Lady Godiva School For Young Women
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The Godiva Hotel free porn video
Sometimes I wish it didn’t. I don't know why the journey always has me pontificating about the world, the immediate world, my family, my work, my friends, not the whole world.
I don't know why I think of Syeda today. The pretty girl on reception with that wonky smile, her olive skin that glows against the blood-red lipstick worn so well. Maybe it is because she is getting married today. To live happily ever after, amen. A loving and dutiful wife - faithful, unlike me.
The five-floor cheap hotel, with no lift, down the arse end of town. The Godiva Hotel. It was hard to imagine where they got the name, some random thought at some random time in the past, long forgotten. I noticed it taking the bus one Saturday. It made me smile as I glanced nonchalantly to my left. Half-open ragged curtains, a sideways glimpse of a naked breast gave me a tingle as I thought lustfully of what she had been doing not long before, perhaps an all night stopover, and this was the breakfast course.
Room 13 on the fourth floor. I have been in this room before, probably done them all at least twice, except 15, don’t remember being in that room. It is the same style as all the rest. Not luxurious, not even one star. The low-level light from the one ceiling hung light with cheap low watt bulb helps with the ambience. There is a faint odour, one of those smells that leaves you wondering what it is or was. I try not to dwell on it, but then again the thought of two, or maybe more having sex gives me that extra tingle.
At least the towels smell fresh as I take them from the bed into the small bathroom. The once white tiles, the once white shower curtain that barely hung from the track above catches the eye. That and the smell of urine, despite the added blue stuff that floats in the toilet bowl.
An hour I wait.
An hour left torn between loathing and excitement. A time when one moment I want to run out the door, carry on running until I get home and lock the door forever on my sordid secret life. Then a momentary thought and I am lost in anticipation of what ‘She’ will bring this afternoon.
‘She’ that is her name. I know no other. I really speak in her presence, only nods and quietly spoken yes when I am instructed, or is that commanded to doing something, usually degrading. No, is not a word allowed, not that it was said but defiance will come at a price was in a message once.
Messages… That is how this all started. One weekend alone. John had taken the children to his parents. I wanted to spring clean the house, even though it was late May and spring was nearly summer. All started with good intentions until I opened the laptop. I was soon distracted by a forum occasionally frequented. A message appeared in the mailbox.
‘You fascinate me. Your twee little comments about this subject and that subject make you out to be such a sweet innocent thing. Yet, deep down, there is a whore waiting to get out. A whore that would, if commanded, doing anything and everything. Would you like to try?’
It was from a member called Anonymous She.
It threw me. So much so that I logged off and went about my cleaning. It lingered, though. Mainly out of annoyance that anyone would think that of me.
Perhaps I should have stayed logged off, for now, I am that whore but no longer waiting to get out.
The door opens and closes gently. There are no words of greeting. I stand up from sitting on the bed. It is how I wait, sat upright, back straight and hands in my lap—a good girls posture, but once the door opens, I am to stand and wait, legs apart with arms behind my back, a sluts posture.
She unbuttons my blouse. Today it is cerise. It can be any plain colour, no flowers, no patterns, and definitely no chintz. The skirt unzipped. It too must be plain. The underwear, well panties, must be white, cotton. No bra, I paid dearly for that one mistake. Not that I need a bra, my perky tits stopped growing almost the day they started.
There is now a goosebump chill as her right-hand cups against my mound like a handshake greeting. She always does a smooth test. It feels right despite the erring thought that lingers each time I lie in the bath and shave it within an inch of its life. It took some explaining.
The case opened on the table for her to choose—an array of wonders to delight. The dark green curtains I closed on my arrival opened. It was a game.
Today she dresses me. Not always. Sometimes, like a queen, she would sit on the bed and watch as I slowly, and deliberately parade my wears with whichever garments she chooses. I am the dumb mannequin. Black seamed stockings, black lace panties, shocking pink garter belt. Equally shocking pink five-inch razor heels adorn my feet, I feel twelve feet tall. A faux leather, pink of course, breast harness entices itself around my tits.
She always does the make-up. I feel like royalty when my face is fixed. Not that I shall look anything like royalty unless of course it's Queen Harlot. Eyebrows tinted a darker shade, thick and smudged. Black lashes, heavy, to hide the eyes of a sinner. Lips, pink gloss, a not so delicate shade.
Finally a septum ring in my nose. My eyes water as it pinches soft tissue.
