Chapter 2

User 1222.Male. 39.

You will be fast asleep when I arrive at your hotel room and let myself in. You'll be snuggled up under the covers in a sexy nightdress with no underwear.

I'll savour watching you as you sleep. And you'll stay asleep when I slide into bed in the darkness, snoozing gently when I take my pleasure from sleeping beauty's body, especially her tight pussy. You'll think it's nothing but a horny dream when I fuck you from behind, whimpering in your sleep because it feels so good.

When I've finished playing, I'll sneak back out again, and you can stay dreaming until morning…

Please note. Convincing sleep is an absolute must. No interactions other than dream whimpering. No grabbing, talking, or bucking. Feel free to leave the hotel once I'm gone, but the room will be yours until 11 a.m. and breakfast is included. Check in is from 3 p.m. onwards.

I'll be arriving in the room at around midnight. Please be ‘asleep' by then.

Duration – 2 hours (my maximum in room attendance).

Proposal price – ￡2500.

Somnophilia– becoming sexually aroused by someone who is asleep or unconscious.

I thought I'd start my proposals off nice and easily to get myself back into the zone, and this one seemed a good fit when I hit the accept button. Nothing too dramatic. Just an anonymous guy touching me and fucking me in a comfy bed for a couple of hours while I pretend to be sleeping. Sounds like lazy fun.

I did manage to get some sleep on the plane back from Sydney, but it was fractured at best – so I might well be the most convincing actress User 1222 has ever had.

As the evening draws in, I put a satin slip into an overnight bag with some toiletries. I'm glad this proposal is an anonymous and in the darkness kind of gig, because I'm so exhausted that I can't face getting dressed up tonight. I throw on a pair of jeans and a cami top, then wrap myself up in my fluffy black coat before I take a cab over to Ealing. My plan is to arrive at seven, grab myself some dinner at the bar, then get an early night for real. I need one.

An early night isn't the only thing I need. I should probably be paying User 1222 for dowsing the flames of my cock drought after such an extended vacation. I've had a lot of fun making up filthy fantasies about Josh and self-playing my way through them for weeks on end, but I need more. Sleeping beauty or not, it's not going to matter. All that matters is getting dick right now.

The hotel User 1222 has booked is one of the big chain ones, nothing too special or extravagant. I click arrived on the app at just before seven p.m. and await my instructions.

You're booked in under Holly Reynolds. Check in at reception. The room has been paid in advance.

I feel like a fraud as I head up to one of the receptionists, which is dumbass, since they are hardly going to try to validate my passport details before letting me into a pre-paid for room for the night.

"Holly Reynolds," I say to the smiling blonde woman, and she keys in my name.

"Superior deluxe, yes?"

"Yes, I think so."

Nice. He's gone for deluxe. What a gentleman.

"My partner won't be joining me until later," I tell her, then lay on the act. "He's going to be flying in late, so I think he'll be grabbing his key card when he arrives. Might not be until around midnight."

The receptionist pushes her glasses up her nose and leans in closer to the screen.

"He's already checked in, actually."

The blood drains from my face.

"He has?"

"He checked in an hour ago." She pauses. "Ian Reynolds. Yes, he checked in."

My heart pounds like a beast as I keep the smile on my face. I give my bag a fake dig around as though I'm looking for my phone.

"I must have missed his call. I thought his flight was going to be delayed…"

I hope she's buying into it. Not that it really matters.

She points down the corridor. "He went through to the bar once he checked in. He's probably still in there."

"Right," I say, keeping my fake grin in place. "That's fantastic. Great news."

"Room 151," she tells me, scanning my room key card and handing it over. "The elevator is over there."

She points along the same damn corridor as the bar and I get an instant buzz. I'm going to have to walk past the interior windows. My adrenaline has put paid to any sleepiness as I scoot away from the reception desk. I chide myself for being so careless. I should have made more effort than jeans, a cami and a furry coat. Damnit. I jab at the up button as fast as I can on the elevator and dive on in when it pings, relieved to be out of sight.

I take a few deep breaths when I reach the room, in case I cross paths with my anonymous somno client too early, but when the key light flashes green and I swing the door open, there is no sign of him. No luggage, no used tea or coffee supplies. Just a big, perfectly made up king-size bed with a desk, a huge wall-mounted TV, and a spacious ensuite. I dump my bag next to the bed and flop down on the mattress in relief. So, what do I do from here?

