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We haven’t seen each other in quite a long time and are going to meet in the hotel’s lounge. I enter wearing a dark blue pinstriped suit, powder blue short-sleeved shirt with the top two buttons open. There is a bright gold lapel pin on the right lapel.
I spot you sitting at the bar dressed in a simple red sheath skirt. Simple? Your top is a red backless vest with a wide plunging neckline - it plunges to your belly button where two buttons hold it closed. Your mid-thigh hemline has ridden up (or did you pulled it up on purpose?) just high enough that I see about an inch of creamy white thigh above your black stockings. Red high heels and a wide gold chain necklace complete your attire. No, wait, there is a fine gold chain around your right ankle.
You are sitting sideways to the door, chatting with the bartender and don’t see me as I walk in. I quietly walk up three bar stools behind you and order from the other bartender. After some minutes of drinking in your beauty and trying to calm my racing heart, I slowly make my way over to the stool immediately behind you. Your drink is almost empty. Good.
“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be obnoxious but you are so beautiful that I must show my admiration. May I buy a drink, a red rose, or take you to bed?”
Pleasantly startled, you turn, start to grab me for a big hug and kiss, but catch yourself and play along with the stranger act: “You are a bit forward. But you are cute, so why don’t we start with the drink, then a flower and take it from there.”
“Ok, we can play the usual mating games if that’s what you want, but you look so hot that you must be angling for someone to take you to bed. Tell me, do I have a shot?”
“I’ve been here 15 minutes and you are the best stud to come in so far. The night is young; a better hunk may come in. You’ll get at least a blood boiling kiss and maybe I’ll let you cop a feel, if I do decide to move on.”
“That’s a better offer than most girls make,” I reply. Turning to the bartender who has been standing by listening, “Freshen this foxy lady’s drink and I’ll take the same.” Continuing to you, as he moves away: “I said you look hot; you must be hot, too. That’s quite the dress you are almost wearing - quite air conditioned!”
“That line is old. You’ll have to do better or I’ll hit on the guy at the end of the bar.”
Glancing in the indicated direction, I reply: “He certainly looks nice, but do you think he could keep you coming all night long? Younger guys usually shoot one or two loads, roll over and go to sleep. Is that what you got dressed up for?”
“I had hoped to find a stud that could fill me up and keep it up. How do I know you aren’t bragging? I have worn out others that have bragged that they could stay hard all night.”
“Well, first of all, I said that I could keep you coming all night, not that I could stay hard. Second, I may not be able to fill you up - that wasn’t part of my promise - I only have an average sized cock and I don’t know your size. As to bragging, why would I admit to a less than studly size if my only goal was to bang you once and go to sleep? You can certainly get bigger meat in here tonight, but you would have to search long to find a guy with better technique and more stamina. So, are you looking to get stretched or to get exhausted with orgasms?”
“I want pussy-stretching size and all-night orgasms. You haven’t offered any proof that what you say is true.”
“Well, if we move over to a table, you can find out for yourself if I’m being truthful about my size, and judge whether it is acceptable. I’ve been hard since I laid eyes on you.”
With a sharp intake of breath, you agree to move. The only open booth is about midway down the row. No sooner are we seated than you say, “Whip it out. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Like you said, the night is young. I’m looking to get laid, not thrown in jail for indecent exposure. Come on in.”
You gently run my zipper down and reaching inside my pants, “No underwear. You too are stripped for action.” As your hand curls around my erection, “I’d say you are bigger than average, but your cock certainly is hotter than any I’ve had. And reaching lower, “and hairy, tight balls. I like that.”
“They are tight because they want to come. Better ease up. I was just offering proof.”
You back your hand off my rod, but leave it inside my zipper and run it through my pubic hair, “Now that I’m in here, I may as well stay. Silky cock hair is so sexy. I love to suck cock that is surrounded by silk. This might be fun after all.”
“Thanks ever so much! Glad you approve. When do I get a chance to approve of what I’m getting into, as it were?” I utter this as the waitress comes up to get a drink refill order.
Blushing slightly, she stutters, “Have I come at a bad time?” She glances down at your hand, or rather your wrist that disappears inside my pants.
“No, but this guy I picked up might come at a bad time if we don’t get him a bit more relaxed, if you know what I mean,” you reply. I place an order for another round as you nuzzle my neck.
When the waitress leaves, I ask again, “I like what I see. How about the rest? You had the right of first refusal and I seem to have measured up.”
Giggling, you reply, “You don’t even have a zipper to contend with.” I take that as the invitation that I’ve been waiting for. Only I can’t make up my mind whether I’m more interested in your breasts or your crotch first. Sensing my hesitation, you take you free hand and guide it into your vest. Your nipple is already hard, but I don’t let that stop me from enjoying the handful. You let out a slight moan, and I see the other nipple jutting out through the cloth of the vest! With my wrist, I pull your vest aside, not enough to expose your tit, but enough that I can see it from my angle. “Very nice. Do your nipples always crinkle up like they are cold?”
