His hands seemed to know my erogenous zones by heart. The blowing on my nape of my neck, the light touches of my curves on my face. The slight kissing of my ear lobes. The deep breathing into my ear as my hands touched his body. This would always drive me over the edge. Hearing my partner enjoying the intimacy we shared. The changes of the body would always bring me close to tears. I love the subtle sounds as we build on our orgasms. The gasping, the erratic breathing showing more touching was wanted. Words sometimes can spoil the moment but the body speaking with shortened breathes will speak volumes.
Chives knew the intricacies of a woman’s body. How we must be nurtured then when our wanton woman comes to surface how to handle this also. I was past caring about his being the one that brought me to this point of being a fantasy. I wanted to be his fantasy now. I waited for his every move with breathless anticipations. Feeling his remarkably hard body as mine yielded into him. I knew he would be so intense in his love making.
He lifted me off the floor placing me on the bed with impatience yet with gentleness. I was as hungry as he was to feel him penetrating me fully. He had orally pleased me for two weeks. I wanted him in my mouth, wanted him to know my skills. I slid down his stomach as he watched me I got down to his rock hard cock. Allowing only my lips to surround his head I pulled it away from his stomach. I could sense his heels digging into the down filled comforter. Allowing my tongue to enter the hole I probed his opening with zealous licking. He took my hair and slid it from my face so he could watch the power in my jaws suck him down. Sucking his shaft down inch by inch his cock filled my mouth so deliciously.
I inhaled his essence with enthusiasm causing my throat to pull his rigid cock up until my nose rested upon his pubic bone. He squirmed with anticipation of knowing I wouldn’t stop until he was crazy with passions. Moving my head up and down along with my throat swallowing caused him a sensation of being swallowed alive. His body was going rigid with sensations he hadn’t felt. Having his tongue licking me for two weeks I wanted him to know his girth was provoking me to become hotter. His veins were stretched around the magnificent girth bulging under my tongue. I enjoyed this sensation knowing his cock was rigid because of me.
I went down so hard his cock seemed to be able to take this assault without breaking. His body was tense with anticipations. I wanted him to cum fully in my mouth. The next thing I knew he had swiveled himself around so that I was freed from his cock. The popping sound was thunderous sounding. Acoustics in the room magnified the popping sound so it reverberated inside of my ears. His knee’s were between my legs his cock dancing over me. I was shocked how fast he moved me off his cock and onto my back. This man was adventuresome. What a lover this man was. I couldn’t get enough of his touches. He was making me hungry for him so much that I felt like crying. His hand came down and stroked my face as he maneuvered his body over me. Resting over me on his elbows we were eye to eye.
“I will now fuck you senseless my dear one.” He whispered driving me over the edge.
“Oh Yes!” I managed to respond with urges coursing through my body.
His seven inch cock was alive as he lifted himself up enough that I could feel his cock penetrate into me so rapidly I gasped loudly. His hips driving me insane with each deep plunge. Our bodies were locked as one. I worked with him so we were rocking our orgasms into existence. Breathing together, passionately kissing, stroke for stroke we were on the precipice of an earth shattering orgasm. I arched up as he plunged down. Our bodies were slamming into one another, nothing was important to us but this moment. Sweat poured off of him as sweat was pouring onto me I could feel myself ready to take flight. His teeth were gritting as I felt him pumping me. I clawed his back with abandoned careless motions. Leaving red streaks urging him to pound me harder.
My nipples were aching from needing his mouth to cover them. I heard the language of lovers when they lost the ability to speak. Grunts, moans, shouts of words that didn’t make sense. Skin slapping, wetness being sloshed between us made us become more vividly aware of the moment when he was shouting he was cumming.
“I’m cumminnng.” He shouted so loud in my ear.
“I know so am I I I .. " I screamed as his mouth covered mine. My words muffled inside of his mouth.
We both rode this wave with all the intensity that lovers could. Both leaving our bodies in the wake of going into sub space. My body was wracked with chills. His was so rigid I felt like a brick wall was smothering me as he fell down upon me. My legs shot around his waist as I felt my pussy clasping onto his cock so hard he shivered being caught a prisoner of our lust. Time past us without our awareness we were floating far above each other.
Just recalling that precise moment I felt myself blush deep red. I felt hot realizing I wasn’t alone it was a shock as I heard the girls laughing. I thought I was in the cafeteria what in the world was I doing? I had to get control of myself I usually came when I recalled this moment. I couldn’t allow this not here and not with them. Wiggling a little I managed to almost get up when I heard the voice of Becka speak.
“Look we have embarrassed the prudish Dr. B.” Her laughing voice made me feel exposed.
“Oh she isn’t embarrassed by what we are talking about.” Somebody chimed in. ‘I think she is going to faint.” The voice was coming through a tunnel.
Sure enough I fainted I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I had to cover this erotic day dream up. So I stood up before I hit the floor with a hard impact. I couldn’t move I was in ecstasy having a full blown orgasm, covered by merely fainting.
“Give her some air.” Becka shouted as she took control of the situation.
I closed my eyes as I felt the rush of an orgasm dwindling down. Nobody knew what happened that day I wasn’t going to divulge this information. I laid there relaxed waiting for my body to come back into control. Swearing to myself I wouldn’t recall this fantasy again unless I was totally alone. Yes, being a fantasy was my fantasy. I was looking forward to my next one with a breathless anticipation.
The End
Quote:
Originally Posted by
David_Ginola
Wah bro birdie…today u very hard working….tks for the few short stories…..nice
Yo bro D_G you’re here liao !
Sigh system sort liao so must faster post one last story .
The Top Deck of a London Bus
He breathed heavily as he hauled himself up to the top deck of the bus. A long day behind him, a few ups slight consolation for a string of disappointments.
Another day, a little more in the bank, not much incentive to keep on day on day walking the narrow line between keeping clients on side and telling them directly their chances of media coverage for their hair-brained ideas were slim – and zero without his contacts.
There was only one other passenger on the top deck – it was after the main rush and before people started out for the evening. He glanced in her direction as he slumped into his seat.
Was that a hint of a smile? He couldn’t be sure, but smiled in her direction, and turned to his newspaper.
The bus seemed to be crawling even more slowly than usual – one red light after another. Then it turned into an unfamiliar street. “This bus is on diversion,” over the PA system.
Very helpful, he thought, no indication what the new route would be.
“Does this bus go to Liverpool Street?” The voice of his fellow top-deck traveller aroused him from the trivia of the gossip column. “It normally would but I’ve no idea where this route will take it,” he replied.
