Going Up and Going Down (17 page)

Rushing down
Piccadilly from Green Park tube station on my way to my ‘business meeting’, I
stopped and carried out another quick rummage in my bag, wanting to be certain
that I had everything I needed. It had been rather a rush getting away, as our
neighbour had caught me putting the rubbish out. I think he came out
deliberately to ask what all the shouting and swearing had been about on the
Saturday morning, he’d also heard the glass from our front window smashing. He
didn’t even ask if I was okay. He didn’t give two hoots about me or anybody
else for that matter. There was a not so subtle undertone, when he had brought
the subject up, that was implying ‘I hope this is a one-off because I don’t
want to hear it again, it’s not what we expect in this neighbourhood.’ I
quickly put him out of my mind.

Satisfied that
I had all the essentials for my evening’s work, I stepped up the pace and
quickly rounded the corner into the little side street that would take me to
the rear entrance of my place of work – one of London’s top, five star hotels –
the business
. Rather than arrange this appointment for the Thursday
morning and take the big risk of being caught, I had thought it best to sneak
in at night and take the chance that I wouldn’t be noticed prowling around the
corridors.

As I was going
up in the service lift I began to have doubts about what I was doing. Not about
the sex, it was what I needed after all. It was the creeping around like a
burglar that I didn’t like. I was bound to get caught, and that thought worried
me. Emerging from the lift, my eyes scanned the corridors, but there was nobody
around. Once I was stood in front of Tower Suite,’ I knocked gently,

“Room service,
Sir” I uttered, in what was no more than a whisper, knowing that there was a
certain VIP in the suite.

“Yes, come in!”

As I walked
into the suite and engaged the chain on the door, his dressing-gowned back
disappeared rapidly into the bedroom. I had ten minutes to get myself ready (in
the bathroom as I’d already been told), and as I passed through the bedroom, he
was getting undressed. I quickly checked my make-up, not that it mattered much
on this occasion, and started to remove my clothes, hanging them carefully on
the hooks behind the door. I took the special clothes from my satchel that he
had asked me to purchase. I squeezed my way into the tight-fitting, full body
suit. It was made in a luxurious, velvety-feel, black fabric, two cut out holes
to expose my breasts and an open crotch that would expose the area from my
pussy to my anus. Two minutes to spare - so I fiddled about to get my other
accessories in place - my beautiful cat mask, complete with whiskers and two
pointy ears, and the belt that dropped low onto my hips that let the pussy-cat
tail fall over the crack in my bottom.

Dropping down
onto my hands and knees, I quickly crawled over to the saucer of milk that had
been left for me by the shower cubicle door, and started lapping. Faultless
timing on my part, I was aware of the bathroom door opening and peered between
my front and back legs. The dog was padding slowly towards me across the room.
Seconds later, I could feel his cold, hard nose and I could hear him sniffing
around my anus and pussy. His tongue started slowly teasing and tormenting
around the outside of each orifice, taking care to keep me waiting, to keep
himself waiting, prolonging this sex game of his for as long as he determined,
his anticipation and excitement held in check, whilst awaiting his ultimate
pleasure. Sensing my eagerness, he rubbed his tongue over my clit and it was
my
heaven – the clit flicking, again with his tongue. Pushing me backwards towards
the tongue minutes later, I got my reward as it started thrusting gently into
my pussy, oh so slowly …and mind-blowing. Violently quivering all over as I
came, he continued thrusting, stopping every few seconds as he took greedy licks
at my freely flowing juice, savouring the taste briefly, before thrusting again
to induce the second explosion, which came faster this time, but not quite so
intense. As my shakes subsided, I started to feel the weight of him on my back,
and I could also feel his rock hard and very
human
cock swaying,
desperately seeking the pussy it desired, now deliciously wet and
accommodating. The cock found its entrance and the dog was thrusting hard and
fast, pushing and pushing and I could feel its thickness pulsating inside my
hole as it was painfully tight.

