Porn Battle entry: Surprises (NC-17, naturally enough)
Title: Surprises
Author: ionlylurkhere
Pairing: Martha/Tom
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3500
Notes: For the prompt '"Welcome home"; Martha has a surprise in store for Tom when he gets home from Africa' in the martha_milligan porn battle.
Tom wasn't sure which he saw first: Martha, or the sign she was holding up saying "THOMAS MILLIGAN" in neatly lettered black marker pen.
He wasn't expecting either. He'd been expecting to have to drag his battered suitcase out to the taxi rank, queue for who knew how long, listen to whatever inane conversation the driver wanted to make, and then creep into the house so that he didn't wake Martha. Instead, Martha was here, in the middle of the night. But she was holding up a sign, as though there was the slightest chance he'd have forgotten who his fianc&ecaute;e was, and was dressed like some sort of chauffeur.
Things began to make a little sense as his brain, addled by the long flight, processed all the relevant bits of the information. The "chauffeur" (or should that be "chauffeuse"? his tired mind wondered) uniform was ... well, non-standard, at best. The skirt was short and relatively tight, the heels couldn't be the most sensible available for driving in, and the jacket was unbuttoned to half way down her cleavage. He gradually realised that a few other people were staring, and that Martha didn't care. And he began to remember some of the late night discussions that had run up such horrendous bills on his satellite phone, how she'd been turned on by the idea of dancing along the line of what was and wasn't acceptable in public.
He came over to her and leaned in to kiss her, but she deftly avoided it, and said, "Would you like me to take your bags, sir?" She relieved him of the handle of the suitcase before he was even really aware of it, and started to wheel it out of the terminal.
He followed her, a little lost for words. He'd assumed that the fantasies they'd shared were going to stay forever in the realm of the imagination, but now here they were doing something that she'd described to him. Despite his tiredness, recalling the graphic detail of the later parts of that description was beginning to give him an erection. But it was all rather confusing for him to cope with after nearly a full twenty four hours of travel, when you factored in connecting flights and getting to the airport in the first place.
"Martha ..." he began, but he was already a dozen paces behind her, having to make little stumbling runs to have a chance of keeping up, gripping the strap of his little rucksack to keep it from flying off. By the time he reached the car -- Martha's little Corsa that she was weirdly protective of -- she'd already slung his suitcase in the boot and was holding the passenger door open for him. Again, he tried to kiss her, but she manoeuvred herself out of his way, maintaining the role of driver. Defeated, he crouched down to get into the car. Martha closed the door gently on him and walked round as he sorted out his seat belt.
"Straight home, sir?" she asked as she got in.
* * *
Martha was faintly disappointed when Tom answered in the affirmative, but it was what she'd been expecting. The idea that he'd be overcome with unbridled lust and demand that she drive him just round the corner to the airport hotel, or maybe to the nearest deserted rural location, so that he could take her there and then, was always only a remote possibility, for all that the second option in particular was one of the chief causes of the distracting wetness between her legs.
Besides, if he had done that, his dinner would have been spoiled. Still, there was no reason he couldn't have a little foretaste of dessert. Once they were out on a nice straight bit of road, she took his right hand in her left, the first time she'd really touched him after six months, and placed it on her thigh. She gave him the tiniest nudge to encourage him to explore upwards, and he took the hint eagerly, hand sliding up quickly, past the sensitive spots on her inner thigh, until two of his fingers were pressing gently at her entrance through her sopping wet panties.
It was a good thing she had both hands back on the steering wheel by now.
"Martha ..." he said, in that husky voice that always came out when he realised she was hugely turned on before he'd even done anything. But then he said "Martha" again, in a more businesslike tone. "Not that I don't want ... I mean ... you're amazing. God, you're amazing. But I'm bone tired and hungry as a horse and I haven't washed at all in almost twenty four hours and ..."
"All of that has been accounted for, sir," she said primly, not breaking role for a moment. "At Jones Limousines, we believe in offering a full service." She emphasised the last two words ever so slightly, and bucked her hips minutely to press herself into his fingers. "Let us take care of all your needs."
