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Did This Really Happen?
I awake on my stomach, one arm stretched above my head. My leg is dr*ped over the calf of the man sleeping soundly next to me.
I slowly open one eye to peer at him. One beat at a time my heart speeds from its steady bump bump bump to a fluttering pounding in my throat.
Fuck. Who is this?
Everything in the room fades away to flashes in a slideshow of last night.
Abe choosing a tie. Yes, the dark red one is the most sexy.
Abe sipping a glass of cabernet. Its deep red is as sinister as the color of his tie. Hes got an impish look in his eye tonight that grows more and more devilish with each sip of wine.
Hes hunting. He pretends its only a casual survey of the restaurant; just people watching. I know better.
My watch says Abe left the table almost fifteen minutes ago. I hope hes not feeling ill from all the wine.
My hand opening the unlocked door to the restroom to find the red head in the short black dress, from the bar, kneeling in front of Abe and enthusiastically sucking his cock. As I try to make sense of this scene he tilts his head back, eyes closed, and exclaims that hes cumming. Hes fucking cumming.
Im walking down the sidewalk. Im out of cigarettes.
Fuck. Not ok.
Abe was fucking that whores mouth. Not ok.
Light spills out onto the pavers in front of me. A man and woman emerge from some hotels lobby and into the night. Without hesitation, I turn and enter the lobby, then turn left toward the music and the lounge and the sharp scent of tobacco.
I sit down and order a Sprite. A bullshit Sprite. Pulling the phone from my purse I see that I have eleven missed calls and eight texts messages. All from Abe.
oh, God, Im fucking cumming
The bartender sets an upside down shot glass on the bar in front of me. I stare at it stupidly.
Its from the gentleman across the bar. Let me know when youre ready.
I stare back at the shot glass, then look up, meeting eyes with him. Him. The only other person in the bar besides the bartender.
I smile a sad thank you, then tilt my head and lift two fingers tapping my lips to ask for a cigarette. He stubs his out without looking away, then lifts his drink and eases off the barstool to come around the bar and join me.
His fingers are entwined in my hair and his tongue is probing my mouth. He tastes like scotch and ginger and tobacco and sex.
I move to pull away, but his other hand on my lower back pulls me toward him. I can feel the bulge of his cock straining against his zipper against my knee.
Im dizzy from the cigarettes and the kisses.
Fourth floor and we spill out of the elevator and into room 403. My coat is flung to the chair and this dress is somehow falling to the floor around me.
He pushes me against the wall. Hes sucking and biting at my left breast as his hands cup and knead my ass cheeks. I can feel his cock, now free, tapping against my raised thigh. A thick, smooth wetness has pooled between my legs.
Suddenly, I feel myself pushed even harder against the wall and upward as he grasps my ass and backs of my thighs to lift me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his hips and he plunges his cock up into me.
The pain of scraping up the rough wall as Im simultaneously impaled on his throbbing pole is exquisite, and I moan into his neck.
Still clinging together, we turn and fall onto the bed.
Thrusting, rocking, grasping, gasping, our hips roll against each other as the wave that will be my orgasm builds and builds until Im sure Ill shatter into pieces.
He is licking me everywhere all at once and his hands are grabbing and pulling me out of my own skin, then its all scents and sounds, and a desperate need to end this unbearable ache in my pussy and bursting clit.
Each time the tide is about to overtake me and I brace for the release of my explosion, he slows his thrusts and teases me back from the flood.
Oh. Oh, my God, yes, no, please dont stop. Im begging, Im fucking begging him. Cock becomes tongue. Tongue becomes fingers. Fingers are replaced by a cock that still needs more.
As my pussy quivers and shakes over and over again past night into morning, I dissolve under the weight of his body and into sleep.
In my purse, the phone battery succumbs to the darkness, too. Missed calls unreturned. Text messages unread.
End of Story