My arms started
tiring as he grunted away. I could feel my top end slowly starting to sink and
seconds later, my arms had numbed and given way, my face was in the saucer of
milk. To save myself from drowning (I wondered how he would explain that one) I
quickly turned my head on a side, so that my ear was in the milk, rather than
my nose (and whiskers). Such pain followed as he roughly grabbed me by my
nipples and starting gripping so hard, as if to give himself greater purchase
for each of his thrusts. We were moving around the bathroom with his thrusts,
the saucer scraping its way across the tiled floor, slopping some of its
contents onto the floor in the process. Its journey came to an end as the top
of my head reached the tiled wall. I could go no further, my skull felt as if
it would cave in with the pressure as the increasing crescendo reached its
finale and the fucking came to an end with the cock’s explosion of semen, both
inside me and on the floor. To make the act more credible, for ten minutes we
tried to separate, me attempting to pull forwards and away, him still thrusting
into me, but seemingly trying to pull away (like the dogs I watched shagging
once when I was a kid, and I had been fascinated until Mum had caught me
watching). For fuck’s sake, get that thing out of me, I was thinking, when
finally he did pull out, and I felt the wetness starting to trickle down my
inner thighs. With that, he was gone, back to his bedroom.

I ran some
water into the bath, and I soaked and washed out my nether regions, ridding
myself of his deposits, and preparing for the next onslaught.

I was amazed
that the remainder of the evening was quite straight forward. He had discarded
his dog costume and he wanted me to play with his cock, rubbing and fondling
it, until he’d summoned up sufficient energy to start fucking me again, in an
assortment of positions of his choosing. His cock never once lost its
stiffness, in fact it seemed…unnaturally stiff. I suspected he’d been taking
Viagra. He fucked me for over three hours, with the exception of a few short
breaks to catch his breath, but there were no further orgasms to be had for
either of us.

Once dressed, I
grabbed the things off the bathroom floor and stuffed them back in my satchel.
There was just one thing left for me to collect. Walking through the suite, I
grabbed the envelope that had been left on the dining room table for me. He had
disappeared back into the bedroom. No doubt he would be showering, rinsing away
all traces of me, and our sordid business transaction. It was quarter past one
in the morning when I left through the back door of the hotel.

Not one word
had been exchanged between us throughout the night. Other than use me as his
sex toy, what subject could he possibly find to converse with me about? He was
a Sir – a member of the House of Lords, and former cabinet minister…and I was
just…a hooker!

Since Anthony’s
revelations about my father’s business a few weeks ago, we had barely exchanged
more than a few words in passing, other than one night when I had far too much
wine. I’d started screaming and shouting at him, blaming his ineptitude for the
failure of the business, which in return had caused the death of my parents. I
was totally relentless. It all came pouring out, everything! His parents’
attitude towards me, his rent boy, rape, the orgy and the cocaine they’d been
snorting – nothing escaped my vicious attack – with the exception of the
envelope. My knowledge of that was unknown to him and I intended keeping it
that way – at least until I’d gleaned some more information.

Towards the end
of my drunken outburst, he’d turned his back on me and gone out, probably
fearing an action replay with something a bit larger than a paper-weight – and
with a better placed shot.

He didn’t
return that night, leaving me to cry in frustration and sleep off the drink on
the settee.

I didn’t see
him again until I got home from work the next day. He had thrown his jacket and
tie onto the armchair. He was sprawled on the settee, already looking bleary
eyed, with one empty wine bottle kicked over on the floor. His half empty glass
in one hand and a second bottle in the other, he acknowledged my presence by
raising the glass as I walked into the lounge. He was struggling to keep the
glass upright in his hand but managed to slur a toast to himself,

“To me!
Unemployed as from today! Receiver closed the doors on Daddy’s business at
lunchtime today.” I glared at him in disgust, and went upstairs to throw a few
things into a bag. It was my turn to stay out all night. I was eager to avoid
another confrontation.

I received a
call from my fourth client, right out of the blue and with no warning call from
Simon, who seemed to be confidently giving out my number without checking with
me first.

I chatted to
the gentleman for five minutes, breaking the ice a little. He told me his name
and that he was a majority share-holder in one of the UK’s better mobile phone businesses. He wanted me to visit him in one of London’s finest
hotels (fortunately, not my place of employment), at eight o’clock. During our
call, it had slipped my mind to ask if he wanted me to bring anything special
along, so as usual I filled my satchel with a small selection of outfits and
sex toys. After dressing in one of my classiest outfits (a look very apt for
the hotel in question), I made my usual quick call to Simon, selected Yves
Saint Laurent sunglasses, Chanel No. 5 perfume, and caught a cab.

