Carpe Diem Ch. 02
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We lay there kissing for a while, coming down from our high. I felt incredibly thirsty so I got up and went for a pee and a glass of water. The glasses in hotel bathrooms always taste of chlorine or something, so I went to pick up the whisky glasses. A lone ice-cube, melted down to a transparent triangle, floated in the bottom of one glass and gave me an idea.
Back from the bathroom, I gulped my water and handed my serious man his glass. I sat on the bed next to him and used the tips of my long fingernails to stroke his thick thigh covered in wiry hairs. His limp and still-glistening cock twitched and fell back against his leg.
He drained his glass and said, “I’m not sure I’m ready to rise to the occasion again yet.”
I smiled. There’s nothing I love more than a good challenge. Climbing up on the bed, I straddled him, grinding my pussy onto his lower belly. Partly it was to stimulate myself. Partly it was for the pleasure of just spreading our mixed juices around. Slippy-slideyness and the scent of cum are part of the fun of shagging. His hands rested on my hips, gently stroking up and down, and I bent over to kiss him, my full breasts dangling on his chest. He was a great kisser. As his lips moved over mine, and his tongue ran across my teeth, I felt myself getting newly wet.
His hands reached up to grab my tits, which had been teasing his chest as we kissed. My nipples were hard and sensitive to the touch of his thumbs circling over the areolae.
I pulled my mouth from his, “Oh no you don’t,” I told him firmly, “this is my show.”
I slid my body backwards and used my knees to push his legs apart so I could lie between them. The nature of our first encounter had meant that I hadn’t really investigated his equipment properly. And that was a shame, because there is nothing so fascinating to a woman as a man’s genitals. I rested my chin on my hands and looked over his meat and two veg.
His balls were hanging low and I ran my finger over the roundness of them, their smoothness interrupted by the little hairs. I put my finger in my mouth, coating it nicely with my saliva and did it again, then moved it up to stroke the wrinkly skin that held them. I looked up at my man, propped on the pillows and watching me, bemused. As I watched him watching me, I stuck out my tongue and began to lick. I knew this would probably get him going — I have a very long tongue and he would be able to see clearly what I was doing. Round and round. Under and over. Each in turn. Then under again to flick one into my mouth and suck on it ever so gently, like a sweet, big gobstopper. Not that he would know what that was. On this continent, they call them jawbreakers.
On to the next one. It is truly an amazing feeling to know you have so much power over a man, I thought, as I gently raked my teeth over the skin of his testicle. I felt a contraction and saw his cock had begun to rise — not so much, just a tad, two thirds still flopping over. Good. I didn’t want to overdo it. My aim was to get him hard in my mouth. I cupped his balls in my cool hand (my hands are always cool), and gave them a little squeeze before running my thumb back up those wrinkles I find so intriguing and slipping my thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft. I shifted my body up to get my head closer, and used both hands to straighten his cock.
My tongue came out again and I rolled it around the head, before closing my lips over it. He was breathing deeply and his eyes seemed to be saying something I couldn’t quite make out. Just a little suck, like when you first put that popsicle in your mouth, then open your mouth, roll your tongue around the head again, pull it gently through your teeth, then suck again. Oh my! It was working. I felt him thicken slightly under my hand. I licked down the side, moving my tongue in and out of my mouth to work up saliva, pushing the hardened tip of my tongue into the yielding muscle, feeling the veins underneath start to fill with blood.
Round the base to the underside, dipping my tongue between those folds I like so much and back up, pushing the tip of my tongue in again at intervals. I took the head in my mouth again and, this time, lowered my face so his cock slid completely into my mouth. I moved my tongue over the surface of his skin and sucked gently but firmly. Mmmm. He was still soft, but getting harder and thicker as I moved my mouth up and down, and my tongue round and round.
He was longer now so I started to move my fingers up and down and around the base of his shaft, massaging him, encouraging him to grow inside my mouth. He began to moan and I looked up at him again, still watching me, his lips parted, his chest visibly rising and falling. I sucked harder and stroked my lips more quickly over him, pushing his head up to my palate and back to the softness of my throat, where I swallowed.
He was almost completely erect now. I couldn’t close my fingers around his shaft anymore, and I couldn’t take him in completely without gagging, but I kept on Isparta Escort working him: sucking, licking, breathing hot, humid breath over him, pushing at his veins and the underside of the head with the taut tip of my tongue, forcing it into the slit of his head, raking my teeth over the smooth skin. All the while I was massaging the lower shaft, pressing the base with my fingers. I was loving it!
