The hotel bar was dim, polished, and anonymous in that way only hotel bars can be. There was no past, just the present and the hum of other people’s lives briefly intersecting. I had time to kill in Copenhagen between a late afternoon flight from London and an onwards connection to Tromso the following morning, and I knew exactly how I wanted to fill that time. When I sat on the tall wooden stool at the end of the bar counter, I was looking to be found. And found I was.
He looked mid-thirties. An age where confidence had settled in to him rather than it be something he had to work at. He had dark hair, slightly wavy, and a faint five o’clock shadow that suited him, and me. Under his deep charcoal jacket, was a crisp white shirt, open at the collar. Both jacket and shirt were tight enough to hint at the toned torso beneath but without flaunting anything. His casual manner told me that he wasn’t really trying to impress anyone or anything, but it did anyway. Me especially.
I guess the sultry looks I was giving him over the top of my wine glass worked. It took him less than five minutes to approach me and take the stool next to mine at the bar.
“Don’t you think the piano music is a bit too dramatic for a Monday night?” he said.
It wasn’t a line, and it didn’t need to be. If he’d read me right, he’d have already known I was his for the evening.
I smiled, letting my eyes meet his as I thought about my response.
“Yeah, the piano’s sets the mood, but I usually decide how far things go,” I replied. The gantlet had been thrown.
“You know, hotel bars can be interesting places,” he said, voice lazy, but with eyes that were anything but.
“Oh?” I replied. “Do tell.”
“They’re full of people who don’t plan on seeing each other again,” he said. “Which makes them very honest.”
I smiled again. “Or very bold.”
“Sometimes that’s the same thing,” he murmured.
“And which are you? Can I dare to hope that you’re bold?”
“I can be very bold, when the mood is right. Can I get you another drink?”
“Red wine please.”
He ordered a large Cab Sav for us both. The bartender set my drink down. I wrapped my fingers around the glass slowly; aware he was watching. When I lifted it and took a sip, his eyes followed the movement like it really mattered.
“You’re enjoying that,” he stated.
“I am,” I replied. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” he said. “I just like knowing what a woman enjoys.”
I gave him a mischievous look. “Careful now.”
“Why?” he asked, leaning in just close enough so I could feel the warmth of him. “Do you bite?”
“Only when I’m interested,” I smiled.
Contemplative silence for a few seconds. He broke it first.
“And are you?”
I let my gaze stray over him. The answer was yes, and had been since I’d first laid eyes on him. But he didn’t need to know that. Not yet. “I haven’t decided yet.”
His smile shifted. “What would help?”
I reached out, not to touch him, but to straighten his cuff. I let my fingers brush his wrist for half a second longer than necessary. His pulse jumped. I felt it.
“A little patience,” I said softly, uncrossing and then re-crossing my legs on the stool, so he got a tantalising glimpse of my thighs, clad in the black stockings I’d chosen for the evening.
He exhaled through his nose, long and slow, like a man struggling to maintain a little composure. “That might be difficult.”
“Mhmm,” I hummed. “I think you’ll survive.”
His hand moved to the back of my chair, his thumb grazing the edge of my shoulder, not quite touching my skin, but close enough to promise that was next. I didn’t pull away. Without saying a word, I tilted my head and leaned forward slightly instead, giving him the line of my neck and a view down my top.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Making me imagine things you’ve told me to be patient about.”
My eyes met his again. “Imagination’s harmless. Boldness is far more dangerous”
His voice dropped. “Is it?”
“Maybe. Perhaps you’ll find out.”
He didn’t ask to sit closer. He simply did. The smallest forward movement of his stool meant that when I recrossed my legs again, his knee was touching mine. Neither of us moved it. The connection was now there.
“So,” he said finally, “what happens when you finish that drink?”
I traced the rim of the glass with my finger. “I suppose I decide whether I want another.”
“And if you don’t?”
I smiled at him slowly. “Then I stand up.”
He swallowed. “And what do I do?” he asked.
I leaned close enough that my lips were near his ear, my voice just for him. “You decide,” I whispered, “whether you’re following… or behaving.”
I pulled back, finished my drink, and set the glass down carefully.
