She said nothing, but pulled me by the hand through to the room proper. Unremarkable and nearly indifferentiable from any other decent hotel room, an enormous king bed dominated the room otherwise filled by a desk, armchair, and wall mounted TV. The corner of the yellow dress from earlier poked out from the half-closed bathroom door, and the acrid stink of hairspray still lingered on the air.
“Sit” she commanded, pointing at the chair in the corner. I did as I was told as she disappeared into the bathroom; the door closed and I was left to my own devices. I was, as you might guess, unreasonably hard.
She’d come on like a hurricane, and it was all I could do to match her energy, but the tension of waiting in that chair while she did whatever a woman does in the bathroom before sex was killing me. I made an effort to tuck my boner more comfortably into the leg of my pants, but it refused to comply reasonably.
“Are you ready?” she called through the bathroom door. Was I? What was I supposed to be ready for? I’d have let her eat me alive if she asked for it.
“I’m ready” I replied.
Even knowing that she’d certainly take my breath away in any case, I couldn’t have been ready for what stepped out. The little black dress had been abandoned in favor of a matching black set of lingerie; lacy and trimmed in strappy purple decoration, panels of sheer, shimmery fabric offered more than suggestive glimpses of the things I wanted most. She struck a jaw dropping pose, turning a hip toward me to admire her in profile.
“Jesus Christ” was all I could offer.
Every detail of her was perfection. Her skin was creamy and soft, marked by all the spots I knew I’d recognize; a small mole here, a freckle there, I recognized them all. Her hips bore banded tracks of stretch marks that promised the most divine targets for luscious kisses, and the subtle ripple of her cleavage begged me to free her of the bra’s clutches.
“You’re gonna watch me,” she insisted, “you’re going to watch me fuck myself just like you used to.”
It sounded like a great idea to me. She stepped to the bed, still wearing her heels. This just didn’t happen to guys like me. Not ever.
She crawled up to the mound of pillows from the foot of the bed, obviously giving me the view of a lifetime as she greatly exaggerated the wide back-and-forth rock of her gorgeous ass and hips for me. There was no sign of the lacy fabric that her cheeks had devoured entirely. Reaching her destination, she turned over in a half-reclined seat, one knee crooked out to the side while the other leg stretched out straight to display the red bottom of her shoe. She rubbed her tummy and torso with one hand while a finger on the other demurely traced at her lower lip.
“Why is your cock not out?” she asked in a pouty sulk. She was all in on the attitude.
“Do you want my cock to be out?” I teased. She nodded playfully. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
I scooched and wiggled in my seat to free myself, tugging at my waistband just enough to free myself. Her audible gasp and the needy furrow of her brow as I finally brought myself into her view did wonders for my courage. The hand on her tummy ceased its tracing and dove between her legs, rubbing atop the thin fabric slowly.
“Stroke for me please. Stroke your cock for me while I rub myself?” I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear her speak to me like this; she’d said dirtier things to me in days gone by. Still, the lady wanted me stroking, so I stroked.
She’d admitted, all those years ago, to having loved my cock. I won’t claim anything beyond what I’d expect you to believe, but I’ll describe it insofar as to call it something that I was not self-conscious about in the least. I’d never had any complaints anyway.
Her lips parted to suggest a breathy “Oh” that didn’t quite reach my ears, but the way she bit her lip and stared at the hand that I drew up and down suggested an addict’s craving within her.
“Fuck,” she practically squeaked, “I missed that cock so much”. She moved to reposition herself, drawing her feet inwards and splaying herself wide in an open display, as if to show me what it meant to truly miss something. Her hand slipped beneath the delicate fabric of her thong’s waistband.
“Keep going for me baby” she insisted. I throbbed, cock and heart both, to hear her call me that again.
“I missed you” I told her. I had, even if I was only coming to realize it now. I didn’t mean just her body either.
“You have no idea how much I missed you,” she said, unable to imagine at how wrong she was about that, “I think about you all the time.”
I knew she did. Almost daily, apparently.
We watched each other and muttered profane nothings back and forth, offering slight encouragement to one another, or asking for this move or that thing. Her hips began to draw small circles underneath her as she wriggled herself into a state. Heavy, beading drops of thin precum offered themselves as heavenly lubricant for my continuous efforts. The slick sound of my wet labors made her bristle.
