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.