The choice hung between us.
I stood, turned, and walked slowly across the bar to the lift in the corner, my swaying hips a silent invitation to the eyes I knew were following me. I didn’t glance over my shoulder once.
When I reached the lift, I stood in such as way as to let the fabric of the dress I’d chosen hug my curves, hinting more strongly at the treasures that lay beneath.
By the time I’d reached out and pressed the button, he was beside me.
The doors opened, and we stepped inside together, synchronized in a way that felt practiced for two people who had met less than twenty minutes ago. I pressed Floor 9, and the doors slowly closed.
The elevator started its slow ascent. “Funny,” he said, watching the numbers light up, “how quickly decisions get made in places like this.”
I smiled. “They’re usually made long before anyone admits it.”
“So,” he said softly, “this is happening.” It wasn’t a question.
I glanced at him. “You sound surprised.”
“Well, I am,” he admitted. “I’m just appreciating the clarity.”
I laughed quietly. “You’re very calm for a man who now knows exactly how his night’s ending.”
He leaned even closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Oh, I’m enjoying the wait.”
The ride was quiet but charged, filled with small glances and almost-smiles. His arm brushed mine like it belonged there. There was very little pretence of personal space between us.
“You know,” he said, “we’ve skipped a lot of steps.”
I smiled. “We didn’t skip them. We just… condensed the timeline.”
Another floor passed. His gaze dropped slowly, rising again even slower. Fully taking in his pick. Me.
The lift slowed. My floor lit up. When the doors opened, he stepped out next to me without hesitation. The hallway was quiet, plush carpet swallowing our footsteps as he followed me to 917.
At my door, I paused, key card between my fingers. He watched me, patient, confident, already there in the room with me in his mind. I opened the door, entered, and let it click shut behind us.
It was luxurious. Floor to ceiling glass dominated the far side of the room, with soft neon lights from the city below bathing the space. The bed looked impossibly inviting, crisp white linen, plump pillows and a small lamp bedside lamp casting a warm circle of light over it. A lounge chair, usually angled towards the glass so its occupant could admire the city, already turned to face the end of the bed.
I set my bag down, then turned to face him. “Sit,” I said lightly, nodding toward the chair.
He did, eyes never leaving me.
I reached back and removed my grip, my hair falling free, cascading over my shoulders. The merest hint at seeing more of me, and his breathing changed.
“You’re very calm,” he said.
“So are you,” I replied. “Considering.”
I reached back again, this time dragging the zip at the back of my dress down. Eyes locked. No flourish. No show. Not yet. The room also felt quieter, like it was paying attention to me too.
“You planned this?” he murmured.
I smiled back. “I plan most things.”
Then I slipped the straps of the dress off my shoulders. Not dramatically. Nice and slow. One at a time. His gaze followed my hands. The top of the dress slipped, revealing the black lace of my bra beneath. The lingerie delicate, unmistakably chosen to provoke.
His voice was lower when he spoke again. “That’s unfair.”
“Is it?” I asked, letting my fingers trace the straps absently, adjusting them slightly, just enough to remind him I was aware of every inch of my body.
I moved hands again, now tugging the dress gently downwards, squeezing it over my hips. It fell to the floor, fabric pooling at my feet.
Stepping out of it, I stood there, composed, unhurried, dressed now only in confidence and matching black lace bra, panties, stockings and heels. The full set. Unmistakably seductive. Designed to excite. To be his dream.
I met his eyes again. “You like?”
“I love,” he replied, squirming a little in the chair.
“This,” I said gently, “is where patience pays off.”
“Worth the wait.”
“It will be.”
I didn’t move to him. Instead, I moved casually around the room like I had nowhere else to be. Heels on the carpet. Slow steps. No hurry. Without needing to look, I could feel his eyes tracking me.
Pausing in front of the window, I reached up to adjust the top of the curtain. Black lace against glass, reflections doubling my stretched body. I was angled just right so he could see the full length of my legs and shape of my panty clad ass from behind and, mirrored in the window, the contours of my puffy pussy lips and nipples, barely hidden by flimsy material. I glanced over my shoulder.