* * *
Eventually, Tom began to feel self-conscious and removed his hand. The slight moan Martha made as he did so was the only sound that broke the journey after their little conversation. He remembered what Martha had said about being aroused by the idea of acting professionally, despite her sexy outfit and the fact they both knew what was really going on, and slipped into a not-quite-sleeping daze as he remembered the other things she'd said as well. Although at that moment he couldn't imagine having the energy for any of them, thinking about them was certainly arousing, and his hand that had so recently been up her skirt came to rest naturally over the bulge in his trousers.
As the darkness of night time country roads began to give way to the sodium yellow street lamps of the outer boroughs, his mind drifted in a dissociated sort of way over a whole range of fantasies that they'd discussed on those long late night calls. He'd been surprised and pleased to discover that Martha seemed to have a thing about dressing up that she'd only begun to admit to during the long distance phase of their relationship. As well as the chauffeur thing she was doing now, she'd mentioned cheerleaders and there'd been one very hot conversation about the sort of thing Police Constable Jones might do once she had apprehended the suspect and had him in custody. He'd floated the idea of dressing up as a maid, but it hadn't taken much reading between the lines to realise something about that was a serious turn off for her, though he didn't know what. They'd been on much safer ground when he admitted how that black UNIT uniform of hers made him almost painfully stiff.
He was still deep in a reverie of submitting to Martha, her kneeling above him still wearing the top part of her uniform, him licking her vigorously as she reached down and behind herself to tweak his nipple to tell him to go even faster, when a gust of air made him realise that the car had stopped and she was already holding the door open for him. He climbed out, picking up his rucksack from the footwell, and once more followed her, this time into the house that they had bought together but which he had barely lived in since.
As soon as she opened the door, a warm cooking scent filled his nostrils. By the time she'd relieved him of his coat and stuffed his luggage into the cupboard under the stairs to worry about some other time, he'd identified the aromas of a beef stew. She took him through to the kitchen and ladled out a large, nourishing-looking helping and placed it in front of him.
"Aren't you going to have any?" he asked.
"That's very kind of you, sir," she said. "I do just have a couple of things to take care of, but then I'll be back down."
She disappeared upstairs, and as Tom wolfed down his stew, he heard the bath running. He glanced at the digital clock glowing in the middle of the oven controls -- it was gone half past one in the morning by now. He hoped the neighbours wouldn't be woken by the clanking pipes. Despite the time, though, his disoriented body clock was beginning to wake him up again. Or perhaps it was the food. Or the promise of what was to come.
He'd already finished his plate when the gurgling noises stopped and Martha came back down. She cocked an eyebrow at him momentarily, but suppressed whatever sarcastic remark about the size of his appetite or the sheer speed of his eating she'd been on the verge of making, slipping back into her subservient role. "Would you like some more, sir?" she said, taking the plate back to the pan.
"Yes, please." She gave him another portion just as large, and this time took one for herself as well. She sat down opposite him, made eye contact with him briefly, but then looked down at her plate.
* * *
Martha was grateful that Tom took the hint that she wanted to keep the role play going, didn't start trying to talk to her about all the things there were to talk about -- they had time enough for that tomorrow, and for the rest of their lives. She'd been planning this for a long time and so far it was going perfectly, and if their lives were going to involve stretches of long-distance relationship then she wanted to establish a tradition of making an effort when they were together. She was still wearing the sexy outfit -- hadn't even taken the little peaked cap off -- and she had a lot more planned yet. She deliberately ate with small, genteel sips, but leaned over enough to give him a good view of her cleavage. She knew he was looking, without having to look herself, could feel the heat of his gaze on her perspiration-dappled skin.
When they'd finished eating, she cleared the plates away and invited him to follow her upstairs. She allowed herself a tiny smile at the picture his face made when he came into the bathroom, saw the large, old bathtub filled with bubbles and ringed with candles. But then, once again, she dropped back into the fantasy. "Let me help you undress, sir," she said, kneeling down to untie his shoelaces.
While she removed his shoes and socks, rubbing his flight-afflicted feet slightly in the process, Tom removed the clothes from his upper body. Martha sneaked a peek upwards, and was gratified to see that those lovely firm abdominal muscles of his had become even more defined in his time away.
They both reached for the buckle of his belt at the same moment, and the touch was electrifying, a spark jumping across the months that had separated them to connect them once more. She withdrew her hand, allowed him to undo himself, then helped him step out of the trousers. Then he lowered his boxers, and finally stood completely naked before her.
