Lisa is an attractive woman. Hell, let’s rephrase that — Lisa is drop-dead gorgeous. At thirty-four, and after two kids, she’s maintained her pre-baby figure completely. Her Asian features give her a certain mystique; her almond-shaped eyes sit somewhere between Caucasian and Asian, though decidedly more the latter, a clear hazel-brown. Her eyebrows are natural, framing her eyes without needing to be shaped — they’re just naturally striking. Her nose suits the shape of her face perfectly, and her full lips draw people in the moment she smiles. Fine, beautiful features, the kind that make you imagine her kiss would be the best of your life.

She carries herself with a sexy demeanour. She’s 5’5”, petite, a 30C chest, an ass that’s stayed perky, legs well defined from regular time at the gym — toned and fit. In heels, her calf muscles go taut, forming a perfect little curve just below her knees. Her skin is soft, has always been soft, and always will be — a light mocha tone that makes you wonder if there’s Persian or Egyptian blood somewhere in her line. She’s the kind of woman you’d want in your own version of 40 Days and 40 Nights.

She isn’t in need of anything material. What she longs for is attention. It’s not that her husband ignores her — when he’s actually present, he gives her his full attention — but those moments are rare, and the stretches between them keep growing longer. She travels with him now and then, always drawn to her favourite cities, and when she does, her favourite pastime is people-watching: settling in at a café or bar with a drink, inventing stories about strangers, fantasizing about being swept away for some romantic distraction.

On one particular trip, Lisa traveled with her husband to a city in the Middle East she especially loved — more open to Western influence than most, with dry air and a temperature that stayed pleasantly consistent.

She woke one morning and reached across the bed to find it empty and cool — her husband had already left. She let out a long sigh, rolled onto her back, and opened her eyes, feeling the soft satin of her peignoir caress her skin as she moved. It was the sensual touch she’d been missing, provided for now by a beautiful piece of lingerie. She didn’t mind running her hands over herself like this — there was something satisfying about exploring her own body entirely on her own terms, chasing her own pleasure at her own pace. Satisfying as it was, it didn’t touch the deeper craving: a hard cock filling her. Frustrated, she got up and got ready.

After her shower, she patted herself dry with an ultra-soft terrycloth towel — she loved this hotel especially for the quality of its sheets and towels, always wrapping her in a comfort she needed. She chose a matching bra and thong: a demi-cup push-up bra that flattered her already lovely breasts, and a low-rise thong that sat just below her hips, the small triangle of fabric in front filled snugly by her mound.

She covered up with a soft white linen shirt, buttoned only halfway, ensuring that any man who happened to look down her front would be entranced by the roundness of her breasts. She slipped on light beige cotton pants, high-waisted, snug around her ass — she loved the brush of the fabric against her cheeks as she walked, and the slight bunching it created between them. Satisfied with the finished look, she slipped on comfortable sandals with a small heel, being on the shorter side.

She left the hotel and crossed to the café, settling onto a stool overlooking the street, and began her favourite pastime — people-watching, inventing secret lives for the strangers passing by. She imagined couples in sexual embraces, in positions of dominance, women ravishing men and discarding them once they’d served their purpose. She especially loved imagining strong, confident women owning the sidewalk.

She felt eyes on the back of her head and turned to find an older gentleman watching her directly. Salt-and-pepper hair, a friendly face, blue eyes that felt like they could see straight through her to her deepest secrets. Tall, muscular, a black cotton shirt buttoned nearly to the top, tight sand-coloured pants hugging well-defined legs. Their eyes met. Shit, she thought, and looked down quickly, pretending to scroll through her phone. She glanced up again, and their eyes locked once more — this time a shiver ran down her spine. Her thoughts started to betray her: he was handsome, and if anyone could sweep her away, it would be him. She felt herself flush, and looked back down at her phone.

He got up and approached her. Fuck, she thought. Stay cool.

“Hello,” he said, voice low, leaning in to make sure she heard him. “I couldn’t help but notice you were watching me,” he added. “Have we met before?”

“I doubt it,” she said quickly. “I’m great with names and faces, and neither one is ringing a bell.” Oh god, she thought. You’re acting like a teenager.

“What brings you to this fine city?” he asked.

“I’m accompanying my husband. He has business here,” she said.

“I don’t see him around,” he joked. “Perhaps we could have some business of our own instead?”

“I’m just here people-watching and enjoying my coffee, thank you,” she said, a little nervously.

“Well, you were definitely watching me, and I am people. How about I join you, and we people-watch together?” With that, he sat down across from her, blocking her view of the street entirely.

The start of the conversation was a little awkward, but he had a way of putting her at ease, and she felt her guard slipping. They talked about the human body, how sensual it could be when expressed through art. He showed her a photo on his phone — a rose, petals just opening, beads of water caught between them — and they traded opinions on how the image could be read as sensual, even as a stand-in for a beautiful woman. She felt herself flush deeper. He leaned forward until their knees brushed, his warm hand settling on her thigh. He leaned in closer still, gaze dropping to watch her chest rise and fall, her breathing quickening. He moved in to kiss her, mouth open, wanting her lips on his. She felt the tension coil tight inside her, closed her eyes, and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Not here,” she half-pleaded, catching her breath. “Meet me at the hotel across the street. Room 515. Wait five minutes, then come over.” With that, she took a breath and crossed the street. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she went — that ass, that walk. He was definitely into her.