He was moving his pelvis now and I had to adjust my timing to him: up and down, in and out, now and then a little deeper. Suck and pull. Squeeze and push. Suck and pull. Squeeze and push. I could feel him swelling and I doubled my efforts. Harder, deeper. I was practically gagging but I knew that wasn’t a bad thing for him. Harder, deeper. And then he came and I clamped my lips around his shaft, pulling and milking him as his sweet, yes, sweet, only slightly salty semen spurted into my mouth. Once, twice, three, oh yes, four times!
I held his cum in my mouth, pushing my lips down his shaft to pull up a final time and let him drop out. I raised my head and got up on all fours, straddling him again, all the while looking into his eyes as he lay there, spent. I ran my tongue over my lips and a little escaped from my mouth, running down my chin. I swallowed noisily, and smiled like the cat that got the cream. Which after all is exactly what I was.
“You’re good,” he said breathlessly.
Oh yes, I am. Except when I’m bad. I smiled again and bent to kiss him deep so he could share the taste of himself.
I rolled off him and stretched out like that same proverbial cat, arms over my head, toes pointed, separating my vertebrae and popping my shoulders. Smug? Who me?
I felt his finger tracing my body slowly: down from the collarbone, between my breasts and under and round each one in a figure of eight, back over a nipple, pausing to rub around and over, trailing back to the other, around and over. His finger was soft but quite wide. He had a man’s hands — strong and, apparently, capable, if I was to judge from the warmth I was feeling in my crotch.
I opened my eyes to look up at him as he continued his tracing. His touch was assured and his eyes gleamed with what I can only describe as mischief. It was slightly worrying but hugely exciting at the same time. He was lying on his side, his head propped on his hand.
“Pretty satisfied with yourself, eh?” he enquired, starting to concentrate more specifically on my nipples and bringing his thumb into play.
I laughed, “It certainly was a lot of fun. You didn’t enjoy it?” He didn’t rise to my provocation but carried on calmly looking at me and gently rolling the nubs of my tits. I turned on my side to face him.
“You’re a naughty girl,” he began again.
“I know,” I replied smugly.
“Say it,” he commanded, his eyes glinting.
“I’m a naughty girl, ” I giggled.
“This is no laughing matter,” he said with mock severity pulling so hard on my nipple it made me gasp. “Say it again.”
“I’m a naughty girl,” I tried again, attempting to look subdued.
“A very naughty girl — say it.”
“A very naughty girl,” I repeated, pouting slightly.
“And you know what that means, don’t you?” I didn’t, but I was definitely looking forward to finding out. I shook my head for dramatic effect. “I’m going to have to punish you — severely.”
The last word was accompanied by a hard pull on my nipple, making me gasp again and my pussy contract, wetting the tops of my thighs. He let go of my tit and reached his hand over to spank my bottom hard. I wasn’t expecting it and I let out a cry.
He pushed himself up and climbed over me off the bed. I rubbed my ass where he’d slapped me and propped myself on my elbows to see what he was doing. He was picking my stockings up from the floor where I’d shed them on my earlier trip to the bathroom. This was looking interesting, but I hoped he didn’t ladder them; they’d cost me 25 bucks!
Throwing his leg back over me, he put his hands under my buttocks and shifted me more to the centre of the bed. Then he took one of my stockings, stretched it out showily between his hands and tied it around my wrist. He pushed my hand above my head, then got off the bed pulling on the other end of the stocking. I turned my head to watch him, wondering to what he was going to tie the other end — hotel bedrooms are disappointingly ill equipped for this sort of thing. He’d obviously cased the joint properly though, and knotted the other end of my stocking around the knob of the bedside table drawer.
Back on the bed, he repeated the show: stretch out the stocking, knot it round the wrist, raise the arm above the head, tie the stocking to the drawer knob. I watched him, pulling my lower lip between my teeth, feeling my insides contract.
He frowned at me, (I loved that crease in the centre of his forehead), “And now I’m going to punish you… and make you scream.”
Yes! I wanted to shout. Yes! Please! But I reckoned it would Isparta Escort Bayan spoil the moment. And then I remembered. Taking my cue from Brer Rabbit, I implored him, “Please sir! Whatever you do, please don’t use the ice cubes!”
