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Storytelling Seduction

A storyteller's tale of pleasure and seduction
I slowed the door down before it slammed loudly, and eased it shut and locked. I shifted the laptop over my shoulder and turned to walk down the hall. Distantly, I saw another person doing the same thing as me. Her skirt-and-jacket combination looked tastefully chosen even from this distance, and as she walked down the hall I saw the unmistakeable pose of a woman holding the handheld to her ear. She had a sizeable bag slung over her shoulder as well. As we walked towards one another to the elevator bays at the hall's center, I saw her give me the once-over. Once we got close, she continued speaking softly into the phone but gave me one of those quick, perfunctory smiles. She then turned and waited for the elevator, angling her body slightly away from me. I shrugged; what difference was it to me that she had no interest in speaking with me?

As we rode down the elevator, it was obvious that she was quite upset with the male on the other end of the phone. Yes, it was Valentine's Day and she was in the city, stuck for work, and that Valentine's Day was on a Tuesday and why hadn't he at least been considerate enough to send her flowers? I made a mental note to myself that were I ever to get involved in a deep relationship again, I would be wise enough to send the SO flowers on Valentine's Day whether she woke from sleep lying next to me or woke in a strange hotel room alone and lonely. The elevator doors slid open and I waved for her to exit before me, receiving a quick nod of thanks. With that, I exited the hotel into absolutely icy winter air to walk the five blocks to my current work location.

Valentine's Day. As I walked, I considered the day that when I was married I disliked and treated with indifferent contempt. My ex-wife would probably retort that I treated everyone - her in particular - with indifferent contempt. That was not true; I treated her with quite directed contempt. My failed marriage was caused by marrying the wrong woman for the wrong reasons and far too early in my life. At the time she was hot and liked to fuck and was the type of girl that turned heads. Once I grew up a little bit and realized that I'd married a shrew who was concerned only with all apppearances and nothing of substance, I found my escape path from the marriage. It was of slight matter to her, because within four months of the signature's ink being dried on the divorce papers, she was cozying up to some older guy with a need to be catered to by a hot woman with big tits. I surmised that he had enough money for her to overlook his mid-fifties age and mid-fifties body. Once I reached the day's work spot, the worries about the day and the ex left me as I switched gears to concentrate on work.

Sadly, the entire day was filled with people asking and discussing that night's "big" plans. Someone idly asked me during lunch conversation if I had any plans for the night, and though it was tempting to reply scathingly there was no need to do so. "No, not this year, not on this trip," I said truthfully enough. The questioner nodded and moved on, her curiosity satisfied about me the interloper to the practice.

I got back to the hotel around six. I went to my room, and instead of stripping off the uniform of charcoal gray suit and proper-color tie, I unknotted it and stared at my reflection in the mirror. All the talk about Valentine's Day irritated me, and I was hungry and irate and hungry. I dumped my stuff in the room and walked back to the elevators and rode down to the third floor and exited there to go to the hotel's bar/restaurant area. Being alone, I knew that I did not want to sit alone at a table and chose an open stool. The bartender was quick to serve and take my drink order and give me the menu, which I perused slowly. Hotel food was notorious for over-reaching and under-delivering. I did not want to take too big a risk that evening, wanting a solid meal and nothing more.

She walked in, the same woman I'd seen in the morning. Like me, she still had on her day's business attire. Like me, she'd clearly been to her room since the computer bag was not in sight. She spotted me, and hesitated enough that I spotted it. She paused, walked, hesitated, and then walked again and slid on a stool next to mine. "Saw you this morning," she said. "You're okay, right?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

"Could be better," she said, and nodded once the bartender caught her eye. He ambled over, and took her order of white wine. She returned her attention to me. "What brings you into town?" she asked.

"Work, same as you," I said after a sip of my drink. "I'm a media consultant. You?"

"Auditor."

"IRS or accounting?" I asked.

She snorted. "IRS stay here? Private accounting firm," she explained. "It's my boss's client and I get to come here every year and audit the place. I hate doing it though."

"Audits in general or just this one?"

"Just this one."

"You know I have to ask why."

She made eye contact. I saw that she had pale blue eyes, gunfighter's eyes. They were dramatic eyes, and I was quite willing to stare into them. Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply. "Its a manufacturer of adult toys, sex toys," she said. She laughed. "I spent my day - Valentine's Day mind you - doing a physical inventory of the number of dildos that are in that place. I saw more cock today than I've seen since I did the audit last year!"

