“Hey. How’re you doing?” The question was a familiar prelude to our many telephone conversations.
“Great now,” I smiled into the phone. It was a luxury being able to talk on the phone in the evenings, but he was on a business trip and my husband was at one of his eternal meetings, so we had a bit more freedom than usual. “It’s so nice to hear your voice.”
We never wondered why we bothered through all the restrictions of having an affair. The answer was there in our connection, in the pleasure we did have when we could speak, in the flutters in our stomachs when we could hear one another’s voices, and in the most exciting cyber-sex possible.
It wasn’t all about sex either. We were real friends and would be as likely to end up discussing philosophy or sociology as having cyber-sex. Both of us felt a deep sense of loss that we lived on different continents and had never met, but our connection was intense and continued to grow despite that.
“I’m missing you,” he continued. The husky intensity in his voice immediately had me weak at the knees as my body typically responded instantaneously, trained to his every nuance.
“I miss you too,” I whispered back, despite there being no-one around to hear me.
“But I’m standing in a beautiful hotel room in Hong Kong without you,” he complained. He had begged me to find a way to join him, but I was nervous of taking such a definitive last step. I loved him, but to fly half way around the world to share a room with him when we hadn’t ever met in person before didn’t seem clever. Besides that, it would be an incredibly difficult trip to explain to my husband.
“I’m on the top of the world with an entire glass window overlooking the city. You could be standing pressed against that glass window, nude, and I could be inside you, my hands cupping your breasts from behind…”. He segued easily into an image-laden sex chat, which made me love him more. This had been important to him, but he had accepted my decision and was trying hard not to belabour his disappointment. As he carried on, I listened intently, but a little rebellious part of me was ticking, thinking and planning.
“Sweetheart,” I interrupted a little later, terrified by the shiver travelling up and down my spine, or rather by what it implied. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” Decision made, no time to be lost, I cut the connection and set to work.
A day later and there I was, in the lobby waiting for him. I had called him on his cell to find out what his plans were, never giving away that I was actually in Hong Kong, in his hotel and waiting for him. Doubts crowded in. What if he didn’t recognise me? We had exchanged photos, had video chats, but this was real life. Another terrible thought occurred to me. What if he’d hooked up with someone else and came walking in with her. Then I’d have travelled all this way for nothing. Maybe I should have told him I was coming?
My internal debate was still raging when he walked in. I had positioned myself very discreetly, so he didn’t see me at first. He entered with a group, and although there were women with him, it was immediately clear that they were a team of professionals together, so I was at least relieved of that concern.
As the rest of the group turned towards the restaurant, he separated from them and went to reception. I had pre-planned that by texting him to tell him I’d had something delivered to the hotel for him. Exactly as I had hoped, he asked for it as he came in, and seemed surprised when he was only given a message. I knew the contents: ‘Look behind you.’
He turned slowly; wonder dawning on his face before he’d even found me, which he did almost immediately.
“Brenda,” he breathed, and held his arms out to me. I rushed into them, no thought of never having met before, only knowing that in his arms were where I wanted to be. He held me close, kissing the top of my head, my jaw, wherever he could reach. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. You came. “And, quite a while later: “Have you booked in yet?”
“They wouldn’t let me because you hadn’t arranged, so I waited here for you.”
“Then let’s go and sort it all out quickly.”
In a wonderfully short space of time I’d checked in with him, he’d texted the other delegates to cancel his plans with them and we were, eventually, up in our room. ‘Our room’ – it was a dream come true, something we had fantasised about forever.
As he had described, the view was spectacular and so, thankfully was the atmosphere between us. It was charged with excitement, anticipation and a strange sense of relief that we had eventually reached this point.
We couldn’t stop our hands fluttering and testing textures, something we had been longing to do. My hands traced the hair on his arm, the muscles underneath, the beard on his face. His were similarly busy, touching the skin on my knuckles, at my neck, under my ear. It was all simultaneously familiar and completely new. I kept on inhaling, breathing his scent in to keep in my heart forever. This was bittersweet – a moment stolen in time, and we knew to appreciate and use every second of our time together.
We understood one another, knew what zones were erogenous, what touches were preferred, what fantasies were aphrodisiacal keys and our knowledge freed us. We didn’t need to walk the tight-rope of discovery because we already knew one another intimately, both the dark parts and the light. At ease, we talked, touched and kissed lightly, both being careful not to rush. We had a mutual choreography that went unvoiced: our first time would be his fantasy, my pleasure.