I could race back to my place and re-dress myself like a prom queen, but the proposal wanted a sleeping beauty, not a gothic supermodel. A tired sleeping beauty, too exhausted to wake up when a guy starts fucking her in the middle of the night.

I walk over to the mirror to examine how I look, and tired definitely fits the bill. Really fucking tired, despite the adrenaline rush.

But that's a good thing… now isn't the time for foundation or contouring. My entertainer side clicks into place, and I'm Holly Reynolds. An exhausted woman, desperate to get a bit of dinner and go to bed as soon as she possibly can.

I put my long black hair up in a messy bun, pulling some strands free on purpose, and it works. I'm looking even more exhausted. Poor Holly Reynolds would happily sleep for a week in such a comfy bed as the one in this room. But Holly needs to get something to eat first. Sensible girl.

Then I spot the room-service menu on the desk and confusion hits. What if he's not in the bar, waiting, watching? What if eating in the bar isn't part of the deal? My client never mentioned it in the proposal. Fuck, it's tempting to just pick up the phone and lie back and wait for food to come to me. I'm on the fence, and I'm fucking buzzing. And I know why I'm buzzing. I'm buzzing because Holly wants to go down there. Holly wants to be seen in the flesh by the anonymous beast that's going to fuck her in her sleep.

I laugh to myself. Of course I'm going down for dinner.

I unpack my toiletries to stake my claim on the room before I lie my satin slip nightdress on the bed, ready for sleep time, and then curse myself again for wearing just a cami. I decide to keep my coat on for now and I leave for the bar. I'm on full alert, but nobody crosses my path as I ride the elevator back down. It makes the tidal wave of noise seem all the more dramatic when the doors ping open at the bottom.

The bar is busy and bustling with both drinkers and diners – a huge variety. Families, groups of friends, people in suits, women out drinking together. There are lots of couples, and some single seated people dotted around, too. Some random guys standing at the bar. Plenty of action all around me as I scope out a table for myself, checking out the guys to see if anyone is looking my way. But no one does.

Luckily, a table has just become available – right amidst the hustle and bustle of the room.

Prime position.

I take a seat and kick my legs back, giving a massive yawn before taking a look through the menu. My senses are prickling – the tide of conversations around me bristling with white noise. A loud male laugh gives me a zip up my spine, and I glance around the place. Ian could be any number of the guys in here. He might not even be in here… but the thought that he is gives me a thrill.

I let out another yawn, and rub my tired eyes, then zone back in on the menu. I'll go for a staple. Cottage pie and a side of fries. Carbs galore. I go to the bar to order, resisting the urge to order a large black coffee. No caffeine for me this evening.

I'm hypersensitive to the eyes on me as I smile at the guy behind the counter.

"Diet Coke, please," I say, "and a cottage pie with a side of fries, table fourteen."

"Great," he replies, and I give another yawn.

"Sorry, I'm absolutely exhausted. I'm going to be out like a light when I hit my room."

He smiles. "Busy day?"

"Busy week. Feels like I haven't slept in years."

I wonder if Ian can hear me. My voice is loud on purpose, making sure I cut it over the hustle and bustle.

"Wait," I say, realising my error. "Diet Coke won't cut it. Scratch that. A large glass of house red, please. No! Make it a bottle!"

He laughs. "Sure thing," and taps in my order. "There's a thirty-minute wait for food. I'll bring your wine over."

Back at my table, I pick up a coaster and tap it on the table as I glance around, pretending to look at the décor, the pictures of game birds on the wall, the old books high up on shelves, while I check out every guy in the room. I pin a few as likely, two guys in suits, drinking wine and chatting. Either of those could be Ian. So could the guy at the bar who has glanced my way twice. He's brown-haired and bulky, dressed in a smart blue shirt and black trousers.

"Your wine," a voice says and I fucking jump. Jesus.

"Sorry," the barman says, "you were miles away."

There is no un-corking of the bottle or tasting the wine. The bottle doesn't even have a cork.

"Enjoy," he says, placing the bottle and glass on the table.

I unscrew the cap and pour a generous glass. It tastes good, fruity and dark. Another gulp and I savour the taste, the buzz, remembering my client saying he'd be savouring watching me.

Bolstered by the wine buzz and thoughts of filthy things to come, I shrug my coat off and let it fall over the back of the chair, a good backdrop to my exposed red cami and my nipples poking through the fabric.

I pick up my glass and glance around again. Not one of my targets looks my way.

I wonder where he is.

I wonder who he is.

I wonder if he can see me.

I wonder if he sees just how tired I am for real.

