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Josh helps me get ready when the time comes. I browse my wardrobe as he watches, holding up potential outfits. Do I go mega goth, in a bodice and long split skirt, or for cutesy, in a little tutu dress with heels? How about evening wear posh, in one of my expensive designer dresses? Josh grins when I’ve exhausted my supply of possibilities.
“Well?” I ask. “What do you think they’ll like best?”
“I don’t think it makes any difference, baby. You’ll be stripped bare, with a hood over your head by the time they see you. It’s only the driver and the person who strips and cuffs you who’ll get to appreciate it.”
“Good point, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look the part, right?”
“True.” He points to one of the dresses on the rail. A tight, hot, black PVC number with a zip all the way up the front. “Ease of access, and it shows your gorgeous tits off like a dream.”
I take his advice, and I don’t even bother with panties or stockings. Nothing but slip on stilettos. It’ll make my thighs so slippery and wet by the time I get there. A nice early surprise for my clients.
I straighten my hair, even though there is little point, and do my makeup to absolute precision, despite the fact it’ll be out of view.
“They’re missing out big time,” Josh says as I stand before him, ready to go. “A hood over a beautiful head like yours is selling themselves short. They’ll be missing out on your pretty throat as well. More fool them.”
He bear hugs me, before I set off, rocking me side to side. Almost time. The car is meeting me in the parking area, out of sight of the main Belgravia courtyard.
“I mean it,” he says. “Use your safe word if you need to. That’s what it’s there for. And I’ll be waiting up for when you get home. Send me a D&S as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
I kiss him with fervour, uncaring if my lipstick smudges. The thought of him waiting back here for me is more rewarding than sixty grand could ever be, but in the meantime, it’s going to be an epic adventure, and I’m ready for it…
Or I think I am until I’m outside, waiting for a car to show up, with my coat wrapped around me as I shiver. It’s cold, but that’s not the only reason I’m shaking. My heart is racing, and my legs are jittery, but I’m getting kind of used to this kind of apprehension now. It’s becoming second nature, and in some ways, I hope it never stops. There is something addictive about it.
The car that pulls up is a gleaming black Bentley, with blacked out windows. The driver’s window opens just a fraction, and a voice booms out.
“In the back please, Holly. The hood is on the seat.”
I do what I’m told, and my heart speeds up another gear. The hood is loose, black cloth, with a tie at the bottom. I put my bag to the side, and buckle myself into the seat before I slip it over my head and tie a knot to secure it in position.
The rumble of the car is so accentuated. Every movement in the road feels so much more extreme with my sight blocked, and my breaths feel hotter in the hood. More pronounced. I can breathe easily through the fabric and the gap around my neck, sure, but sensory deprivation is disorienting. I lose track of where we are within minutes. I don’t know which direction we are heading in, or where the destination is, or even how long it’s taking us to get there.
I try to zone out of the fear and let my horny imagination take over. I like pain. I love pain. These clients are bound to know what they are doing. They will know how to coax my body and push me to my limits and get the very best use of my time. Of me.
I clench my legs and my thighs are already wet, like I intended. I’m under no instruction not to play with myself, so I chance it. I slip my fingers under my skirt, and brush my clit, just to tease.
I’m going to be fucked and beaten to the extreme, for sixty thousand pounds this evening. I won’t know who will be doing it, and I won’t know what’s coming next – the pleasure and pain is all in their hands. True, utter submission, at the mercy of strangers.
Fuck, I love that.
It’s the kind of situation I’ve been fantasising over for as long as I can remember – but in my fantasies it’s always been for free. Not for the reward of sixty thousand pounds. Even the thought of the payment landing into my account is insanity.
I want them to make me earn it.
I want to be worth that amount of cash to them, and I want to last the whole six hours, to give them every second’s worth of value.
My fingers speed up as I sink into the fantasy. I want to be a slut and earn it. I want to give myself over to my clients and let them take my body however they choose. I want to lose control. I want to be free of everything but the need to serve.
My breaths get faster in my hood, and my fingers get faster on my clit, but I keep myself on the edge, because my orgasms – if they choose to give them to me – are theirs to own, not mine.
I’m still on the edge when the car slows down and takes a left turn. We must be on a driveway or something because there’s no bumps of a lane, or a track, just a slow, smooth drive until the car pulls to a stop.
My fingers aren’t interested in my clit now. The fear strikes hard, like a lightning bolt, heart thumping and breaking through my dirty fantasies.
It’s here and it’s real. Six hours to earn sixty grand – and I have no idea what’s lying ahead of me. It’s hard to fight the natural impulse to battle and run when the car door opens, but I keep it together. Someone reaches in to unclip my seatbelt and takes me by the arm.
“Welcome, Holly,” the voice says, and it’s low and deep. The man is bulky, I can feel it as he pulls me out of the car and against him. I hear the jangle of my bag as he reaches in and takes it from the back seat.
