Once upon a time ...... a woman issues a challenge

He motions for her to sit down. Whoever he is talking to on the phone is not giving him much opportunity to contribute to the conversation.


“Who are you talking to?” she whispers.

Covering the mouthpiece with his hand he says, “Jayson.”

She rolls her eyes and gets up to go. He could be on the phone for hours. It’s a shame because she has the sort of itch that he is usually very good at scratching. Frankly, she is so horny that she very nearly drove to work that morning with two wheels on the rumble-strip; except that would mean driving in the slow lane and she doesn’t like the slow lane.

Her friend stretches, working out some of the tension she knows he holds in his shoulders and then relaxes into his seat. He spreads his legs, getting comfortable. She likes watching how his shirt tightens across his chest as he moves. Her eyes move down his body, settling on his crotch. The beginnings of sexual excitement begin to flutter deep inside her. Damn, I’m easy, she thinks as she spins his seat around and starts to rub his shoulders.

The man is a mess of knots and tension. He needs to do yoga or something; although the idea of him in a leotard in the downward dog position makes her smile. Rubbing his shoulders reminds her of a conversation they had had a week or so ago about the difference between a massage therapist and a masseuse. An idea flowers in her mind.

Taking the pad of paper he was doodling on, she writes, Are you up for a challenge?

He takes the pen from her, ???

- A challenge. I have a challenge for you

- What kind of a challenge? She can almost hear the suspicion radiating off the page.

- I’m going to give you a blow job. If you can finish the phone call, you win whatever you want. What do you want?

He snatches the pen back and scrawls, Are you crazy?

- Yep. That’s why you love me. Do we have a deal?

- What do you mean finish the phone call?

She rolls her eyes. The man always needs all the details!

- IF you can continue the phone call while I’m blowing you, you win whatever you want. You have to be able to continue the call and Jayson cannot know what’s going on. With me so far?

- Yes

- If you can’t continue the phone call or if Jayson figures out something is ‘wrong’, I win whatever I want. Still with me?

- Yes

- What would you want?

- That’s easy. Another blow job.

She laughs then covers her mouth trying to keep quiet. Her friend gives her a pointed look, and tells Jayson, “It’s Eve and she’s just leaving.” He points to the chair in an indication she should sit and stay. Eve narrows her eyes at him, puts her hands up in front of her like a dog and mimes panting.

Ignoring her, he writes, What do you win if I can’t keep up the charade?

- I get to duct tape you to my bed and force-feed you Viagra for a week.

When she slides the paper in front of him, he chokes back a nervous laugh and covers the mouthpiece with the palm of his hand. He can’t tell if she’s serious or not.

“This is going to be easy if you can’t even hold back a laugh.” She leans forward to whisper in his ear, “If I can make you laugh that easily, imagine how hard it will be to keep quiet when I’m under your desk.” She trails a hand down his chest. Moving to stand in front of him, between his legs, she continues to whisper, “How hard it will be to keep quiet when you feel my mouth on your dick. How hard it will be when I lick your balls.” She undoes his belt. “Or when I suck you deep into my throat.” She slides her hands down his pants, and is gratified to find he is already semi hard. She smiles, cat-like.

He reaches over and writes on the paper, You can be such a bitch! She shrugs and takes the pen.

- I know. Do we have a deal?

Her friend closes his eyes for a second, then nods. Eve sinks to her knees, quickly and efficiently unbuttoning his fly. Once he is free, she slows down, kissing his stomach, breathing in the smell of his warm male body. She doesn’t know how long Jayson has been on the phone and doesn’t know how long she has to make him come. She needs to get him hard and get bring him to the edge quickly. Once he’s there she can back off a little; slow things down.

He has no idea why he has agreed to this; except that he wants her mouth on him. She’s a habit he can’t kick; if he is honest he doesn’t want to kick this particular habit. Especially when she does that!!

He has to bite his lip when he feels her hot breath on his dick. This is going to be MUCH harder than I thought. She hasn’t even touched him yet, and he is already sweating. When she wraps her long fingers around him, he forces himself to concentrate on Jayson’s voice as he explains the upcoming sales audit. It’s boring enough that he can tune out what she is doing…. for about a nanosecond.

She has hold of his dick firmly at the base. Her other hand is skimming across his balls, they tighten and he knows he is in trouble. She explores him with her tongue, licking down his shaft, and swirling that clever and mind-blowing tongue around the head of his penis.

He looks down at her, making eye contact. There is something to be said for the sight of a woman between your legs, sucking your dick. This particular woman, however, is very clearly enjoying herself – and not because she wants to pleasure you, but because she wants to own you. And that turns him on even more.

Damn her! Her self-satisfaction is evident in her grin. The glint of challenge flashes in her eyes. She swallows him, sucking him into her mouth, sliding her tongue down his shaft. He knows she loves feeling him harden in her mouth, but he doesn’t much care what she likes right now. The wet, heat of her mouth, the feel of her tongue stroking him, her hands on his balls all make him forget pretty much everything.

“Er… hello?”

He struggles to concentrate on Jayson. “Uh huh?” he says.

“Well, what do you think?” Jayson asks.

“’Bout what?” he sucks in his breath as Eve flicks the tip of his dicks with her tongue. She is watching him struggle to talk to Jayson with ill disguised triumph.

She can’t win! He gathers his thoughts and says almost calmly, “I agree with your assessment.” He bites his lip again as Eve sucks the tip in and out of her mouth quickly, “Errr… carry on with your presentation!” The last few words came out a little higher than he would have liked and with a definite squeak but after a brief pause Jayson returned to his spiel.

As Jayson runs through sales figures, gives explanations for over ages here, adjusts next month’s budget there, her friend tried to focus on every single word. He attempts to separate his mind from his body, which is betraying him rapidly.

Eve is doing something with her tongue to the really super sensitive part below the head of his dick and he realizes he is sighing in Jayson’s ear.

“Errrr, are you sure you are okay?”

“Yes. Just. Stretching.”

She swallowed him whole, stroking his shaft with her tongue as she bobs her head up and down. An unconscious guttural groan forms in his throat. He swallows it best as he can. But he isn’t quick enough.

“Dude!! What is your problem??”

“Nothing. I had the, err… bean burrito for lunch and I, ahhh… think it’s disagreeing with me.”

Eve chuckles which only makes it worse for her friend as the vibration of her laughter is transferred directly to his dick. Her hand is on his balls, which feel like they are electrified - in a good way. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end and he is sure his head is sweating. He’s in imminent danger of losing his control and losing the bet.

“That’s way too much information.” Jayson says but Eve’s friend is unable to concentrate on anything but Eve.

Eve knows he is in trouble, his leg has begun to shake and his dick has fattened in her mouth. She pumps with her hand and sucks him deep into her mouth. He knows he should close his legs if he has any hope of maintaining his composure but he opens them wider giving her greater access. She reaches between his legs to massage his balls and his perineum.

“Sorry!” He is practically panting down the phone. The tingling associated with his orgasm concentrates in his balls, building and he knows Eve has won.

“Gotta go!” he snaps his phone shut. For a mind expanding moment he is held on the edge and then something inside him bursts; he releases the orgasm and empties himself down her throat. She swallows his cum, sucking him dry.

When he opens his eyes, Eve is sitting on the corner of his desk grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“I won.” She says simply.

“One could argue that I won, seeing as I was the one who got a blow job.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the desk.

“Where are you going?”

“To Target to buy some Duct Tape.” She says with a grin. “TTFN.”

As you can see, my latest story is written from the male point of view. How did I do?

It was an interesting and enjoyable exercise. Putting myself in the place of a male was surprisingly erotic.

I think I would like to be a man for a day or two. Imagine the things I could get up to! Perhaps there is a story there. A little magic, a lot of sex.... hmmmmm, the options are endless.  

Better get writing!

