Two Reservations Made [1st] [2nd]
Two Books on Your Bedside Table
You have two books next to your bed - a new one, wrapped in plastic, about work, and an older, cloth-bound one, about play. While you're at a training session at a hotel, the convention center next door provides the perfect outlet for indulging your wilder self. With a day off from being a responsible adult, you plan to enjoy it.
The first book represents your daily life, but the second one is for fun. You'll use that book to distract yourself from your mundane job and the people who expect you to behave accordingly. As you slide past them, your vibrant, tattoos-peeking outfit hints at what really makes you tick.
You concoct a plan to attend the convention with your coworker, but you'll be on your own once you sneak away from them to don the spandex costume tucked away in your luggage.
You don't normally wear these types of outfits in front of your colleagues. Hell, you hide your true self at work under more professional clothing. But this is your personal time. Time to dress up and be the "adult" you've always wanted to be. You slip into your sexy attire, tie your wavy hair into space buns, and throw on a seductive mask.
As you prepare to leave, you take one final glance in the mirror. "My ass may be in its 30s, but it still looks amazing in this," you reflect, loving the reflection of yourself.
In the halls of the convention, you're not going unnoticed. You've been the center of attention, and people can't help but stare and comment. Despite their laughs and stares, you're in it for the rewards of walking around the venue; a more thrilling experience than sitting in a boring training session.
Then, you catch sight of me in the corner. As you walk to a nearby table, I approach you, noticing your toned body and spandex costume. You seem familiar, but you're not wearing a ring. Neither do you have any company. So I brave the crowds just to give a compliment on your attire and have a friendly chat.
We hit it off, both having something about us that's quirky and playful. We stay in the convention area and move around with each other. Your confidence is palpable. After a while, you ask for dinner, then later add, "I'm a bit worn out, but would you like to know if you're a good enough kisser to order room service?" You make it clear what you're suggesting, and I comply.
As I lean down for a kiss, I can't help but imagine your ass which you left exposed when you slid the zipper down. Your offhand ask leads to a passionate kiss. You keep me interested, demanding a longer, more affectionate kiss and a low-pressure opportunity to acquiesce.
"I can do that," I reply, wanting to see if you're as bold as you seem.
"I'll be in room 323 when you feel better," you say. Seeing my reaction, you add with a wink, "The view is amazing."
I grasp a flyer to conceal my excitement before following you to your room, willing to accept whatever rush of adrenaline comes with the reveal.
Part II
You open your hotel room door and beckon me in, playfully grabbing my backside as I walk by. I start to return the gesture before realizing that we have other things to do first.
You lead me to a chair, gently guiding me to sit and asking me about my preferences. You want to make sure the night is safe for us both.
Meanwhile, you remove your "fuck me" boots, replacing them with your more casual footwear.
"With you in my room, I'm already comfortable enough to remove these sexy little boots," you say. A half-joke about the footwear, really just admitting that you're comfortable around me and can be your fun self.
You steal a word; at a later point, you'll follow through, making us both more relaxed and prepared for the experience.
You look stunning with those boots on your legs. I reply.
"I guess I could maintain them, but then I'd have to preserve my trousers too," you jest, and I promptly unzip your boots and assist you in taking them off.
You place your foot back between my legs and I start to massage you. You step away from me, turn your back to me, and confirm, "Why don't you aid me in removing these pants, and I'll let you rub my body on the bed while we discuss room service?"
While I'm pulling off your pants, I marvel at the lacy black thong and pale, beautiful skin revealed underneath. After telling you I'm merely craving a burger and sweet potato fries, I've been massaging you for a few minutes and my palms have already touched your exquisite backside.
You curve over onto your side and begin to unfasten your top, placing the order for room service. I cup your breasts in my hands and begin engaging in a rather sensual massage. Before long, I'm pleasuring your nipples by sucking on them while you're attempting to finish ordering without causing a scandal.
After hanging up, you urge me to draw nearer to your face, and then forcefully drag me to stand opposite you.
"Do you want to savor a teat, darling? Then you'd better settle in. Until room service touches our door, I'm going to turn the bed into a playground for your mouth." You state emphatically, moving pillows, lying parallel to the bed with your butt almost hanging off the edge, leaning back, and spreading your legs.