“I’ve a train to catch to Norwich – it’s the last one tonight,” she said. “I’ve got about 10 minutes and if I miss it I’m in trouble!”
Not sure how to respond, he returned to his paper. The bus hardly moved. From the corner of his eye, he could see her check her watch, take out a cell phone and then put it away without making the call.
“Look,” he said, “if we jump off here we should be able to get to Liverpool Street in time.”
“But that’s taking you out of your way, surely?” “Not really, I can catch another bus from Bishopsgate – it will only add a few minutes.”
It didn’t take much persuading for the driver to agree to open the doors – the bus was firmly stuck in a jam that ran the length of the street.
“Sewer works,” the driver said. “They start earlier each evening and it doesn’t give the rush hour traffic time to clear.”
“Down here,” he said. “Let me take that.” He took her small bag. “Not going for long?” “A visit to a friend. It’s a long story – not something I want to talk about.”
“Of course – sorry to intrude.” Oh no, not an intrusion. But it’s well, just difficult for me to talk about it right now."
They walked on in silence through the narrow city sidestreets. There were even fewer people around and the evening was growing chilly.
“Do you think we’ll make it?” “It isn’t far now – just to the left and another 50 metres or so. How much time do we have?”
“About three minutes.” Neither spoke – it would be a close run thing. Instinctively they walked faster. She took his arm as the pavements near the station became more crowded.
He liked the feel of her hand on his forearm, the fingers pressing against his muscle.
“Come on, nearly there.”
The lights of the station shone brightly across the road. They reached the escalators and looked at the departure boards.
A line of red ran across the screens. Cancelled, delayed, cancelled…. It seemed not one train was running. A crowd was milling on the concourse, deepest around the information point.
He stopped a station official, firmly asserting his authority. “What time do you expect the Norwich train to leave?”
“A total power breakdown just outside the station. Engineers are working on it, but the inbound train for that service has been terminated at Chelmsford. It won’t be able to get here – and even if it does it won’t be able to leave in time to reach Norwich before the station there closes for the night.”
“But you can’t just leave people stranded.”
“They’ll be able to claim compensation – now I’m sorry but I’ve a million things to do.” He hurried off, anxious to escape from the growing tide of anger and frustration on the platform.
Her hand still held his arm. If anything the grip was tighter. She said nothing but he could sense her mind racing as she calculated her options.
She took out her phone again – called up a number … and hesitated.
“Your friend is meeting you?” “No – he doesn’t know I’m coming. I need to arrive without warning – but I need to talk to him tonight. Tomorrow will be too late.”
“It looks like a phone call or nothing. The chances of getting to Norwich tonight are zero.”
She looked up at him. Her green eyes seemed mistier than he remembered from the bus. She swallowed. Looked down. Looked up – were those tears?
“What’s the matter?” “If I don’t get to Norwich tonight I don’t know what I’ll do. If it isn’t life or death it isn’t far off…” she sniffed.
“If it’s that vital the only option is a taxi – you may find a cabbie who’ll take you but I’d hate to guess the fare.”
“Can we try? It is important to me?” Her eyes searched his, looking for help, for certainty.
“OK, we’ll try up here.” They took the elevator to the street and the main cab rank. Not a cab in sight – obviously taken by other equally desperate travellers. “There’s another rank down here,” he said, taking her arm.
Two or three cabs were lined up at a rank at the rear of the station. None had their “for hire” signs lit. He tapped on the window of the first. “Are you free? How much to Norwich?”
“Norwich mate? You gotta be jokin’. Wouldn’t consider it for less than two-fifty at the best of times but the fucking A12 is blocked – lorry fire at Witham – and the M10 has 15 miles of roadworks. I’d even rather go to Stockwell….”
He looked at her. It might be possible to persuade one of the cabbies to take her. “You won’t get a fare for less than £250 – maybe £300 with the tip. You could get to New York for less.”
This time there was no question about the tears. They welled up, and poured down her cheeks. “I really don’t know what to do,” she said.
“What is so important that it won’t wait until tomorrow?” “I have to say I’m sorry – and it must be tonight. The papers will have the story tomorrow.”
“Let’s find a pub that isn’t too crowded. Tell me about it.”
“A drink would be great, but no, neither you nor anyone else will know.”
They walked towards Spitalfields, crossed the Commercial Road. Passing the 10 Bells, they stopped at a pub near the old brewery. It looked like any other but it had artistic connections. Gilbert and George, Tracey Emin and others were regulars. The landlady was a “character”. It was easy to find a quiet corner. He ordered her a large vodka tonic – no lemon, she instructed, and asked for an alcohol-free lager for himself.
“Will you go home as you can’t go to Norwich tonight?” “I can’t go home – it’s … impossible. I’ll find a hotel.”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t asked your name. It’s so rude of me.” “Dan,” he replied. “People call me Dan.”
“Dan. Sounds a cliché to say that’s a strong-sounding name, the name of a person you could trust and rely on.” “Thank you. And yours?”
“Elaine.” “What do you do, Elaine?” “A dancer. Ballet.” “This is going to sound awful – but you seem just a little old to dance.”
“My corps days are behind me - mainly I produce and work on choreographs now and again. For exotic dancers.”
Continue next page ……..
“Strip en pointe?”
She looked at him with contempt. “You fucking bastard. It’s hard enough to earn a living in the ballet, but when you reach 35 and you haven’t made the headlines it is a struggle. And exotic dance is an art form – if only for the performers – the audience doesn’t care about technique. It just wants to see tits and pussy.”
“I’m so sorry. Thoughtless of me.” “Too right – so much talent goes to waste so that a bunch of investment bankers can get their dicks out of their boxers in the gents.”
Fire had replaced tears in her eyes. “Don’t lecture any of us about morality. All the morality is on stage —and the hypocrisy is all in the minds of the customers.”
“Elaine, please let me apologise. I understand and agree – it was a cheap jibe.”
Their drinks were largely untouched. “Look, are you hungry?” She looked at him, tossed her hair, and nodded. “But can we make one last check on the trains?” They left their drinks and walked to the station. The same crowds, the same hopeless message on the departure boards.
“I think I should find a hotel,” she said. “OK, we’ll try the Great Eastern first.”
They went up to the street level and entered the hotel reception. “A room sir? I’m afraid we have nothing left. There’s a problem with the trains.”
It was the same story at the other hotels they tried. People had got there first, or they were block-booked by City firms.
