Kinky London Escorts

All flights to London are cancelled. I’d been on my way to meet my husband, an international banker who travels constantly for work. After such a long spell apart, I’ve been looking forward to teasing him all the way back to our hotel. I’m dressed to the nines accordingly – a black satin corset, suspenders, hold-ups, six-inch heels, a belted trench.

I’ve spent the last half hour sending him video-messages of me playing with myself, showing him how wet I already am. But beyond the gate window, snow falls in heavy flakes. No flights. To say he’s disappointed is an understatement.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?” I demand at the desk. “I’m sorry,” the attendant looks at me from under her kittenish lashes. “Nothing for at least a few hours.”

Even in my frustration, I can’t help but notice she’s beautiful – dark blonde curls, navy pencil skirt pulled tight over her rounded bottom, full breasts, a plump red mouth. She runs her nail over her lip, blinks at me, her gaze lingering on my face a little longer than necessary. A hot bolt of desire goes straight through my stomach, makes my pussy wetter still.

My phone starts to buzz. My husband. Excusing myself, I duck into a deserted corridor. “I want you to come for me,” he says. Checking there’s no one around, I reach inside my coat, run my fingers over my nipples, grind against my palm. It doesn’t take me long to climax and I come hard, moaning softly down the phone. It’s the stewardess’ gorgeous face I see as the orgasm courses through my body. Someone clears their throat behind me. I turn. It’s her, hips cocked, arms folded. How long has she been watching me, I wonder?

“I’ve got to go,” I say, hanging up on my husband. The stewardess smiles, a frisson of desire passing between us.

“By way of apology,” she says. “We’d love to offer you a stay in our Gold Class lounge.” My husband calls again. Intrigued by her offer, I ignore the phone, follow the stewardess, watching her calves flex, her bottom bouncing in her pencil skirt. I’ve been in many first-class lounges before but this one’s different – almost deserted, lighting low on the leather chairs. We make our way to a pair of double doors in a far corner. She pushes them open on a small, elegant office space. My husband calls again. This time, she snatches the phone off me, hangs up.


“Remove your coat,” the stewardess demands. I obey, the trench slipping to the floor. Over the cupless corset, my nipples emerge, hard and sore. Bending me over the desk, the stewardess parts my legs, runs her long nails over my wet pussy.

“Shut up,” she says as I start to whimper. “If you make a sound, I’ll stop.” Her hard nipples graze my back as she leans over, binds my wrists with her necktie. There’s a rustle of ice in a bucket. What is she doing, I wonder? I stifle a scream as she runs an ice cube over my hot pussy. “Be quiet,” she says, pulling my hair back and giving me three hard, sharp spanks. I can feel my orgasm cresting but, not wanting to give her the satisfaction, I hold back, bite my lip and dig my heels harder into the ground.

She still has my phone. I wiggle helplessly against my bound wrists. “Please,” I beg. With one look at her wicked smile, I already know what she’s got planned. A familiar voice rings through the room. “What are you doing?” my husband asks. From the corner of my eye, I can see his face on the screen. Humiliated at him witnessing me in this state of arousal, I begin to cry out. As punishment, I’m issued with another hard spank.

“I’m giving your wife what you can’t,” says the stewardess. I try to look round but she twists my head back towards the ground. “Eyes to floor, slut,” she hisses. “Whatever you do,” my husband says. “Don’t let my wife come yet.”

Dying for more, I stay quiet, wondering what she has in store for me next. I feel a long, silicon cock run up the insides of my thighs. I spasm with pleasure. I’ve never been fucked by something of this size before. I part my legs as much as I can, desperate to take it all in.

“Don’t give it to her yet,” my husband says from the screen. “Please,” I cry out. Holding the phone aloft, the stewardess runs her nails down my spine. “Now?” she asks. “Not yet,” my husband says. His voice drips with desire. I’m so wet I could come right now.

Then, with a hard thrust, the stewardess pushes the cock deep inside me. She fills me, uses me like a toy. I take the whole length, ride out the delicious pain as I bounce off her hips. In silence, she pulls on my hair and fucks me harder and faster. All the while, my husband watches in delighted silence. “Do you like that, you slut?” the stewardess asks. “Yes,” I cry. “Yes.” “Don’t you dare finish yet,” she says, reaching her hands around my throat, choking me. I manage to stave off my climax for what seems like hours, the desk rattling under her thrusts, the belt’s chains clinking against my hips. When I’m certain I can’t take it anymore she finally utters the words:

“Come for me, slut.”

The orgasm blazes through me. From what sounds like far away, I hear my husband come too, his ecstatic cries ringing from the phone screen still clutched in the stewardess’ hands.