His cock -- always glorious in her eyes, but never more so than at this moment -- was ramrod-straight, standing proudly erect. He looked as though he could explode at any moment, and she knew it was not just the slow burn of everything she had done for him tonight, but the result of months of pent-up frustration. The aching hunger between her own legs, which she had sublimated into all the activity of arranging the fantasy, returned with a vengeance at the sight of that which could finally satisfy it.
But she knew that if she did give in, if she surrendered to her lusts and to him, sprawled herself out on the cold tiled floor to be fucked by that almighty cock, it would all be over in an eyeblink, and she didn't want that. The whole point of this part of her plan was to remove that problem. She gestured to him that he should get into the bath, and began to wash him.
He was grubby from the long journey, there was no doubt about it, and she did her best to clean him, make him feel refreshed, but the true focus of her attentions was his erection. She started by brushing against it lightly as her hands travelled from one part of his body to another, then progressed to gentle strokes, just enough to roll the foreskin back and forth over the sensitive head. Finally, she gripped him firmly with her fist, and it didn't take long for her pumping action to make a long stream of come shoot out and splash back into the bath, followed by another, and then another, each accompanied by a gratifying groan from Tom. She cupped water over the head of his cock to wash away the last little traces of come, then pulled out the plug.
"Martha ..." he started to say, so she cut him off with an "I'll just get the towel for you, sir."
* * *
Tom had difficulty standing up to get out of the bath, and Martha had to support him as he stabilised himself. The tumultuous orgasm she'd just given him -- a part of his brain was distantly, wondrously trying to decide whether it counted as a multiple orgasm or not -- had left him woozy, heart racing and eyes lacking focus.
She helped him out of the bath, and as he stood still while she rubbed his upper body dry -- lingering for longer than was strictly necessary on his shoulder blades -- he began to recover his composure. It felt impossibly as though all the blood in his body had been in his cock, and now it was all flowing out again as he rapidly detumesced. He wondered what Martha still had planned, what she was keeping the role play going for, despite the fact that they were well outside traditional chauffeur duties now.
He got his answer soon enough when, as she wrapped the towel around his thigh, she gave his flaccid cock first a kiss, and then a suck, and then took the whole of it into her mouth, pressing upwards against the ridge on the underside with her tongue. He closed his eyes, or maybe they just rolled back into his head, he couldn't be sure, as she started to give him a fantastic blowjob, even as she continued to dry off his legs.
He couldn't deny that there was something about the wordless subservience of it all that excited him; having this fantastic woman willingly doing such things for him -- for her to have planned it all the way she had -- inspired astonishing sensations of love and trust as well as lust and desire. And the icing on the cake was the certain knowledge that it was arousing her as well, knowledge gained from all the things they'd talked about but also from having felt her wetness in the car, hours ago now, hours in which she had not done anything for herself, had devoted herself solely to him. He felt a sudden stab of regret that the unbelievably sexy bath he'd just had had deprived him of the opportunity to smell her scent on his fingers as she continued to lick him.
Soon, despite feeling as though he'd been completely emptied by the handjob, he was fully hard inside her mouth. She slid her lips down and off his cock, finishing with a gentle kiss that matched the one she'd begun with. Then she stood up, turned around so that her gorgeous arse was right in front of him, and once more led him wordlessly away.
In the bedroom, the duvet had been pulled away into one corner of the bed. Martha guided him to lie down on his back. As soon as he hit the mattress, he felt sleep begin to steal over him, in spite of the starkly obvious disadvantages of lapsing into unconsciousness now. "I know you're tired, sir, but if you'll let me I can guarantee you a very good night's sleep indeed," she said. "Just lie back and let me do everything for you."
Tom willed himself to stay awake as Martha performed a striptease, finally, finally removing the clothes that had tantalised him all night. She tossed the chauffeur's cap across the room like a discus, then shrugged out of her jacket to reveal a black bra. She turned around and shimmied out of her skirt, the matching knickers becoming visible millimetre by millimetre as she did so. Then she bent over, still facing away from him so that her arse was high in the air, to remove her high heels. Finally, she turned back round and reached behind herself to undo the bra, and pushed her panties down teasingly, first one side, then the other, in a see-saw motion that only gradually took them to the ground, but gave him ample opportunity to see the glistening dampness on her trimmed hair.
