Tag Archives: hotel sex

Flying with the co-pilot

Insomnia. It is a good state to be in when you want to write. Dark outside, husband asleep, brain racing.

Last week was that start of an adventure. It has been six months of build up – looks at work, touching under the table in bars and conversations full of innuendo and promise. The co-pilot is someone I’ve had my eye on for some time.

He is the pilot’s best friend and partner in crime. The pilot has instigated a role change for me at work, so that I now work directly with the co-pilot. I can tell he fully expects something to happen between us. It has brought about a delicious dynamic between the three of us – meetings, lunches, drinks – we all know what will eventually happen. You see they are both like me. They are serial adulterers.

Last week the co-pilot and I travelled on business together. We stayed in the same hotel, taking the local teams out for dinner and drinks – a double act of charm and hard work. There is an unsaid understanding between us. We work well together. We play even better together. As the evening drew to a close and we regaled the remaining stragglers with stories of the London office, we fondled one another’s legs under the table. That familiar heady heat began to course through my veins. It was time to leave. A short taxi ride later, we stepped out of the lift and walked calmly to his room.

I had decided not to give myself to him yet. I wanted to retain control over him, so I undressed him, not allowing him to remove my clothing. Blindfolding him and tying his wrists together with his leather belt, I pushed him to the bed. It has been such a long time since I had touched a man. I reveled in his pale, naked skin, his beautiful body and fully erect cock. He has a cock to admire – both aesthetically and proportionally. My objective: to give him the best blow job he could have hoped for. And to leave him wanting more.

Taking him in my mouth, I slid his shaft in until his tip touched the back of my throat, clasped his girth with my lips and pressed my tongue against the underside of his cock. I began to massage that throbbing vein with my tongue as I masturbated him with my mouth and hands.

The first time you bring someone to orgasm is like a sketch for a painting. You are looking, watching, reading, interpreting. It is the first stage of a process. Every sigh, exhale, shudder and gesture hints at how you need to capture the person. The co-pilot promises to be an interesting subject for a longer term project. The first studies are done, I begin to plan my masterpiece.

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Schedules – Breakfast meeting

I’m exhausted. The first week of 2011 has proved to be a packed schedule. I wonder if this is the sign of things to come. It started with a rendezvous with the economist, followed by drinks with the lecherous ex boss, then dinner and drinks with the tall guy, culminating in yesterday – breakfast with the tall guy and dinner with the economist.  And yet, still no date arranged with my older lover. I am hoping we manage to meet next week. No one else brings me to climax quite like him. However, all in all, six orgasms in four days with two men ain’t half bad.

When he told me he was in town on business, I knew it was necessary to meet him again. The tall guy is someone I’ve known for many years. In that time, I’ve got married, he’s dated various women and has himself got married to someone who has distinct physical similarities to me. He says he is in love with me. I say I reciprocate. But I don’t. And I don’t want to hurt his feelings. So I found myself meeting him for dinner on Thursday. He wanted me to come back to his hotel. I couldn’t that evening, as my absence would have raised suspicions. And so I agreed to pay him a morning visit instead. I woke early, dressed in stockings and bra, stuffing my lacy knickers into my handbag. If I was going to get on a packed commuter train, I wanted to be standing between them, knowing that I was bare beneath my little black dress. As I clung to the rail and bumped against weary looking commuters, I closed my eyes and began to think of the physical sensations of being pleasured. Though I like the tall guy as a friend, he is not what I would call ‘my type’. He doesn’t turn me on physically in the way the economist does, for example. And so I need a little bit of mental preparation before getting into a bed with him, especially if no alcohol has been consumed.

I arrived at his hotel – the same hotel in which I bestowed him his wedding gift last year. Strangely, his room number was the same room number the economist had had before xmas (different hotel of course). I knocked on his door and entered. He was dressed only in a towel. He had cancelled his meetings for the morning, so we could be together. Now normally, a gesture like that would thrill me, but with him, I wonder whether he is a little ‘too in love’ with me. His kisses tend to smother and I find his advances, constant IMs and texts a little stalkerish at times. More on that later.