Just a Quickie

Almost all day today she has been sending me one after another of her damn stories. The woman drives me crazy. Right now, I’m frustrated and horny and I don’t think I like her very much. She may have had the day off to do whatever - well, I know what she did, because she told me in graphic detail - but I had to work. It’s difficult to concentrate on the bottom line when you have had a hard on since 9 am.


It is mid afternoon, and I’m taking a late lunch to clear my head. I have a few errands to run, but instead of heading to Target to pick up razors, my car appears to be, of its own volition, heading to her house.

I have no idea if she is still at home; I have no real idea why I’m going over there. The restless energy driving me is far from logical; all I know is that I need to direct some of this frustration back at the source.

Once upon a time in a bar not so far away....

The bar is crowded. It’s hot and the press of bodies makes it difficult to find a way to the bar. After pushing her way through, Eve sees her friend, who has despite the crowd managed to find not one, but two seats. She drops into it with a sigh, and hangs her bag on the nifty little handbag hook by her knee.

It’s been a long couple of days. Who thought entertaining business clients could be so exhausting? The last ones were back on the plane heading to who-cares-where and she and her friend have agreed to meet here to unwind. He was a lot of fun and good company, shame she felt so damn tired and really only wanted to go to bed.

Once apon a time on an office desk not so far away

It’s lunch time, I have my feet propped up on my desk and you have just interrupted me. I had been reading a dirty romance novel. My favourite.

The heroine has just seduced the hero in a rather well told piece of smutty story telling. I’m a little damp in a secrets girl’s place. And now YOU come knocking on my door asking a question that will require major re-routing of the blood back to the brain. Kill joy.

We haven’t talked much since the conference room incident but it’s far from forgotten. Ever since that day, each time catch a glimpse of you walking down the halls, I get a visceral flashback and I can feel you moving inside me again. My office is a dangerous place for you to be.

You watch me calmly; your blue eyes disconcertingly clear. I can’t read you at all.

“What are you reading?”

“Smutt. What do you want?” I hope you’ll say, you, and I’m distracted momentarily by a vision of you and me on my desk. When I begin to pay attention to you again, it becomes clear I have missed something. I chew on my lip while I contemplate my options. I could tell you I wasn’t listening, or I could fake it and go with what you probably said. The latter option seems the most prudent. The report we are working on for the investor meeting tops the list of likely things we would discuss. I had emailed you my presentation idea the day before and so I go with that.

“Did you like it?”

“Very much so!”

“Well, I was a little bold.”

“Bold is good. I like bold.”

“I worried you might think it too, ummm….. sexy?”

“Too sexy?” You are smiling at me like I’m missing something.

“Yes, too sexy for the investors.” You smile becomes a grin and I’m beginning to wonder if we are talking about the same thing. You walk around the desk and lean against it. Your hip bumps my calf. A zing of excitement wings its way across my skin. Suddenly I’m hyper aware of you, your presence, your smell. I’m aware what I’m wearing, my favourite casual brown skirt, it’s long and flowing, with strategic splits to allow glimpses of leg when I walk, and how it feels on my skin. And I’m aware of my relaxed position, with my feet up on my desk.

I’m tempted to take down my feet but I’m damned if I’ll give you the satisfaction of seeing me uncomfortable. As if on cue, my skirt slips revealing a long expanse of leg. I reach down to pull the fabric up around my legs.

You let me get settled, then with a half smile, tug the corner of my skirt causing the fabric to slide away again.

“You weren’t talking about the presentation I emailed you? Were you?”

Your eyes travel along my legs, up my body, before resting on my breasts.

“No.” You pick up one of my feet, placing it on the other side of you. You are now standing between my legs, resting on the desk. Your hands run up my legs, pushing the skirt away in front of them. I’m sure you must be able to see my underwear; my damp underwear.

“Ah. When did you know I hadn’t any idea what you were talking about?”

“I knew you weren’t listening to me right away. You asked what I wanted. I said, “You. I’m ready for the next chapter in our story” and you didn’t register anything at all.”

“Maybe I was playing it cool.” Cool?! It must be about a million degrees in here. My skin feels like it’s on fire. My cheeks are probably bright red but from lust, not embarrassment.

A raised eyebrow indicates you aren’t buying it either.

“Fine, I had a vision of you and me on the desk and I got distracted.” I wave my hand at the desk, hoping I sound vaguely coherent. My thoughts are refusing to me marshaled and I swear even though I’m giving off enough heat to melt a small polar ice cap, I can still feel the heat of your body between my legs.

“Take off your underwear. I’ll be right back.”

You carefully place my feet on the floor and cross the office to lock the door. I scoot up my hips, and slide off my undies. When you hold out your hand, I drop them in your palm. You pocket them and resume your position leaning against my desk. “Put your legs back up on the desk.”

For once, I feel self conscious but I can’t seem to find any small part of me that wants to say no, so I do as I’m asked. Thanking the powers that be that I shaved all the way up this morning, I rest my feet each side of you and let my knees fall open.

You smile. “Very nice.”

“Glad you approve.”

“Touch yourself. I want to watch you turn yourself on.”

I’m already so turned on we could have sex right now and I’d be ready, but the idea is appealing, so once again I do as I’m asked. Using two fingers of my right hand I gently start to tease my clitoris; rubbing in small circles.

Immediately, I feel it in my core. Sharp tugs of desire. I close my eyes, focusing on the feeling as it grows, swelling inside me, pushing aside everything else until only need remains. I can make myself come so quickly and efficiently this way, I have to remind myself to slow down. While I don’t imagine you’d complain if I made myself orgasm, I’d like to come with you inside me.

Using the edge of the desk, I unhook the strap of my shoe and let it fall to the floor. I run my foot between your legs, up to your crotch. With my toes, I trace the shape of your hardening dick.
And then I massage your balls with the ball of my foot. You separate your legs a little further, allowing my foot to slip between your legs and pressing on your ass. Shocked, your eyes snap open. I smirk. Like most men you find ass play shocking and yet you like it.

Whatever expression you see on my face, you take as a challenge, pushing my foot away you turn around and sweep all the stuff on my desk off to one side. Several items fall to the floor, causing a ruckus. It’s a bold and utterly thrilling move. My breath is caught in my throat, I try to listen to see if anyone outside heard the noise but I can’t hear a damn thing over the hammering of my heart.

When you turn back, I am already on my feet, pressed up against you. I’m fumbling with your belt and trying to pull my skirt up and kiss you all at the same time. The only thing I’m getting right is the kissing. It’s hot and urgent and demanding. I want you very much and I want you now.

You pick me up and I wrap my legs around your waist, turning around you drop me onto the desk unceremoniously. It hurts a little but that’s not always a bad thing. Besides, you have taken over undoing your own belt and pants and are doing a far more efficient job than I. Not only do you already have your pants undone but because you are standing so close to me, I could feel the purposeful movements of your hands on my inner thighs and it only added to my urgency.
I scoot closer, wrapping my legs around you again. I can feel the heat of your dick on my pussy.

“Fuck me!” I’m frustrated and getting grumpy. You push me back down on to the desk, lean over to kiss me and simultaneously drive into me. Instinctively, I tighten my legs around you, holding you fast.

“Like that?” We are both a little breathless. I’m wriggling on the desk, trying to get closer. I want more of you. I hold onto the edge of the desk so when you thrust into me again I don’t slide away. I want everything you have and more.

“No! Harder.”

You pull out and plunge back into me; hard and fast and desperate. Again and again. Each time you thrust I have to stifle a cry. I’m trying to remember there are people around, but the idea only turns me on even more.

“Hard enough?” You pant.

“No! I. Want. More.” Our eyes are locked, it’s a challenge. You pull open my shirt, yank my bra aside, and pinch my nipple. Not very gently either. I suck in my breath. I’m losing my center; losing my mind. I let it go, concentrating on the building of pressure inside me. It’s all I can do to hang on to the desk.

You replace your hand on my breast with your tongue. I arch my back, pushing more of my breast into your mouth. You suck hard and I do cry out. In response, you put your hand over my mouth. I feel my orgasm flower, growing, building.