I know what happens when I get a hard slap on my arse. It’s time to kneel on the bed. ‘Click’, ‘click’. Like a cheap lingerie model I pose, my splayed thighs opened like a book for all to gorp at the images barely noting the accompanying words like wanton, sex, whore. It does not end there. ‘Click’, ‘click’. I do the whole repertoire, front, back, and side, each an insight to the inner working between my legs.
Then she leaves without a word.
A few candid shots will arrive by email tomorrow.
Now, I have no sense of time. No idea of how long I will wait until the door opens again. Indeed, there is no indication if anyone will. It happened before, lay alone on the bed, waiting. Finally, I went home, confused.
Finally, footsteps along the corridor.
There are two, each in a little black dress, each wearing an eye mask like it was a fancy charade party. I watch as they stand and stare back at me. One is tall, even without the black high heels, Rapunzel-like hair with plaits that flow forever. The other is petit, a sun worshiper, skinny legs shrouded in seamed stockings and sensible heels.
They whisper, even giggle lightly behind what looks like a picture. Perhaps it is of me. A little memento? Maybe a flyer advertising my wears. Woman, thirty-seven, married, mother, part-time poetry writer, part-time whore. I hear nothing of what is said.
Petit, for that, is the name my mind decides, walks over to the bed, and stands behind me. I do not move, but I am aware of where she is as I watch the other standing still watching me. I am trying to give her name, I did think of Rapunzel, but that would be too easy, maybe Heels will do.
Fingers grasp my locks. I want to squeal but refrain. Like a child, taught to keep quiet, I only speak when spoken to. The hands drag me from the bed onto the floor. I manage to kneel as Heels walks over. My face staring at the heels of Heels, a strange thought.
I am passed over like a rag doll, a toy that no longer pleases. Another hand wrenches me upwards, it hurts, but still, I make no sound.
The black dress that stretches over the upper thighs is now my vision, my cheek feeling the heat through the expensive material.
"Well, what are you waiting for?"
The husky cigarette voice.
It could be a thousand things, a new car would be nice. I know what is wanted by both her and me. The dress pushes up quickly, revealing a plethora of delight. For a brief moment, I savour it, my tongue lightly moistening my lips as the wave of sweet-tasting lust is taken deep down inside the throat. Heaven. A lightly trimmed bush, the tail almost a matching colour for the top, tickles the tip of my nose while I extend the eager tongue to lick the puffy wet lips. I repeat heaven.
The slick lips part easily as my greedy tongue licks upwards then lingers at the hood. I wiggle it a moment before slithering back down to the honey pot with its drip, drip of nectar. Some people crave chocolate, even coffee, but give me pussy cream any day.
Or indeed any cream. Nothing says whore more than a face full of sperm as it clings and strings to where it was shot. I am not fussy according to She. I do them all.
I hear the kisses above me. Two masks swaying as lips touch, and then smooch—their breasts caressing as I look up while my tongue grinds away.
The masks puzzle me. It’s not like I give a shit what they look like. I wonder for a moment if they know me, not likely, but then you never who you know sometimes. Perhaps Heels lives in the same street. A momentary distraction as I lick long and hard.
The sheets, long since a mess before I was pushed back on them. My legs splayed, my knees pressing on the mattress, my heels poking skywards, a danger to low flying aircraft and someone’s eye. Now there is a new garden of delight before my eyes. A bald, pale mound with puffy pink lips. It looks so pretty, perhaps the perfect pussy some would say - the image all men have if they watch porn. I don’t want to seem eager, so I wait, feasting on the sight of Petit’s snatch. Snatch, not a word I associated with the vagina until recently. I like it, certainly better than cunt. I disliked that word, but it has become ingrained with my whore minded psyche.
Heels slip my underwear down with a hard slap on my ass. It tingles for a brief second, a minor distraction. The warm, sticky liquid joy coats my tongue with each long lick. I drift, my mind is taken into deep darkness behind my eyelids, a space where two waves softly lap as fingers dig into my flesh while a hot breath teases. Butterfly kisses and tongue tips tracing swirls down my spine until a lick at my tailbone. The hand scraping my mound makes me squirm, and gives pleasure for Petit.
Sopping wet panties drawn slowly over my upturned disappear without a trace. The fresh air accentuates flowing heat between my legs. I am so fucking wet. Thankfully the hand returns to rub some more. Fingers squeezing the hood, the thumb teasing and torturing, as it edges close to the entry point. I do the same to Petit, who pushes her pelvis back with a grunt of pleasure with each probe of the finger and tongue.
I feel like I am winning the game at this point.
But games can change.