I removed my coat and he kissed me, unzipping my dress as he did so. He took off my clothes and boots, leaving only my stockings and bra. Pushing me to the bed, he took the silk scarf I had worn around my neck and tied it over my eyes. Gently he touched my arms, breasts, stomach and kissed his way down to my sex. Pushing my legs apart, he began to lick my clit, moving his tongue rapidly up and down and from side to side. The sensations of sex first thing in the morning are very different to night time fondling. I feel suddenly hot, feverish and a surreal state of mind grips me. My orgasm was swift as he pushed two fingers inside me and licked my cunt into submission. As I came, I was grateful for the blindfold. I did not have to see who was pleasuring me, and could imagine a stranger, or one of my many other lovers. But not him. I couldn’t bare the thought of him. He thrust himself inside me and within a few short seconds had come.

We lay in bed together for a long time, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep a little. He kept touching me as I feigned sleep and I was conscious of him looking at me throughout. For some reason I found this behaviour a little disturbing. Like his smothering kisses, I felt trapped. I was keen to get out of that hotel room and be alone again. When I stirred from my faked slumber, he moved his hand to my sex and began to masturbate me. I was still very sensitive from the climax earlier and so knew his fingers would tease another orgasm relatively quickly. I closed my eyes and concentrated on coming, so I could get out of there. His touch lacked the softness or delicacy of other lovers and I came, but was removed from the sensation mentally. He came in my hand at the same time, giving me an excuse to wash in the bathroom. I decided not to bother with a shower and instead washed at the basin, trying to remove his scent from my body as best I could. Then I dressed and made a swift exit, leaving him to shower and dress.

I walked in the rain, feeling slightly bewildered and sick. I ended up at the British Museum. There were so many people and my head was spinning. Looking at the ancient Greek and Roman statues, I decided that I could not sleep with the tall guy anymore. There was a sense of uneasiness at the pit of my stomach. He was definitely a sympathy shag, someone I had slept with to be polite and it had to end. And so I will need to fashion a good excuse for not visiting his hotel room next week when he is back in town.

 

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Little Christmas indulgences

As the final turkey leftovers are thrown out, the decorations packed away and the new year settles in, I am usually grateful that the festivities are at an end. Though I like Christmas and all the family get togethers, I am usually left exhausted, recovering from the seasonal bout of flu. And so this year is no different. I lie in bed, awake far too early for a public holiday and my mind begins to wander to the precious days before the festivities began. To that afternoon spent in a hotel room with the economist (formerly M&A).

We had agreed to meet before he flew out for the holidays and so it was the last day before Christmas when I made my way to the five star hotel in central London. He had chosen the hotel for its proximity to the Royal Opera house, which is where I was meeting my husband and family later that evening. He had checked in first, texting me the room number and so I walked confidently into the lobby, smiling at the receptionist and striding into the lift, trying not to look like a woman about to commit adultery. Again.

My heart beat a little faster as the lift took me to his floor. The corridor was warm and muffled, thick carpets and heavy wallpaper dampened the sound of my footsteps as I approached his room. I was already dressed for the opera – a black vintage 50s dress, red petticoat, red heels, black stockings and black pearls. I stopped outside the room and drew a long breath, then knocked. I heard movement from within and the door opened quietly. The economist smiled at me and opened the door wider to let me in. He took my face in his hands and kissed my lips softly. My cheeks were still cold and his hands felt wonderfully warm. He looked into my eyes and said: ‘Be gentle with me, I’m terribly hung over.’ I smiled and teased him a little – we had joked that I had only ever seen him hung over, which to be fair, was only three times. We remained standing as we kissed, his hands warming my face and our kisses hot, slow at first, then becoming heated, tongues searching for one another. He unbuttoned my coat as he kissed my cheeks and neck. The coat dropped and I tugged at his sweater, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. I could feel his firm body through his shirt and a jolt shot through my sex. He fumbled with the fastening on my dress, I unhooked his belt and ran my fingers inside his jeans until I could undo the buttons of his flies. They dropped to the floor and he slipped off my dress, leaving me standing in my heels, petticoat and stockings. He pulled his buttoned up shirt over his head and gently sat me down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling before me, he removed one shoe at a time, keeping his eyes fixed on mine.