“I know a good hotel in Wapping”, he said. “Perhaps they won’t have been affected.” “OK, wherever,” she sounded tired.
Still no cabs so they caught the 100 bus and were in Wapping in 15 minutes. The hotel was a converted warehouse – it claimed you could still smell the spices that had been its staple product in the heyday of the docks.
“That will be £150 for the room. Breakfast is from 7.30-9.00. I see you have no luggage – would you mind paying in advance.”
He was too tired to argue over whether her valise counted as luggage – it was no larger than many handbags he saw in daily use.
Instinctively he handed over his own credit card. She looked at him. “Are you going to help me with my bag?”
“I’m sorry? Oh …”
She took his arm again. “Please take me to my room. We can have a drink from the minibar.”
“And then I must go,” he said, whether for her benefit or for the ears of the woman at the reception desk, he neither knew nor cared.
The fourth floor room had high ceilings and a richly hued wooden floor. There was a huge bed, a bath strategically placed so that the occupant could see the river below.
There was no mini-bar. “Shall I call up something from room service?” “No, I must go.”
“You pay for a girl’s hotel room and then run off… what kind of message is there for me there?”
She looked into his eyes again. She held both of his arms. “Stay for a while at least – the view of the river is stunning.”
They stood by the open window and watched the lights twinkling on the inky blackness of the river swirling below.
She held his arm. Gently he took her hand and pulled her towards him. Her head inclined upwards, her lips parted. Their lips met, lightly brushing as she moved against him.
The kisses became firmer. His fingers traced her ears, the line of her neck. The tips of their tongues met as if by accident – though neither was surprised.
She slipped her hands under his jacket, slipping it over his shoulders and off his arms. He felt her fingers unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his denim jeans.
The soft caress of her fingers as they traced his chest aroused his passion. When she touched his nipples, his inhibitions vanished.
His hands slipped under her tee-shirt, tracing her vertebrae up to her bra. He unclasped it and held her breasts firmly, his thumbs searching for her nipples. He found them, felt them grow firm under his fingers.
She pulled off the shirt and removed her bra, standing topless in front of him.
“Well?” “You are so beautiful.”
They kissed again and he felt her fingers unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans. He reached behind her and grasped her bottom, pulling her close to his stiffening prick. “Let’s go to bed,” Elaine whispered in his ear. Discarding clothing as they moved across the room, they fell on to the bed, rolling over, their lips locked, tongues probing.
“It’s been a while,” she said. “Treat me with care.”
His hand followed the line of her stomach until he found the soft warmth of her vagina. His fingers deftly traced its lips, moving backwards from the clitoris and back again. Her breathing became more obvious, her eyes partly closed. “I want to feel your tongue there,” she said.
He moved to kiss the lips of her pussy, feeling her become moist as he did so. Gently he probed with the tip of his tongue, softly stabbing at the clitoris and then running it firmly over her labia.
“Hmmmmmm,” she said. “More, deeper…” His tongue ventured deep into the velvet depths of her cunt, tasting her, driving her further into ecstasy.
She reached down to hold the shaft of his prick, moving her hand up and down. Both were close to climax.
“Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck away my fears.”
He entered her and slowly but firmly drove his prick deeply into her cunt. Her warmth and moistness overwhelmed him – he had no thought for any other sensation. She could envelop his whole body for all he cared. Her juices flowed copiously over his prick as she gently held his testicles and softly massaged the soft skin behind them.
Without apparent effort she rolled so that she was on top, lifting her body so that only the swollen tip of his penis remained inside her. Then she rammed her body firmly down, enjoying the sensation of the hardness against her yielding body, enjoying being in control.
As her orgasm grew she moved with greater abandon, forcing his orgasm to coincide with her own. He felt the tip of his prick deep inside her and knew that this was the moment.
Thrusting his hips upwards, he felt his spunk shoot deep into her, just as her orgasm came in waves of pleasure and carnality. Their juices mingled as they kissed deeply and softly, falling asleep with their fingers locked…..
He awoke with a start. The bed empty. Her clothes and the overnight bag were gone. He rang down to reception. “Was Mrs Smith in the breakfast room?” No, she had left early to go to the station. The lines were repaired and trains were running again. There was no message.
He knew her only as Elaine – she had never shared her family name. All he knew of her was her link with the ballet – and with Norwich. Would that be enough to find her again.
There was a sound at the door – a newspaper was thrust through. He opened it – and there he found his answer…
The End
Good Night And Sweet Dreams .
Take My Wife
What prompts someone to become sexually excited at the
thought of his wife making love with another man, I’ll never
know. It may be the “variety - spice of life” concept. Maybe it’s
just that I am terribly proud of my wife and like others to be
jealous or respectful of what I have. I used to think that I was
alone in this dementia, until I started reading stories by other
men than indicated that they had the same interests. As time went
on, nothing would turn me on more than the thought of my lovely
wife interacting with other men and showing interest in them. I
am 44 years of age, but I could always remember thinking about
wife swapping, voyeurism and related topics; anything that would
bring someone else’s cock into contact with Mary. She has a
remarkable body, and when she’s hot, there is no sexier woman in
the world.
When we were first married, at the age of 21 and 19 respec-
tively, I was never jealous. Mary was working at a restaurant in
a tight-fitting, tan-colored uniform, and I used to get a kick
out of how the men watched her as she would walk by with the or-
ders. She always had a great ass and heavy, perky tits that she
carried high. Her ass would massage the fabric of her dress as it
swayed back and forth beneath it. It made you want to pull up her
dress and throw a cock into her each time you saw that lovely ass
move. I could actually see some of the men getting hard-ons and
touching themselves when they thought that no one was looking.
One truck driver that used to come in to the place once actually
had a climax while eating his breakfast. I just sat there with a
hard-on and wished he was fucking her.
From there she went to work in an electrical assembly plant.
The plant was evenly divided between men and women. Mary got
somewhat enamored by some man by the name of Art. Had he played
his cards right, she would have fucked his brains out and sucked
every drop of cum from his balls. He turned out to be an drug de-
pendent ass-hole, and Mary didn’t want to have anything to do
with him.
Until she found out he was a jerk, she used to come home and
share their conversations and what she wanted to do with him.
Even then she knew that I wanted her to become excited by other
men. She would tell me of her intended adventures, and I would
fuck her like a wild animal. Her excitement was always enhanced
by it as well.
“Please! Please put your fingers inside me!” I screamed. I know I screamed because I felt this desire so strongly and he wasn’t listening to me.
