Fashion Expert, Make up Artist, and TV Personality

Jeannie is Chinese/Vietnamese make up artist, fashion expert, and TV personality. She is 33, divorced and is 5′ 4″ tall and petite. Her phone blinked from the desk and she snatched it up, her heart pounding. Was this John Malone? She glances at the time: twelve past two. What time had I said i would meet her? She unlocked her phone. An email. Great. Because prepping for this meeting had just left her tired. She let out a breath and went to her conversation with me. Scrolling through, she confirms what she had already known: I would be there between 3pm and 7pm… She assumes that because I had rented the hotel room and she had managed to get in, that I must definitely be coming. I had not yet messaged her today, and the possibility that I would stand her up lingers in her mind; it would not be the first time she is prepped for a meeting, only for it to be cancelled.

She tosses her phone on the bed, letting her towel drop. From her purse she retrieves her chap stick and ritually applies a smooth layer to her lips; she rubs her lips together, the action soothing her. She drops both the purse and chap stick on the nightstand and sat naked on the bed, her mind wandering again. Perhaps music will keep her sane. She picks up her phone and with a few quick taps it is quietly singing at her side. She got up, unleashing her hair from the towel and picking up the second one from the floor. Dutifully, she returns them to the bathroom, which has begun to cool down, the mirror clearing up. From her toiletries bag she picks up her toothbrush and paste. A button turns on the buzzing function on her brush, reminding her of the vibrator she has stashed away in her bag. I requested she bring it, adding that I would be bringing toys of my own. She brushes her teeth, rinses her mouth, and sets her belongings to the side of the counter. She picks up the last little bottle from her bag and from it squeezesa dime-sized drop of thick, clear liquid into her palm. She rubs her hands together and then coats her hair in the stuff, raking her fingers between the locks and ensuring even application. When she finishes she shook her hair slightly, letting her hair fall naturally. She smiles at herself, and then returns to the bedroom, basically dry.

She picks up the panties and sliding them on, taking time to adjust them. The lace stretches over her ass, tucking between her cheeks and hugging tightly to her as she smooths it down across her hips. The nightgown is next, and she inspects it before putting it on. This didn’t leave much to the imagination. The cups are black with blue lace overlaid, which continues down to create a little dress, finished by black lace hem. The straps are removable, attaching in front with a simple hook. The back had a keyhole cut out, pulled together by the band that created the bra. Perhaps not her style (she rarely, if ever, slept in clothing) but sexy nonetheless. She is sure I will enjoy it. She steps into the lace, fitting her breasts into the cups and clasping it behind her back. She straightens the straps, puffing the skirt out around her butt. She yawns, and glances back to the clock. She has between thirty minutes before I arrive. She sat her phone on the nightstand, setting the ring volume as high as it went just in case I text her. She set her alarm for five o’clock, assuming I will be on the later side of my window. Another layer of chap stick is added to her lips before she pulls back the covers on the bed and sliding beneath them. She finds herself on her stomach, facing the balcony. Her right leg is stretched out, her left pulled up to her hip. Her right hand resting under her hip, and her left curled below her pillow.

The music from her phone helps to drown out the flurry of thoughts as she fell asleep. Her face is hanging off the side of the bed, normal for the way she slept, her damp hair is strung out behind her. She awoke with a start as the bed dips at the corner. Her eyes shot open, quickly seeing a pair of boots and button down shirt at the foot of the bed. Suddenly my weight pins down her body, pushing the breath out of her lungs. She can’t scream as she tries to sit up, her heart racing. She struggles to turn, trying to see me. Was it John? It can’t be, it is to early, her alarm hadn’t gone off. She has wrapped herself up in the sheets as she slept and curses herself for it; her legs can barely move under my weight and the tangle of sheets beneath the comforter. She tries to push against the mattress to get on her knees, but I’m on top of her, straddling her hips, my chest pressing against her back. She can make out the side of my body, but not my face. My hand entwined in her hair as she gasps. Her head is jerked backwards and her body forced flat against the mattress. She kicks with her legs, irritated that the comforter is so tight on the bed; she works her hands free from under her. ” Stop! Let me go, bastard!” She is pissed. If this is John, what am I doing? She shook her head, immediately regretting it as my grip did not lessen instead her scalp hurt.

Finally her arms became free from the mess of sheets and she rears back, managing to get her chest off the bed. My arm snakes around her neck, and she grabs it, trying to pry it away from her throat. She bucks her hips yanking my arm down, to no avail. ” Stop it! I swear I will fucking –” My arm tighten around her windpipe, cutting off her words. She gasps and gags for air, flailing underneath me. The covers have slid down and she feels my warm chest against her back, and my hot breath in her ear. ” You’re going to shut up or I’m going to gag you. Now, you’re going bright red, so I’m going to loosen my hold a bit so you can breathe. Try anything and I will make you black out next time, okay?” My grip lightens and she greedily sucks in air, nodding. It sounds like me. My voice is familiar. My tone is not. ” What are you doing?” She squirms uncomfortably, panting as she regains her breath. A dark chuckle answers her. Her hands holding on my forearm, she didn’t dare try to resist. My legs are clamped around her hips, my knees digging into the side of her ribs, my weight pressing on her lower back. ” Answer me!” She struggles again, slipping a hand on the inside of my forearm, by her throat. Breathing room, if nothing else. My right leg moves forward, my knee pinning her shoulder and upper arm. My left leg quickly follows and my weight presses most of the air from her lungs. I release her throat; she is stuck, face down in the pillows. She wriggles underneath me, attempting to free her arms. She wastes her breath in grunts, swears, and threats. I gather her wrists in one of my hands and she feels cool plastic against them.

Zzzzzt. Her wrists are locked together, she assumes by a thick zip tie, though she can’t see it. The noise sent her into overdrive, and her body whips back and forth in attempts to throw me off. Another zipping noise follows as my knees are removed from her shoulders. She yanks her arms, trying to sit up. I sat on her lower back laughing under my breath at her struggles. Clearly, she is stuck without hope of escaping, as her hands are bound to the slotted headboard. ” Fuck. You better cut these fucking ties right now!” She growls in my direction, barely able to pick her face up from the pillow to say it. ” I like it when you wriggle and fight me.” My deep voice is barely audible over her heavy breathing. She feels my hands trace up her sides, lightly. It makes her shiver, goosebumps covering her skin. ” Fucking bastard.” she said hoarsely, her struggles dying down as she realizes the bonds will not break. ” Now, now. You’re the one who told me all your dark little fantasies…” my hand entwined in her hair, wrenching her neck back. ” Sent me all those naughty pictures and videos…begging to meet me.” I force something into her mouth – round and made of rubber, it seems. She struggles, trying to spit it out, but it is strapped around her head before she realizes what is happening. A ball gag. ” You can’t tell me part of you doesn’t enjoy this. Or, all of you.”

Her mouth adjusts to the intrusion as she grunts. The gag does a decent job of muffling her noises. She tries to ignore my words, but I’m right – her body is reacting to me. My voice, my scent, my hands that controll her body… the situation terrifies her and excites her immensely at the same time. “For the finishing touch,” I pause, then slip a sleeping mask over her eyes.