I give you a brief kiss before moving down your neck and babbling compliments like "Beautiful." After that, my mouth engages in a rhythm similar to the music playing loudly, with me attentively concentrating on your body and not being quite so discreet regarding my actions.
I hear you logging in to your phone, then selecting some music, probably to maintain our audible rapport; I embrace this imperative and thrill as I wield my head between your thighs.
By the time room service arrives, I too have tasted your satisfaction. I exit the room, taking your order, leaving a tip, and bolting the door behind me. When I re-enter the part of the room carrying the trays with our meals, your body is carefully positioned, and you're now stripped completely naked. You allure me with the words, "Cock, now."
I grant you that sobriquet, not even bothering to remove my trousers, but simply unzipping them and producing my manhood. We slide in and out with minimal effort as you're evidently aroused and I'm quite hard and eager.
After minutes of satisfying you, I lengthen our stride in a type of marathon with me using my tongue on your clitoris. You become somewhat tense and say, "I really feel like I have to come soon." I heed your command, decrease my speed, grasp your trumpet-shaped cleavage, and willingly sustain pleasure. And soon after, I achieve enjoyment.
"I may have earned my room service," you assert, sitting back up, indicating that we'll share a meal.
Part III
I believe I assumed you'd converse about interesting aspects of your life. But I didn't foresee your musical preferences or mobile habits at the table.
When dining, I didn't envision you playing thumping drumbeats in the background. You inquired if I'd prefer to hear some metal while partaking in our repast. In spite of never feeling such bands to be necessary, I admitted my appreciation for a Sony stripe or Bottom Feeder. Thus, the heavy-metal fan in me gave a nod and witnessed you become even more attractive.
When your phone chimed during our dinner, you apologized, asserting that you need the call, or you might inadvertently entice the police.
"Safety call. Understandable. Shrewd move," I remark, aggrandizing your wisdom for safeguarding your privacy.
"Considering we were debating BDSM moments, I dare say I'm fairly far-fetched. However, if your audience inclines towards the explicit, might I propose that I spend the time waiting for my laundry with you?" you mention, eyeing the table, where the book sits. "But perhaps there's more you may devise."
With my belt open and my smile, I'm sporting a napkin across my waist. So, as you say "entertainment," you humorously tease me by slipping my napkin up and grinning playfully.
"Excited to assist!" I respond, reaching out not for your napkin but your breast. I gently cup it and place my thumb near your nipple, gently playing with it.
"Do you think your friend on the line has a local lawyer on speed dial?" I inquire, now more focused on your incredible breasts than the delicious food on my plate.
"Probably not a bad idea," you reply, pulling your phone out again. "I need to schedule things too. Being impolite during a meal," you comment as you look down at my hand.
"Perhaps you could allow me the use of your second hand while I take a break from eating to text my spouse about what I intend next?" you suggest, and before you can finish your sentence, my napkin is on the floor and I'm behind you, cupping both your breasts in my hands.
As I lean over to kiss your neck, I can see you sending him a message telling him what I'm doing to you. How I'm fondling your breasts. Kissing your neck. Relaying how you're beginning to harden against me.
"Grant me permission." He responds.
"Would you consider allowing a few photos of us to be shared?" you ask, looking back at me.
"Absolutely not, that's hot," I respond enthusiastically, and you immediately text back "Yes, Sir Stag."
The initial images you send him are of me cupping you. You send these photos along with the message, "Thank you for allowing me to play. Can you think of anything else you'd like to see, Sir Stag?"
And he responds with, "Enhance your appearance with some markers. Your body is already a masterpiece, but let's make it even better. Perhaps a temporary tattoo for you."
You move over to your suitcase, bending down slowly with your ass pointed in my direction as you dig through it and pull out the markers.
You kneel in front of me and hand me the markers. I take them and draw a design on your chest.
Soon you're displaying a cobra. Its head rising between your stunning breasts. Its body coiling around your waist and its tail curling up and across your thigh.
You snap a quick photograph of my work and transmit it, adding the question "Now that my body is marked, may I be marked?"
And he responds with, "I want you to stream this for me. For both your safety and my pleasure. But you may take your new friend with you if he's willing to play and find new friends who'd appreciate tattooing your front and inking your back." He concludes with, "Ensure he understands your safe words and limits and I believe your one-piece swimsuit will suffice."
