Girl on the Net

Much like today’s guest blogger, the fabulous Laura Savage (@thatlaurasavage), I am a huge fan of specific, unusual kinks. I love hearing about the scenarios that turn people on, and the ways in which people plan scenes to cater to something very precise. So when she offered me a guest blog about a client who had a Bond Villain kink, I whirled around in my office chair stroking an imaginary cat and cackling with villainous glee. Take it away, Laura…

Playing with a client who had a Bond Villain kink

Being a professional girlfriend has its perks. It’s afforded me a lifestyle and opportunities that many people can only dream of. It’s also given me a glimpse into the imaginations of some of the most fascinating men.

Clients tend to be pretty innocuous in their outer lives, but it’s the fantasies rolling around in their creative, filthy imaginations that intrigue me. I’m their kink specialist, and it’s a role that I throw myself into wholeheartedly. My favorite kinks are those that defy definition – or perhaps aren’t common enough to be defined as yet. Keep your shoe fetish: give me a man with an unabashed attraction to sword swallowing. Bring him to me; let me play.

This is where Harry comes in.

By all outside appearances, Harry was an upstanding citizen. He had been a high school athlete, the kind that definitely peaked during those glory days. He was a husband, a father, a grandfather. He had a union job. He was chubby, tanned, very middle-America. Harry had a Bond Villain kink. Yes, you read that correctly.

The first evening I met Harry, I had a sneaking suspicion he was a little different than the other guys who had booked me. He took a long time to climax, which is not unusual for a man his age, but it wasn’t for lack of stimulation. He kept interrupting the blow job to feed me lines.

“Say ‘I’m going to destroy you, Harry.’”

“I’m going to destroy you, Harry,” I purred.

“Say, ‘This is it for you. I’m leaving you for dead.’”

I parroted his words, cocking one eyebrow and holding his gaze.

Harry booked me again two days later. This time he had brought something with him.

“I hope you don’t mind but I made some notes,” he smiled and handed me a sheet of paper which had an email sent to himself printed on it. It was a whole scene – a one act play – and quite complex. I skimmed through it. Yes, I could do this.

The scene began by Harry hiding the cash throughout the room. He asked me to turn my back as he slid twenties under the television, in the ice bucket, the bottom drawer of the dresser.

“I need you to make me talk,” he explained, “Get me to tell you where the money is.”

“Oh, I will,” I grinned at him, “I always get my way, Harry. You know that.”

“Mmmm…” he said, “Yes, talk exactly like that, the whole time.”

Harry rested on the bed and I paced in front of him, monologuing.

“Harry, Harry, Harry. You should have never gotten involved with me. How are you feeling, my poor pathetic chump?”

“A little dizzy, faint.”

I lit up a cigarette and took a long drag.

“Do you know why that is, Harry? I slipped something into your drink over dinner. Now you’re completely under my control. I’ll make you do whatever I want. I’m going to completely destroy you.”

Harry pretended to struggle. “My god woman, what have you done? I can’t move.”

“It gets worse, Harry. The serum I’ve given you – it’s very unique. When I make you cum, and I will make you cum, Harry, your heart will explode.”

“Dear god, no!”

I took another drag.

“That is, unless I give you the antidote. Tell me where you’ve hidden the money.”

“No.”

“Ah, so be it, then. I’ll get the money or I’ll have your life, Mr. Wright. I’m perfectly content either way.”

I crawled up the bed and settled myself between his thighs.

“Let’s see if you can weather what I give you. A test of stamina, strength and wit.”

I licked him long and slow up his shaft and began.

As the session progressed, Harry alluded to the ‘safe in his office’ – chock full of his life savings. I remembered the cue from my script.

“Tell me the combination, Harry,” I scraped my long red nails over his balls.

“No. Never.”

“You say that now, Harry. But I have ways of making you talk.”

I took his cock in my mouth, so, so gently. Scraped my nails along the seam of his scrotum.

“Tell me, Harry.”

“No. I can’t. It’s all I have.”

“Just one number then.”

“Just one…alright… just one. 24.”

Harry was easy to tease and torture. I always got my hidden twenties and the full combination to his safe.

He became one of my most regular repeat clients. Harry would book me weekly, sometimes more. Our relationship lasted years.

The role play changed slightly from time to time. Sometimes I was his young bride who was secretly a Black Widow assassin, straight from hell itself to bring him to ruin. Sometimes his wife was in cahoots with me and had been the whole time and – oh no! – she was on her way over now to finish him off herself. Occasionally, I would threaten him with the prospect of being my slut for hire, tell him about all the cock I would force him to suck.

Always it ended with me getting my twenties, and the combination to his safe.

Over the years, Harry gradually upped the ante. He’d bring his printed emails and I’d read through his suggestions for our scene at the beginning of our session.

“I’m going to ad lib, Harry. This one is complex. I don’t know that I’ll be able to remember it all in the moment.”

“Christ, yes. I love it when you go off script. Your mind is much more evil than anything I can come up with.”

“Harold, you have no idea.”

No matter what paces I put Harry through, I always got my way. There were no heroes in this movie. The villain always prevailed.

“You know I’ve poisoned your drink, Mr. Wright. When I make you cum, your heart is going to explode.”

“No, please. No. My wife. My grandchildren…”

“Too late for that, Harry. You’re all mine now and it’s all over.”

“Oh my god.”

“God can’t help you, Harry. God’s not here, but I am. And I’m the Devil.”

Long drag of my smoke, red lipstick staining the butt. I stared him down.

“That is, unless..”

“Unless what?” he whispered.

“Unless I suffocate you with my ass first. What a fun way to die. Most men would dream of the privilege.”

I climbed on top, straddled his face and looked down at him

“Hey, tap my hip if you need air for real, okay?”

“Sure thing, doll. I am loving this. Keep going. Make it over the top.”

I pressed my pussy onto his face hard and held him pinned.

“You can struggle all you want, Harry. But it’s too late.”

He struggled and moaned, clawing at the sheets.

I pulled up.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to die, Harry. Just die.”

“Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Give me the combination.”

“No, not that.”

I lowered myself again, he struggled.

“Okay, you win. 24…”

“That’s a good boy, Harry.”

“My god. You’re going to kill me aren’t you?”

“Yes, Harry. You never should have hit on me at the roulette table tonight. Such a chump. And now you’re mine. I’m killing you, Harry. I’m killing you.”

“God I’m going to cum.”

“That’s it. Cum for me and let it be the last thing you do. Struggling for air, Mr. Wright. Your heart giving out. Bested in a match of wits by a pretty girl. You should know, Harry: a bad girl like me always wins.”