“When they are HOT they do! When I’m hot, I mean! With that, you slide your free hand inside my shirt to my little nipple and squeeze it hard.
“Hey, careful! Mine don’t get hard and jut out like yours.”
“Do you want to bet? I’ll bet I can get them hard.”
“No bet. But I’d like to experience that. Meanwhile, we have established that my prick is hard and that your nipples are hard; there is one other organ that may not be hard yet.” With that, I remove may hand from your vest and place it on your thigh just short of the hem of your skirt. As I do, you lean over for something that I have been dying for since we got to the booth. You part your lipstick red lips slightly, close your eyes and initiate the most soulful, slow, passionate kiss we’ve ever had. Our tongues meet in a slow tender probe, neither working deep. Our lips crush together and move as one, yet with independent passion. We are moaning now, deep in our throats. We are frozen; so intent are we on this long awaited kiss. As the poet said, in all of history there have only been three perfect kisses. We are adding a fourth to the history books!
In the long moment that it takes to end this kiss, I become aware of two things: despite two layers of cloth between us, I can feel your rock-like nipples burning into my chest. And the waitress has returned with our drinks. She has evidently been standing there for some seconds. As we straighten our upper bodies, this causes our lower bodies to rotate slightly. The base of my cock rotates in between your index and forefingers; my hand slides under the hem of your skirt, so my fingers are scant millimeters from the elastic leg openings of panties.
Now it is my turn to stutter as the waitress sets our drinks down. “Can you run a tab? My hands are full and I don’t want to give up any ground.” We all laugh and she takes my room number.
When I give it, you maintain the “meeting a stranger” role that we are playing: “Oh, we are staying on the same floor! I ought to cancel my room. Waitress, can you do that for me? And add my name to . . . what’s your name? To your room.” The waitress, of course, can’t accommodate the request; we thank her and say that we will take care of it when we get untangled.
When she leaves, we are desperate for another kiss. As we stare into each others eyes, half an inch apart, ready to start the kiss, I move my hand just far enough up your leg to confirm what I’ve suspected: you aren’t wearing panties. I let my fingers touch the wetness of your crotch without touching your pussy. This kiss is as passionate as the first, without the slow tenderness. This time we go for wild abandon - tongues probing deeply and wildly; lips mashing and sliding; mouths moving narrow and wide. If the poet were to rate the sexiest, nastiest, “fuck-me-I’m-ready” kiss, this one would top the International list. Our moans attract the attention of not one booth on either side (we had already done that!), but two booths on either side!
Sexual tension from role playing, semi-public sex play and restraining from coming in public is reaching its peak. I finally let my index finger part your outer pussy lips and slowly slide it up and down. You beg me to go in farther or frigg your clit. You massage my balls and the sensitive area between them for emphasis. After an aching long time, I insert two fingers fully between your inner and outer lips and stroke this velvet channel. Your hips buck forward and before I can react to teasingly withdraw my fingers, the forefinger slips into your fuck hole. So, I just slide it in slowly without moving it around or flexing it. You give me that “You huge tease; I want you to really finger fuck me now!” -look and wrap your whole hand around my shaft and withdraw it from its hiding place so that you can stroke the veined shaft and helmet with long, slow strokes. All of this while I only give you one slow, deep finger thrust, all the way to your cervix, and withdraw completely. You squeak with disgust. I move my forefinger to my mouth and eagerly suck the ambrosia juices off of it.
“No fair! I don’t have any juice that I can drink,” you lament.
“I’ll share pussy juices with you, but no cocktail juice until we get upstairs, and I’m not ready to leave just yet,” I reply. We alternate fingering your cooze. You offer your cooze-soaked fingers to me, I suck it off your fingers, and you do the same to my hand. Every time your hand disappears under your dress, the skin on my shaft stretches a little tighter as my cock tries to get harder and grow longer. And every time I suck your fingers dry, I imagine I am sucking on your hard clit. Giving my massive hard-on a stroke with your pussy-juiced hand, you innocently ask, “are you ready now?” I can’t speak; I simply nod yes. You expertly replace my cock and zip my pants; I get a last finger full of juice and smooth down your skirt. With as much dignity as I can muster with my trousers tenting out in front, we walk out among cheers from the other patrons.
In the elevator, we can’t wait. Wildly, you free my throbbing cock as I pull your skirt up around your waist. I boost you up on the handrail and you wrap your legs around my hips. My cock slides in to your cunt without any help. The two buttons holding your vest closed can’t withstand our gymnastics and your boobs swing free. You grab my shirt and pulling hard, the buttons fly off. Our chests weld together. Before we can buck or thrust, the elevator reaches our floor. I withdraw with a sucking noise; you have time to pull your skirt down and I help by mostly covering your breasts; slightly less well than in the bar. I pull my suit coat over my exposed meat just as the doors open. We push by the couple standing there and race down the hall to our room. Inside, we don’t bother undressing, but start the wildest, loudest fuck night ever. True to my word, it lasts until dawn.