Darkness descended slowly and we watched it with a glass of wine and a platter of eats we’d ordered in, cuddled together on the couch. We were touching more intimately now, matching our pace to the descending darkness.
I took a sip of wine and reached up into a kiss him to share it with him. As he leaned into the kiss to accept it, his hand slipped tighter around me, creeping under my arm, slipping into the loose armhole of my dress and under my bra. Slowly stroking the soft skin on my breast, he slipped a finger over my nipple, teasing to into an even tighter bud. Another finger followed, and then he was pinching and twisting it, driving our kiss much deeper at the same time. We had been waiting too long, and this lit a conflagration. All pretence at a slow pace evaporated and we were suddenly clawing at each other, biting, pushing, teeth on teeth. Our hands were roaming feverishly, touching anywhere and everywhere.
“Wait!” I managed to pant, pushing him away. I had planned this so carefully as a special experience for him and I didn’t want to compromise for quick satisfaction. This was our first time after years of flirting, so whatever happened it would be special, but I wanted more than that, I wanted to fulfil one of his special fantasies.
Standing up, I moved away slightly, and then smiling flirtatiously, held a hand up to stop him from also standing and repeated more calmly:
“Wait. Please stay there.” He looked a little confused, but did as I asked.
I walked over to the huge window and peered out at the picturesque scene, admiring the twinkling lights thrown into relief by the darkness of the night. Using the time to centre myself, I focussed internally on what exactly he had said, recalling the picture to mind of the fantasy he had so vividly sketched for me.
I stretched my hands above my head, sliding them along the cool windowpane and spread my legs, sticking my butt out temptingly. I heard his breath catch, but he stayed where he was as instructed. Realisation was dawning. His reward came quickly as I pivoted and in one smooth motion lowered the straps of my dress and let it float down to look at my feet. Despite the fact that we had been having an affair for years, this was the first time he had personally seen me close to naked, so I paused for a few beats, giving him time to absorb the view.
I had a black semi-bustier on and ropey thong panties that were unusual enough to make a lasting impression. They were sexy as sin, which was good, because I intended to be very, very sinful.
Stepping over the dress, eyes locked on his, I sauntered towards him slowly, stopping close enough for him to smell me if he concentrated, but well out of reach. Never breaking eye contact, I unhooked the eyelets on the bustier one by one, unwrapping my voluptuous cleavage for his pleasure. I worked my way down to the bottom of the bustier, until it was all undone, gaping apart with the edges clinging tantalisingly to my nipples, my breasts almost completely exposed.
His eyes had long since drifted down from mine, but my gaze stayed totally focussed on his face, gauging his reactions. When I didn’t move the bustier aside, he lifted his gaze to mine again, his eyes burningly intense. His tongue darted, wetting his pink lips unconsciously, a clear sign that I was on the right track so I lifted my hands to my hair, exposing my nipples in the process. Feather-light, I traced my fingers over my neck and lower down, sketching patterns on my chest until I eventually reached my breasts to stroke and cup them. Reversing, I retraced the pattern, shrugging out of the bustier and raising my hands to my head again. Eyes closed, I gave myself to the moment, stretching sinuously, displaying myself for his pleasure.
As my arms descended, I opened my heavy eyes and gave him the sauciest, most flirtatious look I could manage before turning towards the window. It just took a little shimmy and a couple of flicks of my fingers to drop the ropey thong, and I was naked.
The view in front of me was spectacular. We were on the 23 rd floor, a block away from the sparkling bay where the nightlights dressed the rippling water in blue and orange bling. I stood, practically on top of the world, completely exposed for anyone to see who glanced our way thanks to the huge window I was facing. I felt like a siren, capturing the world with my body-song.
I assumed the pose I had before, hands pressed against the glass, legs spread and my butt pressed out to him again, inviting him at last to touch me. I watched his reflection in the window as he walked over to me fully clothed, but still I flinched as he touched me even though I knew it was coming because every nerve-ending was already strained to the maximum.
He ran his hands over my hair, and cascaded them lightly down my body like a champagne fountain, leaving the champagne bubbles trapped inside me as my excitement grew exponentially. After years of foreplay I was so ready for this moment that I could hardly breathe; I just hoped I lasted long enough to do it justice.
