just_fck_me | 9.8. Some Like It Hot
9.8. Some Like It Hot
Flynn slowly leaned back where he was knelt on the end of the king-sized bed adorned in black silk sheets and littered with rose petals. He rocked his hips forward, displaying his assets to his client who was sprawled naked beneath him, and slowly trailed the tip of his tongue enticingly up the side of the thin leather whip balanced in his hand. He was putting on a hell of a show, but in his head, Flynn may as well have been reciting arithmetic tables. He had lost count of how many times he had led scenarios like this. A lot of his high class businesswomen clients like to be tied up, whips, chains, leather... you name it. This one had a cowboy fetish. Ironic, considering it hadn't been all that long since Flynn was back in the proverbial escort saddle.
Adorned in nothing but tight black leather chaps and a black leather cowboy hat, Flynn had snapped into the fetish role without batting an eyelid. First he had accompanied her to a pristine, expensive, schmoozy business dinner of a 'small' crowd of seventy. He was every bit the part of the demure plus one, and the fact he had fucked close to twenty of the other women in the room at one point or another was politely left unsaid, especially considering most were with their husbands. Flynn had entertained himself throughout the bore-worthy meal trying to remember all the nicknames the wives had called their husbands whilst awaiting Flynn to service them. Everything from 'Cock knob' to 'Prick dick'. Flynn was just glad he wasn't a member of the New York high profile business crowd, beyond being employed for his services. There was more fake in that society than a silicon implant factory.
He actually thought for a moment he might get away with just accompanying the woman for dinner, but she had 'changed her mind' at the last minute, which Flynn knew was code for 'I've been thinking about your dom cock in my sub ass all night'. She was sprawled beneath him, begging for more, but he told her to shut the fuck up and slapped the whip sharply across her ass. The beauty of this fantasy was he could lead the show, and aim to be out before one am if he planned his process succinctly enough. And he wanted to be home by two, relaxing on his sofa with a joint and a glass of red. With Remy abruptly gone on another mission, there wouldn't be the luxury of a hot three-way bonk as a nightcap. He snapped a shiny, cool set of handcuffs roughly around his client's wrists with a metallic click, once again demanding she stop begging with a growled, harsh expletive.
Flynn Marcus Hunter was back, and it was like he never even missed a beat.
Remy LeBeau [dontdotricks] referenced with permission
Word Count | 474
Flynn slowly leaned back where he was knelt on the end of the king-sized bed adorned in black silk sheets and littered with rose petals. He rocked his hips forward, displaying his assets to his client who was sprawled naked beneath him, and slowly trailed the tip of his tongue enticingly up the side of the thin leather whip balanced in his hand. He was putting on a hell of a show, but in his head, Flynn may as well have been reciting arithmetic tables. He had lost count of how many times he had led scenarios like this. A lot of his high class businesswomen clients like to be tied up, whips, chains, leather... you name it. This one had a cowboy fetish. Ironic, considering it hadn't been all that long since Flynn was back in the proverbial escort saddle.
Adorned in nothing but tight black leather chaps and a black leather cowboy hat, Flynn had snapped into the fetish role without batting an eyelid. First he had accompanied her to a pristine, expensive, schmoozy business dinner of a 'small' crowd of seventy. He was every bit the part of the demure plus one, and the fact he had fucked close to twenty of the other women in the room at one point or another was politely left unsaid, especially considering most were with their husbands. Flynn had entertained himself throughout the bore-worthy meal trying to remember all the nicknames the wives had called their husbands whilst awaiting Flynn to service them. Everything from 'Cock knob' to 'Prick dick'. Flynn was just glad he wasn't a member of the New York high profile business crowd, beyond being employed for his services. There was more fake in that society than a silicon implant factory.
He actually thought for a moment he might get away with just accompanying the woman for dinner, but she had 'changed her mind' at the last minute, which Flynn knew was code for 'I've been thinking about your dom cock in my sub ass all night'. She was sprawled beneath him, begging for more, but he told her to shut the fuck up and slapped the whip sharply across her ass. The beauty of this fantasy was he could lead the show, and aim to be out before one am if he planned his process succinctly enough. And he wanted to be home by two, relaxing on his sofa with a joint and a glass of red. With Remy abruptly gone on another mission, there wouldn't be the luxury of a hot three-way bonk as a nightcap. He snapped a shiny, cool set of handcuffs roughly around his client's wrists with a metallic click, once again demanding she stop begging with a growled, harsh expletive.
Flynn Marcus Hunter was back, and it was like he never even missed a beat.
Remy LeBeau [dontdotricks] referenced with permission
Word Count | 474