Your skin turns red as you type back, "Thank you, Sir Stag." As I catch a glimpse of what he's talking about, you don a form-fitting white swimsuit that not only showcases your amazing figure and cleavage, but now boasts a snake's head peeking out between your impressive breasts and a snake's tail wrapping around your velvety, dreamy, and surprisingly firm thigh.
I contemplated having a conversation with you in the room before venturing forward, but I'd forgotten that you're due to work tomorrow, so we make it to the hall and start discussing your limits, safe words, and plans for the evening while we walk.
In the hallway, our talks only serve to enhance the situation's heat. We soon arrive at the laundromat and find it empty, which is both beneficial and not. It's now your responsibility to choose who you'd like to play with, and you quickly leave the party to attend a 21-plus evening event at the convention.
In no time at all, you've discovered three willing participants who follow you out.
The laundromat has a hidden area, shielded from the view of security cameras and the front windows. It turns out it's relatively easy for a petite woman to hide behind equipment designed for bulky cleaning. Especially if she's not standing.
Instead, you've taken off your wrap dress, folded it, and used it to cushion your knees.
As you do this, you're grinning as you overhear the men's astonished gasps. They knew you were attractive, but they were pleasantly surprised by the splendor of your body.
You outline the rules to them, and as you do so, I hand you the marker and I grab the top of your suit, giving your breasts a squeeze from behind because... well, I can, and they're astounding. However, I remember my duty and write on your back, "sign here," below which I draw a line.
I demonstrate my action and, to my delight, you and I are in sync. I take a photo with your camera which has been set up and is streaming already. All I have to do now is walk in front of you and say, "Oh, most enticing snake charmer, would you please charm mine?"
You flash a big smile, but you also unzip me and take out my penis, then start sucking. This scenario could quickly spiral out of control, especially for guys who've grown up on porn, so I show that if you want to engage in this game tonight, hands can be on your shoulders or your breasts, but not your head or neck. This is a night for handsy exploration, not choking.
"I'm about to cum," I declare. "Do you want me to cum in you or on you?" I ask without missing a beat. You immediately place both hands on your breasts, proudly lifting them up to signal "here."
Nearly naturally, I aim for the snake's head and, as a result, you now have semen dripping between your breasts, but none on your nipples.
I have the privilege of being the first to leave my mark on your back. I then step back, watch as the next man takes his turn, enjoying the show. They all show respect. One guy seemed almost worshipful. I'm not sure if this was the first time he'd ever seen a nipple, but it was evidently an unforgettable experience. And for your part, despite your jaw starting to ache, you had the same thrilled grin on your face each time a new man approached you and asked, "Hey there, irresistible snake charmer, care to seduce me?"
When the last man has his turn, you finally stand up and bid farewell to your guests. You accomplish this by walking up to a guy, placing one of his hands on one of your breasts and the other on your ass, and saying, "Thanks" as you give him a cheek kiss goodbye.
But you don't give me a goodbye smooch. After saying "Thanks," you add casually, "I hope you still have one more left, I need someone to cum inside me right now."
You don't even bother pulling up your top, instead you just wrap your dress around yourself and head back to your hotel room, acting like nothing happened. The only telltale sign of the night's events would be your slightly smeared lipstick.
However, as soon as the door closes behind me, I compliment you on your daring performance. Before you can reach the bed, I grab you and start groping you from behind. I strip off your dress while I nibble on your neck. I don't bother taking off your suit or mine. I only pause long enough to put on a condom and hike up your suit before fitting myself inside you. You rest your palms against the wall, bracing yourself. I'm exploring your body with my hands, paying attention to your tit and clit. I stare at the names on your back as I cum inside you one last time.
Finally, I remove your suit and you collapse onto the bed. I tie off the used condom and drop it on your back. You're about to ask me, "What the hell are you doing?", but then you comprehend where I'm going. Instead of protesting, you spread your legs, hand me your phone, and say, "Picture away. I want to remember tonight."
Spare me a way to contact you before you leave, and I'll even send you one. You glance at the clock and exclaim, "Jesus, it's late."
You hastily eject me as you clean up and prepare to head back to your boring room and attempt to catch some sleep before more training tomorrow. But you don't get totally cleaned up. You're relishing the idea of being encircled by colleagues who have no idea you're still branded from tonight's activities.