He was watching. Still seated. Barely breathing.
“Comfortable?” I asked.
He laughed quietly. “You’re not giving me a choice.”
I smiled, turned, and drifted toward the bedside table. My back to him, I bent forward slightly as if I’d forgotten something there. Nothing exaggerated. Nothing forced. Just enough bend to show off my pert ass, perfectly framed by the stockings and suspender belt. A movement to make his attention sharpen and remind him that I knew exactly what I was doing.
“Careful,” he said.
I bent just a fraction more, resting my hands on the edge of the table, and pushing my ass into the air, rotating my hips at him. “Why?” I asked lightly. “I like the risk. Besides, you’re the one sitting down.”
I held the position for several seconds. The sway metronomic. Provocative. Giving a long uninterrupted view of my peachy ass.
Then, I straightened, unhurried, turning to face him again, letting his eyes adjust, letting him again take in the full view of my lingerie clad body. I crossed the room slowly, stopping just out of reach, directly in front of him.
“You look distracted,” I said.
“I’m focused,” he corrected.
I leaned in close, hands holding the arm rest on each side of the chair, the fabric of my bra lifting my breasts within inches of his face, cleavage pouring out. “Good.”
Then I stepped past him, close enough that he could feel the brush of my presence and the promise of more contact. I let my fingertips trail the back of his shoulders as I circled the chair, until I was in front of him again.
“You enjoy this?” he asked.
I glanced back, eyes bright. “Yes. So do you.”
He nodded furiously.
I turned, my back towards him, pausing once more. Feeling his eyes gaze in lust again as I stood. I reached round and slowly undid the clasp of my bra. Sliding the straps off my shoulders, I bent forward and let gravity take it to the floor. I straightened and turned, finding his gaze again, my hands cupping my breasts.
“This,” I said calmly, “is what happens when you’re patient, and bold.”
I let my hands slide to my sides, exposing my pert breasts, dark nipples already stiff with arousal
He swallowed and then stood, less than a pace from me.
“You’ve been watching me,” I said. “You’ve been waiting.”
He nodded, unable to hide the way his breath changed, or the swollen bulge in his trousers.
“And now?” I asked, voice gentle but firm. “Now what?”
His voice dropped. “Now, I want you.”
I smiled, slow and satisfied. “Good.”
I closed the last step between us, my stiff nipples grazing his shirt.
“This,” I said, eyes locked on his, “is the moment you get to enjoy me.”
His jaw tightened. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he murmured.
I let my fingers brush his. The touch that gave him the final permission he needed to totally have me. “Then don’t wait anymore,” I said.
And just like that, the teasing stopped being a game. What I wanted, needed, had become inevitable.
His hand reached for me as if it belonged there, caressing my hip first. Gentle, sure, deliberate. With his palm resting against my waist, his thumb traced the hem of the lace on my panties like he was memorizing it. I didn’t flinch. I leaned into the touch a little, letting him feel the curve of my body under his hand.
His eyes lifted to mine, dark with hunger.
“The way you feel. You’re… unbelievable,” he breathed.
I smiled, because his tone wasn’t crude, it was honest. It was the kind of admiration that I craved, that made me tingle in all the right places.
He leaned in. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He slid his hand slowly up my side, not rushing, as if he wanted the moment to last. I could feel his excitement in the way his fingers trembled just slightly. I could also feel his delicious bulge twitch and pulse against me.
I put my mouth to his ear, my voice soft. “Good,” I whispered. “Because I need you to adore my body and I need you to fuck me.”
He smiled. Slow, satisfied. “Then I’m not wasting any more time.”
I was guided to the edge of the bed. The hands that had touched my hips first, now trailed up my sides before moving together, cupping my breasts, one thumb on each nipple, caressing in lazy circles, sending shivers up my spine and little jolts of electricity to my core.
“What do you need?” I asked, breathlessly.
“I need you. Let me show you,” he replied, returning his hands to my hips and putting pressure on them in such a way that I knew he wanted me to turn. I did.
“Hands and knees. Edge of bed please.” It was his first command, and one I wasn’t going to argue with.
I climbed on the bed, positioning myself on all fours, with my knees wide. “Like this?”
