Winter Valentine........Part 7
Unaware of what to expect I slowly moved after her into the room. Her long silky black brown tresses seemed to bounce playfully along her back almost daring me to follow and I couldn't help admiring the outstanding curves tightly embraced by the lacy covering that adorned her goddess-like figure. From her perfect complexion and sensuous lips, to the impressive swell of her breasts straining against her restrictive underwear, from an ass that gently beckoned as she languidly made her way into the centre of the room, the tight thighs and well honed calves ...Jesus...this girl was damn near perfect in every way. I felt an almost inevitable stirring down below, caught myself, remembered the real reason for my being there and was about to speak when, almost telepathically, she coyly looked over her shoulder, put a beautifully manicured finger to her luscious moist bottom lip and said:
'Shhhh...no questions...let me do the talking.'
Her eyes flicked to the shadowy top right hand corner of the room revealing a small red flashing light, then returned to mine as she leant in towards me, gently placed her hands on my shoulders and quickly whispered,
'Eyes are everywhere. My boss is probably in his office watching us now, with his trousers around his ankles...the dirty bastard likes to keep a record of who visits me here...says the tapes are his insurance for a rainy day. Let me take care of you...put on a show. I'll let you know everything I have to offer...Trust me.'
Like a stupefied rabbit caught in the proverbial headlights I stood there with my mouth slightly open unsure of what to do. Taking control of the situation, Christie slowly took off my coat, undid my tie and led me to a plush looking blood-red circular sofa positioned in the middle of the room. As she gently bid me to sit down, then moved towards a shining black pole a few feet away, I literally tore my eyes away from her and took a quick look at my surroundings. It was an octagonal room of sorts with only one entrance, the sofa and the pole being the only pieces of furniture I could see. Three-quarter length mirrors covered almost every wall and as I chanced a furtive glance at the ceiling I was rewarded with the sight of a full mosaic depicting what I believed to be some sort of debauched rendition of the Last Supper - I say debauched because I fail to remember four naked busty serving wenches pouring wine for the Big man and his apostles in the original
*** I'm not getting a pulse here John...what are we gonna do?' ***
Thinking back now, I dont remember Peter standing bare-chested with his fists in the air and a snarl on his face as Paul reached forward giving his nipple-clamps a tweak either, nor do I recall Judas perched at the end of the table roughly giving a serving girl one from behind. As the lights dimmed and a slow steady rhythmic beat began to pump from hidden speakers, I snorted, shook my head then returned my attention back towards the pole and Christie.
In perfect time to the beat, she slowly peeled off her lacy outer garment. Her warm and inviting eyes never left mine as she delicately removed her high heels then slowly slid them towards opposite ends of the room. Clad only in her bra, panties and suspenders she began to use, then frankly abuse, that pole in a number of unimaginable ways. I sat there with my mouth open once again as she twisted and turned, rose and fell, worked her fine undulating body into extreme positions that made even a battle hardened journalist like me, who had literally seen everything - or so I'd thought - wince. Spirally impressively from the top of the pole to the bottom as the rhythmic beats abruptly stopped, Christie then began to crawl slowly across the floor towards me on her hands and knees with a hungry cat-like expression on her face. Reaching the sofa she sat back and slowly began to remove her suspenders. The sight of her bare flesh moved me once more and, embarrassed, I tried to cover myself..
***There NO pulse Debbie 'cos there's NO FACKING HEART ..Shit.shit..hand me that compress...there's too much blood loss 'ere...there's nothing else we can do...Shit'***
....catching sight of my aroused state, Christie smiled lasciviously, sat astride my lap and undid the clasp of her bra. A small groan escaped me as her perfectly formed breasts and erect nipples jiggled out then swayed once, pendulum-like, before my very eyes. Standing once more she proceeded to bend over in front of me and tantalizingly lowered her panties...Good God! ... Taking a seat once more in my lap, she rested her back against my chest, began to slowly - maddeningly - grind her beautifully formed cheeks against my straining erection, reached back and draped her slender hands behind my neck, turned her head to face me and began to tell me what had happened to her at the party she had went to the previous week.
I struggled to concentrate as her motions became quicker and more direct...my brain tried to piece together her story as my heart rate rose and a thin film of sweat broke out on my brow. Turns out that she had been invited by one of her friends at the club to a 'private' party just outside London where the work would be easy and the rewards would be plentiful. She was told that around thirty men would be gathering at a well respected Judges country estate to share a night of cards, booze and exotic dancing. 'Extras' would be entirely up to the girls' discretion.
Christie had gone to the place and done her routine for the gathered gents, turned down the repeated advances of more than a few of them, been well paid for her nights work and had been just about to leave happy and contented when a guy cornered her outside in the shadows of the veranda. With a creepy Eastern European tone to his voice he had heaped praise on Christie for her wonderful abilities and had enquired if she did one-on-one parties. Not waiting for an answer he had pushed a note into her hand (a room number and an address of one of the most expensive hotels in London), promised that money would be no object, and then disappeared back into the country estate.
Shaken, and disturbed, Christie had dismissed the encounter and went home believing that she would never set eyes on him again. But every night since then she had turned up to work at the club and he had been there, at the same table each night, with the same leering and questioning expression on his face. In her dressing room she had arrived every night to find flowers and a note bearing the words 'you know where I am if you change your mind my dearif you do, please do me the honour of wearing this.' She also discovered that every night an expensive bottle of neon green nail polish rested on her dresser beside the note.
My heart had almost stopped as she leaned around, cupped her hand to my ear and whispered, 'He's downstairs now.'
I stood up awkwardly, my raging hard-on forgotten, stuffed my tie into my coat pocket, took Christie's hand in mine, looked her in the eyes and said,