Audacity (Seraph)

He pulls away, releasing my jaw and withdrawing his fingers before lowering himself elegantly to his knees. He leans in to inspect my pussy, so close I can feel the torturously light kiss of his breath on my exposed flesh. I’m so wet now my fingers are losing their grip.

When he speaks, the timbre of his voice is as low, as rough, as I’ve heard it so far. ‘I want to get an invoice from the hotel later this week to replace the fabric on this stool because you’ve ruined it so thoroughly with the mess you’ve made.’

He glances up at me, and I stare back at his beautiful eyes and ravenous expression and sensual mouth. Arousal is coursing through me, treacle-thick and heady. I need that mouth on me now, but I’m also beginning to realise that I’ve seriously underestimated this guy’s capacity for filth, and it’s the most glorious kind of epiphany. I already know that I’ll let him do whatever the fuck he likes to me when he has me in that office.

‘That won’t be a problem,’ I tell him. ‘Permission to show you?’

A curt nod.

I slide my fingers inside my body, avoiding my clit, which is an unexploded grenade in this moment. I am absolutely soaking. I pull them out and wipe them on the damask, leaving a slick streak that darkens the cream fabric.

‘Perfect,’ he whispers. ‘Obedient little thing, aren’t you? Keep your hands on the armrests.’

It seems he wants to reward me, because he leans in and takes one nipple in his mouth, groaning deeply as he sucks on it. It’s so fucking good, and I want to clutch at his head and hold him to my breast so he can suck for dear life, but my obedience is more important than my pleasure just now.

Besides, I have a feeling he’ll make it worth my while if I’m a good girl.

So I do my best to arch against his mouth as my hands claw at the ends of the armrests, and I take the agonised arousal he’s provoking in me and I revel in it.

After sampling my other breast, he pops off and kisses down my stomach, putting his hands on my knees to hold them further apart. Oh please oh please oh please.

For a moment, he just kneels there and stares. Then he says in a voice laced with hunger, ‘I’ve been imagining what this little pink cunt would taste like since I saw that fucking photograph.’

How can a man who, until recently, used his words to turn bread and water into the body and blood of Christ and to extol the glory of God have such a filthy mouth? Didn’t he have to unlearn all that shit at the seminary?

His mouth is about three inches from my poor, throbbing pussy. I love that he’s been imagining this, that I’ve been an actual fantasy for him rather than just some candidate who passed muster.

I don’t speak. I can’t. I sit there, thigh muscles straining beneath the firmness of his grip, and I watch as he shoots me one last filthy look before dipping that dark head and taking his first lick. It’s long and thorough. He licks me from my entrance to my clit before murmuring his approval, and I buck. Oh God oh God oh God.

Another lick. ‘Fucking delectable,’ he mutters gruffly, and then he’s leaning in and really going to town on me with decadent pulls of my clit before he makes his tongue taut and indulges in some excellent tongue-fucking. My entire pussy is pulsing so hard that all I can do is gasp and moan and hold onto those armrests for dear life.

‘I’m not going to last,’ I manage. ‘It’s too—I’m too turned on.’

‘Good,’ he growls. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’ He releases one knee so he can drive a couple of long fingers back inside me, thrusting and crooking and twisting so perfectly that I bite down hard on my lip to stop myself from rutting against his face like the greedy little whore that I am.

The look he gives me as he glances up, his beautiful mouth wet with me and his eyes the dark, depraved eyes of a man on the brink, makes me shiver. He may be the one calling the shots, but I’m getting every single thing I want from this little scene, and I’m not talking about the twenty-five grand that landed in my bank account this morning. Although, the fact that he’s paying me for this, that he’s this desperate to get me alone and naked and at his bidding in a hotel suite, is disgustingly arousing all on its own.

‘I can’t wait to see you come,’ he mutters as I stare down at him. ‘You’re so angelic looking. I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you let yourself go.’

‘You’ll find out in about twenty seconds,’ I promise him, and he lets out a pained laugh.

‘You certainly know how to galvanise a fellow. Okay, sweetheart, let’s see it.’

With that, he lowers his head and gets back to work, really letting me have it. His fingers burn as they work in and out of me; his tongue laves my clit with licks that would be rough if I wasn’t so ridiculously soaking. It’s almost perfect, except⁠—

‘Permission to play with my nipples,’ I ask him.

‘God, yes,’ he groans. With a relieved exhale, I reach up and pinch my nipples, closing that sacred circuit and ramping up my pleasure tenfold. I’m so close. I’m so close. He angles his head so he can keep licking me as he watches me play with my breasts, his eyes flashing with delighted disbelief. If he likes this sight, he’ll soon be able to enjoy it every single day if he wants.

The thought of Gabriel instructing me to sit on his desk and get my tits out, to tug and pinch and play while he reads or takes calls or fondles my pussy is so incredibly stirring that it sends me over the edge. I pinch my nipples harder and widen my legs as much as humanly possible as he works every fucking nerve ending in my pussy with his clever fingers and magical tongue.

In my experience, the men who employ me get off on two things. They love having me be a quiet, submissive, pliant little mouse while they build me up, but they adore it when I finally fall apart.

I think it comes back to that decorous appearance of mine. My looks, my clothes, my demeanour, my intellect—all of it screams untouchable, so when I’m screaming and writhing and begging, when my eye makeup streaks and my lipstick smudges and my pale skin is stained with that unmistakable flush of orgasm and, more often than not, branded with someone’s mouth or teeth or cum, it sends them fucking feral.

Because they haven’t just fucked a woman.

They’ve claimed one who seemed out of reach.

Not merely claimed her, but conquered her.

And their egos tell them they’ve won a glittering prize.

Happily for everyone involved, I love both aspects. I love submitting; I love trembling with the sheer effort it takes me to stay quiet and still like a good girl; I love how all that energy I’m repressing adds to the build.

And I love coming apart and casting off that demure persona and letting out my greedy, wanton little inner slut. Believe me, I adore the effect these men have on me as much as they do.

So when the almighty cacophony of Gabriel’s fingers and tongue and my own fingers builds and builds and crescendos into a climax so powerful it should shatter every mirror, every window, in this suite, I let my little slut out, letting go of one nipple so I can push my fingers through his short, dark hair and crush his mouth to my rapacious pussy and milk every fucking drop of sensation he’s willing to provide as my whimpers turn into cry after cry and heat, heady and powerful, pulls me under, to a place where I’m neither my appearance nor my profession, but merely a woman.

A woman in a state of ecstasy so transcendent, it almost makes me believe in a higher power.