"Thanks," I say to the waitress when my cottage pie arrives, and use the opportunity for more playacting. "I'm so beat, I hope I make it through it. Looks delicious."

She smiles. "Loads of potatoes. Should send you off to dreamland."

I eat slowly, savouring every taste. I sip my drink, and let the ambience of the bustle swallow me up. My senses are blurring – nervous excitement mixed with genuine exhaustion. But buzzing like a bitch above all that, is horniness.

Fuck, this really is horny. Eating cottage pie with my nipples tingling, and my pussy aching. The urge to touch myself is surreal. Any more wine and I might just.

I shift in my seat. The cottage pie is good, but the sensation between my legs is better. I pick up a couple of fries and take a slow bite, letting my eyes wander carefully, teasing myself. That's when I notice a new guy, he's ginger, not very tall, he's wearing a suit and glasses. He looks my way and smiles at me.

Shit.

I chew on my fries while trying to smile back, feeling like a fucking chipmunk.

Is that him?

But no. He's joined by a woman. She pecks him on the lips, takes his arm and they head off out of the bar.

Fuck sake, Ian could be any one of the guys in here. So many different options.

I remind myself he might not even be in here and concentrate on my food.

I don't want to know who he is anyway. Not really.

I want the anonymity of a stranger sliding himself into bed beside me. Such sleepy intimacy with someone I've never met. It gives me flutters. An innocent vulnerability at the idea of being asleep and taken from behind under the covers.

I've only eaten half of my food, but I can't take any more. I pat my lips with my napkin then get to my feet, making a show of picking up my wine glass and drinking it down. I pick up my coat and bag but don't put the coat on, just hook it over my arm as I saunter out of the bar, so many guys glancing my way, the horny chick in faded jeans and a cami top.

In the elevator, I rest my shoulder against the wall and press at my clit through my jeans.

Exhaustion, carbs, red wine, and the need for cock, is a tantalising mix.

Back in my room, I strip off everything and flop onto the bed. I'm wet already – flashing through the images of the guys in the bar, wondering which one will be fucking me. I rub myself as I think, the fantasies coming alive as I dig three fingers deep, moaning and shuddering as the orgasm jolts through me.

Fuck, that was nice. So heady. So dirty. I could drift so easily…

And almost do.

I force myself up and off the bed, and after a heavenly shower, I don my satin slip and check myself in the mirror. I wonder how much my client will be able to see of me as I slip under the covers. Should I leave a lamp on when I'm faking sleep? Damn, my kinky client wasn't very specific at all. Ok, I've got it. I open the curtains, just enough to give the room a slight glow of light from the car park outside. I check the time on my phone. It's just gone eleven. An hour until he gets here.

I turn the lamp off and relax, getting myself comfortable under the covers, facing away from the door.

And then I play with myself, again. Teasing myself for a second round. I work my clit just enough to keep me on edge, knowing I'll be wet for my client when he sneaks into my bedroom later, the dirty intruder.

The world contracts around me, and the minutes slow down. Time becomes irrelevant. My adrenaline eases and blurs into the darkness, and sleep begins to take hold. Dozy half dreams. The bliss of in and out consciousness.

I must be in a deep sleep when midnight comes, because I barely stir at the sound of… the room door closing. Not gently closed. Closed loud enough to warn me.

And now my heart is thudding, my ears pricked high and I can only just hear his footfalls.

He's watching me. Should I kick the covers back? Or stay still and pretend snore? I have no fucking idea but this is way hornier than I imagined it would be.

I almost gasp when I feel the slow movement of the sheets being pulled back. I get goosebumps as the warmth is removed. I stir a little, and I know that he's looking. The sheet is all the way down now. I feel the fabric of my slip move, he's lifting it, exposing me. Should I roll onto my back? Or is that too obvious?

I remain still, on my side as my slip rides further, exposing my tits.

I can hear his breathing now, heavier. I wonder if he's hard. Of course he fucking is.

I hear him move away, shuffling, he's stripping off.

And then stillness.

It's bizarre how exposed and on display you can feel in virtual darkness. I know full well his eyes are fixed on me, lying still. My goosebumps get worse, dancing down my arms. I feel prickly by the time I feel his weight sink back down onto the mattress beside me.

I imagine him naked, stroking his cock at the thought of what is to come. The urge to open my legs and play for him is so damn strong, but I stay asleep, stay still as he leans in closer. I feel his every move.

I can't help jerking a little when he touches a nipple. I calm my breaths and stay still, hoping he forgives me.