“Be patient my love. It is just as hard for me as it is for you. But I want to enjoy you for as long as I can. Be patient.”
But this time when he moved his fingers up towards my clit, he lingered there. Taking it between two fingers, he rolled and massaged the hard button, slowly squeezed it. My hips were moving up and down faster. My legs were straining at the bonds. It was as if he knew the moment was close because he moved his fingers down and slowly teased my opening. He inserted two fingers just inside and pulled them out so that he could tease me. I knew he could see me opening and closing around his finger.
“Stop! I can’t take any more! Please!” I moaned.
He took three fingers and slowly, so slowly, inserted them into my pussy. He didn’t pull them out but merely left them inside without moving them. My inner muscles grabbed his fingers tight but he wouldn’t move them. Then, his wrist turned as the fingers pushed to the inside area under my pubic bone. While his fingers moved to find my g-spot, his thumb touched my clit. My body stiffened with the pleasure of waves rolling over me. His fingers moved along the ridge of my spot as his thumb pushed my clit down hard. He didn’t move his thumb as his fingers slowly moved out of my pussy, only to push back in and massage that g-spot. He was fucking me perfectly with his fingers while his thumb never let up on the hard shaft he held down so firmly. I was trying to hard to make my pussy meet his fingers but he placed his upper arm and elbow down on my stomach to keep me from moving.
“I want you to just lay back and let yourself come on my fingers,” he said. His fingers pushed harder in and out, all the time searching for my g-spot.
I swear he knew the moment when I would come. He kept his fingers inside of me, pushed against the hard ridge under my pubic bone and almost lifted me; he was massaging it so hard! And his thumb started to move in gently circles on my clit! My body stiffened as my pussy grabbed his fingers. My nipples got so hard and my clit felt so incredible. I couldn’t get those fingers deep enough inside me.
“Oh my, I’m coming!!!.. I am coooooooooommmmmmmmmmiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnggggggg”
I must have felt two raging orgasms, the second better than the first. Knowing it was too intense for me, he stopped moving his fingers, let my pussy slowly relax against them. As my inner muscles relaxed, he gently scratched my g-spot, giving me another, softer orgasm. My head fell to my side as I closed my eyes. Never had I felt this way. Never.
As his fingers slowly moved out of me, he dragged them up and out towards my clit with a gentle touch. He moved up on my body and leaned down, looking at me. I turned my head to face him and he put his fingers in my mouth, letting me taste my come. In my mind, it felt like his cock. I kissed and licked those fingers for what seemed like hours. I felt his excitement build as his mouth moved to my left nipple to gently nip and suck it while my tongue was caressing and licking his fingers. I felt his cock as he used his other hand to work his hard shaft up and down my slickened outer lips. I had never felt such a hard cock in my life as he pushed deep inside me, so deep it took my breath away.
Moving his mouth to my lips, he plunged his tongue deep. Starting to fuck me with his cock, he pushed his tongue in and out of my mouth the exact same way his cock was pushing into my pussy! Raising his body a little, I felt his fingers brush my clit while he stroked his cock deeply in and out of my tightening pussy.
“I want you to come with me,” he moaned.
“Oh, yes,” I cried. “Yes!”
His finger moved harder against my clit as his cock rocked faster into me. His balls tightened against my ass as his cock stiffened and stopped for a mere second. His fingers never stopped rubbing my clit.
“Come for me right now!” he cried.
I came. Oh, God how I came. And he came too. At the exact same time, his come was a hot splash inside me, mixing with my come. I felt drained but wanted so badly to hold him against me. This stranger.
After a few moments, he pulled his cock out of my pussy and rolled to his side, leaning against me. I heard him sigh with pleasure. He moved his hand to cover my breast and squeezed it so gently just to assure whether any milk was left. He moved his mouth to my ear and whispered, “That was the most incredible lovemaking in my life. I love you!”
We slept in each other’s arms and it was my best love session ever.
That was the end of the day after I had cum he just left me there. The next day before he was awake I left his home and returned to Seema. But I dint dare to tell her what happened between her husband and me.
The End
Picky, Picky
The young man’s hand was trembling as he handed the creamy vellum envelope embossed with the FGCC crest over to the older man. Edward Winslow held the younger man’s finger between his and the underside of the envelope for an extra couple of seconds before taking the envelope and placing it carefully on the top of the cigarette table beside him. He puffed on his cigar and smiled a satisfied smile to himself. He wanted Bill Brewster to tremble at the thought of handing over that envelope. It was final nail in this particular coffin.
Bill Brewster shifted nervously in his crackled-leather Chippendale lounge chair in the dim corner of the First Gentlemen’s Covenant Club smoking room and moved his slender, finely manicured hands together in a tented position, his fingertips centering between his patrician-shaped nose and his full, dry lips. He was doing all he could do to control the trembling of his hands, and he didn’t want Winslow to see the trepidation his face surely revealed. He wasn’t looking directly at his boss at First Families Securities, but Edward Winslow was looking directly at him and was smiling, clearly enjoying not just the young man’s resignation but also his discomfort.
A tall, fine-figured Hispanic in a smartly tailored black silk uniform materialized at the side of Winslow’s chair and set down a snifter of port. In withdrawing his hand, he barely brushed Winslow’s hand with his. The senior partner of First Families Securities, the son of a son of a son going back to the arrival of the Mayflower on America’s shores—the very prize that qualified Winslow for membership in the Beacon Hill First Gentlemen’s Covenant Club—twitched his hand back, almost as if he’d been shot, and sent the port in his glass into a brief tempest.
“Damn Mexicans,” Winslow muttered, as the servant moved silently behind the two chairs and, appearing at Bill Brewster’s elbow, quietly slid the second snifter of port on the cigarette table beside the younger man.
“The old club’s going to the damn Mexicans,” Winslow continued to mutter. “At least the darkies they had in here before knew to wear gloves.”
Bill Brewster picked up the snifter and moved it toward his mouth. But his hand was trembling so hard that he had to take the crystal vessel in his other hand as well to hold it steady. He took a gulp from the glass—quite out of character for a son of a son of a son, who had equal rights to FGCC membership to those Winslow had. But these were circumstances he’d never faced before.
It wasn’t until this evening that Winslow had fully believed Brewster would actually go through with it. The room key in that vellum envelope lying beside Winslow’s snifter settled that question.
Winslow snapped his fingers and the liveried attendant appeared at his side.
“Casa Blanca Jeroboam. No two. Now.”
The servant vanished in search of the cigar humidor behind the long bar.