I didn’t quite
know what to expect as I knocked on the door of Room 905. His nice sexy
telephone voice had me guessing that he was fortyish, but I didn’t always trust
my judgement on the matter. For once my guess had been spot on – tall, good
looking, dark hair with some hints of grey around the temples and sideburns.
Once I was inside the room he indicated the sofa, so I parked my bottom and sat
my bag on the floor at the side of me.

“Fresh coffee?”
he asked, but I noticed he never awaited my reply and proceeded to pour one for
me to accompany the one he’d just poured for himself.

“Thank you,” I
indicated for him to stop, so there was room for the milk “that’s fine.”

He gestured to
an envelope that was on the coffee table,

“It’s all
there. Would you like to count it?”

I laughed and
shook my head, surprised at him for wanting to get the matter of money out of
the way first.

“I can do that
later, when…you know.”

“Right – yes.” He
looked a little embarrassed, but smiled before sitting down opposite me.

I poured the
milk in my coffee and added sugar. As I stirred the coffee, I could sense that
he was watching me, so I watched his expression carefully. I’d seen that
curious look on the faces of previous clients already.

“You are one
beautiful girl, looks like yours, your figure - you could be anything you
wanted to be - model, actress. Why this? What makes you do this? I’m told by
Simon that you are very intelligent and that you come from a decent background.
You don’t need the money.”

He looked at me
quizzically. Yes, the same old questions. The same old questions that yet again
I would not be answering.

I focused on a
picture hanging on the wall behind him, instead of maintaining the eye contact.

“It’s kind
of...a long story. One that I think both you and my other clients would find
hard to understand, so I am not even going to try. I’m not sure even
I
fully understand my reasons, so if I can’t understand it myself, how could I
possibly begin to explain it to you?”

He digested
this for a few seconds as he continued to look at me, but the curious look
disappeared - he’d accepted my answer it seemed.

We talked,
drank our coffee and, feeling calmer, I carefully watched his body language and
his face as we talked. He didn’t seem nervous in any way so I assumed he’d done
this before. I wasn’t interested in knowing, so I certainly wasn’t going to ask
him. Whilst watching his hands I noticed his wedding ring. I hoped he wouldn’t
talk about his personal life. He was rather attractive and the only thing on my
mind was getting laid.

Once he’d
cleared the cups and coffee pot, I showed him the couple of outfits and sex
toys in my satchel, and did he have a preference?

“It’s your day
job, isn’t it? Let’s have you in the maid’s outfit” he enthused “with the
stockings and suspender belt. And wear the thong as well.”

I grabbed my
satchel and went to the bathroom to change. Well, I was a little shocked
already, I hadn’t envisaged him wanting me to wear any clothes – I had been
thinking along the lines of lots of cuddles, sex in the missionary position,
make him feel like somebody cared. It takes all kinds. The next shock followed
when I walked out of the bathroom, he was sat on the sofa, still fully clothed,
playing with what must have been a few thousand pounds worth of Nikon D4 SLR
camera.

“Just go about
your business, Helen – I’ll be with you shortly.”

“That’s what
I’m here for – business. I can’t really do it…alone.”

“Clean,
darling. You’re a maid, yes?”

What the hell?
Was he for real? He wanted me to clean his hotel suite for the wad of cash I
was to receive? Now I had heard it all. I was more than a bit confused. I
wondered if the camera was the type that also took videos and if he was
intending filming himself fucking me. My insides tingled at the very idea.

“In case you
haven’t noticed, I don’t carry cleaning items around with me, in
this
line of business.” I offered gently.

“Erm…No. I
don’t suppose you do. Use…the face-cloth. Start in the bathroom, pretend a
bit.”

Obeying his
orders, I did as I was told and went to the bathroom. Picking up the face-cloth,
as I had been instructed, I bent over the bath
pretending
to clean it. I
was finding this little scenario rather amusing – pretending to be a
chambermaid and getting paid the rates of a top-class whore. I wondered what
the bullies from school would have said if they could have seen me. I was
smiling to myself at that thought when I heard the bathroom door open.

“Lose the
skirt, darling.”