I almost spit out my drink. "Why would your firm make a woman do that audit?" I blurted.

She chuckled ruefully. "Because my boss - the company's outside CPA - is a woman herself. As she explained it to me two years ago - the first time I did the audit - if she could sit there and watch men count packages of dildos then I could do it too."

"Oh." I was flummoxed. What the hell do you say to that, exactly? "That seems like a sexual harrrassment lawsuit waiting to happen."

"The company owner was there and watching things pretty carefully. I think that if any of his workers had tried anything stupid they would have been fired on the spot."

"Yeah, I guess so. Shit, I thought working with my client today was hard."

"Who's your client? And no fair not telling - I told you I spent my day counting cocks!"

I laughed. "Yeah, I know. No, my client, well, one of them, is Glenn Beck. I was working with him today on ways to rehab his image."

"Him?" she spat almost furiously. "He's your client? He's a fucking dinosaur!"

"Democrat, are you?" I asked mildly, with a laugh. "Don't worry, so am I."

"How can you work with him then?"

"Glenn Beck the person is a decent sort. I don't agree with his politics and we spar about it sometimes but Glenn Beck the client is a clusterfuck and needs me to get him straightened out. Since it be the clients who pay the bills..." I said, shrugging. "He's my client."

"Oh, yeah, well I guess. Well, I don't like him that's for sure."

"You don't like the guy you see on TV that spouts all sorts of moronic right-wing conspiracy nonsense," I reminded her. "Just like you spent the day counting dildos, sometimes our jobs require us to do things that are not to our liking."

"Yeah." She gnawed on her bottom lip for a while. "Let's not talk about work. I hate work. Let's talk about something else. Something interesting."

"Something...interesting..." I said quietly, taking it as a challenge. What to talk about? Surely not relationships, not with her barking about her boyfriend in the morning. No no, that would be bad. The weather was boring and cold and bloody awful. Travel. Yeah, travel. "How about travel? What places would you like most to go?"

"Travel huh?" she replied after a moment. "Okay, travel it is." We got into a rhythm with the conversation. We ordered dinner and discussed places we'd been and places we wanted to go. Inevitably the conversation turned to romantic destinations and romance and the fact that it was Valetine's Day intruded on our talk.

"So he forgot completely," she had just finished up saying. The bitter tone in her voice reminded me of fingernails scratching on a chalkboard, the kind of flat emotionless tone that signified nothing good. "Seriously?" she spat.

"Well..." I said quietly. What was I going to say to lighten the mood. For no reason or every reason or maybe just because, I blurted it out. "I know what I would do with you on Valentine's Day!"

"Oh?" she asked, turning on her stool to face me completely. Her face was a mask of "prove it" and her eyes were demanding and hot and fierce. "Do tell."

I swallowed. Fuck it - swim or sleep alone. What difference was it anyway? "Sure. Picture this, okay. Seriously, close your eyes." I did the same, just for the hell of it. I was playing a hunch. I hoped I was right. "Its the Carribean. The name of the island doesn't matter. Our hut is just at the edge of the treeline along the beach. Several large palm trees are overhead, swaying slowly in the heated breezes coming from the calm, protected waters of the outlet. The sand is that bright white with the deep azure water lapping up. Our hut has all of the shuttered windows wide open, and the breeze makes the sheer fabric that drapes around the bed waft in the breeze. You're wearing a bikini, white, pretty modest as bikini's go, with those stylish, dark, oversized-eye sunglasses under a white, wide-brimmed sun hat. The sari is loose around your waist and dances with each step. I'm waiting for you, and hold out my hand, slipping our fingers together. I give you a drink which you take in your other hand and we stroll slowly from our hut to the water's edge. We walk without speaking down the shore, watching the water's constant motion and hearing the wonderful, calming sound of the quiet surf. We see few people because this place prides itself on near-solitude. After the hustle and bustle of our daily lives catering to the needs of egotistical media jerks and guys who make rubber cocks for a living, we need this relaxation."

She giggled softly. I peeked to see that her eyes were still closed. The smile gracing her lips was faint and I could see that she was enjoying the pictures my story evoked.