Martha's horniness was the biggest turn on of all, the knowledge that she wanted him, that she was already highly aroused before anything had happened. It always excited him, whether it came visually like this, under his fingers as they slid along her slit, on his tongue as he leaned down to kiss her for the first time, or from her whispering in his ear how wet she was for him.
She knelt on the edge of the bed, straddling his knees, then shifting herself up until she was closer to his cock, but still not even touching it directly. She took a finger, and ran it down her breastbone, over her belly, and down to her wetness. She gave herself a single long, slow stroke, then made a matching movement on his chest, trailing her arousal down him until she met his cock.
And then, she hopped that little bit further forward, rapidly swallowing him up and allowing him to experience not just her wetness but her intense heat, like a prickling all along the sides of his shaft. The contact between them was amazing. She didn't move, simply stayed in position, legs wrapped around his hips, her gorgeous pussy engulfing his cock.
* * *
Eventually, reluctantly, Martha pulled herself off Tom's magnificence. She reached under the mattress for the condom she had secreted there during the earliest stages of her preparations. She'd thought it through carefully, didn't want to interrupt things too badly by getting up again, or reaching over Tom to get to the bedside cabinet. She had never intended to wrap herself around him unprotected like this, but the temptation had simply been far too strong. Now, she made a show of putting the condom on him, exaggerating her movements and playing with her nipples and clit in between each stage of the process.
As she unrolled the bottom of the sheath around the base of his cock, she felt his size in her hands and worried for a moment that she wouldn't be able to take all of it. But as she lowered herself onto him once more, she discovered just how much lubrication two hours of dizzying permanent arousal could provide.
Tom tilted his hips upward, pressing even deeper inside her. The temptation to let him do that, to just stay here while he fucked her from underneath, was immense. But instead she placed her hands gently on his chest and said, "Let me," adding a "sir" afterwards in a tiny breath. She began to slide herself up and down his shaft, gyrating as she did so, confident that the welter of sensations this gave rise to her in pussy were matched by those he was feeling nerve ending for nerve ending.
As she continued, she began to touch herself once more. She threw herself into putting on a show for him: arching backwards so that her nipples poked out as she rolled them between thumb and forefinger; stroking her clit and her pussy lips, stretched apart by his cock, with a lascivious slowness that belied her desperate desire to bring herself off; licking her lips and moaning as she felt him get even bigger inside her.
Finally, when she could stand no more, she focused all her attention on her clit, rubbing it hard in tiny circles, concentrating on the feeling of him filling her. With her other hand, she reached behind herself, finding his balls and rolling them around in her fingers, gently at first, but then with a firm squeeze that she knew was only not painful for him because he was so turned on.
Tom lost control, bucking wildly into her as he came deep inside her. She rode him, frenetically rubbing herself until moments later her own orgasm hit, radiating outward from her clit to every last cell of her body. She kept rubbing herself, climaxing again around his softening cock, which twitched in response.
"Wow," Tom said.
Martha straightened herself out until she was still wrapped around him, but slightly less dishevelled. "Thank you very much, sir. We take customer satisfaction very seriously. In fact, would you mind if I ask you a few questions?" In best saleswoman fashion, she didn't give him a chance to refuse, and went straight on, "On a scale of Extremely Satisfied, Satisfied, Dissatisfied, or Extremely Dissatisfied, how would you rate your experience tonight?" She smiled at him in a professional way.
"You can stop now, Martha," Tom said, giving her a semi-serious look, as though there was a line about to be crossed between sexy fantasy and something a bit weird. "Really."
She grinned, bent down and kissed him, then rolled off to cuddle up next to him.
"But," Tom said, "if what you were really saying was 'how was it for you?' then it was ... well, amazing. You're incredible. It was a brilliant surprise. Thank you." He turned his head, kissed her in a lazy, sleepy sort of way, then let his head sink into the pillow. "I'll have to do something like that for you one day."
"Hmmm, that would be nice," Martha purred, drawing her hand lazily down one side of his body. She leaned in and kissed his nipple gently. Maybe now was the time for the real surprise. "Maybe you could do it when I get back from New York."
Tom moaned in a positive sort of way as he relaxed into his usual sleeping position.
Then, moments later, he sat bolt upright in bed, all his deep exhaustion forgotten.