Winslow looked back over at Brewster, who was breathing heavily, obviously trying to contain himself. This had been a campaign of his for nearly a year. When Winslow had offered the younger man the broker’s position, he had made it clear the extent to which Brewster was to show his gratitude. Brewster was a natural for the firm and looked the part perfectly, but he had majored in partying and tennis at Harvard, where only his name had stood him in good stead, and he normally could not have expected to have been given a position in the firm, despite his lineage.
The attendant reappeared, and Winslow snatched one of the cigars from him and motioned with an irritation usually reserved for the slow of mind for the other one to be placed on top of the vellum envelope. He hissed his disapproval that the Mexican had handled the cigars; they should have been delivered on a white linen napkin.
“No training whatsoever,” Winslow muttered. “Can’t train a Mexican. Heh, William?”
“Ye . . . yes, Edward, that’s . . . that’s right.” Brewster was obviously uncomfortable, but it wasn’t about Winslow’s berating of the servant, because he added the unnecessary. “Training would be a waste. He’ll be slipping back across the border as soon as he’s made a few bucks.”
“Next time on a napkin, Jose,” Winslow hissed.
“Yes, sir,” the servant said, his eyes downcast, as he backed into the shadows.
“You know his name?” Brewster asked, the tone of his voice revealing how incredulous he thought the idea that Winslow would take that much notice of one of “them.”
“They’re all called Jose, aren’t they?” Winslow said. And they both laughed, although Brewster’s laugh was edged with a bit of hysteria.
“So, are you sure?” Winslow said, fingering the vellum envelope. “I’ve heard that Fenton and Felton are hiring.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Brewster responded in a small voice. The mention of Fenton and Felton, a decidedly plebian firm, was pregnant with meaning.
“You’ll have to ask for it,” Winslow said. “I’ll not force it.”
“Yes, thank you, sir. I understand,” Brewster said. “But you will . . . we can . . . you know, what we agreed on.”
“Yes,” Winslow whispered sotto voce, his voice laced with exasperation. “If you have a blindfold, you can use it. And I have restraints. If it’s easier for you, we can do that if it makes you feel less guilty.”
“Light,” Winslow said in a louder voice like the flick of a whip. He snapped his fingers as he said it, and the Hispanic attendant materialized from the shadows and lit Winslow’s cigar for him. And then he faded away as quietly as he had appeared.
“Well, you’d best be going up,” Winslow turned to Brewster and said. “I’ll be up shortly. I don’t care if the lights are off and you are blindfolded. You are going to enjoy it, so don’t look so glum.”
“Yes, sir,” Brewster muttered in misery. He gulped down his port and moved unsteadily toward the door and to the elevator.
Nice ass, Winslow thought, as he watched the young man move away. Good looker, nicely muscled and trim. Just the way I like ’em. And young men of his pedigree are hard to come by. As only America can produce through generations of residence.
Winslow closed his eyes and let his head loll back into the enfolding leather of the Chippendale chair and dreamed of fucking the very presentable and finely familied William Brewster. A year’s campaign but all worth it. After a brief reverie of taking the young man from several positions, Winslow realized his cigar had gone out. He snapped his fingers.
“Light.”
Nothing happened. Winslow’s eyes shot open and he looked to his left, where the Hispanic attendant should be standing. No one was there, but Winslow’s empty snifter had been cleared away. No servant, though, and Winslow’s cigar had gone out.
“Damn wetback,” Winslow muttered. “Probably already half way back across the border. Probably an illegal too. The club standards have gone to shit.”
He leaned over and smashed the ash end of the cigar in a crystal ashtray, and, while struggling up out of the mothering clutches of the deep armchair, took up the second cigar, put it in his shirt pocket, and took up the precious vellum envelope.
While waiting for the ancient elevator to clank its way back to the public room floor, he opened the envelope and took the key out.
612, he thought. I didn’t know the club even had six floors. Must be in the attic. I wonder who Brewster ticked off at reception when he checked in.
Bill Brewster was naked and lying on his belly on the silk sheet covering the double bed in the middle of the club guest bedroom. He lay in the dark, his eyes covered with a blindfold, his eyelids held tightly shut, and his breathing ragged and his body twitching at what was about to happen.
Continue next page ………
He heard the key in the lock, and he almost whimpered in uncertainty and fear as he sensed more than saw the brief invasion of light from the hallway before the door was clicked shut and subtle sound of the rustling of shed clothing reached his alert hearing.
This was his future. He’d made a deal with the devil. He’d been told that Winslow was cruel but that he didn’t sustain interest. A couple of months, not more, and he’d move on to other quarry. And then Brewster’s future would be made. He’d just have to steel himself. His ancestors had taken the risk and grabbed for the gold ring when they’d sailed for the New World on the Mayflower. At least Winslow had the right pedigree. Brewster could still hold his head up after this. Just some pain and private humiliation and then his future would be made.
Brewster lurched and made a little yipping sound as he felt strong callused hands taking his wrists and tying them together and then forcing them over his head and tying them off at the headboard.
Such strong hands. A little surprising, the strength, but Winslow bragged incessantly about his garden and how he worked it himself. Brewster shivered a bit. Strong hands. Would that mean other strengths as well?
Those callused hands were running all over his body as he lay stretched out on his belly. He was trembling and trying to think of anything else but what was happening—what was happening at last after nearly a year of putting it off. If he’d let Winslow bed him as soon as the employment deal was set, it would be all over now. It would be done and Winslow would probably already have moved on to fresh tail. No use crying over that now. Just bear it. Pretend to be somewhere else altogether.
But pretending to be elsewhere was becoming increasingly difficult. Those hands were tantalizing. No woman had done this to him, had taken the time to put him into a mood. Pleasurable. He had to admit that it was pleasurable. He was beginning to calm down, and he caught himself sighing.
Hands were on his hips, lifting them, signaling that he was to go up on his knees. He started to rise, and a large hand palmed him between the shoulder blades and showed that only his hips were to go up, that his chest and cheek were to stay flat on the sheet. His arms, trapped above his head were beginning to go numb and to tingle. But the skin of the small of his back and his butt cheeks was tingling too. This was a different tingle, though, brought about by the movement of lips and tongue on his body.
Brewster moaned as a hand came between his spread thighs and took possession of his dick. He hadn’t realized it, but he was hard. A flash of embarrassment shot through him. Winslow’s attentions had made him go hard. Letting yourself be fucked by a man was one thing, but your body showing that it was enjoying the attention was quite another. He gulped and whimpered as the stroking began. Then he didn’t quite manage to swallow a yelp when the bulb of his dick felt the lips open over it. A tongue was flicking his piss slit as the lips slid farther over his throbbing dick. Fingers were probing his balls and pulling on his sacks. Brewster let a deep moan escape his lips.