"I say quietly that we need to go into the water for a swim. You turn and smile and remove the hat and glasses, and wade into the water. You jump through and over the small waves, leading me out to the deeper parts of the protected inlet. Soon, we are in water that rises to our chests. I am still holding your hand when I pull suddenly. Your body is pressed against mine making it easy for me to wrap my arms around you and embrace you and hold you close to me. You smile at me, waiting for this first kiss in a secluded Carribean garden spot. You knew this was going to be a week of relaxation, drinking and sex. Your kiss is eager and warm and your tongue meets mine in an erotic dance. The effect of the kiss is quickly evident, and that makes you giggle again. You push me away, coyly telling me that all good things come to those who wait. But the seed is planted and you smile at me, coming near me again. Over and over, we come together to kiss, and you dance away in a tantalizing tease."

She shifted a little on her stool, and tapped her legs a little. I wanted to continue until she had to uncross her legs.

"The kissing and teasing soon takes a toll on us both, so we wordlessly decide that it is time to head back to our cabin. The small hotel staff would have discreetly brought us our ordered supper, and our hungers could be fully sated. The sun was drifting lower towards what would surely be a spectacular sunset followed by a breathtaking, warm night. I knew that we would not make love until after dark, and when we made love it would be on the beach, on the sand, allowing the surf to wash over us. Sure, sand would get everywhere and comfort would not exactly be high on the list, but we had decided on the way down that we were going to cross off "semi-public lovemaking on the beach in the surf" from our bucket list. The dance in the water and the tease of the food were just appetizers. We walked back to our hut, deliberately walking more slowly, drawing out the time. Let the anticipation build, I thought. Let it build."

She cleared her throat and opened her eyes. Uncrossed and recrossed her legs. I smiled.

"Please, continue," she said as she leaned in. "Quite a wonderful tale thus far," she told me.

"Our supper of perfectly cooked lobster was sublime, and better than finger-licking and lip-smacking good. We realized that after a long day of flying, and the pressure of getting to the airport on time to flying into this tiny little island on a turboprop plane only to have that followed by a harrowing and rough van ride to this remote spot had made our bodies particularly needy for food. Or maybe it was the knowledge that soon the energy we had stored would be expended in a wild tangle of bodies and heat and passion. Or both. We ate hugely, and reclined afterward with delicious wine and quite words. We moved outside and sat in chairs facing the fast-dropping sun. The reflections off of the water were blinding but breathtaking, and the spot was utterly perfect to that point. The sunset, once it started, was over fast, and then the globe of life-giving fire was below the horizon as evening slipped quickly into full night. Overhead the stars were bright and shiny. I stood, my arm outstretched. Even in the gloom of night you saw that I was physical prepared for our stroll and the action to come. Your smile was knowing and you even patted my butt before holding my hand. Once more we strolled down to the water's edge and began walking away from the cabin, into the deeper darkness and the solitude it provided."

"Wait," she said quietly. I waited and she signaled to the bartender. "Our checks, please," she said, and turned back to me. "I want a more private place to listen to this tale," she said to me. "I am enjoying it thoroughly."

We headed up to our floor. I offered her my arm and she took it, and when we exited the elevator she herded me towards my room. I escorted her down the hall and unlocked my door, and ushered her inside. We sat together on the couch, and she turned slightly towards me. "Now. Please, continue."

"We walked into the darkness. Who knows exactly how far we went. It was just the right time. Your words broke the night's deep silence. 'My feet are sore. Be a dear and rub them?' you asked. Without preamble you plopped to the sand, and I knelt in front of you. I lifted a foot, cradling the heel and achilles in my hands so that my thumbs could rub the sole of your foot, from the ball to heels."

She tapped her foot. Smiling, I got onto the floor, kneeling, in front of her, slipping her shoe from her foot. Cradling her foot and using my thumbs as in my story, life began to imitate my words.

"Its hard to see your face in the dark. You make a sigh of pleasure. 'Yes that's nice' you whisper. You rotate your foot around at the ankle. All the while my hands work the sole of your foot. This is a sensual pleasure you are experiencing, and you are enjoying every moment of it. I then change a little, and use one hand to work on the toes while the other slides up your calf to massage and rub your calf muscles. The tonality of your sighs change slightly. There is a bit of a moan to the sighs as the pleasure of the massage mixes with the intoxicating location in which its being done. 'Mmmm, now the other one,' you tell me, pulling your foot away and replacing it with the other."

In real life, you do the same thing.

