Paris to the Hilt
Paris walked in one hip at a time, cell phone tight to one ear. She gave the room the once over, sweeping her gaze past him and deposited her tiny white hand bag in the chair by the door. She continued talking, smacking her gum as she did so, walking around the room and looking at the paintings that hung from each wall. He watched her move, his face showing that he was equally unimpressed, in spite of the fact that he was admiring the softly rounded curves of her figure beneath her unusual attire. Paris wore all white, starting with knee high, high heeled leather boots that led the way up her French netting stockings that led all the way to her thighs. From there she wore a pair of tight cotton shorts that clung to her with the fondness of spandex.
Over this she wore a mesh wrap around that did little to hide the very form fitting shorts. Her midriff was bare all the way up to her bikini top and over this she wore a mans dinner jacket with the front unbuttoned to hint at the bathing suit top underneath. The only accessory she wore that wasn't white was the black silk choker around her long neck. He allowed himself a small smile at her ensemble. One thing you have to hand to her, is her taste in clothing, he decided, feeling the beginnings of an erection pressing against the inside of his denim pants. She turned away, seeming to have satisfied her interest in the room and its contents.
After a long and disorienting conversation she dismissed her caller with a flick of the phone toward the chair. The expensive phone bounced off the cushion and hit the hardwood floor beside the wicker furniture. She did not so much as glance at the abused cell, instead swinging around slowly to face him, fixing him with one of her doe-eyed, sultry stares.
"So," She began walking toward him as though she were the only thing that existed in the universe, her eyes never leaving his. "You're the guy who charges ten thousand dollars for a massage..." She paused at the opposite end of the only other piece of furniture in the room, a tall, reinforced massage table that occupied the center of the room. She deliberately looked away as though to say she were still making up her mind. "My friends tell me you're worth it, every penny."
She strutted around behind him, tracing one finger over one shoulder and across his back to the other, pausing behind him just long enough that he cast a glance of his own at her. "We'll see about that." She commented, gently squeezing his bottom as though it were fruit, and just as casually. Nodding distractedly she walked back around the table, flaunting her much lauded femininity as she went. Back in her original position, she eyed him again. "So, cowboy, how do you want to do this?" She asked, hand on a hip, other shoulder deliberately dropping so that her jacket would fall and leave one tanned shoulder bare. She waited for his eyes to follow the movement, to visually taste the exposed flesh, and when they didn't, she pouted with pretended hurt.
He turned his back and began rubbing massage oil on his arms. She stood there tapping her foot impatiently for his reply, which made him wait even longer before giving it. Two can play these games, he thought.
"Take off your clothes." He stated, his tone flat.
"What, no foreplay?" She retorted, laughing girlishly at her own joke. When he didn't acknowledge that either, she looked at the door, clearly considering leaving.
"I'm not much for conversation, but that isn't why you came here, is it?"
He offered just in time, causing her to hesitate.
"No," She glanced him an arrogant smile. "It isn't."
He didn't fail to notice her eye his crotch unconsciously as she unzipped one long white boot and eased her left leg out of it seductively. He allowed himself to look, knowing it would encourage her. He watched as she slid her slender leg completely free of the boot, pointing her stocking covered toes for effect.
"They say you're good." She confided, tossing the boot in the general direction of the chair. It missed, landing with a loud thump.
She began unzipping the other boot, leaning forward further than before so as to emphasize her cleavage. Once it was removed she slid both hands up her stocking adorned right leg, all the way to her thigh where she adjusted the hosiery. She paused to try to read his expression before continuing.
"You don't seem very excited for a man who's about to see what every man in the world fantasizes about." She worked the French netting down slowly, inching it over her knee and finally around her ankle.
"You see it all in my line of work," He confessed, careful to keep his expression masked.
"You haven't seen anything like this," She teased, turning her rump toward him and patting it twice. "I've been told many times that this is as good as it gets."
He raised an eyebrow critically, and shrugged, walking over to the thermostat on the wall as though they were discussing the weather.
"Do tell."
She tossed the forgotten hosiery away, shrugging off the jacket, her attempts at subtlety forgotten. Turning her back to him, she reached back with both hands and fumbled with the strings that kept her string bikini top in place.