He was supremely embarrassed, but he couldn’t help himself. It had seemed like an eternity of sucking, but it had been mere minutes before he creamed himself from the close attention paid to his dick. His knees were trembling and he couldn’t feel his arms at all, but he certainly could feel the pounding of his heart against the bed sheet.
Brewster twitched and he gulped hard as the lips and tongues moved from his spent dick and started to rim his ass. He was moving to the rhythm of the attention he was receiving. His chest was sliding back and forth on the sheet and he was slowly rotating his hips back and forth as his hole was being loosened and softened. He groaned and moaned.
The trembling in his thighs increased as he felt the cool lubricant of the probing fingers that replaced the lips and tongue at his rim. He was being forced open by those fingers, which worked their way deeper and deeper, stretching him, preparing him.
He was panting and moaning, his attention so focused on those probing fingers, that he only barely heard the hoarse whisper.
“What?” he whimpered.
“Do you have something to ask?” The voice was deep, throaty. Very quiet, but intense.
“What?”
“Ask me for it.”
“What? Oh. Please, yes, please.”
“Please what?”
“Please . . . do . . . it . . . Ohh!” The nub of a forefinger had planted itself solidly on Brewster’s prostate and he felt like he was going to jack off again, although he was just beginning to recover a hard on.
“Do what?” the voice hissed.
“Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh, please do it. Nowww!”
He had been prepared so slowly and methodically that he was completely caught by surprise at the swift brutality with which the fingers disappeared and big hands grabbed him by the hips and a thick, hard cock thrust inside him.
Brewster cried out, and groaned and begged and writhed under the firm grip of the furious assault. His crying for relief seemed only to excite his master, who pumped hard and dug deep. Brewster had no idea that Winslow had such strength and length and width and stamina in him.
It seemed to go on forever. When Brewster’s knees could take it no longer and he collapsed fully on the sheet, his rider followed him, stretched full length on top of him and sucked on his neck as he thrust and thrust and thrust inside him.
Brewster was totally exhausted after his master’s spouting and drifting off into a semiconscious state when he felt the restraints being loosened at the head of the bed and his wrists unbound, and he didn’t stir again until well past dawn. And, of course, he awoke finally to an otherwise empty room.
* * *
Room Number 612 did, indeed, seem to be in the hotel’s attic, Edward Winslow observed, as he exited the elevator and moved down the dimly lit hallway. And it definitely was in need of redecoration. Winslow had no idea that the FGCC had permitted its guest floors to go so seedy. He’d have to talk to Richard Warren about this.
After looking both ways down the hall to ensure he wasn’t being observed, he turned the key to room 612, slipped inside, and shut the door behind him with a quiet click. He stood there inside the door, in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He was breathing heavily, and his cock was already stirring, in anticipation of what he had campaigned for for nearly a year. He could hear the nervous breathing of his prey as well. Brewster had wanted to be taken while bound and blindfolded to assuage the guilt, but Winslow had been more than happy with this plan. Brewster’s nervousness and fear fed the rising of Winslow’s cock. He loved to dominate—in everything. That Bill had such a nice ass. Winslow could hardly wait.
His eyes were beginning to adjust. He could make out the outline of the bed and of a wooden arm chair off to the side. He extracted the leather restraints from his jacket pocket and took a step toward the bed.
“Ooff” He hadn’t seen the fist coming at him from out of the darkness. It hit him midsection and sent him, doubled up on the threadbare carpeting on the floor. He was immobilized by the surprise and the pain in his midsection.
He didn’t manage to even begin to struggle as he was stripped of his dinner jacket and lifted and thrown into the wooden arm chair, which rocked dangerously backward, kept from crashing back only by the hulking figure who had moved to behind the chair.
Winslow’s arms were brutally jerked to behind the chair, and he heard the handcuffs snapping together. His own leather restraints were used to bind his chest to the chair back. And Winslow had only begun to regain his breath and presence of mind—to let out a scream of indignation—when tape was slapped over his mouth. Then he was blindfolded and totally under control.
The door clicked shut and he was alone. He was alone, bound to the chair, for hours, it seemed. Winslow seethed the whole time. What the fuck was Brewster up to? He couldn’t just leave him here. The maids would be by in the morning and let him loose, and then he’d ream Brewster to within an inch of his life. So, he didn’t want to be fucked. He would regret it. His future was toast. He might have cleared out before Winslow got free, but he’d pursue the bastard to the ends of the earth and make his life miserable. He’d ruin the fucker. He’d find a way to fuck him and then to ruin him.
Winslow had nearly nodded off, his inability to put his hundred-ways punishment of William Brewster into immediate effect, worn down by his spewing of bile within the restraints of the tape over his mouth, when he heard the door click open again.
He heard the movement in the room. The rustling of clothes. Then he felt the hands at his belt buckle. He struggled against the restraints as his pants were unzipped. His head snapped to the side as he was backhanded on the right cheek. And while he was immobilized, stunned by that, he felt his trousers and briefs being stripped off. His butt cheeks were cold against the wood of the chair bottom.
Continue next page ……..
Winslow felt the cigar being taken out of his shirt pocket, and he barely had time to wonder about that before strong arms grabbed him under his knees, pulled his back down the chair slats, spread his legs, and hooked them over the arms of the chair.
Something cold was at his asshole, which puckered right up at the sudden attention it was getting.
The cigar. He was being probed by the Casa Blanca Jeroboam! God, what a sacrilege. The waste of an expensive cigar.
His ass was being worked well, though, and Winslow found himself moaning and groaning behind the taped mouth. That Brewster. What an actor, pretending that this frightened him. Winslow felt himself go harder than he ever had done before. This wasn’t so bad.
The cigar was withdrawn and strong hands were under his knees again, lifting his hips up even farther out the chair. He heard the heavy breathing and the shared strain, as a big, thick cock started to work its way into his hole.
Winslow’s pelvis was being swung back and forth and to the sides as the cock drove its way up into him. Both of them were huffing and puffing.
Winslow’s assessment of Brewster skyrocketed. Boy that young man had balls. Worthy of his Mayflower ancestry. Worthy of being moved up faster at First Families Securities. It had been a risk, but Brewster had played it perfectly. Winslow was loving this fuck.