Eyes closed, I breathed his scent: the wine, the soap, and the underlying definitive ‘him’ that I had been so eager to smell. He stroked my hair, stopping to test the textures at my neck, to tease the spots he knew were particularly sensitive for me. Unerringly his mouth honed in on one – that soft little point where your collarbone joins your neck. His tongue dipped in, lapping gently before he nibbled his way up my neck to nip at my earlobe. He was doing what he always did, going oh, so slowly, setting a delicious pace that was simultaneously awful and divine.
By now the invisible erotic line joining my ears to my neck, my breasts, stomach and groin was so taut that I was almost in spasm. Breathing became nearly impossible, and my raspy attempts echoed around the room, the only sound we could hear.
His hands dropped to my waist, spanning it, flowing onto the flare of my hips and ensuring that I kept my butt angled out, ready for the eager cock he was now pressing into me. I could feel through his clothes how ready and eager he was for me, which just made me more desperate for him.
The darkness outside created a mirror of the window-wall that almost perfectly reflected us, and it was the hottest thing I had ever seen. He was standing behind me, still fully clothed, my nakedness shared between him and the window, some parts pressed against him, some against the window. His right hand was now cupping my breast, circling around and around the rough little outer ring of my nipple, teasing it to even more tautness; his left hand had at last dipped down and was pulling at the little nest of hairs between my legs.
My knees were weak from desire. My whole body was strung so tight that I knew I wouldn’t last much longer, but I didn’t want to come without him. After all this time talking sex without actually touching him, I was desperate to feel that penetration, to have his tip at the entrance to my dripping hole and then to feel the real fullness as his hard cock pressed inside, filling me up as I had dreamed of. I had held out this long, and I was determined to wait for him, to take him with me.
He let go of me, leaving me with my hands still balancing me against the cool, smooth window. I heard his zip opening and opened my eyes quickly, not wanting to miss a second of my first view of him, but he was standing behind me so I couldn’t see him or his reflection.
“Please, I want to see you,” I breathed at him, voicing the first words we had spoken since I had stood up off of the couch. He moved then, so that I could turn my head to the side to see him and didn’t need to rely on a second hand reflection. He understood, probably because he felt the same, that I was desperate to see him in the flesh, for real, and that no reflection was going to be good enough for me.
Although his zip was lowered, he discarded his shirt first. His chest, his tight little nipples, the sworls of hair were all so achingly familiar to me. I had sucked and licked and bitten them often and yet never seen them, never touched them. I couldn’t help myself, and groaned out a strange little hiccoughy sound between a laugh and a cry, turning towards him, too eager to touch him to stay within our fantasy. He was more disciplined than I and with a look sent me back to my pose.
‘Easy for him,’ I thought to myself a little sulkily. ‘He’s touching wherever he wants to.’
His pants quickly followed his top. As usual, he had no underpants on, and as we were both barefoot, he was now as naked as I was. I didn’t have a second to enjoy the view of him because he touched me as soon as he could again and all thoughts, including my pout, flew out of the window.
He moved in behind me, spooning me from the back, and slowly slid his hands over my shoulders, up my arms until, eventually, he covered my hands on the window pane with his. His frame was larger than mine, and I felt engulfed, protected, loved as he plastered most of himself against me. Standing slightly taller than I was, I could feel his nipples brushing my shoulder-blades, the light brush of his chest hairs against my back compared to the rougher titillation of the hairs on his legs scraping my smooth ones.
And lastly, exactly as he had planned and whispered to me over the phone, he angled his stomach in, pressed his butt in towards my out-turned one, and his eager, wet cock slid excitedly along my eagerly drenched tunnel, scraping past my hole to tease my clit in short little bursts as he flexed his muscles behind me.
I couldn’t bear it anymore. My arousal was extreme, almost out of my control.
“Please, please,” I begged, repeating myself over and over again. “Please.” He knew, and releasing my one hand for a moment, guided himself to my entrance where he achingly slowly, centimetre by tiny little centimetre, inched his way inside. I tried to push against him, to get him inside me faster, but he was disciplined, in control … or so I thought.