“I’m going to come.” You tell me. With your hand still firmly clamped over my mouth, all I can do is nod. I clench my muscles around your dick, willing you deeper. You are fucking me relentlessly; driving so deep into me, I can feel you grind against my cervix. Each thrust builds another layer of intensity to the orgasm that’s still a fraction out of reach.

Then you come. You hold still, deep inside me and I feel each spasm of your dick as you empty yourself into me, I feel the heat of your cum, I hear the guttural sound you make when your orgasm hits, and it all pushes me over the edge. I come hard and fast. Heat exploding inside my core; engulfing me.

As the contractions of my orgasm fade, I begin to take stock. My office looks like a tornado blew through. There’s paperwork, pens and my desk lamp on the floor, and my keyboard is dangling from its wire. I’m soaked in sweat, and so are you. You are still hard inside my pussy and I want you to stay there all day, but I hear suspicious silence from outside the door. We need to move.

I let go of the desk, my fingers are stiff and sore from gripping so tightly.

“You have to go.” I say, although speaking is a little difficult because it requires thought and there isn’t enough oxygen in my brain to string more than a couple of words together.

“I know.” You pull out. I feel your cum dripping between my legs and wonder why I like that feeling so much. “We never have time to do this right. Next time we go slow.” You lean down and whisper in my ear. “Next time, I want to taste you.”

Next time! Already my heart rate is going back up. You obviously know this as while you get dressed you continue to tease me by spinning me the story of what will happen “next time”.
When you are gone. I clean up my desk, replacing the items swept onto the floor in our urgency. Urgency is fun and thrilling, but next time you promised to go slow and slow is good too. I get the sudden urge to taste myself on your lips and vow that next time is going to be very soon indeed.

Things you should not be thinking about your coworkers...

Once upon a time in a conference room not so far away......

It is an informal meeting, just the two of us, the day is drawing to close but the most recent sales figures need to be put into perspective for the investor meeting later this month. Sales figures are not high on my list of things I want to talk about on the Friday before a long weekend, but the big boss wants a draft explanation by Wednesday morning, so sales figures is what we are discussing.

We are talking, and while yes, I am concentrating on what you are saying, I’m also thinking about how good you look. How much more fun this discussion would be over a few beers at the local watering hole. And how your eyes sparkle when you are talking about something that interests you. Although, I do sometimes worry about you; it’s not natural for a man to get so excited about market share percentage and the global economic climate. All I really need from you is how you want the report to look. That’s my job, I’ll make it visually appealing and easy to read; you get to explain the ramifications of the numbers listed. That’s all I need from you, but it’s not all I want from you.

You talk with your hands. I enjoy watching the patterns they make in the air. You have long, slender fingers, which appear to be at once strong and delicate. They mark the rhythm of the conversation as a conductor measures the music of an orchestra. You are conducting your own conversation, I smile.

A thought crosses my mind. A thought involving those fingers playing through my hair, down my neck, across my breasts… This thought is followed very quickly by another. It occurs to me how easy it would be to stand up, walk the two steps separating us, slide my skirt up my thighs and straddle your lap. The chair you are sitting on is the perfect height, width, and if it weren’t for the damned fixed chair arms, I would be able to lower myself right onto your lap; to be able to feel the cool texture of your jeans on my inner thighs, the roughness of your zipper, and hopefully (if you hadn’t leapt up, horrified by my boldness and thrown me to the floor) a hardening mass inside your jeans.

In my fantasy, the chair arms are gone and you aren’t horrified; sure, you are shocked, your breath is caught in your throat and you are stunned into frozen immobility for a good ten or fifteen seconds, but then, as you release your breath you run your hands up my thighs and cup my ass. Those long, strong fingers dig into my flesh as you pull me closer.

I feel your hot breath on the skin exposed by the deep v-neck of on my dress. I tilt your face up and kiss you; a very soft kiss, no tongue, more of a brushing of my lips over yours. This is the first time we have ever kissed. I can smell and taste the mint of your recently disposed of gum.

Something shifts in your pants, I smile into your mouth. There is very little fabric, only your jeans and my thin lace panties, separating us. I can feel your erection very clearly pressing on my clitoris. And as little fabric as there is, it’s too much.

I want. I want you. I want your hands on my breasts, your dick deep inside me, your tongue in my mouth, your cum... I want it all. I stand up, do a little panty removing shimmy and drop them on the floor. You look past me to the glass wall of the conference room, I can almost see you calculate the lateness of the day, how many people are left in your department, the timing of the security guard’s rounds… you look back up at me and beckon, patting your lap. I grin.

Standing back astride you, I pull your shirt from the waistband of your jeans and unbutton them. You brush the back of your hand up the inside of my leg. When I feel you make contact with the exposed, hyper sensitive flesh between my legs, I suppress a shiver. Your fingers find my clitoris and oh, so gently you begin to tease me. I feel myself getting wet, it’s a good feeling; the beginning of a release I know is to follow, I hope it’s to follow!

I quickly unhook the buttons on your shirt, letting it fall to side exposing your chest and stomach. In my imagination grey and blond hair is sprinkled over your chest, thinning to almost nothing over your stomach but with a faint line disappearing into your pants. A treasure trail my friend calls it. I spread my hands across your chest, my little fingers brushing your nipples. I have no idea if you like this, but exploration is half the fun and I figure it’s my fantasy and so you’ll like whatever it is I want you to like. And you like this. Your breath shortens, and you close your eyes for just a second. When I slide my hand down your pants they snap back open. I snake my hand around your dick to your balls, stroking until they tighten in my hand.

You lift your hips and between us we work your jeans down enough to free your erection. I am not disappointed by your size. ;-) It seems you will fill me nicely. I wonder how you taste.

“May I?” I ask, waving a hand in the direction of your midsection.

“Please do.” You scoot a little further down in the seat. I kneel between your legs. You have lovely legs; strong, muscular, you must play bike ride or play soccer or something because they are very nicely defined. Face to face, or head to head, with your dick, I encircle the base of your dick in my hand. I can feel the heat of you on my lips; my breath caresses you.

Your eyes close and a sigh escapes your lips as I run my tongue from base to tip and when I take you into my mouth, your head falls back on the chair. You taste sweet, clean, good. I enjoy the slick heat of your hardness sliding past my tongue as I swallow more of you. Now it’s my turn to tease you and I do.

I’m acutely aware of the fact I have no underwear on. Every current of air moving between my legs heightens my awareness. Sometimes, I’ll wear no under wear to work, just so I can feel this freedom throughout the day. Now, though, I’m beginning to feel like I need something between my legs again and I’m pretty sure it’s you. I release you and kiss my way back up your stomach, making a detour to play with your nipples. They harden satisfactorily under my tongue. Your breath is coming faster now, and you make very gratifying noises when I touch you.

With me sitting astride you again we kiss once more, a long deep kiss, your tongue rolls over mine. Your hand is on my ass again, this time when you pull me closer, I feel the head of your dick press into me. I’m wet enough that I can slide right down your shaft. I do this slowly, relishing the feeling of being stretched, filled completely. I love feeling that first push into me, of me opening up around you, welcoming you in, taking you deep into my core. I hold for a second, adjusting to your size.

You push the sleeves of my dress down over my shoulder. You trace your fingers over the top of my breast. My bra is flimsy and easily pulled aside freeing my breasts, which spill into your hands, my nipples harden between your fingers. I close my eyes as you suck one nipple into your hot mouth. I arch my back offering you more and begin to rock my hips. The combined feeling of your dick moving inside me and your mouth and hands on my tits, makes my heart race and I’m sure my skin is hot to the touch. I feel like I am burning up. I want, I need, I must have. Pressure is building inside me.

“Is this working for you?” I just about manage to ask. I’m close to not caring if it’s working for you. It sure as hell is working for me and I figure if it isn’t working for you, after I come, we can do whatever it is you need to push you over the edge.