"They seem to be stuck," She teased, innocent eyes contrasting with her wicked smile. "Do you think you can help me?" He swallowed and stepped closer, using one hand to loosen the bow tie knot she had used to secure the scant covering. "Thank you." She let her arms drop and the bikini fell away, and she bent over and reached up under her skirt, slowly easing the cotton short shorts off.
She wiggled her behind, eyes focused on his as her bottom came into view, inch by inch. He had to admit that this was very sexy.
"Don't tell me you don't want some action from an ass like this?" She squeezed her legs together and let the sides of the delicate material fall, then spread them just enough for the shorts to slide down and onto the floor. She stepped out of them, her back still turned. From where he stood he could see everything but what he wanted to, and he knew that was exactly what she had in mind. Wearing only the lone stocking and the mesh wrap around, she made a very tempting dish indeed.
Very much aware of this, she stepped to the other side of the massage table, keeping her most intimate parts carefully shrouded with her bare arms and legs as she did so.
"How do you feel now," She asked, standing up a little to see his crotch once more. "Better?" He swallowed again, then pointed to the table.
"Lie down, please." He replied, tone still flat.
"Will you help me up?" She asked, slinking back around the table toward him, one arm covering her breasts with pretended shyness. Her couldn't help but anticipate her vagina come into view, and was disappointed when she immediately turned so that her own crotch was against the molded leather of the table. Smiling in superiority at the sad look crossing his face, she offered him her unused hand.
Taking it he paused to pull the drawstring that held her mesh wrap around in place, smiling quietly as it joined its comrades on the floor.
"I guess the only thing left is that other stocking." She hinted, still covering herself. "You don't mind, do you?" He shook his head a little as he used both hands to work the hosiery down her leg, feeling his stiffened member harden immediately. He knew she was playing with him, but didn't mind in the least. She raised her leg as he crouched to slide the French netting off of her toes, and looked up hopefully. His efforts were rewarded by a glimpse of short hair lining the coveted gap between her soft, shapely legs.
Standing again, he grasped her by the shoulders, spinning her around roughly so that she was facing him. He watched her face light up, her expression telling him that she was sure she had won their little game. He looked steadily into her eyes for a moment to allow confusion to creep in before making his move. Instead of pulling her arm from her chest, or looking her over, he scooped her up and rolled her onto the massage table as though she were so much excess baggage.
"Lie still." He commanded, his tone revealing nothing of the satisfied smile on his face. "We will begin now." He started rubbing her shoulders, allowing the creme on his hands to soak in as he worked her tense back.
After a few minutes of this she was moaning quietly, and stretching like a lazy cat in sunlight. He stopped for a moment to slip on a pair of disposable gloves and drop a glob of another lotion onto his left palm. Rubbing his gloved hands together he resumed his massage, smearing the very special lotion all over her back and sides. By now he was thoroughly aroused, the truth of what was to come known only to him. Her eyes fluttered for a second, her mouth opening to say something that never made it past her throat. Her eyes rolled every so slowly upward, eyelids falling shut as though they weighed a ton and her head sagged to the table.
He continued to rub for several more seconds, knowing the sedative took longer to act on some than others. Finally confident of her unconscious state, he pinched her bare bum gently, then more firmly and nodded in satisfaction. Paris Hilton was unconscious, drugged, and at his devious mercy. The very thought made his penis throb enthusiastically. Rolling her over onto her back he got his first view of her breasts and was not disappointed. She was young, in good shape and her breasts were very lovely indeed.
Easing his right arm under her back, and his left under her legs he scooped up her unresisting body and carried her to the door. Beyond it he worked his way around to the back of his massage parlor, to what appeared to be a broom closet. Pushing the door open with his foot he revealed a pair of sliding metal doors. Pressing the button beside the door he stepped through the gap into elevator beyond. The doors rolled shut and the elevator started its descent. Yes, he thought, I have very special plans for miss Paris indeed.
To be continued.
Can you guess what comes next? If you want to take a shot at it, please feel free to post. I'll have the sequel posted soon, so you won't have long to wait before finding out if you are right.