He strokes my nipple, his fingernail catching, and it's so nice, so good. What a fucking tease when his fingers move to my thigh. He eases my leg to the side, exposing me more. I wonder how wet my pussy must be. I'll be so slick when he touches me.

Anticipation is a killer, waiting for fingers to touch and probe. But he moves away, to the bottom of the bed. What is he planning? I haven't got a clue. Anticipation turns to the instinct of fear, and my eyes open in the darkness, but I catch hold of myself before I jump or freak out. User 1222 is bulky. Really fucking bulky. I can feel it in the way the mattress moves under him every time he makes a move. I think of bulky guy at the bar. It could be him. He stalks up higher and I hear his breaths behind me. It's all I can do to keep mine steady – breathing in and out, in and out, long and slowly. Asleep. I need to be ASLEEP.

His naked body is baking hot when he presses against my back, and I snuggle against him, as though it's nothing more than natural movement. Heat towards heat. I show just a hint of fake stirring, before my breaths are back under control. Long and slow. Long and slow.

User 1222's warmth is beautiful and welcome as he spoons me, dwarfing me with the size of him. Bliss.

That's all User 1222 does at first – spoons me in silence. Our breaths are in sync, and the strong bulk of him relaxes me as the fear fades away. My heartrate slows and my consciousness zones out. The dreamy half state is divine. Such a spike of contrasts, blurring.

Exhaustion, horniness, nerves, comfort. Contact.

User 1222 hooks his knees under mine when I'm truly zoned out, and I shuffle further back into him. I feel the unmistakable rod of his cock, hard against my ass, and damn. It's as bulky as the rest of him.

Lucky me.

My pussy lights up. My breaths shorten, but I don't snap back to the realms of wide awake. The darkness is soothing, and so is he. His arm is so inviting when he wraps it around me, but I don't let myself roll into him. I grip my pillow and stay in slumberland, giving him full access to my tits.

I'm glad I'm so weary, because my moan is barely audible as he catches my nipples and twists them gently. The hitch of my legs is authentic, nothing more than instinct as I grind my ass against him. My breaths are still slow and steady, but his aren't when his mouth lands on my shoulder, lips grazing.

He wants his sleeping beauty.

The willing flower on offer must be such a temptation…

I'm horny and ready for it when his hand finally slides down and urges its way between my thighs. I roll ever so slightly towards him, my breaths still full of slumber, and I let him guide my legs open.

I let out a murmur as his fingers find my slit, my thighs hot and clammy as I part them.

Shh,he whispers, growly but soothing. Relax… he says, and I yawn and shuffle, sinking back into fake dreamland as he teases me.

I want his fingers inside me. My pussy needs the invasion. I'm craving cock, and he has it there, like a gift just out of reach. It would be so easy to break character and roll into him like a wanton whore. It takes every scrap of restraint to focus on heady half-sleep and dark ambience, and not on begging for cock like the slut I am.

He knows I'm stirring, he can feel it.

Shh, he whispers again, easing his fingers inside my slit. Fuck, yes. It's too good.

I tense up so much, I could curse myself.

Rockabye baby, on the treetop, he whispers, and it's so fucking thrilling in its soothing filth that my skin prickles.

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock…

He finds my clit, sweeping back and forth, and I murmur.

When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall…

His cock is big. He grinds it against me, and I feel the tension of his restraint.

And down will come baby, cradle and all…

He coaxes my leg further back, up and over his, and hitches himself forward. I snuggle down into the mattress, and hold my pillow tight, feigning exhaustion as the head of his cock lines up against me.

He moves his hips so slowly it's a sin, guiding his cock with such self-control that I can't help but whimper. He's pushing in, but it's a strained torture, my pussy is that fucking desperate to consume him.

It takes everything I have to stay still. I don't move, don't coax, don't do anything but breathe deeply and offer instinctive movements as he inches his way inside.

The girth and bulk filling up my pussy is a light in the slutty darkness. My sleepy, dazed murmurs are real. Fuck, I've needed this. I've needed this so bad.

His hips are a slow, deep piston. He times his rhythm with my breathing, his arm wrapping around my waist to hold me steady.

It's insanely intimate. So up close and personal, in the softness of a bed like this with nothing more than a stranger. I'm heady in his arms. Vulnerable but soothed as he begins to speed up.

I fight the urge to move, to grip, to tense my muscles. I don't do a thing other than offer gentle murmurs and the slightest rock of my hips. I'm his sleeping beauty, held in his grip in the night.