“Perfect, just like you are.”
I could hear him moving behind me, arranging himself, close enough to feel his warmth, but without being touched. I wanted to turn, look back, to say something, but didn’t. My body needed to do all the talking.
Then came the first touch. One hand on each ankle, stroking my lower calves through the stockings. It was only the start, but I could already feel my pulse everywhere, loud, impossible to ignore.
The hands worked their way higher, fingertips leading the way, warm palms following. At my knees, he gripped me gently. I felt pressure again, this time to widen them. I did, as far as I could.
Higher and higher he trailed, up the back of my thighs. Long, slow, tender, yet deliberate strokes, following my curves until he was back at my hips, fingertips exploring the hem of my panties.
“I should remove these. I want to see you,” he stated.
“I think you should too,” I agreed.
His fingers hooked under the hem on each side. Careful but certain, he slid them over my hips.
“Every bit of you is irresistible,” he whispered as inch by inch my creamy cheeks were revealed. “But I need your help.”
Knowing what he needed, I brought my knees back together.
“Good girl,” he said, in a way that made me want to be very good for him.
The gentle tugging resumed, panties sliding lower until the elastic was stretched round my upper thighs, with the lacy gusset being dragged slowly out of my puffy folds. Another tug and it was free. With a subtle lift of my knees off the bed, one after the other, which elicited another “good girl,” they were quickly in a crumpled heap round my ankles. He disentangled them from my heels, and let them drop to the floor.
“As you were, baby,” he prompted.
My knees widened again, almost painfully so, until I was displayed again. All my secret areas perfectly framed by stockings and suspender belt. I wouldn’t have needed to look at myself to know that my labia were engorged and covered with little droplets of pearly dew that must have been glistening invitingly from city lights coming through the window.
He paused, admiring the view I was affording. Then his hand, just resting in the small of my back. A pause. Then gentle pressing. Encouraging. Not demanding. Almost instinctively I lowered my shoulders, arching my back, the movement spreading my cheeks so my little dark ring was exposed.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “God, you’re beautiful.”
The way he said it, knowing what was displayed to him, made me feel like the words were an expensive gift.
The warm breath came first, fluttering over my skin, fleeting brushes of warm air leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. Soft lips followed, little kisses dancing over my cheeks. I was trembling, ripples of desire consuming me, all flowing to the same place.
Kisses found that place. His prize. Engorged, slick with honey. The first was on the left lip, the second on the right. Then repeated over and over. I sighed in delight when he let me feel his tongue for the first time. Slow, deliberate licks up and down my labia. One after the other. I sighed, encouraging him… needing more.
More was what I got. Long lusty licks, every sweep of his tongue claiming more of my sex. After what felt like a delicious eternity of reverent licking, he moved between them, slowly, surely, prising me open, until he was able to lap at my entrance, dragging my nectar onto his tongue.
I sighed again when he moved higher and I felt strong hands dragging my cheeks wider.
“May I?” he asked.
He hadn’t said what he wanted, but we both knew. I adore a hot tongue circling my star, and I sensed he knew that too. “I want that,” I hissed in reply, pushing my ass at his mouth, making it wink for him.
Almost instantly I felt his tongue on me. At first it was just around the edge, teasing the darker skin that framed it. I could have stopped the clock then, frozen the moment in time as I luxuriated in the adoration of his tongue. But we both wanted more.
He didn’t disappoint. The teases round the edge became hungry laps over my rosebud, making both our breathing ragged.
It was intoxicating, being paid this level of attention. Lusty. Deliberate. Exposed in the most wanton way. I wasn’t thinking about how I looked or what I was doing anymore. I didn’t care. All I cared about what his tongue was doing. How it felt. How much more of it I wanted.
He wanted it too. His posture shifted, so he could push the tip of his tongue at me. I was desperately trying to relax, craving him inside my most secret place. I didn’t have to wait long. Three long, steady thrusts of his tongue were all it took to open me up, to let his tongue pop through my ring and into my ass.
At that moment, the hotel room could have disappeared and I wouldn’t have noticed. As long as that delightful, exploring tongue stayed exactly where it was. But deeper maybe.
