Tag: Male Dominant

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Cynthia is the manageress at the 5* Spanish hotel I’m staying in. She’s wearing a charcoal grey trouser suit and high heels, very professional. She’s a confident woman, running the hotel with efficiency and a friendly face. But she’s not the sort of person to get on the wrong side of, as her staff know when they’re caught slacking. But even the strictest bosses can be brought under control.

I meet Cynthia when I check in. She’s standing behind the desk overseeing the receptionists, making sure they deliver the right customer service. I make friendly conversation with the girl on the desk while Cynthia stands behind. From the corner of my eye I catch her giving me the up and down, looking secretly impressed by my taut chest and arms in white Hugo Boss shirt, or maybe the Acqua di Parma fragrance I’m wearing. When I return the stare she turns away, pretending she hasn’t noticed. Read more »

I hate that I'm moving out days after you move in. It can't be helped, but it's just not how this should go. After that delicious visit where we barely got started, you moving back in next to me should have been a long, slow, deep slide.

It should have started when you got back, pushed down onto my bed, lips locked with mine, my hands roaming your body inching their way under seams and towards your nipples and clit.

It should have continued with ropes around your wrists and your ankles, tied back behind you with your wonderful chest shoved out for me to play with. Lying on my bed, nowhere you can go, waiting to see what happens next.

I should have teased you, rubbing your body through that tasty blue dress, slowing bringing you closer and closer but never quite enough to satisfy you. You should have moaned for me, quietly and then louder, begging me to "please, sir, let me come!" Read more »

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Jessica works on reception at the 5* hotel I’m staying at in Los Angeles. She’s got long blonde hair and wears a tight grey skirt and matching jacket, the hotel uniform. Her skirt sits above the knee, showing off her long tanned legs. She balances on a tall stool, legs crossed, typing into a computer.

She smiles coyly as I approach reception to check in. Standing over the desk, I notice the top buttons of her white blouse are undone. Peeking out is a silver lacy bra, her firm breasts pushing against the cups. The buttons holding her blouse together look like they’re about to pop.

She checks me in, giving me a quick once-over, seemingly impressed. I’m wearing a white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt and dark khakis. I worked out hard in the gym this morning, taking advantage of the facilities at British Airways’ first class lounge. The jacuzzi afterwards felt so good.

As Jessica goes to over to the printer to collect my receipt, she has to uncross her legs and shift off the stool. In doing so, she opens her legs and reveals a tiny peek of silver lace underwear beneath her skirt. I can make out a little silk ribbon at the top. Dirty girl. Read more »

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I meet Anna Slavko in Sofia, Bulgaria. She works in a luxury clothing shop in the city. What initially attracts me to her is the tight grey skirt she’s got on, pressing against her slender curves. Her long bronze legs command authority as she strides over to the changing rooms in high heels. Her shiny brown hair falls by her shoulders.

I look around the shop, picking up a couple of Lacoste polo shirts, white and navy blue. The little green crocodile reminds me of past holidays in the sunny Mediterranean, where Lacoste shops sit along prestigious arcades, backing onto sleepy piazzas.

As I get near the changing room area, I spot Anna Slavko again. She’s busily putting hangers back on clothes people have tried on. Then, as I’m admiring the view, she drops a hanger on the floor. She crouches down to get it, but as she does so I can’t help but glimpse at the little black and white dotted underwear she’s showing beneath her skirt, probably a thong. Naughty girl. She quickly stands back up. But now I want her. Read more »

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I push Amber back over the car hood, her slender body scorching in the French sun. Her breasts are about to burst out of their little bikini bra. She keeps her legs together as she falls back. But I soon pull them apart. I let her keep her high heels on for this.

I’m in France, speeding down beautiful coastal roads between Boulogne and Calais, hopefully in time to meet our boat and be extracted back to the UK. Amber is a French informant, passing on secrets to the British from her base in Paris. But she got careless, slipped up. And now I’m extracting her before the French authorities have their way with her.

We desperately need to reach Calais port on time, or we risk missing our opportunity to cross the channel to safety. But the sun is so hot, beating down on us as the calm blue ocean washes ashore on our left. The sleepy little towns we speed through are so quintessentially French: old buildings with wooden shutters closed, boulangeries selling fresh croissants, quiet bars serving cold beer. The temptation is overpowering. Read more »

I'm lying on my back, naked, under the blanket when you enter the dim-lit room. You smile and ask some questions about what brings me in today and whether I've had massage before, and soon get to work.

Standing behind my head, you start with my neck. Cradling my head on your palms, your fingers methodically search for signs of muscle tension and massage them into relaxation. You're using some oil. Your touch is gentle, but you've got have strong hands. I can already tell that you're not a delicate woman. You keep a casual conversation going. You ask me about how long I've lived here and what I do. You tell me about yourself and what you think of massage therapy. You explain how the touch releases endorphins leading to a feeling of well-being, and how the modern societies are moving away from intimacy and becoming more isolated. I can hear the faint music in between the conversation. As I look up to talk, I can't help but notice your deep red and full lips. Our gazes meet at times. I'm beginning to get relaxed and turned on. I've had massages before, but this one feels different. I notice that you express agreement with 'um-hmm', long drawn and ending in inflection, as if you're enjoying yourself. I find this strangely arousing. I wonder if you make the same noise while getting your hair pulled. Read more »

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Anna Slavik is manageress of the 5* hotel I’m staying in. But right now she’s blindfolded in my room, her slender body lying back on the floor in black bra and thong, legs in the air, breasts about to burst out of their cups. Her arms are above her head as she struggles to fight the pleasure. But it’s no good. She can’t manage the situation. She explodes.

I’m in Bratislava, Slovakia for a couple of nights spying on the owner of a local chemical factory. MI6 believes he’s secretly supplying poison to Russian agents on their way to the UK. We want to break the deadly supply chain.

I spend my first day wandering around the city, getting a feel for it. Bratislava is full of classic old backstreets, buildings and romantic little squares. I get lost in a maze of boutique shopping streets and bars. And before long I stop in a quiet cafe for a beer, watching people go by. Chilled house music plays in the background as I sip my drink. Slender Slovak girls walk past, some of them stopping in the bar I’m in. One of them, a tall brunette, is particularly sexy, revealing a bright blue thong peeking out of her tight jeans as she sits down in front of me. Read more »