I lay back and let him climb astride me. We kissed and stroked one another enjoying the anticipation of our nakedness. I observed his body, his strong shoulders, lean torso and muscular legs. He has the body of a sportsman, yet the palest of skins, its delicacy belying the scars he carries from rugby injuries. I let my fingers find the rim of his boxers and began to slide them down, revealing his straining cock. He dropped onto the bed next to me and I removed his underwear, leaving him completely naked and erect. Smiling up at him, I guided his cock into my mouth and began to massage his shaft with my lips and tongue. He tasted good. I could hear him moan gently as I pressed my tongue to the pulsating vein at the base and traced its flow all the way up to the tip. Taking his balls in my left hand and firmly clasping the base of his penis with my right thumb and middle finger, I began to devour him, sucking, licking, pressing to a rhythm my own cunt dictated. He held my hair as he began to climax and I let him burst into my mouth, swallowing each shot as it came, a warm trickle escaping out of the corner of my mouth. When he was spent, I sat up and looked at him – he had gained some colour in his cheeks, a delicate rash on his chest hinting at the rush of orgasm.

He pulled me onto the bed and ripped off my stockings and petticoat, plunging his head between my legs, lapping at my freshly waxed cunt. I could feel the force with which he wanted to devour me, the pressure of his torso against my cocked legs and his fingers feeling inside me, reaching for that hidden spot of pleasure. I was conscious of how quickly he had become erect again and pulled his head up to kiss him, tasting my own juices as I did so. Deftly, he put on a condom and positioned his hips above mine, slipping deep inside me. A wave of delight washed over my body as we thrust into darkness, the red fleshy sea taking hold of us both. His movements had such zeal, such energy, I let myself be carried away to his rhythm, his force. My hands slipped on his back as sweat began to lubricate our bodies. We rolled over so that I was on top, such a perfect view of his face. He reached up and fondled my breasts as I gyrated on his cock, feeling its hardness touch deep inside my womb. He pulled me down to take my nipples in his mouth. There was such a rawness and frantic desire about him. I wanted him to enter me from behind, like animals. Leaning my arms against the padded headboard and kneeling with my legs apart, he understood exactly what I wanted him to do. He grasped my hips, pulling my ass towards him and plunged his cock into my pussy, the pressure of which pushed my face against the headboard as well. It felt incredible, he filled me so entirely. We fucked and fucked, trying different positions, each one was frantically constructed and deconstructed in favour of a new one. The sweat dripped and our bodies felt as if they were on fire. Collapsing on the bed together, I decided to take him once more in my mouth. His cock tasted of me and it felt like there was more cum the second time he squirted his juices into my mouth. As the waves of orgasm receded, we lay there, arm in arm panting heavily. My senses were so heightened, so on edge from the rawness of it all, that when he delicately touched my clit with his fingers, I felt as if I was walking on the edge of an abyss. He kept me clinging on, teasing, as if playing the harp. The tingling was ever present in all my limbs, just waiting for the final release. And then it came. I let him have my orgasm, it came in slow, increasing circles until each touch of his finger was a tremor deep inside me.

We had four hours in that hotel room together. Chatting, kissing, touching; our first foray into the affair. When it was time to leave, I showered, dressed, perfumed and styled myself for the opera. We shared a drink in the hotel bar before he left for the airport and I strolled to meet husband and family for dinner and opera.

The strangest thing happened on that walk to the restaurant: a man in his forties walked past me in the opposite direction and blew a kiss in my direction. Not recognising his action in time to dismiss him or smile at him, I pressed on. A minute later, he tapped me on the shoulder and said:

‘I didn’t mean any disrespect. Can I give you my number?’

I was so surprised by his advance that I just smiled apologetically and told him I was married. He smiled back and thanked me, then we parted. The scenario made me wonder what signals I must have been giving out that a complete stranger would approach me so directly? Perhaps, it is more a matter of when it rains, it pours.

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When opportunity knocks

A recent conversation with the husband has resulted in an extended stay for me in London after xmas. I will be there (alone) for a good two weeks, giving me ample opportunity to catch up with various lovers. This is an opportunity too good to pass up and so, the wheels are in motion and plans are being made.