And deeper it went. The more I relaxed, the further it slid into my core. Swirling, exploring, tasting. Every curl and roll of his tongue opening me further until I could feel myself starting to gape for him.
It was when I felt his lips envelope my ring, creating a seal around it that I gripped the sheets, knuckles tight, sensing a newer level of naughtiness was about to unfold.
The first pull was gentle, a long slow suck that tugged at me. The exquisite sensation deepened when he sucked again, forming a tight vacuum between his lips and my gaping ass. Then release, a small pop of air, a rush of warmth, and a divine fluttering sensation spreading outwards. Over and over he sucked. Pull and release. Pull and release. Between sucks, I could feel his hot tongue inside me, licking inside my gape, tasting deep, adoring my ass. It was driving me wild, and he knew it. That’s why he was doing it. Making me feel his desire for me in the most intimate way.
And then it was over. He was ready to meet his own needs. And I wanted him to indulge.
I heard him stand, then a brief metallic click as his belt buckle was released. The zip was next, a low buzz as it was dragged down, followed quickly by muted rustling as fabric was lowered, ending with a dull thump as it all hit the floor. His bulge was now free. I could only imagine how hard it was, throbbing, twitching, straining to be inside me.
Hands found my waist again, now with an extra firmness and a desperate certainty of the act to follow. The sheer intensity of his grip sent tremors down my spine to my aching pussy.
I was dragged backwards, until I felt his cockhead nestle between my slick folds. He held it there momentarily, rubbing it up and down, wetting the swollen tip. Then he dragged me again, and slowly let his manhood sink into my hot, wet pussy.
The heat when he buried himself was exquisite. He paused, holding himself deep inside, us both savouring the moment. Me gripping. Him twitching. His quivering cockhead caressing deep in my kitty. Then the movement started. I felt him pull back slowly until I was nearly empty, then push deep into me again until his hips were pressed tight to my cheeks.
I curled my fingers into the sheets anchoring myself what was to come. The second thrust was stronger and faster than the first, and I found myself bucking backwards to meet it.
He broke the silence. “You like that baby, don’t you?”
“God yes, give it to me harder,” I panted in reply.
“I’m gonna fuck and cum in you,” he growled, picking up the pace with long deep thrusts.
I squealed with pleasure as he held me and fucked me with everything he had, ass quivering with each lusty thrust, pussy hungrily swallowing every throbbing inch of his hardness.
My breath came faster, shallow and unsteady, and after just a minute or so of a potent, raw fucking I knew I was close. My body was growing hotter, a tingling, intense mass of pre-orgasmic energy that I could no longer control.
I craved his release. “Cum in me, cum in me, cum in me,” I demanded.
He didn’t need a second invitation. Moments later, rope after rope of his molten lust erupted deep in my sex. His throbbing cock, buried deep, pulsed hot sticky delicious cum, filling my greedy pussy.
It sent me over the edge, my orgasm finally cresting. My chest tightened, and for several heartbeats, everything aligned: emotion, sound, touch, his heat inside me. A bloom of pleasure from deep within overwhelmed me, intense sexual gratification I would savour, cherish and remember. I felt breathless, my chest was flushed and heaving.
Eventually, after we’d both caught our breath, he pulled out, his sticky cum dribbling out and pooling on the bed beneath us in a naughty pearlescent mess.
“That was unexpected, but quite amazing. You’re quite fantastic, in every way. I love your planning. Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you too, for giving me what I needed.”
“Will I see you again?”
I turned over and lay on the bed, watching him put his trousers back on. “Maybe, I’m back through here from Tromso in five days. You know where I’ll be.”
“In the bar, on a stool, with a plan?”
“Always with a plan.”
The small talk fizzled out. There was no need to extend it. We’d both got what we wanted.
After he’d left, with half promises to meet again, I showered quickly and dressed. I looked at myself in the mirror, in fresh lingerie and a different dress, and smiled. Did I want this? No deliberation. No pondering. No hesitation. Of course I did. I made my way back to the bar. My stool was still free. I sat, ordered another wine and surveyed the bar, already looking to be found again.
