Windows Covered in Condensation
You get a text. In five minutes, your work will be done. You're supposed to meet me downtown. You know the hotel, but you've never been there. It's next to the city square, near the park, and across from City Hall. You bite your pen and question if you should go. The other times were crazy and fun, but they were wrong.
You mustn't ... but your husband isn't home for three more days. What harm could there be? You gather some courage.
"I'll be there," you reply in a text.
You reach the lobby and find the elevator. You're being subdued and a bit immature with the sunglasses on as it's almost six on a cloudy day. You can't look at anyone at the front desk. You can't look at the maid pushing linens down the hallway. You can't look at the couple walking across the lobby with their dog, ready for a walk in downtown. You'd die if you were recognized.
"I'm terrible at this," you think as you tap your foot at the elevator, "I don't do sneaky well. Good girl. That's me. Bored, boring good girl. But I'm so horny!"
The elevator finally arrives. It took a long time. The doors open, and you slip inside, thinking that everyone in the building ... in that area ... even the dog ... must have remembered you, (despite the sunglasses and the silly scarf on your head and the long coat). You're inside now, and the doors close.
"Is it the third floor, right?" you ask yourself.
It is.
Good. You've at least pressed the correct button! You can't stop shaking; you're giddy.
The doors open at floor number three, and you notice the arrows for rooms 310 to 350.
You walk down the hall towards room 327. The door is partially open. You were going to knock, but then, this is the day you take charge and be your own damned assertive female who gets what she wants. You're not some pushover anymore.
So you take a deep breath, push the door open, and peek into the darkness. You're going to knock - what, are you crazy? - then you determine to be confident and go inside like a strong, confident woman.
You step into the darkness, and then call out in a squeaky voice.
"H-hello?"
You caught your heel on the rug when you stepped inside. You sounded like a squeak from a washed plate. You're slouching, like you're at a scary fun house at the carnival waiting for a clown to jump out at you with a chainsaw. That's terrible - straighten up. Look confident and assertive.
My hand is on your ass, pulling you in towards me. The hand comes up, along your back. It's a hand that knows what it's doing.
Now that same hand is alongside your face, moving back and forth on your jawline; fingertips running into your hair, back and forth until they bend and pull your head in for a kiss. A kiss that's more taken than given, but not unwelcome.
You notice my robe is open. Aside from that, the only thing I'm wearing is body wash.
The other hand grabs your purse from your hand and tosses it on the console behind you. Before pulling you back into me again. I ask about your day and rub the back of your neck while you two stand there, a clothed woman and a naked man, (and all of it inappropriate). We're grown-ups making poor decisions; bad choices, dangerous choices.
You talk about your day rapidly. You talk a lot; it's a barrage of words covering your favorite topics and concerns. You babble and laugh at your own observations and realize that you're not alone. I'm listening and paying attention to you and letting you continue ...
"My husband never does this," you say out loud, the realization hitting you like a thousand stars of clarity in your head.
"Keep going," I tell you, never breaking eye contact.
"Keep going," I tell you, never looking away from your eyes. [
You chatter away, like you're emptying out your heart at a restroom stop. The whole day drains out in a few moments. You feel the urge to wipe and flush, but it's all done now. The day is gone. And here I am, tonight.
You maintain eye contact, yet your hands still haven't left me. You're eager to say more, to break the silent tension, but my finger stops you.
Your gaze lowers. My robe lies on the ground. The good girl inside you might have picked it up by now and set it on something else, but you have an unclothed man embracing you. Fine... leave the robe on the floor... he paid for the room, and the maid service anyway.
"You're dressed too much for this moment," I remark, "Too many clothes on you."
To remedy the situation, I remove your garments. It's as if I'm less a lover and more a chef preparing a bird; stripping it of its feathers and discarding all that's unnecessary... sending the scraps to the floor. I guide you into the room... stripping you further with each step; ripping them off and tossing them over my shoulder. Oh, you want to gather those things up, but NO... I know what I'm doing and the maid will be there to clean.
You notice the bed. It's been turned down. Now completely bare (except for your heels), you step toward the linens and pillows, only to feel my hand on yours, guiding you towards the window and a chaise longue beside. The curtains are drawn. He wants me here? Okay GOOD... nobody will see us through these shades.