"Wait, what? New York?"
Author: ionlylurkhere
Pairing: Martha/Tom
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3500
Notes: For the prompt '"Welcome home"; Martha has a surprise in store for Tom when he gets home from Africa' in the martha_milligan porn battle.
Tom wasn't sure which he saw first: Martha, or the sign she was holding up saying "THOMAS MILLIGAN" in neatly lettered black marker pen.
He wasn't expecting either. He'd been expecting to have to drag his battered suitcase out to the taxi rank, queue for who knew how long, listen to whatever inane conversation the driver wanted to make, and then creep into the house so that he didn't wake Martha. Instead, Martha was here, in the middle of the night. But she was holding up a sign, as though there was the slightest chance he'd have forgotten who his fianc&ecaute;e was, and was dressed like some sort of chauffeur.
Things began to make a little sense as his brain, addled by the long flight, processed all the relevant bits of the information. The "chauffeur" (or should that be "chauffeuse"? his tired mind wondered) uniform was ... well, non-standard, at best. The skirt was short and relatively tight, the heels couldn't be the most sensible available for driving in, and the jacket was unbuttoned to half way down her cleavage. He gradually realised that a few other people were staring, and that Martha didn't care. And he began to remember some of the late night discussions that had run up such horrendous bills on his satellite phone, how she'd been turned on by the idea of dancing along the line of what was and wasn't acceptable in public.
He came over to her and leaned in to kiss her, but she deftly avoided it, and said, "Would you like me to take your bags, sir?" She relieved him of the handle of the suitcase before he was even really aware of it, and started to wheel it out of the terminal.
He followed her, a little lost for words. He'd assumed that the fantasies they'd shared were going to stay forever in the realm of the imagination, but now here they were doing something that she'd described to him. Despite his tiredness, recalling the graphic detail of the later parts of that description was beginning to give him an erection. But it was all rather confusing for him to cope with after nearly a full twenty four hours of travel, when you factored in connecting flights and getting to the airport in the first place.
"Martha ..." he began, but he was already a dozen paces behind her, having to make little stumbling runs to have a chance of keeping up, gripping the strap of his little rucksack to keep it from flying off. By the time he reached the car -- Martha's little Corsa that she was weirdly protective of -- she'd already slung his suitcase in the boot and was holding the passenger door open for him. Again, he tried to kiss her, but she manoeuvred herself out of his way, maintaining the role of driver. Defeated, he crouched down to get into the car. Martha closed the door gently on him and walked round as he sorted out his seat belt.
"Straight home, sir?" she asked as she got in.
* * *
Martha was faintly disappointed when Tom answered in the affirmative, but it was what she'd been expecting. The idea that he'd be overcome with unbridled lust and demand that she drive him just round the corner to the airport hotel, or maybe to the nearest deserted rural location, so that he could take her there and then, was always only a remote possibility, for all that the second option in particular was one of the chief causes of the distracting wetness between her legs.
Besides, if he had done that, his dinner would have been spoiled. Still, there was no reason he couldn't have a little foretaste of dessert. Once they were out on a nice straight bit of road, she took his right hand in her left, the first time she'd really touched him after six months, and placed it on her thigh. She gave him the tiniest nudge to encourage him to explore upwards, and he took the hint eagerly, hand sliding up quickly, past the sensitive spots on her inner thigh, until two of his fingers were pressing gently at her entrance through her sopping wet panties.
It was a good thing she had both hands back on the steering wheel by now.
"Martha ..." he said, in that husky voice that always came out when he realised she was hugely turned on before he'd even done anything. But then he said "Martha" again, in a more businesslike tone. "Not that I don't want ... I mean ... you're amazing. God, you're amazing. But I'm bone tired and hungry as a horse and I haven't washed at all in almost twenty four hours and ..."
"All of that has been accounted for, sir," she said primly, not breaking role for a moment. "At Jones Limousines, we believe in offering a full service." She emphasised the last two words ever so slightly, and bucked her hips minutely to press herself into his fingers. "Let us take care of all your needs."