"I resume work on the other foot, paying the same close attention to the aching foot. I work the achilles and the toes, the heel and calf until your sighs are more moan-ful than ever. We both barely notice how the water reaches up and runs over our legs or over your butt planted in the sand or over my knees digging into the sand. The water is warm and the air is warm and our bodies are warm and the moment builds with that inexorable erotic tension. I put your feet down and stand up. It is good that the night is almost purely black or the tent in the front of my trunks would be laughably obvious. I was behind you, and sit. My hands begin to knead the muscles of your shoulders. The muscles are strong and taut under my fingers, but as I work my hands into the flesh it loosens and becomes more relaxed and pliant with each passing moment."

Her jacket was doffed and the top button of her shirt undone allowing me to expose more of her shoulders. Her flesh was warm and tender and her skin soft and smooth as butter.

"I focus on your neck, and my hands work the back and around to the sides. I slide my hands from under your ears over your shoulders to the tops of your arms, and your only response is an enlongated shudder of pleasure. 'Mmmm.' My hands begin to roam over the broader expanse of your back. The clear plastic tab at the back is deftly released by my skilled fingers, and your top falls to the sand. I grab it and toss it back over me a few feet to prevent washing away into the ocean. I wonder if the sudden exposure to the night air peaked your nipples, but I am not yet going to find out. We will both have to wait for that first truly erotic touch, wait until the moment is just so, until we are both so filled with need that it was crash over us and take us completely. Until then, the pleasure is in the slow build. The top removal allows me to rub all over your back, from the delightful curve at the small of the back up to the shoulder blades. My fingers slide alongside your spine before sliding up and over the shoudlers again. From the small up and then out, with rotations back from the flanks into the spine, my hands roam and cover all of your back."

Like in my story, I have undone the bra on her body, but her shirt remains on. The button at the top back of her skirt is undone and the first few teeth of the zipper are apart. I noticed several instances of you crossing and uncrossing your legs.

"I finally come close, and press my naked chest against your back. You press back into me, savoring the touch, the pressure and the sensation of my body close to yours. We don't move, not for several long, languid moments before I bring my arms up to your shoulders. I knead them again, and rub down over your arms, and rub up and down your arms. You keep them pinned against your body. I then slide my hands over to the front of your body, pressing my hands firmly against the front upper shoulders. I slowly begin to slide down. The heavier pressure and extremely slow speed make it impossibly enticing. You can barely wait to feel my hands slide over your full breasts. As the edge of my palms reach the initial swell of your breasts I stop. Your breath hitches in your throat. You thought I was going to continue. I return my hands to their starting spot. Repeat. Each time my hands slide just a little more over the swell of flesh until my hands are fully covering the breast and I can feel the hard button of nipple pressing against the palm of my hand. With this hold you now give voice to your lust and need, and the low guttural noise drips with intense sexual arousal."

I am on the couch, behind you, my shirt undone allowing you to lean back against my body. Your shirt's buttons are undone and your full breasts rest tantalizing behind the sides of the oxford. Your body and mind are fully engaged, and it is a matter only of time. I can hear the shallowness of your breathing and its increased speed. Surely your heart is racing as fast as mine as, and like my fable of erotic passion, our bodies will quickly be feasting upon one another. Just one more push.

"My hands now cup under your breasts, and I apply steady but gentle pressure. I get you to rise up on your knees, your butt pressed against the front of my trunks. Easily my turgid erection lays in the cleavage of your ass, though two garments protect skin from skin. Your hands reach back and hook fingers into the waist of my trunks, and your pressure pulls me closer into your body. Our lower bodies mesh though the clothes, and your small squeak is the next signal. I keep one hand firmly on your breast, holding you in place as my other slowly slides over your abdomen. Your breathing is hitching and with each centimeter that my hand travels to your crotch you can only gasp. When fingers press against tight elastic of bikini bottom waist bands, you moan again. Same fingers easily slide under the waist. Long ago you did the Brazilian and your skin is smooth and supple as your inner thigh. The sensation is highly ticklish and under the touch you squirm against my body, wiggling back and forth, your gasps and moans now of desperation of 'please stop don't' but you do not say no. Then my fingers press against slick, super-heated flesh and you give full voice to your passion and need and desire now. 'Uuugggghhhh,' you groan as my fingers slide down, down the slit of flesh that is pouting and needy and slick and engorged and throbbing with want."

