I’m lying on the bed, a vision in crimson lace and silk clinging to my skin. My head tilted back, hanging just off the edge of the mattress, my long auburn hair spilling like a river of fire toward the floor. My eyes are hidden behind a black satin blindfold, heightening every sensation, every whisper of air against my bare skin. My lips, painted a bold scarlet, part slightly in trembling anticipation. My body is accentuated by the delicate lingerie: a lace bra that cradles my firm curves, matching panties that trace the arc of my hips, and sheer stockings that sculpt my legs down to my bare feet.

A shiver of doubt courses through me. How have I ended up in this situation, in this opulent room of a luxury hotel, surrendering to the whims of an anonymous letter? I know the answer, of course, but the truth terrifies me as much as it sets me ablaze.

That letter, slipped into my mailbox without a stamp, bore my name in elegant script: Emma. A few lines, stark in their clarity, were enough to unravel me: “If I’m not mistaken, you are a deeply submissive woman, yearning to be dominated. If so, come to the Hôtel Le Grand Mazarin on Monday, June 9, at 2:30 p.m. A room will be reserved in your name. Lie on the bed, in lingerie, head tilted back, eyes blindfolded. I will come, I will use you, and I will leave without a word.”

At first, fear gripped me. Who could know me so intimately? Then, intrigue crept in. Who has the means to secure a suite in this lavish hotel, where marble gleams and chandeliers whisper wealth? This person sees me, beyond the façade I show the world.

Until the day before, I laughed at the madness, mocking myself for even considering it. But that Monday morning, my actions betrayed my doubts. I chose my lingerie with care. Arriving at the office, I asked my boss, convinced he would refuse, if I could have the afternoon off. At noon, against all odds, he granted me my request. And finally, desire, unstoppable, won. The thought of being wanted, commanded, used, ignited a fire I couldn’t ignore. My steps, almost involuntary, led me to the hotel, where a key awaited me at the desk, no questions asked, no curious glances.

And now, here I am, exposed, vulnerable, my heart pounding. Each second of waiting stretches time, amplifying every sound. My imagination runs wild. What does he look like? Is he already here, watching me in silence? My lips quiver, slick with lipstick, and I feel a treacherous heat stir between my thighs. I am terrified, yes, but my body thrums with an anticipation I can’t deny. This mouth, made to be used, awaits its master.

Suddenly, I hear his footsteps approaching the bed, not bothering to be discreet. Fear surges through me, paralyzing me with terror, even as I feel my thighs flood. Was he already here, or did I simply miss the sound of the door opening, lost in my swirling thoughts?

A finger brushes my cheek, and I shiver, biting my lips to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. This reaction makes no sense, I know. The rooms in this hotel are perfectly soundproofed, and at 3 p.m. on a weekday, there’s probably no one in the adjacent rooms. Yet I imagine him, this man, perfectly satisfied as he watches the telling movement of my lips.

The sound of a zipper, deliberately slow. A rustle of fabric follows. Then, a soft warmth grazes the tip of my lips, likely from an imposing member. I’m not surprised. I know the position demanded in the letter, head tilted back, mouth offered, was chosen so he could fuck my mouth in the most efficient and deepest way possible.

I feel two fingers delicately grasp my chin, applying gentle pressure to part my lips. My mouth opens, and I sense a thin thread of moisture connecting my lips break, signaling to my afternoon’s dominant that the passage is open. Without much delay, he slides his cock between my lips, forcing them to open wider. A guttural, masculine groan of satisfaction reaches my ears as my lips continue to trace the contours of his shaft.

“Oh God, Nathan, what am I doing? I’m sorry, my love,” I scream in my head.

He doesn’t thrust too deeply, likely mindful of giving me time to adjust to his size. For now, he moves with gentle back-and-forth motions, accompanied by heavy breathing that leaves no doubt about the pleasure he’s taking. I take care to tighten my lips around his member, the only muscles I allow myself to move for now. A small moan escapes him as I feel his cock throb inside my mouth. The sensation is intoxicating. His taste. His scent. Like a strange sense of familiarity, but how could that be possible? It’s clearly not Nathan’s size, and my lovers besides him are limited to two, who don’t fit at all.

I feel his movements quicken, gradually pushing deeper into my throat, which poses no issue given the position. A warm, masculine hand rests on my stomach, sliding slowly toward my lower abdomen, slipping under my stockings to reach my soaked sex, which craves his touch. At the first expert press on my clit, I let out a long, muffled moan, stifled by his cock, which he thrusts a little more savagely at the same moment.

Despite the pleasure, my mind keeps searching, or perhaps imagining, unconsciously, to heighten my arousal even more. Who could it be? My boss? It seems plausible: he suspects my inclinations, he’s wealthy, and he approved my afternoon off without hesitation. Yet I think he was meeting a big client this afternoon.

The man is now fucking my mouth, almost my throat, his thrusts growing wilder, each one punctuated by a raw, primal groan. One of his hands continues to work my sex, wrenching cries of pleasure from me, distorted by his virility.

It could be Juliette’s boyfriend, my close friend. He’s also wealthy and has always attracted me. The thought that it might be him, satisfying his desires between my eager lips instead of Juliette’s, drives me wild with lust.

I finally decide to raise a hand, attempting to meet the body that possesses me so unhesitatingly and vigorously. But his free hand pins mine to the bed. Either he didn’t like my initiative, or he’s determined to remain anonymous.

He’s fucking me now without restraint, letting out cries of a man in the midst of intense physical exertion, accompanied by the sounds of suction and saliva. His expert fingers bring me to the edge of explosion. I start to squirm slightly, feeling the wave of pleasure approaching, but he holds me firmly in place. To my utter delight.

I finally explode, my body trembling slightly as I go limp, trying to savor every last ripple of this powerful orgasm. The master of my mouth seizes the moment, grabbing my head with both hands and fucking me violently, nearly making me gag, even struggling to breathe. He lets out bestial groans, and I sense he wants to speak, to insult me, to degrade me. I crave it. But he holds back, likely to remain anonymous. “I must know him,” I think, as, with a final, masculine, virile, and loud groan, I feel his release hit the back of my throat. He pulls back slightly, easing the pressure, letting his cum coat my taste buds, allowing me to finally savor the man who fulfilled what I’ve craved for so long.

“Ahhhh,” he lets out as he continues to empty a considerable amount between my lips, in spurts, through his throbbing member. That voice. I know it. It belongs to someone I know, I’m certain. Someone close to me is unloading in my mouth.

After what feels like an eternity, the man pulls his cock from my mouth without gentleness, causing cum to spill, which I now feel trickling slowly down my face. The sound of a zipper. Footsteps moving away. A door opening and closing as his cum reaches the roots of my hair.

I remain still, there, for a few more minutes before finally sitting up, my head spinning with vertigo.

I remove the blindfold covering my eyes, soaked with cum.

I’m alone.

I notice a note on the small table in the lounge. I approach to read its contents: “Next week, same time, same place, same position.”

I already know I won’t be able to resist this demand.

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