You text that you’re outside the hotel, and I answer annoyed, dripping impatience. This is Mean Phone Sex, I remind you coldly, the only reason I agreed to meet after you vanished, because punishment feels better when you’re already desperate.
I tell you to stay in your car while I check in, voice sharp enough to cut. I let you hear my heels snap across the lobby, slow and deliberate, each step a reminder that you wasted my time and now you’ll pay for every second you owe me, and I’m already annoyed, already wet with attitude and zero patience.
I lock the hotel room door and lean against it, finally alone, finally in control. I describe the bed waiting untouched, then tell you it stays that way until you behave. Your apology bores me. I want hunger, obedience, your voice breaking while mine stays calm and cruel. I want you squirming downstairs, hard, needy, thinking about what my mouth does when I’m mad and aching without permission, stupidly obsessed.
I pace the room slowly, telling you exactly where I’m standing, what I’m wearing, how bored I look. I talk about my mouth, dirty and impatient, how it punishes when ignored. I let my voice go wet, then yank it back, laughing when you groan. I know you’re touching yourself already, pathetic, shaking, waiting for permission I won’t give yet because I like control, money, and your complete surrender tonight.
I remind you that neglect costs money, and you always pay best when you feel small. I tell you to picture me on the bed, legs spread, still dressed, deciding your fate. I degrade you carefully, aggressively, until your breathing stutters and you beg. I want you humiliated, hard, imagining my mouth using you, not caring how desperate you sound while I count your money, your silence, your obedience upstairs.
I sit on the edge of the bed and tell you to come upstairs, but not yet. Waiting hurts you more than denial. I describe what happens when you knock, how my hands grab, how my mouth takes, mean and starving, because you earned punishment. I promise nothing gentle, only teeth, saliva, control, and my anger focused completely on you when you finally stand in front of me, shaking, owned.
I hang up and leave you sweating in the car, wallet ready, ego wrecked. When you come up, you won’t ask questions. You’ll hand over the money and your control. This hotel room isn’t for comfort; it’s for correction. By the time I’m done, you’ll know exactly who you belong to tonight. I smile, satisfied, already planning how to use your body, your need, your devotion, without mercy until you leave emptied, addicted, poorer, grateful, silent, obedient, aching, smiling, mine.