You nod and so I continue to rock my hips, sliding up and down your dick. When you are in deep, I do a circular motion with my hips, grinding down on to you. My insides are liquid; a warm liquid sexual arousal. I can smell my own excitement.

I find my clitoris and start to rub. You place your fingers on mine, following my movements and then push my hand away to take over. I return the favour by reaching around to massage your balls. A very pleasing groan comes from deep inside you. Your breath comes in short sharp pants, but I can’t imagine mine is any calmer. Your balls are tight and hard in my hand.
We kiss again. I’m close. The orgasm has been building quickly. The head of your dick is hitting something inside me that feels like it’s setting off a hundred tiny pleasure shocks. My happy spot. I rock a little harder and a little faster, I’m reaching for something; the oblivion that comes with a good orgasm.

“I’m going to come if you keep that up.”

“Good. So am I.” I’m at the peak; there is a momentary pause before the world falls away and my orgasm hits. I come hard and fast convulsing around your dick and you gasp, push up your hips, burying yourself as deep into me as is possible and let go too.

This is the fantasy I had while you were talking about your sales figures. I’m a little over-heated. The idea of having sex with you here in the conference room, of smelling and tasting of you for the rest of the day is very distracting. I hope I remember enough of what you said to create a decent report presentation. Maybe we will have to meet a few more times before I get it exactly as you want it, and maybe next time we meet, I’ll leave off my underwear…

Once upon a time in a development not so far away.... a woman steps out of the bath

Once upon a time in a development not so far away….. A woman steps out of the bath.

I love it when the house is quiet like this, when all the visitors have left and I am alone again. Wrapping my body in a large, soft towel I wander into the bedroom and my breath catches in my throat. A blindfold sits on my pillow. However, a quick scan of the bedroom reveals no-one. There is only one person who would sneak into my house. My pulse jumps at the thought of you being near. I listen intently trying to discern your whereabouts but hearing nothing over the water draining from the tub, I turn my attention back to the blindfold. It is mine, which tells me you has been in my toy drawer; a thought which does nothing to settle my jumping pulse.

Under the blindfold, the corner of a piece of paper is barely visible. I cross to the bed, and move the blindfold to find a neatly folded note. Put on the blindfold and lie down. Goose bumps prickle over my damp skin. Anticipation makes my heart begin to beat faster.

I am immediately plunged into complete darkness, as I pull the blindfold over my eyes. Feeling for the edge of the bed, I climb up onto it, lie down as instructed and wait. Enough time passes to make me fidgety, just as I begin to wonder if this is all a joke, your voice in my ear makes me jump. How you move so quietly, I’ll never know.

“Don’t move.”

I start to talk but you put your finger on my lips silencing me. “Don’t talk either”, you add. Amusement is plain in your voice. It’s not often I am quiet and we both know it.

“Tonight you have to be completely quiet. Nod if you understand.”

I nod. The anticipation grows at the thought of this new game. My skin tingles. My breathing becomes shallower. That delicious warm feeling that is sexual arousal unfurls in my core, as you continue to lay out the rules.

“You cannot move, you cannot talk. You must be completely silent.”

Completely quiet and still? I don’t know if I can do that, talking is something I’m good at and usually do quite often. As I debate the likelihood of me remaining quiet, you lift one of my arms over my head. “Nod if you understand.”

Ultimately, my infernal curiosity gets the better of me and for the sake of a sexual adventure, I’m willing to try. I nod.

“Good.” I hear the satisfaction in your voice.

Relaxing, I let you draw my other arm over my head and leave it where it falls on my pillow. You run your finger along the inside of my arm raising more goose bumps. I try not to shiver. When your fingers encounter the towel still wrapped around me, you give it a tug, exposing my breasts. Maybe it’s the cooler bedroom air or maybe it’s the knowledge of what you can do to, and with, my body, but my nipples harden almost instantaneously. Leaving me feeling exposed and somewhat vulnerable, you spread my legs and then stand up.

Momentarily, I hear you pull your belt from your pants. The zing of leather as it is released from each belt loop and the final snap as you pull it free causes my breath to catch in my throat. My mind mulls over all of the potential ways you could employ a belt but the thump of the belt buckle hitting the floor is at once a relief and a disappointment. I had conjured up some interesting possibilities.

My thoughts are interrupted by noise of your zipper being drawn down. I hear your pants hit the floor and the stretch of a t-shirt as you pull it up over your head. The sound of a man undressing has never been so erotic.

In my minds eye I can see your body clearly; lovely, strong and sexy, pale in the moonlight filtering though the skylight. I smile. Having a vivid imagination is very helpful at times.

The bed shifts as you sit next to me. Suddenly I feel your fingers between my legs. I jump; shocked you have skipped some of the more traditional ‘build-up’ zones. I had expected a slower more sensual approach but I suppose part of this game is letting go of my expectations.

However, I am not used to giving up control like this. Taking a deep breath, I consciously let go, willing myself to relax and go along with whatever you have planned. Although, it’s not so difficult when your fingers are playing between my legs like that. In fact, it’s more difficult to think coherently as each second passes. Obeying the no noise rule, I stifle a moan. I’m also trying really hard not to move my hips to increase the contact between you fingers and my clitoris. Your teasing touches are quickly becoming almost unbearable.

You press a finger into me, curling it to find my happy spot. My insides feel like they are melting in a pool of warm sexual arousal. I instinctively close my muscles around your finger, trying to hold you inside me.

“You’re already wet” you say, I can hear the smirk in your voice. Again, I obey the rules and curb the smart arse comment that I would usually make. I only hope you appreciate how difficult this is for me. Forgetting you can’t see my face, I narrow my eyes at you in irritation.

“I thought about tying you to the bed.” You tell me in a low whisper. The bed shifts again as you change your position. To what, I don’t know as you are no longer touching me at all. You have removed your hand, leaving me feeling empty and unsatisfied and decidedly vexed. “But if I tied you to the bed you would be unable to move.”

I am confused, you told me not to move so what’s the difference?

“This way you can move,” as you continue you pinch my nipple, the touch shocking in it’s unexpectedness as well as its brevity, “but I want you to choose not to.”

Realization dawns and I have to admire your deviousness. Tied down the choice to move would have been taken away. This way I have the choice to react, move or protest, each and every time you do something new but you want me to choose, every time, to submit.

“It’s much more fun to allow you to move but instruct you not to.” you say confirming my suspicions. But even as I am thinking evil thoughts of revenge and payback my body is aching for you to touch it again.

When you bend down to kiss me, I realize I am smiling. I do love a challenge. And as you entice open my lips with your tongue, I remember just how much I love kissing you. After a few moments of this kissing, I think that I could be quite happy just making out with you…. But really? Who am I kidding? I always want more. I won’t be completely satisfied until I feel you come inside me.

You break the kiss. Once again I am left with no physical contact at all. This contact no-contact thing is driving me crazy, both physically and mentally. I don’t know where you have gone or where you will touch me next. My mind swims with possibilities. My body simply aches; aches for more, whether you are touching me or not.

When I feel your tongue on my nipple I nearly cry out. You tantalize me with lips and tongue; it’s very difficult not to arch my back to push more of my breast into your mouth. I want you to suck my breast into your mouth, roll my nipple on your tongue... but you are gone again.

Seconds pass which feel like hours until I hear a sound which I quickly recognize as you jerking off. I scowl again, annoyed. I want to feel your dick; I enjoy feeling you harden in my hand. It’s one of my favorite things.

But when I do get to feel your erection it isn’t in my hand. You kneel above my head to rub the tip of your dick on my lips. I open my mouth to accept you and you sink your cock into my mouth. I have always liked how you taste. I like the feeling of your hard smooth dick sliding over my tongue. As I suck and lick your dick, you lean forward until I feel your hot breath and the tickle of your goatee between my legs.