It sounded
promising. We were getting down to business at last. I unfastened the skirt,
letting it drop to my ankles, flicked it up with my foot, caught it deftly with
my right hand and hung it behind the bathroom door.

“Carry on. Sort
of…pretend to clean the bath. Bend over, but stand with your legs apart.”

I expected him
stuffing me from behind as I bent over; my anticipation was making me moist
down below. I felt some movement between the tops of my thighs, but it wasn’t
his hands or his dick. I heard him whispering to me,

“Your other
client, that is, my friend, has told me that you have the most beautiful pussy
he has ever seen. I’m going to be seeing if that’s true - very shortly.”

It was his
camera lens I could feel moving between my legs and I heard the whirring,
clicking noises as he took multiple shots with the lens almost touching the
crotch of my thong.

“Now, just stay
where you are, put one leg up on the side of the bath, then pull the thong to
one side so we can get a better shot,” he ordered.

The camera did
its work again, we moved through to the lounge and I continued to do all that
was asked of me – bent over the sofa, legs apart, then one leg on a dining
chair, I bent over the bed, I got down on my hands and knees, (sometimes with
my thong pulled to one side, sometimes not), and patiently waited for the next
instructions whilst his camera lens moved ever closer to my fanny.

“Remove the
thong now, please. We will start in the bathroom again, all the same poses,
please.”

What the hell
was all this about? What pleasure was he getting from almost sticking a camera
lens up my hole? The suspense was killing me - as was my need. Perhaps he would
start feeling horny when he had all the shots he wanted?

Thong off, I
posed yet again for all the same shots, I was getting quite turned on by the
suggestion of penetration that the camera lens was giving, wondering how long
it would be before he wanted to fuck me. How long until I could climax. I
needed that. We repeated every last shot and finally he said,

“Go and lie on
the bed, Helen. On your back, and open your legs, please.”

He still had
the camera in his hands, and he still had his clothes on. I would be here
overnight at this rate. I was getting desperate for it and frustrated that
things were moving too slowly.

“Oh wow! That
really
is
the prettiest fanny I ever saw. He was right, your client…so
right.”

Get any closer
and that lens is going to be up it, I was thinking. (In fact I might grab the
lens and shove it up myself if he didn’t get on with it soon.)

“What I want
you to do now sweetheart, is really show me just how pretty that fanny is. Pull
the labia aside, let me see the vagina, and your clit as well, let me
photograph their beauty.”

I opened up for
him. The camera responded to his push of the button, more shots taken, every
imaginable angle that he could.

“Right, I’ve
got it. Now stick your fingers in there baby, right up, all the way up. Yes!
What a shot!”

More snaps,
plenty more, and I’d had enough. How undignified. I was on a bed, in a posh
hotel suite, my own fingers delving into the depths of my privates.

“Hey! Is there
a remote chance that you are going to start fucking me at some point in the
near future? I’m getting quite bored now with you poking me with nothing but
that bloody camera lens,” I urged.

“I’m through,
sweetheart. You can get dressed now.”

“What is this?
No fucking? I’m kind of ready to be fucked if you know what I mean. I
need
to be fucked right now.”

“Sweetheart,
you got me all wrong. I don’t fuck with anyone but my wife – I don’t need to.
See this…?” He grabbed his genitalia in his trousers to show me - the softness
of it all in his hands.

“Does this dick
look excited to you, honey? I love my wife, and I make love
only
with my
wife.”

“Then why? What
are you paying me for, if you don’t want to fuck me?” I could hear the tone of
my voice – a little high-pitched with irritation.

“I collect
pictures of beauty -
we
appreciate beauty.
You
are being paid to
provide some of that beauty. I didn’t realise that you were in this business
for anything other than the money. I never imagined that you would actually
want
to be fucked.”

Ten minutes
later I was paid, dressed and out of there. In the lift, going down, I was
still breathing heavily; flushed and angry. It was the proverbial itch that I
couldn’t scratch. It didn’t happen very often, thank goodness.I had never been
too good at getting off by myself. I couldn’t seem to get it right - it would
be a waste of my time even to try. The more I tried to concentrate on coming,
the further away it seemed. I usually gave it up as a bad job. When I arrived
home that night, I had a long, cold shower before I climbed into bed.