The Hotel Mandrigan in Mayfair is one of those places where the clientele are either Gulf State Emerati, high-class hookers or hedge fund managers. My business partner Paul and I were in London to pitch our PropTech start-up to the latter.

As our presentation was at 8.30am, he’d suggested we stay in town the night before, brainstorm over a few drinks in the evening, then get a fresh start first thing.

But I was late, very late. 9.00pm, not 7.00, and dashed across the hotel lobby with my little trolley case. Paul was in the bar.

“Mate, I’m so sorry! The car wouldn’t start, then the train was delayed, then…”

He cut me short with a wave of his hand. “Forget it, no hurry. Come on, sit down, have a drink.” He fished out champagne from an ice bucket, already home to one upturned empty bottle.

He’d started early; no surprise there. Paul was a star, hard-working and very talented, but, to put it mildly, he liked a drink, and as I saw him now, it was taking its toll. Pallid skin, thinning hair and his belly hung over his belt.

At the office, I went to the gym at lunchtime while he went to the pub – and it showed. Hard to believe we were both in our late twenties; he could have been mid-forties.

As he nattered on about the next day’s pitch, something caught my eye over his shoulder, or rather someone.

A stunning blonde girl emerged from the lobby into the bar and started to strut across the floor. Long, bare legs emerged from a super-short magenta minidress, the hem of which must only have been an inch below her pussy. 

Was that bare too, I wondered?

A wasp waist, high, firm tits and wide hips that hinted of an ample bottom completed her hourglass figure.

Damn, she’s hot. I bet she is a superb fuck. I wonder how much she charges an hour?

My cock throbbed at the thought of it.

I assumed she’d stop off at one of the tables to meet her client, a minor Saudi prince perhaps, or some bloated city broker, but no, in fact she was staring straight at me and heading right for us. Surely Paul hadn’t hired an escort? He was a married man, and this was a serious business trip.

When she reached us, to my astonishment, she put her hand on Paul’s shoulder and said, still with her eyes on mine, “You must be Stewart.”

“There you are, babe!” Paul jumped up and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Stewart, meet Sarah; Sarah, Stewart.”

As she offered her hand in greeting, the penny dropped.

Sarah, as in Paul’s wife Sarah.

I’d heard the name a hundred times, but we’d never met. He hadn’t mentioned she’d be joining us tonight.

Paul poured her a glass of fizz at the same time as draining and refilling his own.

“Sarah’s tagged along for a day out and will no doubt do some serious damage to my credit card.” He stroked her back affectionately and was rewarded with a little smile.

“Excuse me a minute, nature calls.” Paul drained his glass again and headed for the restrooms.

She was opposite me, perched on a stool. Alone, she held my gaze, her emerald eyes bewitching. Tongue-tied, I eventually manage to lamely stutter, “So, shopping? Anything special in mind?”

“Knickers.”

“Sorry?”

“Knickers! You know, as in panties, lingerie? It’s a female word for underwear.”

“Right, yes, sorry, haha.” My silly giggle tried to hide a sudden blush and distract me from my pulsing dick.

“I need some to match this dress. These ones are too bright.”

She’d shifted forward on the high bar stool, and it took all my willpower to not look down to see if ‘these ones’ were visible.

“I love hotels, don’t you?” she carried on breezily. “There’s something so sexy and naughty about a night in a hotel. Something illicit, something secret. It’s the anonymity, I think; all the identical doors, all these strangers coming and going,” without dropping her gaze, she parted her thighs.

I swallowed hard. I tried not to look; I really, really did, but like a moth to the flame, my eyes were drawn down to be greeted by the sight of neon pink knickers, the sheer material not hiding the unmistakable line of her bare slit beneath.

“I often fantasise about a…” But before she could tell me, she glanced over my shoulder and quickly yanked down the hem of her dress as Paul staggered back from the gents.

I grabbed the handle of my trolley case. “Look, I better check in and dump this in my room.”

“No no, no need, mate, we’ve checked you in,” Paul said. “We’ve got adjoining rooms, so no snoring, or you’ll keep us awake.”

By now the bar was buzzing, and time passed quickly. Laughter, banter, mixed with a bit of work, and all the time the champers flowing freely, with Paul having three glasses to every one of ours.

At the end of the fourth bottle, of which Paul must have had three, Sarah declared she was off to bed.

Paul fished three keycards in paper wallets out of his pocket, looked at them, then handed her one.