Within seconds, I begin to have a very hard time remembering to be quiet. Your warm mouth and tongue on my clitoris are teasing and arousing me to the point of distraction. You do something with your tongue that makes me moan despite myself. Immediately you stop, and I suppress a whimper of desperation. I let go of your dick to see how you likes it and am gratified to hear your sharp exclamation of frustration. To my immense relief you resume your ministrations to my clitoris; while, of course, putting your dick back in my mouth.

Your tongue does whatever that thing is it does and I realize am close to coming, from oral sex alone. This is almost unheard of for me. But you stop before you push me over the edge. I’m not sure how much of this stop start I can take. I want to come. I need to come.

You are breathing hard and I derive some satisfaction from the knowledge you are also turned on. If your erection is anything to go by, I’d say you are fully aroused. You push your hips down and I think for a second you are going to come in my mouth but you pull away and sit back on the bed next to me. Leaning down, you kiss me again. I can taste my own juices on your lips. I like it.

Then you are gone again. When I hear you are rummaging in the toy drawer, a million thoughts race through my mind. Which toy will you chose, one for me or one for you? Suddenly, your mouth is on my breast, your fingers on my clitoris and the smooth cool plastic of my dildo against the opening of my pussy. My internal debate rages, I desperately want to tell you how you have to go slowly because I know exactly how big the dildo is, almost too big. Almost. But if I speak you will leave, of that I have no doubt. I chose to remain silent, hoping you’ll be sensible.

You push my legs even further apart with your knees and slowly press the dildo into me. I fight back a cry. My hands are gripping one another tightly over my head in an effort to lie still. The dildo fills me completely.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, “that’s so fucking hot.” Wishing I can see what you are seeing my imagination takes over. I create the image of you kneeling between my legs, my body, pliant and spread open on the bed, the pale plastic of the toy buried inside me.

Already adjusting to the size of the dildo, when you start moving it, I enjoy it immensely. You start slowly, pulling it almost all the way out before pushing it back in. Your hands are everywhere, my breasts, my clit, my face, legs, stroking, touching, caressing. I can no longer keep track of the individual sensations and give myself over to the whirl of sensual experience.

The pace of the dildo fucking has increased. Soon I feel an orgasm building and have a momentary flash of panic. How am I to keep still and quiet while I come? Then again, the evil little thought pops into my head, if I have a gloriously noisy orgasm and you leave…. I’ll still have come. And you won’t have. Hah!

That thought gives me a selfish sort of comfort so I decide to let the orgasm build. However, almost as if you have read my mind, you stop. Unfortunately, you know me well enough to realize if you make me come, there will be little incentive for me to keep quiet and still. Damn it! Plus, I think you are enjoying pushing me to the edge but not letting me go over.

I begin to question why I like you.

When you pull the dildo out, I cannot help the whimper that escapes my lips. Waiting to feel what you will do next is tortuous. I want to tell you to fuck me. I want to tell you how empty I feel and how much I need you to fill me back up, how much I want to feel your dick inside me, how I need the heat of real flesh. Your flesh, your dick. But again I chose to remain quiet, cursing you all the while, and let you do whatever you it is will do next.

When you do slip your dick into my pussy, I almost cry with relief. I am so ready for you, you sink into me easily. The heat of your body fills me. This is what I want; this is always what I want. Everything else we do is wonderful and fun and exciting but this feeling, your dick inside my pussy, this is what I really crave.

I reflexively close my muscles around you, holding you inside me. If you pull out now, we will have a big problem. Luckily, you show no sign of wanting to pull out. In fact you pull my legs up so you can drive further into me. My legs are quivering with the effort to stay still. I desperately want to grind onto your cock, rotating my hips to help push us both closer to orgasm, but I have to settle for using my pelvic muscles to massage your dick.

You hold my hands, our fingers entwined, to act as a counter balance to gain even more depth. You are so far inside me I can feel your balls squished against the cheeks of my ass. I grin widely. I love this feeling.

“Next time,” you whisper, “I’m bringing a friend.” I am stunned. “One of us will be fucking you like this,” you begin to fuck me with long, smooth strokes. “The other one…” you pause your breathing is becoming labored. I love hearing you breath hard in my ear. I hope that you are turned on as I am, not only by what we have done tonight but also by the idea of what we can try next. “The other one can be in your mouth, but who knows? Maybe he could be taking pictures, he could be watching, or giving instructions, and jerking off. Maybe we will take turns trying it all.”

Whether you are serious or not, the idea is erotic beyond compare and listening to you whisper these naughty thoughts has pushed me back to the edge. As you talk, you are fucking me hard and fast and I feel the orgasm I have been desperate for, build again. My heart is racing, my skin flushed, the pulsing inside me is reaching a crescendo. I really need to come this time.

If you back off now, I promise myself that I’ll kick you out and finish the job myself. But when I feel your dick thicken inside me, I know that you are about to come too. With a great sense of relief, I give myself over to my rolling orgasm as you empty yourself into me.

When the last waves of my orgasm fade, I wonder if I can talk now. Screw it! “That’s was amazing” I say.

You laugh, “Great! Now I have to leave.”

“Good. Et your shit and get out.” I smile as I say it. You’d leave anyway now we are done and that’s just fine with me. I like our arrangement. You roll out of bed and get dressed.

“Were you serious about another man?” I ask, taking off the mask. You give me that non-committal smirk you know drives me nuts. I make up my mind on the spot, next time I will surprise you. With a friend.

Hotel Story Part 3.

I have completed Part 3 of the hotel story. It's filed in the archives (archives - that sounds terribly important, doesn't it? ). Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Now back to writing the male POV. Ugh! I have come to the conclusion that the male POV isn't what women really want to hear. A woman would like to think when she offers up some hopefully blisteringly good sex, that her intended thinks somewhere along the lines of... "She is beautiful; I need her more than I have ever needed another woman. I must have her or die!".... okay, maybe not those exact thoughts.

Whereas the reality is, when presented with the opportunity to have sex with a reasonably good looking woman, a man will likely think, "Cool. I'm going to get laid". In fact, the I'm going to get laid part might indeed be pushing it. They probably stop at cool!

So maybe I'll write what women want to hear as the male POV. This is fantasy after all!

Once upon a time, in a hotel room not so far away - Part 3

Once inside my room, I close the door behind us and turn to face him. Elements of doubt suddenly creep into my mind; not doubts about what am I doing, I am more than sure I want to take this man to bed, but more along the lines of what do I do next?

He looks at me hungrily. I feel a small smile form at the corner of my mouth. Who doesn’t like being looked at that way? His eyes are bright; his breathing audible. I wonder if my eyes are as bright. I’m certainly turned on. Mr. Sinatra, Frank takes a step towards me. The door prevents me from backing up. Not that I want to back up. He is intense and intriguing and I want him. Sexual attraction not only has my breasts tingling and my underwear getting damp, but my heightened senses make me aware of how my clothes feel on my skin, the heat in the room, the smell of his soap. Everything. I love this feeling. Like all my senses are hyper-focused on this one moment.

Any doubts I had quickly dissipates as he leans in to kiss me again. He kisses very well, softly, letting me come to him. I can’t stand it when a guy sticks his tongue down my throat. Don’t get me wrong, I like kissing, I like kissing with tongues; it’s just aggressive tongue thrusting tells me he isn’t listening to me. He’s not exploring, letting us find each other. Kissing, like sex itself, is something two people do together not something one does to the other. A man shoving his tongue in my mouth without being invited might end up getting bitten.

In contrast, his kisses invite me to explore; they hold promise, promise of a man who will not only listen to me but will enjoy that journey of discovery. This is an equal seduction. As the kiss continues, my heart rate goes up. Our tongues meet; he rolls his tongue over mine, slowly and sensually.

While we kiss, his hands work their way up under my sweater. I’m thankful I’m wearing my good bra. He squeezes my breasts gently, wrapping his long fingers around them. Pulling down my bra he frees my nipples, teasing them until they pucker under his thumbs. My breasts appear to be connected directly with my womb; sparks of heat travel swiftly to my core making my insides ache.