The hand between my legs stops, then it is gone. I feel a void, a momentary stop until Petit bucks excitedly against my face. I open my eyes and watch her rubbing rhythmically just above her clit, my tongue disappears and appears, in and out of her pussy. She is close.
I feel a hot blow on my ass. I gurgle, the sound muffled by the pussy lips. The tongue laps at my arse crack, and again I shudder, then another as her thumb slips deep inside me, pushed hard against my g-spot.
For a moment, there was a brief chance I could win, but the tongue now licking hard against my asshole and the thumb pushing, rubbing, twisting is just too much. My mind was blown as I start to shake, like a small earthquake, then the tsunami hits. A gushing torrent of release.
I am left sprawled on the bed. For a brief moment, I am lost in my world
The slap on my behind and raised from the dead.
Upon my knees again.
A thick black silicon cock under my nose—the same nudging between my thighs. Petit’s hand grabs my hair and slides the cock into my mouth, bulbous end scraping along my tongue. It catches me by surprise, I gag, and it pulls out. Slowly it inches its way back in, then out, then in again. My lips caressing it along its way.
Heels, her fingers digging in my hips, rubs another bulbous cock hard between my sticky lips. I would have begged her to push it in had my mouth not been so occupied. I mumble, but it's incoherent. Finally, the synthetic black cock head stops teasing, I feel it against my wet lips, I am screaming inside to go deep as the cock slides in, long and hard with the sound of thigh skin against thigh skin.
I am being fucked at both ends. The cocks, like piston engines, in and out, pushing me deeper and closer to my second orgasm.
I am twisted over, on my back now, no finesse as my shoulders are pinned. Heels still ploughing on, the cock deep inside as she fucks me hard, her pelvic bone crashing against my thighs.
Petit has stripped the cock from herself, I see the dripping wet pussy lips bearing down on my face. It grinds against my lips as fingers work my throbbing nipples, making my eyes water. I find her clit with my tongue and her asshole with my finger. I rub fingers through her sticky juices then around the pink wet rosebud. Petit knows what she wants. I slide it in, the rocking of the hips presses her asshole back against my finger and sopping cunt against my lips. I suck the throbbing hood, and she squeals.
I will win this time.
Short ragged breaths as I tongue her clit, taking her one step closer while Heels rams harder, shouting out that I’m a whore. I am that, and an unfaithful, adulterous, dirty fucking slut as well.
I am lost in ecstasy as her cunt smothers me. My finger deep in her asshole as we both climax. My mouth filled with warm sticky nectar, my cunt flowing as the hard cock pushes deep, jerking back and forth as blackness descends once more.
^*^*^
At least I manage to pee before She arrives back. I am totally naked about to turn the shower tap and hope that there is hot water. All I can smell is sex, even above the rancid odour of piss there was before. I need the shower, the journey home, food, my husband, my children, and some sleep.
We stare at each other for a moment. I curse the aftermath of my secret life. The moment when I open the door and walk back into real life. But I know I will be back, not sure when, but soon and again in this hotel.
She is holding something. I can see her hand clenched around something.
"A little present, for being a good girl."
I recognise it. A pink butt plug, not a big one, but big enough.
“You will wear this on your journey home. After your shower, of course." She laughs at her witticism. I frown. I have used them before, at her behest, some even bigger usually when she fucks me from behind. DP is not the fun she makes it out to be, not that I would say that out loud.
“I will text to say when it can be removed.”
Great, and the lock on the bathroom at home doesn't work. I imagine me bent over trying to twist it out when someone walks in. If the shaved pussy was bad enough, try explaining that one away.
I cringe, but I say nothing. I see a faint puff of steam, at least we have warm water to wash away the stench of stink from my body.
The shower is hot, surprisingly. I wish I could have stayed all night and avoid the uncomfortable journey home.
That and the room is only booked until five.
I had hoped she had left the plug in the bathroom but no. I dry and wander back to the bed, the pink plug waiting. The case already packed and only my clothes to put on. She sits and watches me as I dress, not too quickly, or it will displease her. I would hate to go home with a red bottom as well as the other thing. The first time I displeased her, will live long in my memory, the hand and hairbrush are a powerful combination on soft pale flesh.
At least she lubed it before pushing it in, and gently as well. I must have pleased her. She took a few more pictures.
“Until I text remember.”
How could I forget? I would be waiting with bated breath for the ping of my phone.
Then she is gone.
I am left alone in my secret world. A world that I hate at this moment, but in a while, I will be longing to send an email that will bring me here. It may be a few weeks, a few days, but I do know that I will be back.
Madison
- 12.11.2020
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