“Thank you babe.” She gave him another little peck. “Don’t wake me up when you roll in, you drunken bum.”

For me? A smile, a touch on the shoulder, and a look that lingered just a little too long. “So nice to meet you, Stewart.”

We both watched her go, her ass cheeks bouncing from side to side, barely restrained by the tiny dress as she wiggled away on her killer heels.

“Wow mate, she’s quite a girl.”

Paul had ordered a double whisky and downed it in a single swig.

“Yeah, quite a girl.” He sounded maudlin now; the mood had changed. Leaning in close to me, the alcohol was potent on his breath. “Her appetites, mate! I can’t keep up with her. She’s insatiable.”

I remembered Paul nude from when I used to drag him to the gym, his little penis short and thin, almost hidden by his pubes. That girl, that ass, needed more, much more.

He’d ordered yet another double whisky and wolfed it down again. At this rate he’d still be drunk at our pitch in the morning.

I went to the toilet, and when I got back, he was slumped face down on the bar.

“Come on, mate, let’s get you to bed; we need to be fresh and on our A-game tomorrow.”

I got my arm around him and dragged him towards the lifts. I managed to fish the two remaining keycards out of his jacket pocket: 616 and 617. But whose was whose? I tried to shake Paul awake, but he was comatose by now.

When we got there the doors were, of course, identical. A quick ‘Eenie meenie miney mo’ and I picked 617, hoping that Sarah was in there asleep and I could drop Paul off without waking her.

The keycard touched against the lock, a mechanical whirring noise, and I pushed the door.

The curtains were open, and the moonlight illuminated an unused, empty bed.

I suppose that was the moment I decided to do it.

Perhaps the seed had been sown as soon as I saw her, or when she flashed her knickers, but the point is, I hadn’t planned it – honestly – it just suddenly occurred to me. What one might call a lightbulb moment.

Paul slumped onto the bed, dead to the world. I left him – and my suitcase – in my room and, with both keys in my pocket, went back out into the corridor.

616 was pitch black. I closed the door with the softest click and waited, silent. I could just hear her steady breathing.

I stripped naked. My cock was already rock hard and fully erect. Eight inches of thick, throbbing meat crowned with a huge mushroom-headed bellend. I slowly stroked my length, savouring the heat of it, the veins standing out like cords. I was twice the size of Paul. I knew she wanted it, but I had to be careful.

I tentatively edged towards where I knew the bed would be, gently reached down and felt for her. She was on the far side, curled up, facing away from me. I traced the curve of her hip through the thin cotton sheet. Then, ever so slowly, pulled it back and got in beside her.

I stayed like that for a moment, listening to her rhythmical breathing, feeling the rise and fall of her shoulder as she slept. I tucked my cock between my legs, clamped my thighs together to keep it there, and slowly edged up behind her, spooning her body with mine, one hand resting on her arm.

She stirred and snuggled back against me. Her scent was intoxicating: sandalwood body lotion and a hint of perfume. I nuzzled her neck, floating butterfly kisses onto her silky skin.

“Mmm." She let out a sleepy moan of pleasure. I pushed my hips in tight against her curvy bum, my throbbing hard-on still restrained between my legs, and let my hand drift across her nipples then down across her belly, one finger tracing little circles at the very top of her smooth, bare mound.

She moaned again as I brushed across her clitoris, pushing her bum back into me, arching her back.

“Oooh yeah, don’t stop, baby. I thought you’d be too drunk.” She went to turn to kiss me, but of course I couldn’t let her. I held her sideways with the pressure of my body, my finger continuing its gentle back and forth along her lips.

“Oh fuck, yeah Paul, that’s so good, don’t stop. What’s got into you tonight, you horny beast?”

Still silent, I slowly started to part my thighs; my big cock was pounding, rock hard. I slowly let it emerge from between my legs to press up and into the cleft of her ass.

She let out a yelp of surprise.

“Oh my God, you’re huge tonight!” Then she suddenly stiffened, silent and tense.

This was the moment of truth; the only movement was the pulsing of my penis against her bare behind.

Ten seconds must have passed, but it seemed like ten minutes before, still facing away from me, she brought one arm slowly around behind her back, reached down and wrapped her hand around my shaft.

She let out a low sexual sigh, “Mmm, massive.” She ran her hand up and down along my entire length, tracing the size of my cockhead with her fingers before sliding all the way down to the base of me, squeezing the root of it.

“Oh yeah, that’s what I need, big cock.”