When he pulls away I’m confused. I feel like I should offer him something to drink, be a better hostess, but all I want is more kissing, then touching, undressing and …..

“I feel I should offer you something to drink,” I practically pant, “but can I play hostess after we have sex?”

He smiles, “Sure. Afterwards is good.” I’m glad to see his breathing is also a little laboured. “If I sit on the bed, would you take off your clothes for me?”

“All of them?” I ask.

“All but the stockings.”

“That, I can do.” I grin. Once again, with this simple request, he has captured my imagination. I half expected a frenzied, pulling off of each others clothes, or at least enough of them to allow a quick fuck. But rather he has opted to slow things down, take our time. I like it.

He takes a seat on the bed, turns a couple of pillows vertical behind him, and leans against the head board. I’m not sure if he is looking for a full striptease, or just a slow undressing. I figure I’ll start slow and he can direct me if he chooses.

I start with my sweater. I pull it up my torso, over my head and off. Dropping it on the floor, I shiver slightly as the cooler air of the room moves over my exposed skin. I have my camisole, bra, skirt, stockings and boots left to remove. The zip for my skirt sits on my hip, I turn slightly so he can watch as I draw it down. Raising my hands over my head, I give a little shimmy and the shirt slips over my hips, pooling in a heap at my feet. I step out of it, kicking it to the side. Tripping over it and landing on my face, is not the kind of impression I would like to make!

I bend down to unzip my boots, giving him the rear view. My lace boy shorts might not be the smallest panties in the world, but they do give my ass a fine shape. I linger over pulling the boots off but when they are off I toss them over by my skirt. Left in my underwear and camisole I ask, “Keep going or do you want to help?”

“No. No, you can keep going.” If the big grin on his face, or the fact his hand is down his pants, indicates anything, I suspect he is quite happy with the show so far. Deciding to embellish a little I run my hands over my breasts, cupping them, smoothing my thumb across the nipple. I give a little sigh. Only half faked. This is fun and erotic. My hips sway. I begin to dance. My hands float all over my body, touching, rubbing, teasing. When I sigh next, I’m not faking it at all. I wonder what he wants to see. How far I can go? His hand is still down his pants, so I pull my underwear to the side and touch myself.

In the meantime....

Here is another story. It's not part of my experiment with POV. As I'm being a little slower than I had hoped getting the rest of that story to you, I thought maybe you'd appreciate a substitute. This one is told in the form of an email. As always let you me know what you think.

Once upon a time.... a woman tells a story via email

- Tell me a story

- now? Over email?

- Sure. The boss is out, I need a little something to get me through the day.
- Okay…… hmmmm…. The other day I was watching porn. Is that a good start?

- As good as any. Is it a true story?

- does it matter?

- Not really.

- Ha Ha!

So, I was watching porn. I was watching a woman masturbate. I got to thinking, I don't know what I look like down below. I am intimately familiar with how I feel; I’ve just never really examined myself before. I wondered, do I look like her? What would my clitoris look like when engorged? How slick and wet am I when I come? These questions, and more, flow through my mind as I watch the woman playing with herself. I’m slightly surprised it has never occurred to me to look before, but I guess I’ve always been more interested in how things feel rather than how they appear.

- Really? You’ve never looked.

- Sure, I’ve looked, just not examined. You are so much more visual than I am. I know enjoy looking, watching….filming. But that’s another story. In this story, I am alone with my curiosity.

- I remember the filming…

- Are you going to let me tell you this story?

- Sorry

- You should be. Where was I? Determined to rectify the situation, I get off the bed to find a mirror. Finding a hand held mirror in the bathroom, I slip off my underwear, and climb back onto the bed. Propping the mirror up against the footboard of the bed, I position myself in the middle of the bed, leaning against the head board. This affords me an unobstructed view of both the woman in the movie and myself in the mirror. I spread my legs nice and wide, pull my skirt up over my thighs so I have an unobstructed view of my…. This is where I always get into difficulty, what do I call it?

- Pussy, I like pussy. Get on with it

- Don’t rush me. You’ll enjoy it more if I tell it slower.

Anyway, I discovered we don’t look much alike at all. I'm not nearly as big as she is….my anatomy is more discreet, shall I say?

Well, seeing as she was a professional, I thought I would follow her lead. She was rubbing her clitoris with two fingers. I separated the folds of skin with my fingers, found my clit and started to rub. Very gently at first, in fact it was more a caress than a rub. - Damn

- Watching and feeling at the same time was a new and very enjoyable experience. It feels like I’m melting starting from the point where my fingers make contact with my clitoris but it spreads out and through me. But also like watching my pale fingers contrast against the warmer pink flesh between my legs. Are you still with me?

- uh huh. Keep going.

- The heat radiates out from the contact point relaxing and exciting me simultaneously. The heat reaches my breasts, which begin to tingle. I increase the pressure on my clit a fraction. Soon, my heart rate is climbing and my breathing is doing that hiccupy thing it does when I am excited.

- I like that hiccupy thing…

- I wanted to see what it would look like if I put my finger inside me. I press my forefinger into my pussy and close my eyes for a second or two to concentrate on how it hot and wet I am. It’s easy to get lost in how it feels but I am supposed to be watching myself too.
When I opened my eyes I find I can’t see anything in the mirror; my hand is in the way, I move my hand slightly so I can see. It looks like my finger was being swallowed by a tight soft red mouth. I put a second finger in.

The folds of my vagina press against my fingers. (It’s quite tight in there, you know?).

- Yeah, I know. :)

- Experimenting a little, I tighten the muscles of my vagina to see if I could tell the difference, to see if I got tighter. I did.

I can only imagine what that would feel like around your dick. If, when I tighten my muscles around you it feels like you are being drawn deeper and deeper inside me…

- Damn, woman.

- I explore the inside of my vagina with my fingers, searching for my happy spot. I find it, curl the tips of both fingers against it and rock my hips slightly on the bed. The warm soft feeling is rapidly being replaced by a far more urgent feeling. I am no longer relaxed, I need more.

By this time I am having a difficult time watching myself in the mirror. I want to close my eyes and focus only on the sensations of my fingers stroking the inside of my pussy, but I force myself to watch. I also watch the woman on my computer, imagining we are masturbating together.

Would you like to watch me masturbate with another woman?
- Hell yes!

- Put it on the list. I'm almost done. Are you still with me?

- Very funny… get on with it!

- The inside of my pussy is very slick at this point. My breathing, more like panting and my hips are moving almost involuntarily on the bed. With my free hand, I pull my shirt down, freeing my breasts. I take a handful of boob; my nipples harden quickly under the attention of my fingers, stroking, rolling and lightly pinching.
I am very close to coming with the clitoral stimulation alone which, as you know, is very unusual for me. I decide to make myself come without any more vaginal penetration, no fingers, no toys, no nothing. I want to experience a clitoral orgasm. I press even harder on my clit, cupping my hand over my pubic bone to add more pressure. The mirror has been forgotten by this stage. There isn't much else in my mind but making myself come.... I let my head fall back, I don’t care how much noise I make. I writhe on the bed, my hips working furiously with my hand driving me closer and closer.

Then I come.

It is a very sharp and intense orgasm, radiating through my whole abdomen. I think I may have shouted but I am not paying attention to anything but the feeling of release, which lasts for what seems like forever. When it is over I lie on the bed panting, thoroughly exhausted. I smell of sex and sweat and my fingers taste like pussy and I am very pleased with myself.

So…how was that story?

- I’ll meet you in the supply closet in five minutes.

- Can’t. I have work to do.

- You can be such a bitch!

- I know. ;-)

PS. It is a true story. Next time you can watch…

TTFN

a little help....

Okay, clearly I have been slacking in my porn writing responsibilities. I’m very sorry. I also have two full length novels in the works and am finding it a little harder than usual to leap from one project to the other. Maybe my ADD is on the wane. Dammit!