* * *
Eventually, Tom began to feel self-conscious and removed his hand. The slight moan Martha made as he did so was the only sound that broke the journey after their little conversation. He remembered what Martha had said about being aroused by the idea of acting professionally, despite her sexy outfit and the fact they both knew what was really going on, and slipped into a not-quite-sleeping daze as he remembered the other things she'd said as well. Although at that moment he couldn't imagine having the energy for any of them, thinking about them was certainly arousing, and his hand that had so recently been up her skirt came to rest naturally over the bulge in his trousers.
As the darkness of night time country roads began to give way to the sodium yellow street lamps of the outer boroughs, his mind drifted in a dissociated sort of way over a whole range of fantasies that they'd discussed on those long late night calls. He'd been surprised and pleased to discover that Martha seemed to have a thing about dressing up that she'd only begun to admit to during the long distance phase of their relationship. As well as the chauffeur thing she was doing now, she'd mentioned cheerleaders and there'd been one very hot conversation about the sort of thing Police Constable Jones might do once she had apprehended the suspect and had him in custody. He'd floated the idea of dressing up as a maid, but it hadn't taken much reading between the lines to realise something about that was a serious turn off for her, though he didn't know what. They'd been on much safer ground when he admitted how that black UNIT uniform of hers made him almost painfully stiff.
He was still deep in a reverie of submitting to Martha, her kneeling above him still wearing the top part of her uniform, him licking her vigorously as she reached down and behind herself to tweak his nipple to tell him to go even faster, when a gust of air made him realise that the car had stopped and she was already holding the door open for him. He climbed out, picking up his rucksack from the footwell, and once more followed her, this time into the house that they had bought together but which he had barely lived in since.
As soon as she opened the door, a warm cooking scent filled his nostrils. By the time she'd relieved him of his coat and stuffed his luggage into the cupboard under the stairs to worry about some other time, he'd identified the aromas of a beef stew. She took him through to the kitchen and ladled out a large, nourishing-looking helping and placed it in front of him.
"Aren't you going to have any?" he asked.
"That's very kind of you, sir," she said. "I do just have a couple of things to take care of, but then I'll be back down."
She disappeared upstairs, and as Tom wolfed down his stew, he heard the bath running. He glanced at the digital clock glowing in the middle of the oven controls -- it was gone half past one in the morning by now. He hoped the neighbours wouldn't be woken by the clanking pipes. Despite the time, though, his disoriented body clock was beginning to wake him up again. Or perhaps it was the food. Or the promise of what was to come.
He'd already finished his plate when the gurgling noises stopped and Martha came back down. She cocked an eyebrow at him momentarily, but suppressed whatever sarcastic remark about the size of his appetite or the sheer speed of his eating she'd been on the verge of making, slipping back into her subservient role. "Would you like some more, sir?" she said, taking the plate back to the pan.
"Yes, please." She gave him another portion just as large, and this time took one for herself as well. She sat down opposite him, made eye contact with him briefly, but then looked down at her plate.
* * *
Martha was grateful that Tom took the hint that she wanted to keep the role play going, didn't start trying to talk to her about all the things there were to talk about -- they had time enough for that tomorrow, and for the rest of their lives. She'd been planning this for a long time and so far it was going perfectly, and if their lives were going to involve stretches of long-distance relationship then she wanted to establish a tradition of making an effort when they were together. She was still wearing the sexy outfit -- hadn't even taken the little peaked cap off -- and she had a lot more planned yet. She deliberately ate with small, genteel sips, but leaned over enough to give him a good view of her cleavage. She knew he was looking, without having to look herself, could feel the heat of his gaze on her perspiration-dappled skin.
When they'd finished eating, she cleared the plates away and invited him to follow her upstairs. She allowed herself a tiny smile at the picture his face made when he came into the bathroom, saw the large, old bathtub filled with bubbles and ringed with candles. But then, once again, she dropped back into the fantasy. "Let me help you undress, sir," she said, kneeling down to untie his shoelaces.
While she removed his shoes and socks, rubbing his flight-afflicted feet slightly in the process, Tom removed the clothes from his upper body. Martha sneaked a peek upwards, and was gratified to see that those lovely firm abdominal muscles of his had become even more defined in his time away.
They both reached for the buckle of his belt at the same moment, and the touch was electrifying, a spark jumping across the months that had separated them to connect them once more. She withdrew her hand, allowed him to undo himself, then helped him step out of the trousers. Then he lowered his boxers, and finally stood completely naked before her.
