Do you ache?

Because we’ve never spoken, because neither of us entirely trusts the other, and because we’re each going considerably out of our way to meet, we each snap photos of our tickets and e-mail them to one another to reassure the other. We’re to meet half-way – in a backwater town somewhere near the midpoint between us where, conveniently enough, they have both liquor and a hotel.

I’m coming from a meeting, wearing a dark suit, a white shirt, a blue tie. I’m rarely dressed like this, but today I am, and you’re not complaining. You are in a minidress, tight, just high enough that when you sit it’s pretty much guaranteed that you’re putting on a show for someone.

We arrive at the bar within moments of each other. We kiss hello – it’s our first meeting. Though we feel we know each other. Conversation is awkward. Neither of us knows quite what to say, until I say, “Let’s go.  I’m ready.”

I offer you my arm, and you take it. We walk a block and a half to the hotel. It’s fine – nothing fancy, but it’ll do. I check in. We take the steps to the third floor, but by the time we’re halfway up to the second floor, I pin you against the wall, grab your ass, hard, and kiss you. Kiss you harder, deeper than I possibly could in the bar. You lift one leg and hook it around my waist, pulling me toward you. My cock, rock-hard, grinds into you as you press into me. My hand is in your panties, in your pussy, and you let out a muffled moan.

I kneel in front of you, tearing off your panties. (I hope you didn’t like them too much.) My fingers are back in your pussy, my tongue is on your clit, your hands are on my head pressing me into you. Your hips rise to help your pussy meet my mouth. You smell, taste, sweet, but strong: sitting for as long as you did in transit, crossing, un-crossing your legs, wet with anticipation, has ensured an olfactory and taste feast for me. You shaved – not because I wanted you to, but because you wanted to.

I turn you around, spread your legs, and lick your cunt from behind. I bend you over, throw the dress over your hips, and pull out my cock. I quickly put a condom on and slide into you, pulling your hips back toward me. You feel me enter you and turn around, “Shouldn’t we go to our room?!?” you ask?

“Of course,” I say, and pull out of you. I remove the condom, casually place it in my pocket as I stuff my cock back in my slacks, and zip myself up. I pick up my back and walk up the stairs.

You watch me as you smooth your dress, and you see your torn panties on the floor.


    1. Thank you.

      I don’t write fiction. I mean, occasionally, I’ve been asked to, and I have. And as the tag – “Memory or fantasy?” – suggests, I’m not always clear on what the difference between memories and fantasies is – and if you add to the mix, hopes and plans….?

    1. Ah, the difference between England and the US. Here in the US, we don’t yet have CCTV cameras everywhere. I’d bet most Americans scratched their heads reading this, thinking “Now just what is that acronym?”

  1. Love this rendition of one of my favorite fantasies. Dangerous and risky throughout. You had me at “let’s go I am ready” … super hot

    Separately, I am sure you realize that not even the images of the tickets are a guarantee of anything. He, or she, may decide not to board after all. Which just adds to the suspense, and hence hotness.

    Really love this story.

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