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Friday, January 6, 2012

Afternoon delight

We met near my gym, fifteen minutes after the German (a gorgeous, if pneumatic, blonde trainer) finished beating the shit out of me.  (I usually work out almost every day; today was the first time I'd set foot in a gym since before Christmas.)  I was freshly showered, clean, feeling good.  L sauntered in, wearing tights and a skirt, and two or three flouncy tops layered, and sat three seats down from me at the bar.

I texted her:  "Go check out the bathroom. See if it's suitable for sucking me off. And bring back your panties in your hand?"

A moment passed, she stood up and walked downstairs to the bathrooms.  A few minutes later, she returned, her panties literally in a wad.  She showed them to me and stuffed them in her bag.

She texted me back, "Not unisex, but very cute."

"Have a drink and then follow me downstairs."

I went downstairs, where I found several laborers blocking the men's room.  "Men's room out of order - use men's' room upstairs," one gruffly said to me.

Oh well.

"Never mind," I texted her.  "Finish your drink and follow me out."

I stood outside waiting for just a few, and out she came.  Fortunately, she was wearing comfortable shoes.  We made the short walk to the hotel together, talking about the part of our shared life that's not a secret.
Room 11 A - this view omits the horse
We arrived at the hotel - it's a seedy place, but awesome.  The same place you read about here.  L hadn't been there, and was quite taken with it.  To the room we went (though finding room 11A was harder than you might imagine, given how easily we found 2A, 4A, 6A, 9A, 10A, 12A, and 13A).  The steed on the wall was impressive, but not nearly as impressive as the wet spot I found in L's tights as I shoved my hand up against their crotch.
I pushed her down on the bed, and tortured her for a bit, pressing against her cunt, through those tights, breathing hot breath through the fabric.  "I thought you were supposed to be getting a blowjob," she said.

"I will."

And after a few more minutes, I did - a fabulous, luxurious, relaxed, slow one, punctuated with a little more strenuous fucking of her face, twisting of her nipples, kneading of her breasts.  "I want you to fuck me," she said.

"Not right now - keep sucking.  In fact, I may ask you to sing 'Happy Birthday' while you're at it."

"You're really gonna milk the birthday thing, aren't you."


But I didn't.  In fact, I gave HER a present for my birthday - after a bit, I dove back between her legs, pulled off her tights, and licked and sucked her clit, while fingering her, driving my hand deep inside, and massaging the roof of her cunt, until she came, shuddering.  When she cums, as I've described before, not only do her muscles clench, but her thighs do, and she tends to roll to the side, carrying my head, my body with her.  I rode it out and kept going.  I had previously promised to make her beg me to stop, but hadn't carried through on the promise.

Today, if she didn't beg (as she maintains she didn't), she did ask me, somewhat desperately, to stop.  Which I did, about 30 seconds after the request.

And it was my turn again.  Once more, she deftly brought my cock into her mouth, this time sliding my thighs up on her thighs, making of herself a bolster for me.  I bucked and thrust.  I pondered telling her to place her hands against the horse on the wall so I could fuck her from behind, but somehow couldn't bring myself to envision pulling my cock from her mouth.  Twenty minutes later, I grabbed her head and fucked her face hard as I came down her throat.  I kept holding her head until the twitches had subsided, and all my cum was down her throat.  Except the little bit that got caught in her hair when she came up for air.

As we debriefed, we pondered creating a sort of salon, a place of some classiness, sort of like a National Arts Club for sex, a place that would be open 24/7, that would be decadent, lavish, luxurious, sensuous - a place where all members would be screened both for looks and sexual excitement, where one could drop in and be sure of finding a good time.  I suggested calling it the "National Arse Club," but L shot that down.

If you want to help us build such a club....

Anyway - we left.  Just before leaving, I opened a little (material) gift L had gotten me.  Around the box was a ribbon.  She said, "Let's leave this here."  I suggested she find a place, and take a picture.  I don't know if she took a picture, but she turned around, walked back down the wall, and returned, string-less.

(If you're into Rashomon, read L's abbreviated account here.)

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