Stranger in the Wharf

by H. A. Nicola

  “I’m your slut.”

  “In that case…I’ll keep my kinky boots on.”

  "http://redtube.com/3554

  Intercontinental Park Lane Hotel or Waldorf Hilton? Any preference?

  One addition – the Trafalgar Hilton has a fabulous rooftop."

  “Oooh… a nocturnal, al fresco pussy scavenge…sounds delightful.”

  Unfortunately, moments later, this option had been ruled out.

  “Annoyingly, the ‘iconic’ rooftop terrace is closed—glad I checked before booking.”

  “Yes. There is only so much disappointment one can take in one night.”

  "Could the Queen possibly muster some faith in her toy’s ability to deliver?

  Final question, Bond Street or Park Lane?"

  When she fell silent, he decided for her.

  “Intercontinental Park Lane—see you in the lounge lobby at 2:00 p.m.”

  “I’ll be the black fox in the kinky boots.”

  “Mmmm, fuckable. What are you going to do with your white toy?”

  “Your face will be my rollercoaster to ecstasy.”

  “I need my fix… I feel like an addict and haven’t even been fully blacked yet…”

  “I suggest you make the most of this golden/black opportunity.”

  "You should do the same…

  Two London premium hotels in a fortnight… treatment worthy of a Nubian Queen… I doubt any other suitors could offer such distinguished calibre."

  "It behoves you to ensure that this esteemed sovereign never has cause to find out…

  Don’t forget in my air hostess days, I was quite accustomed to premium hotels (albeit in far-flung and exotic continents).

  I suppose overlooking Hyde Park will suffice."

  "There is a Park Plaza overlooking Big Ben, but it’s not a luxury 5-star…

  I am fully aware of your worth.

  It will be relaxed and fun…I promise."

  Later Cayenne was busy browsing in Westfield Shopping Centre when her phone buzzed in her inside pocket.

  “Find anything shopping?”

  "It’s come to something when a Queen has to shop for herself.

  But as it happens, I found some beautiful undergarments to complement the kinky boots."

  “Bet you look stunning—I would have been quite happy to have been in the fitting room.”

  "I rarely try anything on – after all, I was without my ladies in waiting…

  The first time I’ll see it on is barely an hour before you see it."

  "Remind me how good your chocolate ass looks.

  I have to spray tomorrow… if allowed."

  “What does spray mean?”

  “Release cum, like a water gun or hose.”

  "Oooooh would like to see that.

  So tell me… does one get hard again after the spray, or does the spray signal the finale?"

  “I suspect once won’t be enough… once you go black, right?”

  “My nigga!”

  Chapter 27

  Intercontinental Hotel

  Park Lane

  Cayenne rushed home from taking Ocean to his pick-up point and taking Sugar to school. Usually, she always wore makeup and presented her best self to the world even first thing, but today she wanted to take her time when preparing to go into Central London and so had just pulled on a tracksuit and a baseball cap which she pulled down low over her eyes. She had accepted gracefully, that she wasn’t one of those people that always looked fresh-faced and youthful without makeup.

  Once home, she quickly prepared dinner for later, tidied up the apartment and then took a long luxurious shower, taking time to shave her private area first and then aiming the faucet directly between her legs on full power. The very thought of what she was preparing for was causing some arousal. She carefully chose the scented shower gel and washed and conditioned her hair. Her real hair which was barely shoulder length was usually combed up on top of her head and wrapped in a cap in preparation for her wig of choice. She had been wearing strawberry blonde wigs for some time. The colour complemented her skin, and she knew her natural hair would struggle with regular colouring as well as the routine hair texturisers that she frequently subjected it to.

  She was certain that the stranger was aware by now that the hair he loved to compliment, was not actually growing out of her scalp. Thankfully he hadn’t commented when he attempted to run his hands through it during their previous trysts, and she hadn’t noticed a reaction to his touch being met with rows of hair strips and fastenings. She had to admit it caused her a little concern, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. She was quite certain that the stranger wasn’t ready for her to fling her carefully styled hair across the room in the throes of passion. Even a black man would need preparation for that.

  She applied her makeup carefully, selecting the colours—hues of purples and deep reds—that complemented the figure-hugging dress.

  She would definitely need to wear a long coat with this outfit in order to protect her modesty. She stepped into her kinky thigh-length boots and admired herself in the full-length mirror. She approved herself with honours.

  She decided to take a taxi to Park Lane as the kinky boots were far from comfortable, and she really wanted the stranger to see them. They were a remarkable creation. Suede on the outside with detailed embroidery weaving its way up the sides. Inside was lined with leopard-print faux fur which she knew would excite him.

  The doorman approached the taxi as they pulled up in rank outside the hotel. His crisp attire and gold-rimmed hat glistening and polished. He opened the door and welcomed her with a smile. Cayenne felt herself filling up with pride at her reflection as she strode toward the gleaming doors beneath the black marble intercontinental sign. The huge doors were opened by a second doorman who escorted her inside where she found herself standing in the middle of a vast white-marbled forecourt with a long reception desk at the far end, which was simple and elegant in design. The ceiling was dominated by a beautiful chandelier set in an illuminated background. It was oval-shaped and made up of dozens of diamond droplets. Numerous staff were milling around, all looking pleased to be in their environment which heightened Cayenne’s expectancy even more.

