie laughed out loud. He was a sexy, possibly very devious character, but she also sensed he was a bit of a caution too, a man with whom one could have good fun without sex ever being involved.
‘I’d be glad to,’ she replied, impetuously kissing him on the cheek, wondering if that was right for her role. Straightening up, she moved onto the bed, feeling his hand slide out of her underwear. ‘Like this?’ She went up on her knees on the mattress, close to the edge, reaching around to tug at her knickers and make way for him.
‘Delightful … Hold that thought. I’ll be right with you.’
Over her shoulder, Lizzie watched him boldly, eager to see if his cock was as good as it had felt through his clothes.
Swiftly, John unbuttoned his washed-slate-blue waistcoat, and then his trousers, but he didn’t remove them. Instead, he fished amongst his shirt-tails and his linen, pushing them aside and freeing his cock without undressing.
He was a good size, hard and high, ruddy with defined, vigorous veining. He frisked himself two or three times, as if he doubted his erection, but Lizzie had no such doubts. He looked as solid as if he’d been carved from tropical wood.
‘OK for you?’ Jiggling himself again, he challenged her with a lift of his dark blond eyebrows.
‘Very fair. Very fair indeed.’ She wiggled her bottom enticingly. ‘Much better than I usually get.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ He reached for a condom, and in a few quick, deft movements enrobed himself. A latex coating didn’t diminish the temptation.
Taking hold of her hips, he moved her closer to the edge of the bed in a brisk, businesslike fashion, then peeled off her panties, tugging them off over her shoes and tossing them away.
‘Very fair. Very fair indeed,’ he teased, running his hands greedily over her buttocks and making the slight tingle from where he’d spanked her flare and surge. ‘I’d like to spank you again, but not tonight.’ Reaching between her legs, he played with her labia and her clit, reawakening sensations there too. ‘I just want to be in you for the moment, but another time, well, I’d like to get fancier then, if you’re amenable.’
‘I … I think that could be arranged,’ she answered, panting. He was touching her just the way she loved. How could he do that? If he kept on, she’d be agreeing to madness. Wanting to say more, she could only let out a moan and rock her body to entice him.
‘Good, very good.’ With some kind of magician-like twist of the wrist, he thrust a finger inside her, as if testing her condition. ‘I’ll pay extra, of course. I don’t like to mark women, but you never know. I’ll recompense you for any income lost, don’t worry.’
What was he talking about? She could barely think. He was pumping her now. Not touching her clit, just thrusting his finger in and out of her in a smooth, relentless rhythm. And when her sensitive flesh seemed about to flutter into glorious orgasm, he pushed in a second finger too, beside the first. As she wriggled and rode them, she felt his cock brushing her thigh.
‘Are you ready for me?’ The redundant question was like a breeze sighing in her ear, so soft as he leant over her, clothing and rubber-clad erection pressed against her.
‘What do you think?’ she said on a hard gasp, almost coming, her entire body sizzling with sensation.
‘Ready, willing and able, it seems.’ He buried his face in her hair, and nuzzled her almost fondly. ‘You’re a remarkable woman, Bettie.’
And then she was empty, trembling, waiting … but not for long. Blunt and hot, his penis found her entrance, nudging, pushing, entering as he clasped her hip hard for purchase and seemed to fling himself at her in a ruthless shove.
‘Oof!’ His momentum knocked the breath out of her, sending her pitching forward, the side of her face hitting the mattress, her heart thrilling to the sheer primitive power of him. She felt him brace himself with a hand set beside her, while the fingers of his other hand tightened on her body like a vice, securing his grip. His thrusts were so powerful she had to hold on herself, grabbing hunks of the bedding to stop herself sliding.
‘Hell. Yes!’ His voice was fierce, ferocious, not like him. Where were his playful amused tones now? He sounded like a wild beast, voracious and alpha. He fucked like one too, pounding away at her. ‘God, you’re so tight … so tight!’ There was surprise in the wildness too.
Squirming against the mattress, riding it as John rode her, Lizzie realised something. Of course, he had no idea he was taking a road with her that not too many men had travelled. She’d had sex, yes, and boyfriends. And enjoyed them immensely. But not all that many of them, throughout her years as a woman. Fewer than many of her friends, and hundreds fewer than an experienced escort.
But such thoughts dissolved. Who could think, being possessed like this? How could a man of nice but normal dimensions feel like a gigantic force of nature inside her, knocking against nerve-endings she couldn’t remember ever being knocked before, stroking against exquisitely sensitive spots and making her gasp and howl, yes, howl!
Pleasure bloomed, red, white heat inside her, bathing her sex, her belly, making her clit sing. Her mouth was open against the duvet; good God, she was drooling too. Her hips jerked, as if trying to hammer back against John Smith as hard as he was hammering into her.
