Memoirs of a Sheila

The ritual began long before I slipped into the uniform. It was a sacrament of anticipation. The bath was not just a soak; it was a steamy immersion in jasmine and sandalwood, the scent he had once told him made his cock twitch like a divining rod. I lay submerged, my fingers tracing idle circles over my stomach, dipping lower, imagining the calloused hands that would soon be there. A week’s wages had bought the lingerie - a web of black lace so fine it was almost a sin. The bra cupped my full D-cup breasts like an offering, the bow at the centre a pretty promise. The matching knickers were a mere whisper against my skin.

Dressing was a slow tease. The slide of new, sheer tights, the whisper of the crisp cotton shirt over my sensitized nipples, the way the skirt hugged my hips. The hideous waistcoat was a necessary blasphemy against the look. In the mirror, I pinned my hair up, letting tendrils curl around my face, a carefully constructed image of propriety. I painted my lips crimson, a bold, wet slash of colour against my pale skin. I knew what that mouth could do.

The walk to the hotel was a procession of my own lewd thoughts. Every step was a countdown. The builders - Jim and Wayne and their crew - had turned the place from a workplace into a hunting ground. For a week, I had served them drinks, felt the casual, possessive grope on my backside as I bent over, seen their eyes darken with intent as my cleavage swayed within reach. Jim had been the first. A drink after hours that led to a frantic, stifled fuck in the staff toilet, him tearing a hole in my tights to get inside me, my face pressed against the cold tile as I came around his cock, biting my lip raw to stay silent.

I pushed through the hotel doors, the familiar stir already awakening between my legs. I did not need to turn to know who was there.

"That's an arse I'd know in a pitch-black room," Jim's voice, a low gravelly thing, washed over me. I turned slowly. He and Wayne were leaning against the bar, their eyes doing a slow, thorough inventory of my body, from my pinned-up hair to my sensible heels. They were my anchors for the night.

The hours bled away in a haze of served pints and stolen glances. When the doors were finally bolted shut against the world, I opened a cold bottle of beer, performing for my audience. I brought the neck to my lips, closed my eyes, and let my tongue swirl slowly around the rim, catching the droplets with a soft sigh. When I opened my eyes, the hunger on their faces was a tangible heat. I shrugged off the waistcoat, undid the top three buttons of my shirt, letting the black lace beneath peek through.

The invitation to their room was not a question; it was a destiny I had been moving toward all evening. Their shared room was a den of masculine chaos, dominated by a massive four-poster bed. I kicked off my shoes and claimed my throne, draping myself backwards over the edge of the mattress, my skirt riding up to show the tops of my stockings - I had ditched the tights for something far more strategic.

The cigar was passed, the smoke thick and sweet. Wayne lay beside me, his hand a warm weight on my stockinged thigh, inching higher. Jim knelt before me, feeding me blowbacks, our kisses deep and hungry, smoke spilling from our mouths. I broke away, my head lolling to the side to see Wayne watching, the thick outline of his erection straining against his jeans. I held his gaze, licked my lips, and pulled Jim back to me.

It was the signal. Hands were everywhere at once. My shirt was pulled open, buttons scattering. Mouths latched onto my breasts through the lace, sucking hard, wetness blooming on the fabric. I felt my skirt being unzipped, rough hands pulling it down my hips. I arched my back to help them, a willing sacrifice. I was stripped to my lace and stockings, a feast laid out on the bed.

Then the others emerged from the shadows - three more of them, their eyes gleaming in the dim light. They had been waiting. They looked to me for permission. I just spread my legs wider.

The world dissolved into a symphony of touch. My bra was torn away, and my nipples were pinched and sucked by different mouths. Skilled fingers found the soaked centre of my knickers, rubbing slow, torturous circles over the slick fabric before finally pushing it aside. A thick finger slid into me, and I cried out, my hips bucking. A tongue, hot and rough, replaced the fingers, lapping at me, and I fisted my hands in the sheets.

"Please," I begged, my voice a ragged thing I did not recognize. "I need to be fucked."

I felt the hot, velvety head of a cock nudge against my lips. I opened my mouth obediently, and he thrust in, his groans mingling with my gags. I looked down my body. Jim was positioned between my splayed legs, stroking his own cock, slicking it with my wetness before driving into me with one brutal, perfect thrust. I screamed around the cock in my mouth, my body bowing off the bed.

It was a frenzy. I was the centre of their storm. One cock shoved in my mouth, another was being stroked against my cheek. I reached out a hand, wrapping my fingers around a third, pumping it in time with Jim’s thrusts. The smell of sex and sweat and weed was intoxicating. I was a thing of pure sensation, used for their pleasure and my own.

I felt my climax coiling, a white-hot wire about to snap. I pulled off the cock in my mouth, gasping. "I'm going to come," I choked out. Jim’s pace became punishing, slamming into my cervix. "I can feel you clenching, you dirty slut," he grunted.

The man above me groaned, "I'm going to cover that pretty face." I stuck my tongue out, eager for it. His hot release striped my tongue, my cheeks, my eyelids. The taste of him triggered my own shattering orgasm. I convulsed around Jim’s cock, milking him until he tore himself free and added his own hot spend across my stomach and breasts.

Before the last tremor had even faded, Wayne was there, his larger cock pushing into my well-used, sensitive cunt. I cried out, the overstimulation a sharp, exquisite pain. I pulled the man beside me to my mouth, cleaning his cock with my tongue before taking him deep again. Wayne fucked me with a possessive fury, and I came again, a weaker, shaking wave that left me breathless. I felt him pulse inside me, filling me up.

Silence, save for our ragged breathing. I was a mess - glistening with sweat and spend. Jim appeared with a warm towel, gently wiping my stomach. I took it and cleaned my face, giggling, drunk on endorphins and debauchery. A cigarette was placed between my lips and a bathrobe draped over my shoulders.

The service was not over. After a shower where one of them joined me, pinning me against the wet tiles for a quick, hard reminder, I was laid back on the bed. A joke was made about becoming a regular guest. I just smiled as a mouth found my nipple and a hand began to stroke my clit, already beginning to swell again. The night was young, and my appetite was far from sated. Suddenly my mind wandered to that little Thai restaurant around the corner but that will have to wait and I am sure the boys will not complain about shouting for dinner.