The fuck went on and on. It was a cruel fuck, an expert taking. Winslow shot off twice during the taking. He felt twenty years younger. This was far better an idea than the one he’d had—although he’d get his shot too.
A true American First Families performance. Pure-blooded American. Deep, thick, complete taking. Yessss!
Winslow was totally exhausted when it was over. He felt the handcuffs snap off and his bounds undone, and he just collapsed back into the chair, trying to pull himself together. When he reached up and pulled the blindfold off, he saw the light of rushing dawn filtering in through the dormer window. He was alone in the room. He painfully, stiffly raised himself from the chair and hobbled over to the cracked porcelain sink in the corner of the room. Using a threadbare washcloth, he cleaned himself as best he could and hobbled back to the chair; picked his briefs, trousers, and jacket off the floor; and put himself back together. It took him several minutes to smooth out all of the wrinkles, but he wasn’t about to walk through the halls of the FGCC without looking exactly like what he was—a pure-blood descendent of the original Mayflower first families of the New World. Pure American down through the centuries. Protectors of all that was patrician Bostonian against the encroaching world of the dirty, impure immigrants.
When he was what he wanted to project, he left the room and went to the elevator. It had been a stupendous gamble on Brewster’s part. But it had pleased Winslow. It had been years since he’d come twice in a single fucking. He’d be fucking Brewster, of course, but he had a whole new respect for the man. He certainly had balls.
Winslow didn’t even acknowledge the presence of the Hispanic attendant who proceeded him out of the front entrance and flagged down a taxi for him. But after Winslow stiffly folded himself into the back seat of the cab and had made a sour remark about the immigrants who were driving the service cars those days, the attendant rose to his full height and flipped the departing taxi the bird. Flashing a big grin, he slowly pulled a moist and pungent Casa Blanca Jeroboam cigar out of his shirt pocket, lit it, and walked slowly back into the entrance to the world of the First Gentlemen’s Covenant Club.
The End
Whore is Where the Heart Is
I thought the day would never end. There’s nothing worse than a Valentine’s Day at the office when you’re the only single one in the place! An endless stream of flower deliveries, boxes of chocolates in various stages of being picked over, conversations in the elevator or the ladies room about whether tonight would be the night he would ‘pop the question’. And I must admit, if I were involved with someone, I’d be enjoying the day just as much as the rest of them. But as it was, I found it sickening.
See, I’d been in a bit of a dry spell. After an ugly breakup about a year ago followed by a hot but ultimately unsuccessful rebound relationship, it had been at least six months since I’d had a date, or, well, let’s just be blunt, since I’d gotten laid. And I was just coming to terms with that being OK, when the calendar turned to February, and before I knew it, here I was, suffering through Valentine’s Day still alone, my giddy coworkers unwittingly rubbing my nose in their sea of red heart-shaped boxes, ribbons, and flower petals.
That morning as I’d gotten dressed for work, I tried to cheer myself up by putting on my sexiest matching red bra and panties. As I studied my form in the mirror, I couldn’t help but admire how hot I looked. My fingers traced the edge of the red lace which cupped my large breasts - 36D on my otherwise slim, 5'8" frame. Naughty, I thought to myself as my hands continued their path downward, pausing to lightly stroke my clit through the lacy fabric of my panties. “Gee, Karen,” I thought to myself with a chuckle, “just go to work.”
And so my hot undergarments were promptly covered by my attractive, but conservatively professional work clothes - a white blouse and black skirt, with a colorful scarf around my shoulders, and sensibly low-heeled black pumps. I had a big presentation to give the next day, so hopefully my preparations for that would keep me busy and distracted. No such luck.
Try as I might to concentrate on my work, I wasn’t lucky enough to have an office with a door, so was forced to sit in my cubicle in the middle of the office and hear every sappy phone call - “No, you hang up first!” - every flower delivery - “Is there a Pam Johnson? These are for you!” - and every comment on delicious chocolates from thoughtful boyfriends - “Ooh, have you tried this one? It’s simply divine!”
So, back to where I started - I thought the day would never end. When it finally did, I dejectedly headed home, planning my evening as I drove. First, I’d stop at the video store, where I’d see what appealed to me for solitary viewing - would I give in and rent a romantic comedy, ending up a pitiful mess of tears and tissues? Or would I rent some horrible monster movie, and pretend it was Halloween rather than Valentine’s Day? Either way, my next stop would be the grocery store, for a pint of ice cream.
Finding nothing that caught my fancy in either the romantic comedies or the horror flicks, I found myself in the documentary film aisle. Next to a very attractive man who I admit I deliberately bumped into. Not the smoothest move, I know, but it worked. I got his attention and we struck up a conversation. Just as he was telling me that his name was John and asking mine, I noticed his wedding ring. I had to laugh at my desperation as I realized that I was trying to pick up a married guy in the video store on Valentine’s Day.
But before I had a chance to pull myself away and go home to wallow in self-pity, I realized that he was flirting with me. It had been a while, and I was a little rusty, but it was unmistakable. He was keeping the conversation going, he was glancing towards my bosom when he thought I wasn’t looking, and he seemed not to care that he was doing this with his wedding ring on. I decided to play along, and before I knew it, we were leaving our videos behind and making our way to a restaurant down the street to have a drink.
As we started to chat over our glasses of wine, I learned that John was in town on business, just for the one night. He owned his own company, which had been doing quite well, but he found himself traveling more than he liked - when he had the opportunity to land a new client, even if it did mean being away from home on Valentine’s Day, he couldn’t turn it down. He did tell me more about his company, but frankly I can’t remember much, as I was busy pretending to pay attention while I actually studied his body.
He was a bit older than I - I guessed 40-ish to my 30 - but in fabulous shape, as if he spent all his free time working out. He was about 6'2", with big strong hands (always a turn-on for me), wavy brown hair and deep brown eyes, and a chiseled jaw with a five-o-clock shadow.
Moving on to our second glass of wine, I realized he noticed my eyes on his body, and as I crossed and then re-crossed my legs on the barstool, my business skirt riding up higher and higher on my thigh, I knew he was checking me out as well. I kept listening to the little voice in my head, though, the one telling me not to make a move on a married guy. Somehow, the voice didn’t say anything about responding if he acted first. Which he did.
At first, I thought he was starting to say that perhaps we should call it a night and go our separate ways. But no, he was suggesting we make a night of it, together.