After what felt like an agonizingly long wait, he crossed over himself, made his way through the lobby, and found the elevator bay, his cock already bulging in his pants. He wanted her — a beautiful, sophisticated woman, and he intended to give her exactly what she deserved. He waited for the elevator, frustrated as it stopped at every floor on the way down, and finally rode it up to her room.

Lisa waited impatiently, brushing her long black hair, adding a splash of perfume. She felt flushed, her clit already tingling, felt more alive than she had in ages — nervous and ravenous for him at once. It felt like an eternity since she’d left the café. Where is he? she thought, doubting herself for a moment, her own ability to entice him. Then came the knock. She opened the door, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him inside. The door shut behind them, and she pinned him against it, pushing against his broad shoulders and kissing him hard. Their mouths opened together, tongues meeting in a slow, sensual dance. His lips were forceful against hers, and it made her heart pound. His hands found her ass, tracing its curve, squeezing gently, pulling a satisfied moan from her — the warmth of his hands sending pleasure rippling through her body.

He undid her shirt one button at a time, eyes locked on the skin revealing itself with each one. Her breath came fast. On the last button, she grabbed his head and pulled it down between her breasts. He cupped each one, kissing and licking the round curves, and her back arched with a fresh moan. He traced the shape of one breast with a fingertip, and she loved the pressure of it against her soft skin. Skillfully, he freed one breast from its cup, folding the fabric aside to expose her fully, her nipple already erect. He lowered his mouth toward it, and she watched, anticipating the shock that was coming. She could feel his warm breath against the erect bud, and then his mouth closed over it, tongue circling slowly, hot and wet. She let out another moan and pressed her hips against his, feeling his hard bulge twitch in response.

She pulled back and went to work on his shirt, unbuttoning it halfway before losing patience and simply tearing the rest open, sliding it off his shoulders. His chest was well defined, his nipples already hard. She caressed it, squeezing his pectorals, pinching his nipples — now it was his turn to arch his back and moan. She took one nipple into her mouth, feeling the small hard nub against her tongue, twirling it the way he had hers, a pleasurable little thrill running through her at the taste of him.

She pushed him hard onto the bed, and he fell back. She climbed on top, resuming their kiss with fresh hunger, one breast still free, the other still held snug in her bra. His hands slid to her back, exploring, rubbing her shoulders, until the bra got in his way. He unclasped it skillfully, freeing both breasts completely, and they broke apart just long enough for him to return his mouth to them, sucking and kissing.

She reached down and undid his pants, pushing the fabric open to reveal his cock straining against his underwear. She rubbed the bulge with her palm and felt wetness already gathering there, her touch sending waves of pleasure through him.

She stood and stripped the rest of his clothes off — shoes, socks, pants, underwear — leaving him fully exposed on the bed, cock fully erect, the tip glistening with precum. She wrapped her hand around the shaft and took him into her mouth, tasting him, bobbing her head while stroking the base, watching his face as his cock slid in and out, leaving a slick trail of saliva behind.

He pulled her up and pushed her onto her back, then finished undressing her, staring at her neatly trimmed mound as he pulled her underwear free, wetness already glistening between her lips. He settled between her legs. She propped herself up, running her fingers through his hair as his open mouth came closer, trembling with anticipation, wanting his tongue on her clit, wanting to be tasted completely. His mouth finally found her, taking her fully in, tongue lapping furiously at her clit, sending shockwaves through her body.

She felt her pussy walls swelling. “Fuck me,” she said. “Fill me with your hard cock.” He rose over her, positioning himself at her entrance, and she thrust forward slightly to let his tip in — bigger than she remembered her husband being. He eased in further, and she felt herself stretch to take him, breathing harder with every inch, until he was fully seated and her muscles clenched tight around him, his shaft pressing right against her G-spot.

He began thrusting with slow, rhythmic motion. She felt her pussy stretch with each one, pain and pleasure tangled together, driving her nails into his back. As she adjusted to his size, she asked him to go faster, deeper. She wrapped her legs around his hips, crossing her ankles to lock him in, and rocked her own hips faster and faster. She could feel her pussy tightening around him with every thrust, moaning, holding her breath between each one, every nerve on her skin lit up like a thousand tiny pinpricks, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through her, her clit buzzing with it. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time. She held her breath, clenched every muscle, toes spreading, back arching, let out one long moan, and gave herself over completely to the consuming pleasure of her orgasm — cry after cry escaping her with each uncontrollable convulsion, holding onto him as tightly as she could.

He felt her muscles clamp down around him, pressing hard against the base of his tip, sending his own wave of pleasure rippling through him, skin tingling with it. He arched his back as far as it would go, her nails sinking deeper into him, and felt his shaft begin to pump uncontrollably, cum shooting through him and filling her with each pulse.

Both of them lay there panting, racing to catch their breath. She released her hold on him, and he slid free, lying down beside her, reaching out to caress her skin. She swatted his hand away — her nerves were still too lit up to handle the touch. They lay there side by side, slowly coming down. She turned to look into his deep blue eyes.

“You have to go now, please,” she said quietly. “You made me feel alive, and for that, I thank you. Perhaps in another life, we could have met under different circumstances.” With that, he got up and began dressing, glancing back at her now and then as she lay there, skin still glistening with sweat. He finished dressing, his breathing back to normal, and took one last look — her eyes closed, her hands drifting over her own skin, still savouring the feeling. He let himself out.

For weeks after, and then months, he kept returning to that same café, hoping to run into her again.