The first rendezvous in the diary is next week. M&A has surpassed all expectations by booking a hotel room for the afternoon. Originally, I had planned to go to his place, but its location and both of us having to dash off by 5pm means we will have limited time together. I can feel the excitement building and catch myself looking at a photo I snapped of him on a regular basis. I know very little about him, yet am curious about his quiet demeanour and wry sense of humour. The idea of going to a hotel room, dressed for the opera (which is where I have to dash off to afterwards), letting him slowly undress me, kiss me, touch me, has me so erotically charged I am conscious of my cunt as I write.

My mind is filled with glimpses of what is to come. I long to see his torso, his back, to feel his skin against mine, his athletic stature pressing my soft curves. The first time is always special. There are so many expectations, worries and desires that blend together. The touch of a stranger. The sensation of his hand as he searches for my cunt, finds it and glides on my wetness. I want to kneel before him and take him in my mouth. Not in the same rushed way as last time, but to savour each lick and feel his hardness with my tongue. We will have four hours in a silent, private room together. Four hours to touch, stroke and know each other’s bodies.

When we part, it will be with the knowledge of what we have done. We will be bound by our secret. He will leave to catch his flight home for xmas and I will head to the opera. I will still be able to feel the wetness of our afternoon as I watch the performance, be able to close my eyes and see him in front of me. People will think I am closing my eyes to listen to the music, but only I will know how just a few hours before he was inside me.

 

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London lover odyssey part 2 – the wedding gift

Life’s commitments have not permitted me the time nor space to document subsequent parts of my London lover odyssey. But today, as I sit outside in the morning sun, a cool wind lifting my hair and spirits I feel the need to write again.

I awoke on day 2 feeling that familiar ache in my legs and my cunt still tender from the hours spent with my older lover the night before. It was going to be another hot London day. I showered, reluctantly washing his scent off my body, dressed and headed into town to meet my original lover for lunch. We had not met for half a year or more, we haven’t slept together for even longer. Ever since he became a father, our lust for one another has faded. He still holds a very special place in my heart. We met near his office in the city, I saw him walking down the street towards me. I skipped towards him and we hugged, allowing the other suited workers to stream past us. Then we walked and talked, stopping at a little restaurant for a bite to eat (his treat) and wandered through the city at a slow pace. I had forgotten how well we get on and felt a little craving in my womb. The idea crossed my mind to book a hotel room, even if just for an hour. I’ve always wanted to do that. I love the decadence, the naughtiness of it.

After lunch, a stroll and an ice cream we parted, agreeing to meet later that afternoon at his office for a coffee. I roamed the streets of London floating in the summer’s breeze, feeling elated at the thought of my older lover’s tongue on my clit and the prospect of a new lover later that day. That afternoon I returned to his office. I think he wanted to show me his new place of work. We sat in his glass office and chatted over coffee again. I imagined what it might be like if his walls were not made of glass. The things I would like to have done to him then and there. The excitement and tenderness of our love affair was rekindled, ever so slightly. He had to go to a meeting and so I left him, both of us feeling the urge for more than just a hug and goodbye.

It was nearly time to meet the tall guy for our rendezvous and his wedding gift. He had flown into London especially. I walked to Soho and waited for him in a pub. He arrived from work wearing an expensive suit. Men in suits… call me old fashioned, but it just turns me on. We enjoyed a cold G&T together and moved on to a restaurant of his choosing. He had offered to buy me dinner – I assume to relieve his guilt of the sex that was to follow. Dinner was charming, a fancy underground affair. We ate and chatted. He told me about his wedding (it had taken place a mere month or so before). Perhaps we are two of a kind. He said he felt no guilt at breaking his vows so soon after making them.  And so after a drink at a seedy bar and numerous kisses across the table, we finally arrived at his hotel room. My wedding gift to him – me.