  She approached the desk and leaned over the counter at the smiling red-haired lady.

  “Hello, I’m here to meet with Mr Halpern-Smith. Can you tell me if he is here yet?”

  “Good afternoon, madam, welcome to the Intercontinental. Let me have a look for you.”

  She scanned the screen in front of her and looked down at the large leather-bound book that lay open on the desk; her eyes scanning up and down the page as she followed her forefinger.

  “I don’t seem to have an indication that he is here yet. Would you like to wait in the bar?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Certainly,” she pointed to her left, and Cayenne looked down an exquisite open corridor which was dotted with small seating areas where a mass of leather chairs had been carefully laid out. On the glass tables were bowls of sweets and nibbles and various guests were sitting around and greeting arrivals. Cayenne ignored the stares that she received from some of the tables she passed. She glanced around and noticed that she appeared rather overdressed by comparison which surprised her. She had expected to be confronted with elegantly dressed women dripping with the most expensive jewellery and draped in designer garments and to see stacks of Louis Vuitton cases. She didn’t doubt that on any given day that was exactly what she would find, or perhaps it was the evening that inspired most people to turn on the glamour. But today, during this rather ordinary Wednesday afternoon, everyone looked pretty normal and casually dressed.

  She found a cluster of seats at the far end of the bar lounge and rested her feet from the torture of the leopard-print-lined kinkiness. Stretching out her legs, she circled her ankles to encourage the soles of her feet to hang on in there.

  She glanced at the time and realised that she was a little ear
ly. She decided that to remove her coat would cause too much of a stir, even though she was beginning to get hot. A waiter dressed in smart grey trousers with a matching waistcoat approached her with a tray of unwashed glasses from neighbouring tables. He spoke with a strong accent, though she couldn’t quite place it.

  “Madam, would like somesing to drink?”

  “Erm… actually, I think I’ll wait for my companion,”

  Cayenne was very thirsty, but at this point, she just wanted to relax in the suite he had prearranged and have a drink in more private surroundings. After all, he’ll be here soon, she thought to herself.

  Thirty minutes whiled away whilst Cayenne made several painful struts back and forth to reception in her haste to get the afternoon started. She could feel herself getting more and more agitated.

  The fact that she was being eyed up by gentlemen in the bar and stared at curiously did little to placate her.

  She rose from her seat for the last time, clutching her bag she stomped back toward the reception area. She waited just inside the door and stared at the waiting taxis that were lined-up outside. She was about to push through the door and ask the doorman to assist her when the flustered-looking stranger suddenly walked in the through the door furthest away. He was in such a rush to make their appointment that he hadn’t realised that she was standing there. She watched him walking hurriedly towards the bar, but something stopped her from calling out.

  Moments later, he reappeared, his overcoat hanging from his forearm, his bag over his shoulder and a worried look in his eyes.

  His pace slowed as he began to register the mood of the seething fox. She was still staring through the glass door waiting for him to select the right choice of words that may prevent her from proceeding through it.

  “Am I late? I’m not that late, am I?”

  She turned to look at him and then returned her gaze to the posturing doormen.

  “Look, I’m so sorry. My boss called me as I was walking from the underground. There was an issue that needed clearing up.” He was looking at her intently to see how much he was progressing toward her good books.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how late I was. How long have you been waiting?”

  Her jaw refused to cooperate and her eyes remained firm and resolutely transfixed on the incoming guests.

  “You look absolutely amazing.” He reached for her hand. “Come on. Are you hungry? … let’s get something to eat.”

  She allowed him to take her hand and walked slowly beside him, retracing the now well-worn steps back toward the bar. He approached a waiter and asked if the restaurant was open.

  “Yes, sir. The Theo Randall Restaurant is serving lunch; would you like me to find you a table?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Table for two, sir?”

  “Yes, that would be great. Can I also have two glasses of Champagne?”

  “Certainly, sir, do you have a preference, sir? I would recommend the Piper with today’s lunch menu.”

  “Okay, that’s fine, thank you.”

  He pulled out her chair and offered to take her coat. She turned her back to him to allow him to remove the full-length coat from her shoulders which he did and placed it down on the seat beside her.

  It was moments before he could pull his eyes away from her dress with her bosom peering provocatively over the sweetheart neckline. The tight velvet material clung seductively to her small waist whilst allowing for the rounder proportions of her hips and thighs. As she sat down and crossed her legs, the short hemline crept up further still, revealing perfectly toned legs.

  She knew that he could tell by the absent panels on the sides of her dress that she had to be practically naked underneath. The very thought of the torture that she was inflicting on him gave her immense frost-thawing pleasure.

  “Am I forgiven now?” he asked when she had safely had her first taste of Champagne.

  She smiled in answer and helped herself to the delicious olives and crisps that had been placed down with their drinks whilst they waited for lunch.

  He hung his head down to join his shoulders and hunched in his chair like a reprimanded schoolboy.

