I awoke as I passed out, naked and spread-eagle on the bed. A knock on the door arose me from the post-fellatio slumber.

“I ordered food while you sleep,” she remarked.

The light streamed in as the door opened and I realized that she was still naked as well. The glory of her perfection framed by the light of the door roused me again.

The gawking boy who held our food was speechless and frozen. He moved stiffly into the room.

“Put it there,” she pointed, casually unaffected by her nudity.

“Let me get you a tip,” I stammered, now finally aware of my own birthday attire.

“If you don’t mind…” he mumbled as he pulled out a cell phone and quickly switched on the camera.

“A picture with that?” Danielle queried, “You make me blushing.”

She said it with a splash more accent than usual so it came out ‘blushink.’ She was toying with the boy and she enjoyed it. She offered a pose as the rest of her answer and he clicked away until she pushed him out the room.

“Best tip I ever got….thanks!”

Then he was gone as the click of the electronic locks restored our privacy.

I was about to admonish her but I never got the chance. “I see you’re back,” she smiled at my renewed vigor, “we eat now.” This was no erotic “9 Weeks” kitchen floor food play. We ate hungrily, eyeing each other’s nakedness as we replenished our sapped strength. Sated with food, my thoughts began to linger to what lay ahead. She ate on. She needed to refuel from her audition this afternoon, and the encores in the hotel this evening.

She noticed the quizzical look on my face, but misinterpreted my intense gaze.

“What?” she asked defensively between gulps of food, as if I was accusing her of eating too much.

“I was just wondering,” I started defensively.

“Then what were you wondering?” She bit back before I could finish.

“I wondered what you look like when you orgasm,” I answered bluntly, “I couldn’t see with my face between your legs.”

She smiled mischievously, “Is not my fault. Are you big enough to fix mistakes?”

I pushed away the food cart, and standing showed her the fullness of my conviction. Her hungry mouth was on me instantly, but this time I pushed her away. Lifting her, I laid her on the bed. As I approached, he stopped me with a delicate foot placed strategically but gently in my groin.

I lifted her foot from where she was teasing me and raised it slowly up the muscle of my chest until I could rub her toes across my lips. I sucked on her toes while she softly moaned her pleasure. I lifted her other leg and rested both feet on my shoulders. I eased myself down her calves and thighs, leveraging her body open with mine, as I kissed and nibbled my way to her center.

Just as I was about to taste the nectar glistening on her lips, she clamped her powerful thighs, locking me in place.

“No, no, bad boy! You cannot do what I cannot.”

“Fair is fair,” I smiled.

Then I raised myself back up to bring my cock to the petals of her pussy. I held it at the entrance while the heat of our loins pulsed together. This was not technique ‒ though it wasn’t a bad one. I really needed time to plot my approach. I did not want this to be a second-rate climax to what had been an Oscar-worthy performance. I wanted to torture her with a slow, agonizing entry. Just as fervently, I wanted to pummel her pussy with the full fury of my passion. I wondered too what she wanted. In the space of the few glorious hours I had known her, I could not claim to know her.

The danger of these encounters is that you don’t get do overs. Try it this way once, and the next time we can try the other. There may be no next time. This was the championship, win or whack off. Adding to the pressure, the clock was ticking.

I knew she had a return flight and I had no idea how long I had slept. Damn that post-coital sleep gene. The cure for that is the next Viagra.

I made up my mind. Slow first because there was always the race to finish at the end.

As I was deciding, she read my hesitation and confirmed with soft encouragement, “ I want savor [she lingered on this word in a most satisfying way] every inch of you.”

My entrance was lingering, solemn ‒ an absolute contrast to the fireworks of sensation wracking my body. The slow pace drew out and intensified our mutual satisfaction. I measured my entrance in cadence with her moans and her short sharp breaths as my crown finally slipped entirely within the vanguard of her outer lips.

She gave out a soft, throaty moan that was the most satisfying sound I had heard in my not too many years. Our eyes met briefly, until I continued my descent into her depths and her eyes rolled back. With the eye contact broken, I was free to drink in her body with my eyes and to see the electric point of contact between our two bodies. There are few sights more pleasing to me than seeing my cock between the lips of woman, whichever lips they may be.

I was able to reach her nipples with my tongue, working little circles around the stiffening tip for our mutual amusement, but most of all because it offered a welcome distraction to delay the progress of my shaft. For all I know, it could have been a minute, or an hour before I finally hilted my full length inside her. I timed the arrival with a gentle, but clear nip on her most aroused nipple.

After that point, the languid pace of our lovemaking gradually accelerated. We flowed together like a river coursing down a mountain pass, crashing through rapids until it finally empties into the sea. Her legs danced around my body, wrapping my waist, digging into my back with her heels.

She also used her legs to pace me faster, or slower, as was her desire. I responded as best I could, although at times I couldn’t help being lost in my own pleasure. I think these rebellions pleased her as much as my responsiveness, enjoying a stallion she could not fully tame but which was trained enough to be useful.

I became aware that her breathing had quickened and the pace of her moaning had grown and now blended with urgings in her native Russian. I understood her only on the most primitive level, giving into the rhythms of our own fantastic dance.

Her cries intensified, matching my thrusts and her legs no longer sought to control my thrusts but to hold herself on the mount. I was vaguely aware of pounding on the wall ‒ not from the bed knocking, but someone in the room next door who did not enjoy the vicarious audio voyeurism. Too bad for them.

This time I would not miss it. My face was not buried in her legs and I looked at her face as it contorted in ultimate pleasure and release. Then she closed her eyes.

“Open your eyes,” I commanded, holding my control as I punctuated each word with a full thrust of my cock.

I was pounding intensely and I could feel my muscles straining to the point of tearing as I neared my own climax that still would not quite come. If she had not emptied me earlier, I would have dropped out of this marathon long ago in absolute disgrace. Thankfully, tonight I would finish. She opened her eyes and locked on mine. I could feel she was waiting for me, sensing my impending release.

“Yes, now,” she pleaded once, then again, until my satisfaction exploded inside her. It was mirrored in her eyes a thousand times.

I have never had such reward for any deed, good or ill. Again, without my awareness and to compound my earlier shame, I slipped into the coma of post-coital satisfaction. When I woke, she was gone. She left some hotel stationary on the bed, but instead of a note, there was only the print of her lips.

We never danced again.