This whole writing from the male point of view business is hard. Frankly, I’m stuck. So…. Guys, any insight you can offer will be appreciated!

Once upon a time, in a hotel bar not so far away….. a man is invited upstairs by a woman.

Until recently, the evening had not been promising. I had been looking at the prospect of spending the evening with my interminably dull boss. But now, instead of having to share a room with my flatulent boss, I am now going to share a bed with Miss. Jones; a very interesting prospect indeed.

When I saw her sitting in the bar, I was surprised but pleased. The few snippets of her conversations I have overheard in the elevator or getting coffee in the morning have proved entertaining, plus she has great legs.

She had been very clearly checking me out earlier, so I dumped the boss on the intern, (that’s why we have them, right?) and made my excuses to spend the evening with a far more attractive companion. Usually she wears a suit; tonight she is wearing some sort of sweater which clings in places sweaters ought to cling, a skirt and the kind of boots which come up to her knee. I love those boots.

After a few drinks, the crossword and some conversation, Miss Jones invites me up to her room. The offer isn’t exactly made out of the blue. We have been sitting fairly close for a while, close enough to smell her perfume. It’s a little bit sweet and a little bit spicy. Under the pretext of doing the crossword, we have also been playing a little footsie, with our knees, under the table.

Whenever the leather of her boots, rubs against my pant leg, it’s hard not to imagine what it would be like to have those long legs wrapped around me. The image is a nice one. She is a good looking woman; curvy, in a round, soft sort of a way.

The offer, when it comes, leaves me feeling flattered and more than a little surprised. I’m not used to women being so blunt.

“Where are you staying?” she asks.

“At the hotel across the street.” I tell her, hoping it isn’t true. I’m hoping I’ll be staying with her.

“Do you want to stay here with me?” The question is asked so casually, I can’t help but wonder if she cares one way or the other.

I watch her for a second looking for clues. “Maybe.”

My non-committal answer annoys her. A flash of impatience is clearly visible in her eyes causing me wonder briefly if it’s smart to bait a red head. Then she leans over and kisses me. Her lips are soft and I think it was probably very wise to bait this particular red head.

She stops kissing me all too soon, but makes up for it by whispering some of her “favorite things” in my ear. They say men are visual creatures; well every one of her favorite things conjured a very pleasing visual indeed.

Leaving me to my wild imaginings, she goes to do something, I have no idea what. I’m fixated on “favorite thing” number three. I can practically feel her warm hands on my….

Miss Jones returns, “So?” she asks.

“So…. I think we can go upstairs.” I tell her, my mind still occupied by visuals of favorite things.

Taking my hand, she leads the way to the elevator. Once inside she hits buttons and I feel the elevator smoothly start its ascent. I think how cool it would be to have an AreoSmith, Love in an Elevator moment but before I can suggest it, she takes hold of my belt buckle, pulling me towards her. Her hand is inches from my dick and it is inches too far.

She kisses me softly again, her hand still on my belt buckle. The other hand touches my face which is oddly sexy. I kiss her full lower lip, taking my time. If I play my cards right, this could play out into a full two day marathon of sex. She tastes like martini and something I can’t quite figure out; maybe chocolate or honey. Excitement and anticipation run through my body.

Her tongue works its way between my lips. I open them to let her explore. When she flicks her tongue into my mouth, I grab her ass, pulling her into me. My dick finally starts to pay attention to the fact we are about to get laid. It stirs in my pants as she pushes her hips into mine. I run my hands over her backside, down her thighs. If I am not mistaken, I feel the lace of stocking tops through the fabric of her skirt. My heart beats just a little faster. Who doesn’t love a woman in stockings?

The ding of the elevator stops me getting carried away; a reminder we are in public. Getting caught with my hand up her skirt isn’t how I want to start this evening. The doors open and we spring apart. Startled, she begins to laugh. It’s a good laugh, not a titter or giggle but a laugh. An older couple is waiting to get into the elevator, Miss Jones smiles at them as she passes, I wonder at the clarity of her mind when I am clearly unable to focus on anything but getting to see those stockings.

Her hotel room is fairly standard with nothing much worth noting, except for the size of the bed. Already four of five steps ahead of myself, I can see us rolling around on that bed, tangled up in a variety of interesting ways.

She closes the door; I think it’s about time I took control. It’s very nice having a woman take the lead every now and again but right now I want to put my hands on her. I want to slide them up under her sweater…

Once upon a time, in a hotel bar not so far away….. a woman nurses her drink.

I suspect I am stuck here for the night. Although, I am unable to see outside from the windowless bar, I do have a clear view of the hotel lobby. People are still arriving, stomping their shoes on the mat, shaking out their coats, trying to rid themselves of the thick wet snow.

It’s the first big storm of the winter and I’m stuck on my way home from a conference. My lay-over should have been two hours; it may well turn out to be two days. I watch as irate would-be travelers try to persuade the beleaguered desk clerk to provide rooms he no longer has available. One man appears to be imminent danger of suffering an aneurism, his face is purple, his arms wave wildly as he berates the poor clerk. I, on the other hand, am quite relaxed. Maybe it’s the martini, or maybe it’s because I don’t have anyone or anything to rush back to, but it’s most likely to be the fact I have a warm, dry room ready and waiting for me upstairs.

My bags have already been deposited, I’m showered, fed and have nothing to do until the storm passes. It’s a nice feeling, to have no where to be, no responsibilities. Forced to do nothing, I settle back into my seat, take another sip of my drink and pick up the pencil to take another stab at the crossword.

The arrival of the hotel manager a few minutes later is a welcome distraction. As it turns out, I’m not so good at crosswords. The manager is apparently offering aneurism-man a workable compromise as his face pales from purple to red. Aneurism-man moves to the other side of the lobby to convey whatever the plan is to his traveling companions.

One of them looks vaguely familiar. I know I should know him, but I can’t place his name, he’s out of context and my brain is being asked to make connections it would rather not. The martini isn’t helping. He leans over to pick up his carry-on bag. Then it hits me. We work in the same building, not for the same company but I have seen him in the elevator and once or twice in the coffee shop on the first floor. He’s has a very nice smile and a fine ass. I can’t help it, I notice these things… I’m a sucker for a fine ass.

Once upon a time, in a hotel bar not so far away….. Continued

I suspect I am stuck here for the night. Although, I am unable to see outside from the windowless bar, I do have a clear view of the hotel lobby. People are still arriving, stomping their shoes on the mat, shaking out their coats, trying to rid themselves of the thick wet snow.

It’s the first big storm of the winter and I’m stuck on my way home from a conference. My lay-over should have been two hours; it may well turn out to be two days. I watch as irate would-be travelers try to persuade the beleaguered desk clerk to provide rooms he no longer has available. One man appears to be imminent danger of suffering an aneurism, his face is purple, his arms wave wildly as he berates the poor clerk. I, on the other hand, am quite relaxed. Maybe it’s the martini, or maybe it’s because I don’t have anyone or anything to rush back to, but it’s most likely to be the fact I have a warm, dry room ready and waiting for me upstairs.

My bags have already been deposited, I’m showered, fed and have nothing to do until the storm passes. It’s a nice feeling, to have no where to be, no responsibilities. Forced to do nothing, I settle back into my seat, take another sip of my drink and pick up the pencil to take another stab at the crossword.

The arrival of the hotel manager a few minutes later is a welcome distraction. As it turns out, I’m not so good at crosswords. The manager is apparently offering aneurism-man a workable compromise as his face pales from purple to red. Aneurism-man moves to the other side of the lobby to convey whatever the plan is to his traveling companions.

One of them looks vaguely familiar. I know I should know him, but I can’t place his name, he’s out of context and my brain is being asked to make connections it would rather not. The martini isn’t helping. He leans over to pick up his carry-on bag. Then it hits me. We work in the same building, not for the same company but I have seen him in the elevator and once or twice in the coffee shop on the first floor. He’s has a very nice smile and a fine ass. I can’t help it, I notice these things… I’m a sucker for a fine ass.