‘Yes … that’s good … oh …’ His voice degraded again, foul, mindless blasphemy pouring from those beautiful lips as he ploughed her. Blue, filthy words that soared like a holy litany. ‘Yes, oh God … now touch yourself, you gorgeous slut … rub your clit while I fuck you. I want you to be coming when I do. I want to feel it around me, your cunt, grabbing my dick.’
She barely needed the stimulus; the words alone set up the reality. The ripple of her flesh against his became hard, deep, grabbing clenches, the waves of pleasure so high and keen she could see white splodges in front of her eyes, as if she were swooning under him, even as she rubbed her clit with her fingers.
As she went limp, almost losing consciousness, a weird cry almost split the room. It was high, odd, broken, almost a sob as John’s hips jerked like some ancient pneumatic device of both flesh and iron, pumping his seed into the thin rubber membrane lodged inside her.
He collapsed on her. She was collapsed already. It seemed as if the high wind that had swept the room had suddenly died. Her lover, both John and a John lay upon her, substantial, but not a heavy man really. His weight, though, seemed real, in a state of dreams.
After a minute, or perhaps two or three, he levered himself off her, standing. She felt the brush of his fingers sliding down her flank in a soft caress, then came his voice.
‘Sorry about calling you a “slut” … and the other stuff. I expect you’ve heard a lot worse in this line of work, but still … You know us men, we talk a lot of bloody filthy nonsense when we’re getting our ends away. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No … not at all. I rather like it, actually.’ Rolling onto her side, then her back, she discovered him knotting the condom, then tossing it into the nearby waste bin. His cock was deflating, naturally, but still had a certain majesty about it, even as he tucked it away and sorted out his shirt-tails and his zip.
‘God, you look gorgeous like that.’ His blue eyes blazed, as if his spirit might be willing again even if his flesh was currently shagged out. ‘I’d love to have you again, but I think I’ve been a bit of pig and I’ll be hors de combat for a little while now.’
You do say some quaint things, John Smith … But I like it.
I like you.
‘Perhaps we could go again? When you’ve had a rest?’ She glanced across at the second pile of notes on the dresser. It looked quite a lot. ‘I’m not sure you’ve had full value for your money.’
John’s eyes narrowed, amused, and he gave her an odd, boyish little grin.
‘Oh, I think I’ve had plenty. You … you’ve been very good, beautiful Bettie. Just what I needed.’ He sat down beside her, having swooped to pick up her panties, then pressed the little cotton bundle into her hands. ‘I haven’t been sleeping too well lately, love. But I think I’ll sleep tonight now. Thank you.’
A lump came to Lizzie’s throat. This wasn’t sexual game playing, just honest words, honest thanks. He seemed younger suddenly, perhaps a little vulnerable. She wanted to stay, not for sex, but to just hug him, and hold him.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he said, touching her cheek. ‘But it’s time for you to go. I’ve had what I’ve paid for, and more, sweet girl. I’d think I’d like to sleep now, and you should be home to your bed too. You don’t have any more appointments tonight, do you?’
‘No … nothing else.’ Something very strange twisted in her mid-section. Yes, she should go now. Before she did or said something very silly. ‘I’m done for the night.’ She got up, wriggled into her knickers as gracefully as she could, then accepted her other things from John’s hands. He’d picked them up for her. ‘I’ll just need a moment in your bathroom, then I’ll leave you to your sleep.’
She skittered away, sensing him reaching for her. Not sure she could cope with his touch again, at least not in gentleness.
John stared at the door to the bathroom, smiling to himself, but perplexed.
You haven’t been working very long, have you, beautiful Bettie?
How new was she to the game, he wondered. She didn’t have that gloss, that slightly authoritative edge that he could always detect in an experienced escort. She was a sensual, lovely woman, and she seemed unafraid, but her responses were raw, unfiltered, as if she’d not yet learned to wear a mask and keep a bit of herself back. The working girls he’d been with had always been flatteringly responsive, accomplished, a massage to his ego. But there’d always been a tiny trickle of an edge that told him he was really just a job to them, even if they did genuinely seem to enjoy themselves.
But Bettie seemed completely unfettered by all that. She was full throttle. There was no way she could have fabricated her enjoyment of the sex; there was no way she could have faked the unprocessed excitement she’d exhibited, the response when he’d spanked her luscious bottom.
She loved it, and maybe that was the explanation. Most whores encountered clients who wanted to take the punishment, not dish it out. Maybe she wasn’t all that experienced in being on the receiving end of BDSM? But she was a natural, and he needed a natural right now. Someone fresh, and vigorous, and enthusiastic. Unschooled, but with a deep, innate understanding of the mysteries.
He had to see her again. And see her soon.