“God baby,” she said pleadingly, “that’s so fucking hot.”
“Then why are you still wearing anything?” I had less than a leg to stand on, still mostly clothed myself.
“Because you’re taking forever to get this off of me” she said, slipping back to her needy pleading voice with a wry shimmy of her shoulders.
I stood, kicking the pants from around my ankles, and undid the buttons of my shirt urgently. Entirely nude, cock bobbing in the air hungrily before me, I hesitated just long enough to let her voice her displeasure.
“What are you waiting for then,” she asked in false frustration, “get over here and get me naked already.”
I mounted the bed from its foot, shuffling on my knees to approach her; her parted lips and unblinking gaze while she watched me approach continued to thoroughly melt me. Her attention was fully mine, and I lived for it.
She let me brush her hand away from where she had continued touching herself, and helpfully straightened her legs to allow me to tug her delicate bottoms down the length of her freshly shaved legs, and off past the shoes she had yet to remove; I tugged each off and tossed it off the bed. I held her legs up aloft alongside me, and bent to kiss at her calves softly. She cooed appreciatively, watching me intently all the while.
“Kiss me” she implored quietly. I let her legs down and bent to taste her lips again; she hummed quietly, eyes shut.
“I want another one” she said as we broke away. Her upraised finger to my lips prevented me from fulfilling the request as she blocked my move to kiss her again.
“Not those kisses” she insisted. I faked a look of playful confusion, and she deftly tucked a leg under and around me, so that I kneeled with her legs astride either side of me.
“I want different kisses now.”
Her plump mound was bald to the touch, and the modest parting of her flushed lips invited me in for a greedy taste. I lay flat on my tummy before her, still propped on a mountain of hotel pillows, and wrapped strong hands around her thighs from below. I hadn’t even registered when or how she found the opportunity to unhook the front clasp of the lacy bra, but was thrilled at the view of her naked chest when I looked up in search of her eyes. She maintained that scrupulously scrunched brow and modest parting of her lips, as if to eternally beg some unknowable question, while I kissed back and forth, from one thigh to the next, and above or around her patient pussy. She let the tease go on, in spite of her earlier cadence of demands for gratification and obedience.
I cut the act of pretending I could restrain myself forever; the first taste of her, a slow drawing of the flat top of my tongue from the bottom of her to the hooded top, set my mouth watering for more with its acidic tang. A small noise from her as I capped that first lick with a gently suckling kiss was all the approval I needed. I set to work.
As greedy as she was, my ravenous need for her was more than a match. Listening for the cues of her hitching inhalations and soft murmurs of appreciation, I worshiped at her for an age or more. Her feedback was indirect, but the tightening grip of her handful of my hair told me that the long, slow journey of my insatiable tongue was more than appreciated. I made frequent eye contact with her, continually amazed by how pretty someone could look while getting their pussy eaten. Her small “Ooo”s and “Oh yeah”s were music to me.
“You’re gonna make me cum if you keep licking your pussy like that” she threatened, now rocking her hips in time with my licks and clutching at my hair insistently. I chose to force her to make good on her promise, switching to focus my attention solely on the firm button of her clit, taking it gently between my lips to suck at it in a way she began to thoroughly enjoy. My roving hands found purchase around her waist and I settled in with devotional intent on what she’d just named as mine.
It took not a moment for her grip to firm up insistently; what started as a taut tremor in her thighs built to a rolling tremble. The hand not on top of my head gripped the sheet next to her, and she pressed her own head backward into the pillows behind her.
“More” she demanded, closing in on rapture. I gave more.
“Yesyes more.”
“Don’tStopDon’tStopDon’tYouFuckingStop”
I couldn’t have stopped anyway.
Gutteral grunts of a feral release replaced the already almost incoherent supplications as her hips forced themselves toward my face; she cried out in growling inarticulation, seemingly without end. I sucked dutifully right through to what I hoped was an appropriate moment of conclusion for her, expecting her to take a chance to bask in the reprieve of orgasm. Barely a moment of silence passed though before she shattered it entirely.
“FUCK,” she shouted at the ceiling with a throaty laugh, looking down at me with a disbelieving shake of her head, “that was a little too good.” The rush of endorphins prompted a fit of peeling laughter that set her heaving chest bouncing in a hypnotic sway. I wiped my chin and laughed along.
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