I can quit racking my brain for his name; I never knew it to begin with. He looks over and catches me watching him. Caught looking, fairly obviously I must add, at his rear, I wave and smile. No point in hiding it. He gives a half wave back before being drawn into conversation again with aneurism-man. I try to re-focus on the crossword, but only end up re-giving up.

The trashy romance novel I picked up at the airport is the next source of amusement, it’s that or the television and I’m ashamed to say I have yet to figure out how to change the channel of the hotel set. The book will have to suffice. I pick it up and am immediately sucked into a totally unbelievable but highly entertaining account of a man carrying off the heroine to have his wicked way with her in the hay loft. I’ve always had a soft spot for hay lofts, they bring back fond memories of my one and only summer working at a summer ranch camp.

Half an hour later I’m in a state of mixed agitation; half annoyed by the heroines distinct lack of gumption, half turned on by the hero’s over abundance of the same quality. Honestly, if women would just tell men what they want without playing coy or trying to manipulate, life would be so much easier.

The arrival of another martini is a welcome distraction, especially as it is delivered by Mr. Fine Ass.

“Five across is ‘vacuous’.” he says sliding into the booth opposite me. I glance at the paper on the table, looking for five across and silently curse myself for being ... well so vacuous really. “Do you mind?” he continues, picking up my pencil and the half completed puzzle.

“Go ahead.” I say hoping he won’t have to do much erasing. We sit in silence for a couple of minutes. It’s a companionable silence, I guess. If you discount the fact, I’m uncomfortably aroused by my stupid book and he’s cute.

“My name is Miss. Jones.” I tell him reaching out to shake his hand.

“Miss Jones? No first name?”

“Just Miss Jones. What’s your name?”

“Mr. Sinatra.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I smile, so he has a sense of humor too. Cute, fine ass, sense of humor and knows what vacuous means. Practically perfect.

“Thanks for the martini.”

“You’re welcome. You’re a few ahead of me so drink slowly while I catch up.”

I raise an eyebrow. He’s planning on sticking around for a little while at least. This pleases me. Company is welcome; cute smart and funny company is doubly so.

A couple of hours later I have noticed several things, when he talks he waves his hands around. He has musician’s hands; I imagine he plays guitar or maybe piano or both. His fingers are long and I can all too readily imagine them stroking the skin on my arm or stomach or… damn that book!

Other things I have noticed or learned about him, he watches your face when he is talking to you. It’s a direct gaze which is simultaneously slightly uncomfortable yet compelling. Amusement and intelligence are evident in his blue eyes. He isn’t enormously tall but is well built; broad shoulders narrow hips and the fine ass I have mentioned several times before.

We are on our third martini, he caught up very quickly, and I’m getting a little tipsy. I wish I could handle my liquor better than this but what can I say, I’m a cheap date. My next drink needs to be a soda or maybe coffee. We have finished the crossword, talked about life, politics, religion, and many other topics you are supposed to avoid in polite company. Sometime in the last hour I moved to sit next to him. Ostensibly to make working on the crossword easier but it has allowed me close enough to smell him. He smells clean, like soap and shaving cream only. No cologne.

Under the table, our knees have bumped or brushed against each other several times. Each time I am very aware of his physical presence. And each time the ‘bump’ lasts a little longer. I know by now I’d like to kiss him; maybe more, but a kiss is a good place to start. But I work in the same building as this man, I’m not sure it would be wise to hit on him. Kissing may well lead to groping which may well lead to clothing removal and then to fucking.

The visual of us fucking pops into my head and I’m sure my cheeks color. Not from embarrassment, after all fucking is good fun and nothing to be embarrassed about; no, the color comes from the hot flash which accompanied the vision. My skin prickles, my heart rate jumps and I’m suddenly aware of my underwear and how it’s touching the more sensitive parts of my body. I can’t believe I’m being turned on by my own underwear. Apparently I’m a cheap and easy date!

The direct approach is usually the one I take and I tend to tell the truth always. I figure, if I want to kiss him I should ask if he had any objections. But what to say? Can I kiss you? Would you like to kiss me? Fancy a snog, mate?

While I’m thinking, he runs his forefinger along my arm, across my hand to trace the length of my fingers. His touch is electric. My mind is immediately made up. If touching my arm has made my pulse jump, I need to know what it would feel like if he touched my neck, my face, if he ran his hands over my hips or through my hair, if his long fingers played over my breasts and between my legs.

“Where are you staying?” I ask.

“At the hotel across the street.”

I take a deep breath, the worst he can do is say ‘no’. Or maybe laugh until he snorts martini out of his nose… and then say ‘no’. Although that might be worth watching. I bet it would sting!

“Do you want to stay here with me?” I ask as casually as I can muster.

He looks at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Maybe.” he says finally.

“Maybe?” I roll my eyes then lean over to kiss him on the lips. A soft lips-closed kiss. A sensual are-you-sure-you-don’t-want-to-rethink-that-‘maybe’ kind of kiss.

“I’m going to settle the bill.” I whisper in his ear, “You think about my offer while I’m gone.” For good measure I add a few of my ‘favorite things’, then I slide out of the booth, grab my purse and make my way to the bar, hoping he is watching my fine ass as I walk away. I’m a soft, round woman with plenty of curves, most of which are still in the right places. I trust he is enjoying the view and the visual my parting words conjured.

After settling the tab, I linger for a moment chatting with the bar tender about the weather. It turns out there is another storm on the heels of this one. If we aren’t in the air by four tomorrow we can count on at least another night in the hotel. I cross to the reception desk and book my room for two extra nights just in case. When I get back to the table Mr. Sinatra is sitting where I left him.

“So?” I ask him.

“So…. I think we can go upstairs.” He has a small smirk on his face but mostly I am relieved there is no laughter or snorting of vodka martini. “I’d like to try favorite thing number three.” I grin. I would too.

Taking his hand I lead the way to the elevator. Once inside I hit the 9th floor button and turn to him.

It occurs to me, it’s a damn shame modern elevators are so fast or we could have a Fatal Attraction elevator moment right here, right now... Only without all the weirdness and dead rabbits afterwards.

If I am honest, I have often fantasized about ‘Mr. Sinatra’, there is something undeniably attractive about him. The air between us is fairly crackling with tension. At least I think it is. Who knows what he is thinking!

Which one of us will make the first move?

Me apparently. I take hold of his belt buckle and pull him towards me until we are standing face to face. We kiss. It starts as a soft gentle kiss, his lips barely brushing mine. There is a hint of alcohol on his breath, which I find enticing.

I put one hand on the side of his face and run my thumb over the scruff his chin. The bristles of his goatee tickle both my thumb and my lips. He kisses my lower lip, lingering for a second or two, teasing me. I love it. Excitement and anticipation run through my body.

My tongue traces the inside line of his lips, they part so I deepen the kiss. His hands find my ass, pulling my hips into his. He isn’t hard yet; at least I hope he isn’t hard as I can’t feel a damn thing through his pants! Making a man hard is one of my favorite things and I look forward to getting Mr. Sinatra fully erect.

He slides his over my hips and down my thighs, lingering at my stocking tops. I feel him smile as he kisses me.

Just as his finger tips reach the hem of my skirt, the elevator dings. We have reached the 9th floor. The doors open and we spring apart, startled. I laugh at myself. An older couple are standing waiting to get into the elevator, I feel a little like a teenager caught necking in the back seat of my parents car. But I tell myself I’m a grown woman with every right to be seducing another grown adult. I smile at the couple, wish them a good evening and slip past them, leading the way to my room.


Once inside my room, I close the door behind us and turn to face him. Elements of doubt suddenly creep into my mind; not doubts about what am I doing, I am more than sure I want to take this man to bed, but more along the lines of what do I do next?