My words are broken by the whirling of your body, the hands slapping hard against my cheeks, making my eyes fly open widely in surprise, and then your pliant, supple lips are on mine. Your tongue is not gentle, it quests and pulls and pushes and cricles and flies around, and I spin up fast, my tongue dancing and twirling with yours. Fingers trace over my flat chest and abdomen to the tent poking through the thin material of my suit pants. My cock long before poked through the hole of my loose boxers so when your nimble fingers undo the zipper of my pants, my cock springs free and the fleshy tube presses into your hand.

I moan aloud as your fingers encircle and squeeze me hard, and slid up from base to head. I have to shudder as a most delicious pleasure courses through me. Your pressure releases a little, sliding back down. My hand rises up to feel your heavy, firm breast and its warm and supple to my touch, and your tweaking your hard nipple between my thumb and forefinger make you mewl in a cross between pleasure and pain. My other hand reaches behind you to the button and zipper, and the sound of the noise that gives the zipper its name is heard, and then your skirt is loose and falling away from your body. I feel your lovely hips and round flesh of your ass, protected by the sexy thong underwear. You are without preamble now, reaching down to slide your own panties to the side to expose pouting, slick outer lips to my throbbing manhood.

I turn and slide back on the couch, lifting my hips so I can savagely push my pants and boxers down to my knees. I kick until my clothes are off, and then I reach for you, wrapping my arms around you and cupping your butt. I pull you onto the couch, my face level with your stomach, and I tenderly kiss your stomach. You naturally reach down to run your fingers slowly, almost lovingly, through my hair. I lift and you moan, a "mmmmm yeeeesssss" sound that is accompanied as your body raises. You stand fully on the couch, your hands now on the top of my head, bracing your body using my head and you thrust your hips forward. I devour your body, not going slow to caress or tease or tenderly sample. I am greedy, my mouth open and tongue out and seeking the heated sex, the delicious and slick and pungent juice of your flesh and delight in how your body quivers from the massive onslaught of pure passionate pleasure. You are hot, wet, tight and the most tasty pussy I have ever had and I am wild with tongue and lips and sucking and pressing. My tongue finds your clitoris, easily done because you suddenly grab a handful of hair which is released after I nearly scream from the sudden pain in my scalp. Yelping aside I focus on your clit, tongue left and right, up and down, around in circles, light and heavy and all in variation until you are gasping and I feel your legs shaking. When the orgasm hits your legs collapse under your and you fall down heavily on me, gasping for air as your lower body's muscles spasm wildly and uncontrollably.

The recovery is short but the need remains. You look into my eyes, and I see the delight and need there. You look down, reach down, holding my cock, and move your hips carefully. When the head of my cock touches the searing warmth of your pussy I groan aloud, which turns into something else when you plunge down on me. I impale you, pressing firmly, deeply into the warmest, tightest, most perfect sleeve of sex-flesh. I roll my head back and gasp and moan, and your hips begin a quick rhythm, forward and back, with the slightest of up-and-down. I hold your ass, the flesh hot and hard in my hands, your forearms resting on my shoulders, your sweaty hair falling down over your face. You gaze down at me, mouth open, nostrils flaring, lips plump with blood, eyes wild with lust. Forward-and-back with the slightest up-and-down. The friction is delicious the pleasure all-encompassing. I cannot feel anything except for the most perfect sensation of sex. I am throbbing and my balls thick and full of cum and your pussy is a siren, pulling me, pulling me close to coming, close to the end, close to the perfection of the moment. You gasp suddenly, head flying backwards, and you grind down hard against me. "Fuck I'm coming," you gasp wildly but softly, but I knew that because your hands were clawing into my shoulders creating tremendous pain and your hips were pushing down hard to get me as deeply as possible into your flesh and you quivered and shook and spasmed.

"I'm close," I gasp.

"I'm safe and I love the feeling!" she moans to me. A man needs no more encouragement.

The orgasm is a train, a great diesel of such onrushing force that no thing on earth could stop it at that point. My hips thrust upward with such force I almost dismount her as I grunt and groan, my balls sending forth the come in great geysers inside of her body. Then, as quickly as it came, it was over, and I fall back into the couch, panting and spent and exhausted. She looks into my eyes. The look is intense and steady. It's Valentine's Day and I just seduced this woman and I pleasured her as perfectly as she pleasured me.

"Here's my card," she said. She dismounted and dressed quickly. She said nothing else until she was fully dressed. She spotted her panties on the floor, and smiled at me as she bent to pick them up. Tossed them at me so they landed on my chest. I held them in place. "If you were serious about that Carribean garden spot you described? Give me a call. I'm game."

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