She opened her legs a little, and I pushed my dick between them, up and along her pussy. Her outer lips had parted, and I could feel her heat and wetness with my swollen bulb.

Her hand moved around to the front to guide my cockhead to her entrance; I could feel how tight she was, how tiny.

I pushed gently, and she cried out, “Oh fuck, ahhh, too big.” But she kept holding my shaft against her cunt, guiding me in, and finally I breached her hole with my giant crown.

Her whole body shook as she struggled to cope with my size, then whimpers of submission as I started to move inside her, started to fuck her; each thrust made her jolt in my arms and emit another little grunt as she teetered on the edge between pleasure and pain.

I could hear her wetness now, slick sounds of her juicy pussy as my throbbing pole probed a millimetre deeper with each thrust until I was giving her four or five inches with every stroke.

Her cries were primal, raw lust and abandonment, her fingers sawing at her clit and her body trembling against mine.

As her orgasm erupted, I rammed home my entire length, stretching and filling her molten cavern like never before, and she had to bite her hand to stifle her screams as this hitherto unknown ecstasy wracked every cell of her body.

When her quivering subsided, as her orgasm abated, I stayed still inside her, buried up to the hilt, feeling her spasms gradually fade. When she was limp and calm, I roughly pushed her over onto her front. I held her wrists out wide on the bed, captive and immobile, and started to fuck her again.

This time I gave her my full force with each thrust, my hips pummelling down into her plump behind as she got the full size of my mammoth cock from the outset.

Even in the total blackness I could feel her clutching at the sheets; her moans were muffled as she bit down on the pillow.

Almost immediately she was cumming again, thrashing and writhing beneath me as she tried to cope with the magnitude of her second climax.

This time I didn’t let up; I didn’t even pause. Even as she was still bucking and jerking, I pulled her up onto all fours, grabbed hold of her hair, pulled back on her mane like a jockey riding a spirited mare, and pounded her into oblivion. She braced both hands against the headboard and – with dignity and decorum long departed – called out, “Yes, yes, fuck me hard, yes, yes, YES, you cunt.”

Her third orgasm ripped through her, this time joined by my own; five of six final, brutal thrusts before I rammed my colossal cock into her deepest recesses and unleashed a gushing stream of sperm, every creek and inlet of her womanhood flooded by my tidal wave.

In the aftermath, as the tempo of our breathing fell, she squeezed me with her pussy lips, eeking out the last drops of my seed, a silent but powerful message, and then fell forward, releasing my coated column, still twitching and dripping semen down onto the sheets.

Still silent, still invisible in the darkness, I fumbled for my clothes and keys, found the door and left. Nude in the corridor, I quickly went back into 617.

Thank fuck.

He was still asleep on the bed, fully clothed, exactly where I’d left him.

I pulled on my boxers, closed the curtains, went round to the other side of the bed and crept in under the covers.

“Come on, mate, up you get.” I shook him awake.

“Hmmm? Eh? Where am I?”

“In my room. You were fucking hammered, so I thought you’d better sleep it off a bit before barging in on Sarah.”

“Oh right, yeah, fuck, thanks! She would have killed me.”

He got up and staggered towards the door.

“Paul.” He turned. “Sshhh.” I put my finger to my lips. He smiled, winked and returned the gesture.

********

They were both already eating breakfast when I got down in the morning.

Paul sprang up from his chair and came towards me.

“Stewart, Sarah told me everything.” His hands came up from his sides, and I braced myself for the punch.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around me in a warm embrace. “Thank you so much for looking after me, mate; I don’t remember a bloody thing!”

Over his shoulder her cool green eyes were watching us; an enigmatic smile danced across her lips.

As we went back to the table, I found the nerve to ask her, “Did he wake you up when he came in?”

“No, I was in a deep sleep. It was such a long day I was knackered. Really fucked!”

Yeah, you were, Sarah, you were really well fucked, and it won’t be the last time.

I sat down quickly before my rapidly hardening cock betrayed me.

A quick bite to eat and a black coffee, and we were ready for the pitch. Paul was full of beans, showing no ill effects from the night before.

“Right then, mate, we’ve got this! Let’s knock ‘em dead.”

“Yes, let’s do it.” I gave him a high five.

I turned to her and held out my hand, polite and formal.

“Sarah, it’s been a pleasure.”

An imperceptible nod from her, and then, just as we turned to go, she said, “Stewart.” A pause, and I stopped in my tracks. “Don’t be a stranger.”