He raised his eyebrows and was obviously trying not to grin. “Maybe I should get you nice and hot and eat you!”
(Yes! Excellent!) “Do whatever you please! Only please don’t use the ice cubes!”
Still frowning at me, he eased backwards off the bed and turned towards the minibar. My inner thighs and bush were soaked with my thick juices by now. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
I felt his hand caress my inner thigh from my knee upwards, gently pushing first one leg aside, then the other — not too far, just comfortably. Then his wide fingers gently splayed my outer lips, caressing my clitoris gently, in passing. The sudden chill of the ice cube on my clit almost made me cum immediately. I moaned loudly as he stroked the cube round and round my womanhood, the melted water running down inside me, mingling with my juices. My buttocks clenched as my pussy walls did, and I felt that little black hole of intense energy build near my cervix. The muscles in my stomach and torso began to contract and I could hardly breathe.
“Scream for me!” he shouted, and I did.
“Aaghooohhhh!” as my body shuddered, and what seemed like a waterfall spilled out of me onto the sheets.
There was a slight pause as I lay there panting, and I assumed the first ice cube had melted when I felt something harder and colder pushing into the resistance of my still-contracted vagina, its surface melting on contact with the heat of my pussy and its juices. The chill relaxed my muscles allowing the cube to rub against my g-spot. I moaned again and again, my muscles pushing the rapidly-melting ice out and his finger pushing it back in. Like a snowball in hell, the ice cube stood no chance.
But there was no pause before a second one popped into me. Ah! An organised man! That in itself was a turn-on. The sensation of cold on my burning hot nerve endings was phenomenal. I felt myself clench again, sucking the ice cube inside me, gasping from the deliciousness of chill and heat mixing, and then something else — what? His finger, two fingers I think, sliding in and out of me, and oh God! I’m sure that was his tongue getting in on the action too. Yes! And now his tongue was on my clitoris, his fingers rubbing just inside my pussy, now deeper, now back on my g-spot, stroking so artfully, deeper again, now shallower, and sucking my clit. Oh God! I could hear the squelching of my juices as his fingers stroked in and out of me. I wanted to grab something: my hair, my tits, the sheets, but I couldn’t because my hands were tied. Oh God! My vaginal walls were expanding, his fingers upped tempo, he sucked my clit harder. Oh God! Oh God! I was going to cum again! My stomach muscles contracted. “OOOOOHHHHH!” I screamed and squirted into his mouth.
His hands were under my ass, raising me up to his mouth. He was lapping me up, his tongue all over my clitoris and inner lips, inside me now, sucking me, drinking me as I came again and — Oh sweet Jesus! — again, clamping my thighs to the side of his head. My body was shaking uncontrollably and I was sure I was laddering my bloody stockings, but he kept on going, his nose pushing against my clit, his tongue and lips guzzling me. One more orgasm, smaller this time, made me moan as if I was losing all the breath in my body. The French call it “la petite mort” — the little death — and God, I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.
I opened my eyes to see him lowering himself on top of me. His cock was proud once again but I wasn’t sure if I could take it right now. I was feeling so light-headed, so completely drained. But he untied my wrists, kissing me deeply so I tasted my own sweet juices, gently stroking my body as I calmed and regained my senses.
“I’m so glad I let you talk me into this,” he whispered.
“That was just… mind-blowing,” I whispered back, “thankyou, thankyou.”
It was at times like these that I wished 1) you could still smoke in hotels and 2) I still smoked. I raised his hand to my mouth to lick my cum off his fingers instead. We talked.
I told him that I had not, in fact, been bedded for quite some months, since I’d kicked my last boyfriend out for being an asshole. He joked that that explained my zeal tonight. He told me that since his last serious relationship had ended a couple of years ago, he’d been shy about committing himself again. He actually blushed when he admitted that for about a year he’d had three lovers he saw each on a different night, once a week — all ‘nice arrangements’, no strings attached. One was even married. Was it the blushing, or the images flashing through my head of him fucking each of these three women every which way, week after week, that was making me feel really horny again?
Now was not the time for self-psychoanalysis. Escort Isparta I reached down between us and started stroking his dick with one hand and my clit with the other — slowly (my right-left coordination’s not that great). He was a little pliable in my hand, given that we’d been chatting for a while. He was still talking to me, regretting he’d told me, apologising for not being more respectful of my feelings. Such gentlemanly behaviour was even more of a turn-on.