Whenever his thrusting becomes so intense that it jiggles me about and rocks the bed, he calms down. He slows and soothes.

Rockabye baby…

Every round of the carousel blurs the lines, and I'm fighting my own passion to keep the illusion in place.

It only makes the game more exciting.

User 1222's voice and its lullaby whispers are addictive, and so are his teases. My headspace is vacant, lost, drifting. My body is relaxed but craving. My breaths steady but needy.

I wish he'd play with my clit, or squeeze my tits, or slam me deeper, but he doesn't. His cock is buried to the hilt, giving me a girthy stretch, but there is no haste or power pumping in his actions. I'm so sensitive as I acclimatise. I risk adjusting myself, ever so slightly – the angle right to hit the spot. And it works. Oh, fuck, it works.

Keeping my breaths steady now is going to be harder. It's all I can focus on as the pressure builds inside me. Steady thumps of his cock head, in and out. Grinding sweeps, slow and taunting enough that I want to buck and whine.

All I can do is murmur, and breathe, and grip my pillow.

I know when he's getting ready to blow. I feel the tension in his balls, up against me. I feel the pulsing of his dick as he prepares to unload.

His breaths speed up but his thrusts don't. My murmurs are louder, but I keep them in faraway land, still in character as the sleeping woman of his fantasies as one hand moves to my tit and squeezes.

Fuck!

If I could just rock… buck against him… take him harder.

But I can't.

His wish is my command – and his pleasure comes over mine.

User 1222 holds back his grunts when he does come, but the air is filled with the tension. I can feel his thumping heart against my back. He's built himself into a frenzy, but he comes in three long jets. I know the jerks and spasms as he does it. He's unloaded a lot of cum in me, but it's not enough…

I want to tell him to stop. To stay. To do it again. To use my horny clit until I come for him, with his cock still buried inside me. But I don't. I can't. I'm asleep.

I murmur as he pulls out of me, shuffling in sleepy frustration as he backs away.

I want his cock back inside me. I want him to slam me hard. Pin me down. Breathe lullabies in my face as I moan and squirm.

My brain is whirring when I hear him grabbing up his clothes from the floor. He disappears into the bathroom, and I risk a glance over my shoulder, but the door is closing.

I reach out and check the time on my phone. Fuck. It's almost 2 a.m. – he's been teasing us both for two hours.

My heart is in my throat when I snuggle back down under the covers, feigning another bout of sleep as he leaves the bathroom. He barely makes a sound as he crosses the room, easing the hotel room door open so gently it's almost silent.

He'd make a fantastic burglar, that much is obvious.

Then, just like that, User 1222 is gone.

My pussy is full of his cum, and my clit is craving another round, and it's both frustrating and hot as fuck, merged into one. It serves a purpose as well.

I remember all over again that being an entertainer isn't about my fantasies or what my dirty little soul needs for my pleasure. It's about serving my clients and sticking to theirs.

If only User 1222 hadn't whispered filthy lullabies… they were so hot they'll be emblazoned into my psyche for a long, long time. That more than provides the fuel I need to send myself over the edge. I pump my pussy with my fingers and thumb my own clit, loving the thick wetness of his cum inside me. Jesus Christ, I'm blessed for the explosion that comes after hours of torment, every muscle in my body tensing up as I peak and blow.

My breaths are ragged when my phone screen lights up in the darkness. I grab it to check the notifications, grinning to find that my funds from the proposal have already been transferred to my bank account, and my review is ready for viewing.

I'm wide awake as I prop myself up on my elbow. Awaiting the rating always gives me jitters.

I could punch the air when it's a five-starrer. Full marks for me, back from holiday on night one.

Holly was either out on sleeping pills, genuinely exhausted or the best actress known to mankind. Maybe a combination. But whatever, she did a great job of sleeping while taking my cock. Her body also did a great job of letting me know she was enjoying it. Her lovely delicate whimpers sealed the deal. This sleeping beauty has a fairytale cunt. It was perfect, and drove me to the edge of losing my cool as prince charming. I'm hoping I'll be sharing plenty of hotel beds with her in the future, and next time I'll pre-book her a cottage pie and a bottle of house red at the restaurant. The hearty meal sure seemed to tire her out. What a sleepy girl at the table. Yes, Holly. I was watching you.

I laugh out loud at that, remembering the yawn and stretch show I was putting on. The bloom of success glows in my stomach, and I'm grinning as I drop my phone back on the bedside table.

Yes!

Holly the whore is back in town.

I've missed her.