She thought about it.  She decided to come.  It would be two nights and a day-and-a-half.  The deal was, she would relax by the pool, enjoy the weather (it was May – still cool up north, much warmer in South Beach), and be available to service me at a moment’s notice.  In exchange for which, I’d pick up her flight.  In other words, she gets a free vacation, we both get lots of sex.

The day of, we texted back and forth frantically.  The texts were the banal sort of texts that are so hot in the moment, but with even a day’s distance look trite.  (“I’m hard.”  “I’m wet.”  Etc.)  I beat her to Miami by several hours.  As I waited in the rental car at the airport for her, my cock was straining.  I smoked a cigarette (all right – maybe five – I was a little early) outside my car in the waiting area.  A cop drove by and asked me if I was meeting my girlfriend.  How did he know?  Or did he?  That she and I had only kissed before, but that within an hour, I’d be pushing her against the wall in my hotel room, feeling her breasts, fucking her face.

She texted that her plane was on the ground.  I put out my cigarette and drove to the arrivals area.  She was waiting – in a black dress, black pumps, and with a small bag.  She looked as good as I remembered.  Her breasts, in particular, were phenomenal.  I couldn’t wait to taste them.

She sat down next to me in the car.  “Play with yourself a little,” I said.  I had asked her to wear panties – not her usual way.  She gladly had obliged.  As I made my way back to South Beach, this beautiful woman sat next to me, a finger in her cunt.  We got back to the hotel, and tore one another’s clothes off.

It was a long night, a fitting conclusion to a long day.  We would have thirty-six more hours together, interrupted by my meetings.  She sat by the pool, read, wrote, looked insanely hot in her bikini, and waited for my texts….


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