  She began to feel sorry for him and softened the harshness of her expression. “I was sitting there for 45 minutes, clearly overdressed compared to everybody here. I was beginning to feel like some sort of ….”

  He interrupted before she could answer.

  “I’m sorry. Look, let’s try and have a good time. I can’t believe that you were actually going home.”

  She was certain that he was used to calling the shots and keeping people waiting. There was no way she was going to allow him to think she was desperate.

  She continued to pop the olives into her mouth. Chewing slowly, savouring the flavour before washing it down with more champagne.

  The waiter arrived with a large tray and placed down a sformato di fontina for her and insalata mista for him.

  She wondered whether her mood had affected his appetite as she watched him pushing the mixed Italian leaves with tomatoes, cucumber and fresh basil around his plate.

  Cayenne was positively starving at this point, not having eaten in the morning for fear it would affect the silhouette appeal of her dress and heartily tucked in to her baked squash and cheese soufflé with spinach.

  “You are hungry, aren’t you baby?”

  She swallowed deeply. That was the second time he had called her baby.

  She nodded and edged her plate towards him. “Wanna try some?”

  “No thanks. I’m not that hungry. Seeing you in that dress has totally taken my appetite away. You look incredible.”

  She smiled appreciatively, adjusting herself in her seat, deliberately drawing his attention to her legs. She wanted to see him sweat.

  He loosened the collar of his shirt.

  He made a valiant attempt with his main course—Calamari with pan-fried squid and cannellini beans with chopped rocket.

  She licked her lips, thoroughly enjoying her hand-made pasta with shrimp.

  They decided to share a soft chocolate cake with crema di mascarpone and took their turns spooning it into their mouths whilst staring over at each other. She knew he was struggling to contain himself.

  He confirmed it once the elevator doors closed behind them, and she found herself pressed against the mirror.

  His tongue hungrily exploring hers, seeking and finding whatever it wanted, and the deep groans that emanated from his throat told her of his need.

  She dropped her bag and unabashedly rubbed the front of his trousers, knowing that what lay beneath would respond almost immediately. She cupped him in her hand whilst her other hand pressed his buttock toward her. The urges between her legs caused her to thrust herself forward in a bid to feel his groin through the fabric of their clothes.

  The beep signalled that they had reached the selected floor. They pulled away from each other and immediately burst into a fit of laughter as they realised that most of her rose-red lipstick was now smeared over the lower half of his face. Not knowing who they may face in the foyer of their floor, or who they may encounter coming in and out of the other rooms, he grabbed her hand and hurriedly walked towards their door. Her hand momentarily slipped out of hold in his haste, and she gasped when he stopped suddenly, turned around and clasped her hand again, firmly this time, not wanting to lose the connection.

  He slipped the card into the slot, and they were immediately given the green light signalling that the door was open.

  He stepped aside to allow her to walk in first thrusting a finger up the back of her dress whilst she grabbed his crotch giving him the green light to proceed with his post lunch chocolate. She stepped inside, and her mouth fell open as she took in the enormity and the opulence of the suite. It was the size of an apartment, possibly larger than the one she lived in. She put her bag on the light brown, textured sofa in the living area and put her phone on the polished coffee table. The floor was covered in thick cre
am carpet, except for the high traffic areas and the bathroom which had a marbled effect woven into the chocolate brown tiles. A room directly to the left was a dining room which was easily the size of a small conference room with two rows of high-backed leather chairs which looked almost like regal thrones. She peered her head around the door of the bathroom, which was a vision of high-end opulence with mirrored walls, wooden cabinets which contrasted vividly with the brilliant white porcelain on the ceiling. The room she could barely wait to see was the bedroom. The stranger was awaiting her there. He looked small against the huge satin-covered bed with an abundance of puffed up pillows and cushions, which Cayenne imagined would take the housekeepers an absolute age to prepare every day.

  He rose to take her. Hands groping her curvaceous glutes with his index finger teasing the crack, edging further and further forward. A groan escaped as he realised his fingers were smothered in her cream.

  The next two hours were a blur of fulfilling the promises they had made to each other. She had never been licked and sucked so much in her entire life.

  She had never known a man eat her pussy as though she were an haute cuisine buffet. Tasting and poking and sucking to satiate his obvious hunger. Tasting this and then that and then going in for more.

  Good God, what had possessed him.

  She watched as he forged between her legs until he struck a chord causing her to throw her head back with sheer delight.

  After a while, she could sense his hesitation to give her his full measure.

  He was nervous, she could tell. She could almost hear him tussling in his own mind fighting to give himself permission to forge ahead and hoping for dear life that he could hold this time.

  There was a moment when he lay over her, sheathed at the ready, poking her entrance one last time as he stood at the cliff edge.

  He looked down at her waiting, moistened pussy as it throbbed and pulsed with desire at his promise. Deliberating again for a moment, he suddenly surrendered, “Who could resist this?” and then he jumped, diving head first into the vaginal abyss. He could hold back no longer. His conscience abandoned up ahead. She felt him pulse deeper and deeper into her as though unloading a heavyweight that he had carried around for far too long.