We talk over a glass of wine in my hotel suite. The tension in her body betrays her raw nerves. Her hands tremble slightly as she brings the glass to her lips. I give her time, and space, to move through this emotion.
This isn’t her first time, our first time. I know that under her silky dress a lace thong covers a freshly shaved mound with a delicate landing strip. That is how I marked her the last time, sending her home to her unsuspecting husband with my cum swimming in her stomach. There had been no condom either. I had insisted on that. Two boundaries crossed in a single afternoon of passion. Infidelity amplified by degrees.
I had made it clear that next time there would be no boundaries at all. She understood well what that meant. It was also clear that she was free to say no, to break this off, content to live only with the memories of our intense passion and the longed-for sexual release that it afforded her. I had my suspicions she wouldn’t be able to do that but wasn’t certain until the knock came at the door.
I opened it to find her more fragile than ever. She had never looked more breathtakingly beautiful, her vulnerability and tentativeness so evident, and yet her primal need pushing her ever forward into the abyss. Goosebumps visible on her bare upper chest, her breathing irregular, her eyes darting from place to place, her hands fidgeting nervously.
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I hardly slept last night, conflicted between the guilt over what I was about to do and my undeniable animal need to see this through to the next step. It’s more than the physical pleasure, of that I’m certain. There is an intimacy between us. Our coupling lifts me emotionally and makes me feel complete.
This morning my mind was swimming. I was desperate for him to leave the house for his office. I needed to be alone. I watched at the window as he drove away, my fingers instinctively reaching for my clit as my eyes closed and I began to imagine what was to come. I stifled my instinct to make myself cum, wanting to save all of myself.
Getting ready for him was a thrill. I picked out and discarded four dresses before settling on the one that struck the right balance between demure and alluring. The lingerie was the only constant – that I had carefully procured and stashed away in a private spot for just this occasion. I reveled in how sexy it made me look and the rush of arousal it gave me as I put it on. I had showered and washed myself thoroughly, oh-so carefully shaving my mound just as I knew he would expect – no, require. My heart pounding, I sculpted the little landing strip. It made me feel so erotic, so sexy, so alluring. What made it special, though, was that I was doing it for him.
I took time preparing myself, covering myself in softly scented body lotion, fixing my hair, sliding the thong into place, fastening the low-cut lace bra, and slowly, luxuriously sliding the sheer nylons up my thighs. A drop of fluid trickled down my thigh. My heart was still racing, every nerve ending alive.
The drive to the hotel was a complete daze. I could barely focus on the traffic. It felt as though I hit every red light. Somehow I managed to pull into the parking lot without incident, taking care to find a discrete spot where my car couldn’t be recognized even though the hotel was one town over and well enough off the beaten path that it was well nigh impossible that anyone would see it.
I pulled into the parking spot and sat for a moment while I composed myself. My trembling thumbs tapped out a simple message.
“Here.”
The wait for a response was agonizing. After what seemed an eternity, my phone buzzed.
“Room 1201.”
I left the car and walked toward the hotel entrance, dizzy with excitement and tortured by guilt. As I waited for the elevator a man and a woman joined me, and we rode up in silence. My nerves became even more frayed as I realized my thong was already soaked. Could they smell my arousal in the elevator car, I wondered. They exited on the fourth floor, and I was left alone to attempt to regain some equilibrium. The doors opened and I turned right and walked down the hallway. I tapped on the door discreetly and it opened. Taking a deep breath, I stepped in.
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I usher her in and embrace her, gently at first, our lips barely grazing. Her body is stiff, and I can feel her trembling. Good. Without warning, I push her firmly up against the wall, pinning her arms above her head, and kiss her passionately. Her mouth emits a faint whimper, but she otherwise offers no response other than to open her mouth passively to accept my tongue. I press my body against her, making sure that she can feel my erection through my pants, and then quickly release her. My hands cup her face softly, and looking into her eyes, I greet her.
“You look ravishing.”
The gratitude in her eyes is all the response I need. I lead her to the sitting area, where I have already poured two glasses of wine, and motion for her to sit. I hand her a glass and study her while she takes a tentative first sip. I can see the rigidity in her body fighting the arousal in her flushed visage. There is no need to rush. I keep silent so that her inner conflict has room to resolve itself. It has always been thus.
Finally, I break the ice.
“I presume he noticed your grooming,” I inquire. Her eyes cast downward, she fidgets slightly.
“Yes,” comes her soft reply.
“And what did you tell him,” I press further.
“That a bunch of my girlfriends were doing it. It was a bit of a dare.”
“Did he buy it,” I ask.
A wry chuckle seems barely audible in her reply. “Yes, I think he believes it.”
“That’s good,” I respond. “You don’t need any complications.”
I rise and stand over her. Her eyes momentarily fix on the bulge in my pants. A faint intake of breath. I bend over and place my hand beneath her chin, tilting her head up. Her gaze locks onto mine, her desire evident. She doesn’t need to be told what to do next. Her mouth opens wide and I let my saliva pour down into it before kissing her intensely. This time she returns my fervor completely, and our tongues probe while moans emanate from her.
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He asks about my intimate grooming, and I am immediately aware of the feeling of the lace fabric against my bare vulva. The landing strip makes me feel sexy and yet dirty. I love this feeling. As I describe how I explained it to my husband, a pang of guilt hits me. I don’t try to squelch it but rather allow it to penetrate and then pass through me, and let it go completely and watch it dissolve in the afternoon air.
He is standing above me now. I can see his manhood straining against the fabric of his slacks. A jolt of electricity hits my clit and I leak into my thong. He bends toward me and I open my mouth to accept his saliva. It both disgusts me and unleashes my inner slut. I am completely lost in him already.
The slightest nod, and I obediently unbuckle his belt and lower his zipper. I gasp. His cock is more rigid than ever, and a drop of precum already dangles from its tip. I don’t hesitate in taking him completely into my mouth. His hands find the back of my head and force me down, his shaft penetrating deep into my throat until I am about to gag. I come up for air and he forces me back down on him. His hands are unzipping my dress and he pushes it down over my shoulders. He pinches my hard nipples through the sheer fabric of my bra, twisting them. I let out a muffled yelp as the pain tears through me. In one deft move he unhooks the bra and eases the straps off my shoulders, freeing my breasts. It feels wonderful, him exposing me bit by bit this way.
My eyes are watering and saliva is puddling on the hardwood floor. I am kneeling now and don’t recall how I got this way. My hands are instinctively clasped behind my back. My mouth is his fuck hole now and he pounds it roughly. My pussy throbs as he continues to torture my nipples. A sudden panic hits me – his rough treatment of them is leaving incriminating evidence. I briefly consider it – I don’t care. I am consumed now; nothing matters except this man, this moment.