“Shut the fuck up and screw me senseless,” I said, kissing him.
Sometimes you just need to know how to talk to a man. He pulled my leg over him, and ran his fingers down the cleft of my ass to find the warm wetness underneath. He was growing rapidly hard in my hand, and the touch of his fingers at the entrance to my pussy, setting off the sensors in my inner labia, was making me quite as ready to welcome him home.
Suddenly he rolled me forcefully over to his other side, hopped off the bed, flipped me onto my stomach and grabbed me by the hips, pulling me ass-first towards him. On all fours now, I turned my head back towards him, to see better. His hands played over my buttocks, separating them, assessing the situation. Was the bed too low or he too tall? I didn’t have time to figure it out before his forearms snaked around my middle and he lifted me off the bed, propelling me towards the table.
The surface was cold against my tits and stomach, sending a shiver through me, half from the chill, half from excitement. It was more difficult to see him from this angle, but I felt his hands again splay my ass and his fingers check in an almost clinical fashion whether I was ready to receive him. Or maybe he was just enjoying the sight of my glistening pussy. The touch of his hand made my insides contract, as if trying to swallow him up. I waited in anticipation but, unexpectedly, I felt his shaft against my tail bone, his torso on my back, and his hot breath in my ear.
“Do you want me?” he murmured sultrily, digging his fingers into my buttock.
I inhaled sharply, “yes.”
“Say it louder.”
“Yes, I want you!” It was hard to talk loudly with his nails raking my ass flesh.
“What do you want me to do?” So menacing. So hungry. So hot!
“Fuck me!!” I shouted. “Fuck me!!!”
His hand left my rear and his body raised from mine, his other hand sliding down my side to my hip. I felt his head circling my opening and he slid oh-so-slowly, oh-so-sweetly inside me, then, “agh!” he slammed up hard against my cervix. My body quivered, my eyes closed, and pussy juices sloshed over his groin.
His knees pushed my legs closed and his hand pressed on the middle of my back forcing my torso to move up the table’s surface and my hips to tip forward slightly. He pulled out again slowly, almost all the way, and then — bang! — shafted me good and proper a second time, his hands steadying my hips. I moaned loudly. He gyrated his hips, massaging my insides, gave two short thrusts and then pulled out slowly again. I bit my hand; he was driving me wild.
Back in again, slowly this time, withdrew lazily, slid in again, out again, finding a tantalising rhythm that made me mew like that cat I mentioned earlier. My vaginal walls began expanding and contracting, and my abdominal muscles started to work overtime. He could feel it and worked more quickly, drowning his cock in me, stroking me to ecstasy. My head rose from the table as my back arched and I cried out in utter joy, my body in spasms and my cum running down my thighs.
He pressed into my clenched canal, moaning himself now, “you feel…so good,…so warm,…so soft.”
I breathed heavily, his words like music to my ears. I began gyrating my hips a little — not too much — just enough to add to the sensations without throwing off the rhythm of his strokes. God! It was wonderful! My body was on fire and I could feel sweat pearling between my breasts. The electricity tingling throughout me began to converge again on my middle as his balls slapped against my thighs and his dick plunged in to me over and over. “Oh God!” I exclaimed, breathing faster, feeling him stroke more urgently, more deeply, willing myself to hold on just a little bit longer so he could catch up. And then I felt him swell, felt his scrotum contract, and I let the waves of pleasure roll over me, as he slammed into me again and again, roaring his satisfaction.
I lay there panting as his torso lowered across my back, feeling the final spasms of my own body and his, his hands reaching up to entwine his fingers in mine and his mouth nuzzling into my hair. Neither of us spoke, savouring the moment of utter calm and satedness. He felt so good inside me that I felt we could stay like that forever. Did I just think that? After only one night? What had he done to me?
When finally our relaxed muscles caused him to slip out of me, we lay together spooned on the bed, the sheets pulled up to protect us from the early-morning chill. The sun was coming up and it was finally time to rest.
When the maid unlocked room 473 at 10.30 am, she took one look at the clothes strewn across the floor and furniture (was that a pair of panties on the desk lamp?), reached her hand behind the knob for the “Do not disturb” sign and gently closed the door again.
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