His cock -- always glorious in her eyes, but never more so than at this moment -- was ramrod-straight, standing proudly erect. He looked as though he could explode at any moment, and she knew it was not just the slow burn of everything she had done for him tonight, but the result of months of pent-up frustration. The aching hunger between her own legs, which she had sublimated into all the activity of arranging the fantasy, returned with a vengeance at the sight of that which could finally satisfy it.
But she knew that if she did give in, if she surrendered to her lusts and to him, sprawled herself out on the cold tiled floor to be fucked by that almighty cock, it would all be over in an eyeblink, and she didn't want that. The whole point of this part of her plan was to remove that problem. She gestured to him that he should get into the bath, and began to wash him.
He was grubby from the long journey, there was no doubt about it, and she did her best to clean him, make him feel refreshed, but the true focus of her attentions was his erection. She started by brushing against it lightly as her hands travelled from one part of his body to another, then progressed to gentle strokes, just enough to roll the foreskin back and forth over the sensitive head. Finally, she gripped him firmly with her fist, and it didn't take long for her pumping action to make a long stream of come shoot out and splash back into the bath, followed by another, and then another, each accompanied by a gratifying groan from Tom. She cupped water over the head of his cock to wash away the last little traces of come, then pulled out the plug.
"Martha ..." he started to say, so she cut him off with an "I'll just get the towel for you, sir."
* * *
Tom had difficulty standing up to get out of the bath, and Martha had to support him as he stabilised himself. The tumultuous orgasm she'd just given him -- a part of his brain was distantly, wondrously trying to decide whether it counted as a multiple orgasm or not -- had left him woozy, heart racing and eyes lacking focus.
She helped him out of the bath, and as he stood still while she rubbed his upper body dry -- lingering for longer than was strictly necessary on his shoulder blades -- he began to recover his composure. It felt impossibly as though all the blood in his body had been in his cock, and now it was all flowing out again as he rapidly detumesced. He wondered what Martha still had planned, what she was keeping the role play going for, despite the fact that they were well outside traditional chauffeur duties now.
He got his answer soon enough when, as she wrapped the towel around his thigh, she gave his flaccid cock first a kiss, and then a suck, and then took the whole of it into her mouth, pressing upwards against the ridge on the underside with her tongue. He closed his eyes, or maybe they just rolled back into his head, he couldn't be sure, as she started to give him a fantastic blowjob, even as she continued to dry off his legs.
He couldn't deny that there was something about the wordless subservience of it all that excited him; having this fantastic woman willingly doing such things for him -- for her to have planned it all the way she had -- inspired astonishing sensations of love and trust as well as lust and desire. And the icing on the cake was the certain knowledge that it was arousing her as well, knowledge gained from all the things they'd talked about but also from having felt her wetness in the car, hours ago now, hours in which she had not done anything for herself, had devoted herself solely to him. He felt a sudden stab of regret that the unbelievably sexy bath he'd just had had deprived him of the opportunity to smell her scent on his fingers as she continued to lick him.
Soon, despite feeling as though he'd been completely emptied by the handjob, he was fully hard inside her mouth. She slid her lips down and off his cock, finishing with a gentle kiss that matched the one she'd begun with. Then she stood up, turned around so that her gorgeous arse was right in front of him, and once more led him wordlessly away.
In the bedroom, the duvet had been pulled away into one corner of the bed. Martha guided him to lie down on his back. As soon as he hit the mattress, he felt sleep begin to steal over him, in spite of the starkly obvious disadvantages of lapsing into unconsciousness now. "I know you're tired, sir, but if you'll let me I can guarantee you a very good night's sleep indeed," she said. "Just lie back and let me do everything for you."
Tom willed himself to stay awake as Martha performed a striptease, finally, finally removing the clothes that had tantalised him all night. She tossed the chauffeur's cap across the room like a discus, then shrugged out of her jacket to reveal a black bra. She turned around and shimmied out of her skirt, the matching knickers becoming visible millimetre by millimetre as she did so. Then she bent over, still facing away from him so that her arse was high in the air, to remove her high heels. Finally, she turned back round and reached behind herself to undo the bra, and pushed her panties down teasingly, first one side, then the other, in a see-saw motion that only gradually took them to the ground, but gave him ample opportunity to see the glistening dampness on her trimmed hair.