“Karen, I really don’t want to be alone tonight. And you’re so incredibly hot, I haven’t been able to think of anything but fucking you since we started talking. Would you like to come back to my hotel with me? No strings, since I’m leaving town in the morning - but tonight, I want you. That is, if you feel the same way…”
I just smiled, took his hand, and guided it up my inner thigh to my panties, letting the wetness between my legs speak for itself as my response. He gave me the name of his hotel and the room number, and we headed off, for the moment, going in separate directions. He would get a cab, and I would drive my car there, we had agreed. I’d give him a head start, and he’d leave the door to his room unlocked.
My heart was pounding in my chest in anticipation as I climbed into my car and drove slowly towards the hotel. Somehow, I felt no guilt about what I was about to do - the fact that he was married and virtually a stranger just seemed to turn me on even more. I had never done anything so naughty as what I was about to do tonight.
I let my hand rest on the doorknob for a few moments, taking a deep breath to calm myself before turning it and entering his room. Much to my delight, he had already stripped off his clothes and was lying, naked, on the bed. I followed suit, stripping and tossing my clothes aside so that I was down to my bra and panties by the time I reached the bed.
“Oh, god, Karen, you’re so sexy in that red lace!”
I climbed onto the bed, kneeling above him and taking his still-flaccid cock into my hands. As I began to stroke him, his cell phone rang on the table next to the bed. He grabbed it, and I could tell by the quick look of guilt that flashed across his face, that it must be his wife. He didn’t answer, responding instead as I took the tip of his cock into my mouth, still stroking his shaft and balls with my hands.
A minute later, his phone rang again. Pulling away from his cock for a moment, I hissed at him to answer it - I knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself with his phone ringing all night. I also had a strange thought that it might just be a turn-on for me, sucking him off while he talked.
Continue next page ……..
“Hi, honey! Huh? Oh, sorry, I just got out of the shower, didn’t know you called… What? Yeah, everything went fine, it was a good meeting. Did you have a good day? That’s good.”
As he struggled to maintain his composure on the phone, I went at him with more enthusiasm, ridiculously turned on by the naughtiness of what I was doing. He was now fully erect, and I was attempting to engulf his entire length.
“Hey, listen, honey, I’m really tired, I think I’m going to turn in now. But I’m glad you called. Happy Valentine’s Day! OK. Love you too, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He flipped his phone closed, tossed it across the room, and released the tension which had built up as he controlled his voice while talking with his wife. “Oh, god, Karen, yes, suck my cock!”
He wrapped his fingers around my cascading strawberry-blond curls, until he had pulled all of my hair into one ponytail and could use it to guide my motions on his cock. I forced myself to relax, and before long, he was bottoming out in the back of my throat, and thrusting faster and faster into me. “God, yes, that’s it, I’m going to cummmmmmmmmm!”
He shot his load, more than I could swallow, and I was soon covered in his cum - it was dripping out of the corners of my mouth, landing on my tits. “That was incredible, Karen, the best blow job I’ve had in a long time. I think it’s time I return the favor.”
He sat up, flipped me over onto my back, and positioned himself on his knees above me. He began with my breasts, kneading them first through the fabric of my bra and then pulling that lacy fabric down so that my tits popped free. Obviously delighted at their size, he dove in, sucking first one nipple and then the other as one of his hands made its way to my panty-covered pussy.
My panties were soaked by this point, turned on as I was by our elicit encounter. He quickly shoved the fabric aside, and I let out a huge sigh as his fingers first touched my clit. Easily lubricated by my juices, he began stroking me quickly with two fingers. It wasn’t long before he had to tear his attention away from my tits and focus entirely on my pussy, bucking and grinding beneath him as I was.
Scooting down on the bed so he could service me properly, he started by teasing me with a few quick licks to my clit. I couldn’t stand the suspense, and grabbed his head, pushing his face against my sex. He responded quickly, beginning a slow and steady motion with his tongue on my clit, as a few fingers found their way into my pussy. I had my first small orgasm almost immediately, hungry as I was for a man to eat me out - it had been too long.
But he rode through that with me, continuing to lick and suck and finger me, until I was soon on the verge of a much more powerful orgasm. Just before I was ready to cum, he pulled away from me, flipped me over again so that I was on all fours in front of him, and prepared to enter me from behind.
Letting me come down from my heights of pleasure, and giving himself a chance to harden up, he held his cock in his hand, guiding it along my pussy lips. The right moment seemed to come at the same time for both of us, and he thrust his hard cock into me in one smooth motion. After we had established a steady rhythm, he reached around and took one of my tits into each of his hands, kneading them as he fucked me.
Since we had both cum already, we were able to fuck for what seemed like hours, building up almost to a climax before slowing down or changing positions for a new sensation. His long, hard cock filled me delightfully, and we took turns being the one to generate the motions.
Finally, it was time. We returned to our original position, doggy style providing the best penetration, and he began thrusting hard and fast.
He placed his big, strong hands on my hips and used his grip to reach an even deeper level of penetration than we had found before. Once our rhythm was established, he moved one hand to my clit, and began flicking his fingers across it. “Are you ready to cum, Karen? I want us to cum together!”
“Oh, god yes, John - just keep doing what you’re doing, I won’t last much longer!”
“Aaaaahhhh, Karen, I’m cummmmmmming!”
Just as he shot his load into my pussy, my own orgasm overtook me with wave after wave of pleasure. I collapsed into the bed, and must have fallen asleep before I even realized it.
I hadn’t necessarily planned to stay the whole night in a strange man’s hotel room, but obviously our intense fucking session took its toll, so it was indeed morning before I woke up. After studying John’s sleeping face on the pillow next to mine, and running my fingers over my own skin, remembering the pleasure of the night before, I remembered something else - my big presentation at work! And judging by the light coming through the windows, I was going to be late if I didn’t get moving right away!
Looking at my watch, I realized I could still be on time, but it would mean going straight to work - with no chance to shower, or to go home and change. I hoped none of my coworkers would notice the fact that I was wearing the same clothes as the day before!
Once I was dressed and ready to go, I gave John a peck on the cheek (what a sound sleeper he was!) and left my business card on the pillow next to him, with a note scrawled on the back, something about calling me if he was ever in town again. And then I was on my way.
20 minutes later, I was at my desk, pulling together my papers for the presentation, when Julie, who had the desk next to mine, gave me an odd look and said, “Isn’t that the same outfit you were wearing yesterday, Karen?”
“Um, well, yes, I guess it is! What do you know.”
Smiling as I walked away towards the conference room, I realized I could take pleasure in the fact that my night of passion was likely substantially more hot than that of any of my committed co-workers. Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all.
The End