Having spent all day walking in sandals my feet were tired and aching, so I ran some cold water into the bath and sat on the edge, dipping my feet and washing them with soap. He came into the bathroom to bring me a drink and hugged me from behind, letting his hand stray inside my dress. I took his other hand and gave him the soap, then guided his hand down to my cunt, lifting my dress so that he could touch me with his soapy fingers. As he did so, I turned my head upwards and we kissed. He began to gently masturbate me and I could feel his cock through his trousers. I stood up in the water and he helped me step out of the bath and led me to the bed. Before I knew it, my dress and lingerie were off and I was lying naked before him. He stripped and lay next to me. We fondled each other’s bodies, savouring the new details. There is such a delight in discovering a new body. Every crevasse, crease and mole.

In our IM chats leading up to the meeting, he had talked about bringing a silk scarf, a blindfold. I had been excited by the prospect of a slow, sensual session. Yet, he had forgotten to bring it and as we fucked I began to remember why on the last occasion we had fucked it had not been an earth shattering experience. He entered me from behind and came rather quickly. The long drawn out build up I had hoped for did not occur. And after coming, try as he might, he couldn’t get a hard on again, despite numerous blow job attempts on my part. During one such blow job I suddenly realised he was trying to masturbate me at the same time, by rubbing his foot against my cunt – not, dare I say in a slow and sensual manner, but rather in a jerky and sporadic way that turned me off, rather than on. I decided to fake an orgasm in order to curtail the evening’s events. Then I dressed and left him to sleep, taking a cab home and feeling rather deflated. I had had high hopes for the night, he is an incredibly good kisser after all. But, it seems that some men just aren’t the right fit.

Perhaps that is a good thing, given he married someone else a month ago.

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Hotel adventures

The classic setting for an affair is of course a hotel. Over the years, I have stayed in probably 15-20 different hotels with different lovers. These were occasions when my own place was too much of a risk, or we felt like a change of scene. Taking a cab through London after a late night is usually a drive down memory lane as I whizz past the various Edwardian facades of the hotels I’ve fucked in. Outside of London my experiences are mainly tied to business trips abroad… Paris, I’ve already told you about. One of my other favourite hotel experiences was in Hamburg.

Our team was visiting the German office for a series of meetings. There were five of us staying in a five-star hotel overlooking the Alster in Hamburg. Those were the days before the recession, when companies didn’t scrimp and save on accommodation. Once again, through a series of political maneuverings, my original lover and I had managed to get ourselves on the same trip. During the flight, we tried to play the ‘we’re-just-colleagues’ roles, limiting eye contact and planning for the meetings the next day. We arrived on the evening flight, traveling directly from the airport to the hotel.We checked in, one after the other. I went first and pretended to look for something in my handbag so I could hear the room number given to original lover as he checked in. It was on a different floor altogether and so I took the lift up to my room, planning to call him when I was safely inside.

The room I had been allocated stank of smoke and so I returned to the hotel reception to ask for a new one. The keycard to the new room turned out to be next door to the room my original lover had been given. My pulse quickened and I entered the room, surveying the setting that was to become the backdrop to a night of sensual delights. It had a kingsize bed, huge bathroom with walk-in shower and an incredible view over the lake through a French balcony window. I called him and told him where I was. He said to look out of the window and he popped his head out of his room next door. Then he climbed out of his window and onto rather narrow ornamental balcony, squeezing himself under the metal awnings separating our two rooms. Inside my room, he took me in his arms and we kissed, feeling a sense of excitement at the night ahead. He told me that one of our other male colleagues* was staying in the room on the other side of his, so we would have to be doubly careful about entering and exiting each other’s rooms. Thankfully, the balcony gave an escape route if needed.

We only had a short time before we had to meet the rest of the team for drinks in the lobby bar and so he snuck back into his room and we quickly freshened up, changing into a more appropriate attire. Downstairs in the lobby a jazz pianist accompanied our cocktails. Once everyone had assembled we set off to a nearby restaurant for a relaxed dinner. As a team everyone got along very well and so the evening was full of banter and witticisms. Throughout, I kept imagining what it would be like to be alone with him in my hotel room and all the delicious things I wanted to do with him.