Martha's horniness was the biggest turn on of all, the knowledge that she wanted him, that she was already highly aroused before anything had happened. It always excited him, whether it came visually like this, under his fingers as they slid along her slit, on his tongue as he leaned down to kiss her for the first time, or from her whispering in his ear how wet she was for him.
She knelt on the edge of the bed, straddling his knees, then shifting herself up until she was closer to his cock, but still not even touching it directly. She took a finger, and ran it down her breastbone, over her belly, and down to her wetness. She gave herself a single long, slow stroke, then made a matching movement on his chest, trailing her arousal down him until she met his cock.
And then, she hopped that little bit further forward, rapidly swallowing him up and allowing him to experience not just her wetness but her intense heat, like a prickling all along the sides of his shaft. The contact between them was amazing. She didn't move, simply stayed in position, legs wrapped around his hips, her gorgeous pussy engulfing his cock.
* * *
Eventually, reluctantly, Martha pulled herself off Tom's magnificence. She reached under the mattress for the condom she had secreted there during the earliest stages of her preparations. She'd thought it through carefully, didn't want to interrupt things too badly by getting up again, or reaching over Tom to get to the bedside cabinet. She had never intended to wrap herself around him unprotected like this, but the temptation had simply been far too strong. Now, she made a show of putting the condom on him, exaggerating her movements and playing with her nipples and clit in between each stage of the process.
As she unrolled the bottom of the sheath around the base of his cock, she felt his size in her hands and worried for a moment that she wouldn't be able to take all of it. But as she lowered herself onto him once more, she discovered just how much lubrication two hours of dizzying permanent arousal could provide.
Tom tilted his hips upward, pressing even deeper inside her. The temptation to let him do that, to just stay here while he fucked her from underneath, was immense. But instead she placed her hands gently on his chest and said, "Let me," adding a "sir" afterwards in a tiny breath. She began to slide herself up and down his shaft, gyrating as she did so, confident that the welter of sensations this gave rise to her in pussy were matched by those he was feeling nerve ending for nerve ending.
As she continued, she began to touch herself once more. She threw herself into putting on a show for him: arching backwards so that her nipples poked out as she rolled them between thumb and forefinger; stroking her clit and her pussy lips, stretched apart by his cock, with a lascivious slowness that belied her desperate desire to bring herself off; licking her lips and moaning as she felt him get even bigger inside her.
Finally, when she could stand no more, she focused all her attention on her clit, rubbing it hard in tiny circles, concentrating on the feeling of him filling her. With her other hand, she reached behind herself, finding his balls and rolling them around in her fingers, gently at first, but then with a firm squeeze that she knew was only not painful for him because he was so turned on.
Tom lost control, bucking wildly into her as he came deep inside her. She rode him, frenetically rubbing herself until moments later her own orgasm hit, radiating outward from her clit to every last cell of her body. She kept rubbing herself, climaxing again around his softening cock, which twitched in response.
"Wow," Tom said.
Martha straightened herself out until she was still wrapped around him, but slightly less dishevelled. "Thank you very much, sir. We take customer satisfaction very seriously. In fact, would you mind if I ask you a few questions?" In best saleswoman fashion, she didn't give him a chance to refuse, and went straight on, "On a scale of Extremely Satisfied, Satisfied, Dissatisfied, or Extremely Dissatisfied, how would you rate your experience tonight?" She smiled at him in a professional way.
"You can stop now, Martha," Tom said, giving her a semi-serious look, as though there was a line about to be crossed between sexy fantasy and something a bit weird. "Really."
She grinned, bent down and kissed him, then rolled off to cuddle up next to him.
"But," Tom said, "if what you were really saying was 'how was it for you?' then it was ... well, amazing. You're incredible. It was a brilliant surprise. Thank you." He turned his head, kissed her in a lazy, sleepy sort of way, then let his head sink into the pillow. "I'll have to do something like that for you one day."
"Hmmm, that would be nice," Martha purred, drawing her hand lazily down one side of his body. She leaned in and kissed his nipple gently. Maybe now was the time for the real surprise. "Maybe you could do it when I get back from New York."
Tom moaned in a positive sort of way as he relaxed into his usual sleeping position.
Then, moments later, he sat bolt upright in bed, all his deep exhaustion forgotten.
"Wait, what? New York?"