Why I can't have nice things

[SissyNektar]

Why I can't have nice things

--or--

Why do it do it, why do i keep doing it and why can't i just be an ordinary person?

Waking up in a king-size bed in a VIP room on the 8th floor of Hotel Plaza should be a great feeling, but all I feel is regret.

When he hit me up, I couldn't believe it. He had a hot body, good looks, a real sense of fashion, and a great ass. I felt foolish, dressed in my kooky candy-striped witch's outfit. Surely there must have been a mistake, and yet there he was. We started talking, and it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He didn't seem to mind my eccentricities and I just couldn't get over how sweet he was.

He's asleep on the bed, next to me, somehow even more beautiful than when awake. I carefully extract myself from the bed and begin looking for my dress, stunned at how big this friggin' place is.

When he opened the door to the suite, I was stunned. This place was bigger than some of the apartments I'd visited on the island. The place had several bedrooms, a fully stocked bar, a club-quality sound system and a friggin' stripper pole. Now I started to feel more at home. I put on a show for him, teasing him and holding his full attention. It was a great feeling. We started talking dirty, and I told him how I liked it.

Having found my clothes I go to the bathroom and look myself in the mirror. I look like a total mess. My makeup and hair is ruined, and at this moment I don't feel my best. I entertain the thought of taking a shower, but the thought of being around when he wakes up is motivation enough to just get dressed and get out.

The sex was all wrong. It's not that he was a poor lover, or some blushing virgin. Quite the oposite. He was strong, he was passionate, he was hungry. And he was just so sweet. I tried to nudge him in the right direction, giving him hints on how to treat me like I deserve to be treated, but he held back every time. Some people are just raised right. To his credit, he tried, but I could see in his eyes that he didn't understand why the things he did turned me on. We ended up having sweet, intimate, passionate sex, and it bothered me.

As I reach the door, I hesitate. Why shouldn't I stay? Here's someone who is good to me. If I stay, he'll take care of me, treat me like a lady, fuck my brains out. Hell, I suspect the first thing he'll do is order room service breakfast, the sweetheart. I could get used to the idea of being worshipped like an angel. I open the door and leave in a hurry.

As we laid next to one another, there was the usual pillow talk. You were amazing! Was it good for you too? Will you stay the night? As I laid there next to him, little spoon to his big one, I was kind of relieved he didn't get to see my nastier side. That he didn't lose any respect for me. He could have me now, free of all the baggage that I usually carried. This could be a fresh start I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

I put my shoes on in the elevator on the way down, and then hurry through the lobby and hop a cab. In the backseat I dig into my purse, getting my phone out, dialing the Other. I have two numbers to the Other. The first one I call when I want to hang out, see a movie, play some pool, and just chill. The second number... 

I wait impatiently for the Other to pick up, trembling all the while. Please let him be home. I need him now! It's so like him to keep me waiting, the smug prick. I'm on the verge of tears when the call connects. A rough, gravelly voice says "Speak" and I feel a stirring in my panties. I could never be an angel.

"I've been a bad girl, sir."