Finally, after many hours of eating and drinking we returned to the hotel. The three of us staying on the same floor all entered our rooms with a cheerful goodnight, doors closing behind us. I opened the balcony doors and peered out. There he was, the reflection of the lights on the water below dancing across his face. He made his way quietly to my room, the cool night air cleared my head a little. Then we were alone. The hours of build-up took their toll and we tore at each other’s clothes, stripping down to naked flesh and falling onto the bed, ready to devour. He moved his hand up and down my body, kissing me fervently, finally allowing his fingers to find my pussy. I was so wet with desire that his fingers slipped inside with ease. He teased me like this until I was on the brink of climaxing, then withdrew. We had all night together and wanted to make the most of it. I rolled him on his back and sat astride him, lowering my head to his chest and then gently kissing my way towards his cock, taking it in my mouth. Lightly at first, then with more pressure from my lips and tongue until he began to sigh with pleasure. Holding the base of his shaft and balls in my hands I licked and sucked until I could feel the sudden movement, the slight pulse that signals the start of his orgasm. I withdrew and pulled him up to his feet.

I opened the balcony doors and leant against the railings, my naked body visible to anyone who cared to look up. The thrill of being seen by a passerby, or even our colleague two doors down was exciting. Leaning forward against the railings, half my body outside, half still inside the room, I beckoned him to enter me from behind. He pushed my legs apart a little more and found my wetness with his erect cock, thrusting it inside. As he did so, he let out a loud grunt. I was conscious of the noise, but at the same time, loved the potential of being discovered. He gripped my hips and moved against me, pushing ever deeper inside. I held onto the railings, my bare breasts moving to his rhythm. The cool air made my nipples incredibly erect and I looked out over the lake as he came with a shuddering jolt. We moved inside and onto the bed again, he was out of breath. I sat above his face, feeling his short breaths calming down as he licked my pussy, letting his own juice trickle into his mouth. I leant back and felt the orgasm rising, not able to control it this time, I climaxed loudly, falling back on top of his torso as I did.

We lay together for some time, just enjoying the warmth of skin on skin. Then we moved into the bathroom and the tiled walk-in shower. We stood in the jet streams of the shower together, washing each other with a soapy lather. The sensation of such a soft lubricated touch on my skin was excrutiatingly tantalising and he pushed me against the wall, lifting my right leg and entering me again. I was conscious of the contrast between the cold hard tiles of the wall against my back and the warm water trickling down between our bodies as he gently made love to me. Our soapy bodies slipped and glided together. He took a fresh squirt of shower gel in his hand and started to rub my clitoris with it as he fucked me. I was so aroused that it took only seconds for me to come again and he held me as I almost melted to the floor. He continued to move, getting quicker, stronger and took my wet hair between his hands, pressing my head to the wall and looking into my eyes as he came, doubling over letting himself go.

That night we slept in my room. The next morning he scrambled across the balcony again to get dressed. We met our other colleagues for an early breakfast before heading off to the office. Everyone looked fresh. Everyone, except us.

* this male colleague also became my lover later on

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The most appropriate wedding gift

One of my flings is getting married soon (the tall one). It’s a small wedding and so we are not invited, but I was thinking I’d still like to give him a wedding present. But what to give? A set of knives? Six champagne flutes? A voucher? No, I want to give him something unique, something different, not usually found on your typical wedding list. And then it hit me. A fuck.

I was chatting with him online, (our usual cybersex chat) and decided to bring up the topic of wedding presents. He’s been incredibly keen to meet up for a long time. Living in different countries has made that a little tricky and so it has been over a year since we last saw each other in person. He got engaged shortly after we last fucked. And so I was curious to see what his views on the topic of marriage and infidelity were (given he had no qualms sleeping with me). Turns out he has a refreshingly open mind about the subject.

So, when I suggested a night in a hotel together either before or after their wedding, he jumped at it. Ok, so it isn’t really a present his new wife gets to enjoy, but I then I don’t really know her. Any present I would give him would be one more suited to his tastes anyway. In perhaps a slightly perverse way I would rather ‘give’ him his wedding present after they get married. Just to see if he is all talk, or whether in fact, he would quite happily break his vows within weeks of making them.

So here’s a question for you, how long did you remain faithful after taking your vows? I know my answer. Not sure I’m quite ready to share that one yet….

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