When I walked in, you were sat at the bar facing away from the door, and I had no doubt that you will have been doing so since eight o'clock, just as I had specified. I was also sure that the fifteen minutes you had spent waiting for your client to turn up would have been somewhat disconcerting for you, but you waited patiently as I knew you would. I knew that you wouldn't be leaving without a trick.??Finding an empty table near the door, I sat down and hung my suit jacket on the chair behind me. As the waitress carried my order back to the bar she led my eyes back to you, and I watched as she presented you with the glass of wine I had ordered for you, saying a few words. One of these words was 'James'. You knew this James was probably me, but you couldn't have been entirely sure; after all, the way you were dressed had been granting you a lot of attention that night. Either way, whoever's eye you'd caught was probably training it on you at that very moment. Indeed he was. You didn't turn around. Good girl.??I sat back smugly and tried to pretend that you weren't so familiar to me, and that James was running his eyes over your beautiful form for the first time. Heels hooked over the brushed steel barstool, and the swell of soft, curvaceous calves accentuated by the black nylon that stretched thin over their fullness. I could not see the hem or the cut of your dress from where I sat, but I could see how it clung to you and flattered your delectably ample figure, how the straps ran under the dirty blonde hair which sat neatly on your shoulders; I was strongly tempted to oblige my instinct and walk straight over to you, smooth my hands down your sides, breathe you in, kiss your neck. But James didn't know you that well. My whisky arrived, and as I warmed the glass in my hands I considered this moment where both of us were having to exercise discipline. There wouldn't be many more of those for me tonight. I knocked back my drink and waited. You had until eight thirty.??I knew it would be difficult for you, another quarter of an hour wondering who it was that had taken a fancy to you, who your prospective client might be tonight, whose eyes were burning into you as you sat there looking so unmistakably, tantalisingly whorish. But my rules had been clear: no eye contact until I ask your name. My eyes remained fixed on you as I waited for your nerve to break, and as I did so I was undressing you, flicking through flashbacks of our previous encounters, considering what I might demand of you back at the hotel. Then your head tilted around, you scanned the bar and your eyes met with mine for the briefest moment before you turned back to your drink. There was shame in your shoulders and I watched as you began to fidget nervously with your glass. That was that. I would be demanding a lot of you tonight.??Eight thirty. I sauntered over. "How much?"??"One hundred an hour." Meek, coy, lovely. You didn't look up but I saw you watch my hand as it disappeared into my pocket. I folded two hundred pounds into yours.??"Pardon?" I flexed my voice of authority.??You shook a little. Then, softly, "One hundred an hour, sir."??"Better. Come on." I pulled you along to the door, my hand on your arm. Not used to your heels you stumbled a little, but you kept up. My darling obedient girl, always compliant, conscientious. |