Once his tip was inside, it all changed. I was already tightening in little pre-spasms, balancing on the verge of my orgasm. That little ripple was the last straw, and suddenly he slammed into me hard, pressing me up against the window as he started to fuck me as hard as possible, driving into me with years of pent up longing.
My orgasm exploded victoriously by his third thrust, and his didn’t take much longer to come, but he didn’t stop driving into me again and again. He didn’t even stop when my contractions eased. Finally slowing down some, we drifted to the floor, still joined at my now leaking hole and by his arms cradling me closely.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god …” were the only words I managed to squeeze through my aching diaphragm. His own breathing was as harsh as mine, but he wasn’t finished yet. Taking our joined hands, he took a finger and dragged it through our mingled juices. How often hadn’t we dreamed of this, of what we would taste like? He offered me the first taste of our ambrosia, before he dipped my finger again and sucked it himself. I I could have died and been in heaven in that moment because nothing will ever be more perfect than the smell of our sex and the feel of his softly rasping tongue licking our juices off of my finger.
He slid down me, so gently, so lovingly, his fingers trailing along my sides, his face scraping along my sweat-slick skin. Down, flicking in my belly button, tasting the salt on my belly, lower down to my dripping lips where he licked and licked and licked, pressing his tongue eagerly into every little nook, every fold, in hole, on clit. Soon I was spasming again so intensely that it was a pleasure-pain that stretched and stretched for an eternity until his hands and gentle voice lulled me back down.
“I love you,” he kept on whispering, stroking my skin, kissing my tears. “I love you.”
Once I could, I returned the favour, scooting around so that I too could taste our juices and lick them off of him. I was as thorough as he had been, as eager not to miss a single drop. More than that though, this was my first chance to smell him, to taste him, to discover his textures, and I did it with abandon. I was intimately acquainted with his recuperative ability, and wasn’t surprised when his tired cock started perking up a little during my thorough cleaning. I had a secret in my arsenal and knew I would have him exactly where I wanted him very soon again.
Surreptitiously, without him knowing what I was doing, I dipped my fingers into a special lubricant I had prepared for him. Lifting my mouth, I applied it to his cock, this mixture of lubricant with just a dash of cooling muscle gel. We had played this game separately-together before, so he recognised the tingling sensation immediately and groaned in weak appreciation. He knew he was lost to my ministrations now.
The finger, when it slipped the tingling mixture into his little hole was expected, but really having me do that to him was new. When it crooked and scraped inside him, he was groaning, writhing, completely abandoned, and when my mouth closed over his hard, darkened cock, he was lost completely in a sea of sensation.
There were so many things he loved me to do to him over the phone, and I was unsure which one to do first. We had three days in which to abandon ourselves to all things sexual, but what to do now? In the end I opted to keep it simple and just for him. I closed my mouth over his lubricated cock, pulling a face at the taste of the muscle relaxant. What we do for love! I nibbled at his helmet, loving the spongy feel. Tightening my tongue, I swirled it around the bottom of the rim, all the time keeping up the rhythm of my other finger in his hole. I gently slid the firm hand holding his cock higher, until it was squeezing his tip, opening his weeping little hole for me, and tongue-fucked it as hard as I could, driving the hard little tip of my tongue into him as far as it would go.
I could feel the tell-tale tightening in his cock now and could taste the change in his precum, so I changed my rhythm too. Opening my mouth as wide as I could, I sank down over his cock, as low as I could go. He knew what was coming, had begged for it so often on the phone, and was urging me on eagerly, with words and his hand on my head.
“Oh yes my love. Suck me. Suction me like only you can.”
I loosened my teeth, tightened my lips creating the very hardest suction I could, and as I pulled back, I pulled his cock with me, stretching it as tight as it could possibly go, right to the tip. I didn’t even have the chance to repeat it. He burst into my mouth as I reached the top, crying out as I sucked it all up, pushing my head hard into his groin in his spasms. He bucked against my face, his whole body pulled taut and hard, until he relaxed again slowly, muscle by muscle. I kept him in my mouth until he was completely relaxed again, cradling him gently back.
Once he could, he pulled me up to him for a deep, loving kiss so that he could taste himself in my mouth, and still kissing and fondling, we drifted off right there on the carpet, too exhausted to make it to our bed.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-stories/our-hong-kong-affair.aspx">Our Hong Kong Affair</a>