I direct you to the curtains before examining the view from the window, lingering as if in a bad spy thriller with your back facing me. I'm using this time to carefully survey the surroundings. What's he looking at?
Meanwhile, you take stock of the room. It's plush and extravagant. You can't help but notice, though, I've moved the chaise lounge to the window, and you can't fathom why.
It doesn't matter. As soon as you ponder the reason, I open the curtains to let you see the view, and suddenly you're forced to cover your nudity with the curtain out of modesty. That will soon change.
"Remain at the window," I instruct.
You comply, gazing out at the crowded square. I move to your back, kissing your shoulders, neck, and spine. Your skin begins to tremble, resembling a field of goosebumps. Your chest rises more rapidly, fogging the glass in front of you.
My hands roam your body. You won't be able to help it; you grind against my fingers. I feast on your flesh, tonguing the salty residue.
The dance... it's a delightful ballet. It's blissful for you. You're being fingered and groped by a man who is not your husband... a man you planned to discard last week, a man you claimed you'd never lay eyes on again. He's kissing your neck and shoulders in your desired style; his stubble scrapping your skin like a rushing river below your clit, throbbing under my touch, defying your rational mind, erupting in a wicked, delightful orgasm.
Your mind battles against your carnal desires. It judges you, ridiculing you. You shameless whore. You self-centered, inconsiderate... damnit, YOU!
Silencing your inner judgment is tough, but silencing your pounding heart is an entirely different challenge. Adding to the dissonance, you're not the only one in your head. It's like I could hear you denying and fearing in your thoughts. I understand the conflict, but I'm glad you seem to be victorious for the first time.
"They don't matter anymore. Fuck them all," I exhale, bending you at the waist. As I penetrate you, my member meanders across your derriere, coating it with pre-ejaculate. I whisper in your ear, enchanted by the steam rising,
"Fuck them all like THIS!"
Clearing my throat with a loud hack, I press my warm spittle against your anus. I'm an accurate shooter, even in the dimly lit room. With great precision, I penetrate your anus with my sizable cock. Your muscles relax, allowing me to slide in effortlessly.
I push you closer to me, and you surrender to my advances with an audible groan. Excitement and fear mix together as you feel every inch of me inside you. I reach for the curtains and close them partially, revealing only your upper body against the glass. Your face, nose, and mouth are pressed against the cold surface, leaving behind remnants of your breathing, moisture, and possibly tears.
How long do we continue? How long do we indulge in this sinful act? You don't know, but it doesn't matter now. You're experiencing a shocking mix of discomfort and pleasure that you've never felt before. At 43 years old, you're being reborn - and I'm the doctor performing your delivery.
Your hand moves frantically over your genitals, rubbing your clitoris rapidly. Your nipples stand out from your chest, like stones protruding from skin. But despite your efforts, you can't quite reach satisfaction.
You can only hold your position, spreading your legs wide, and maturely accepting the pleasure your body craves. Your face is pressed against the glass, creating a steamy haze around it for all to see. You're submissive and vulnerable, your mind full of conflict over what's happening and what you're feeling.
Ignoring these internal battles, you reach back with your palm and fondle my body. You grasp my waist and pull me closer, hoping to send the message that you want to take control. And take control you do - you begin humping yourself back into me. I remain stationary, allowing you to guide your anus up and down on my penis. Your tongue licks the window like a sweet treat, and you cry out:
"Oh, sweet Jesus, I love it!"
Your hips thrust back and forth, repeating this rhythm. Your breath is quick and shallow, and you grind yourself against me. We're both lost in the moment, overwhelmed by the sensations and emotions. We simultaneously prepare for our orgasm.
"Baaaaahhhrrr!" ... "Oooooooh!"
We don't last long. The pleasure is too intense, and we come simultaneously, filling the air with our cries and releasing waves of warm cum into your rectum. The sounds of our release echo within the hotel walls, dampening the carpets with our secretive mess. The curtains shield us from view.
Finally, I pull my cock out of your anus. I'm treated to a splattering of more fluids as your body spasms involuntarily. I pull it out entirely, and you leak more cum onto the carpet. I pull your arms behind your back, and you're once again invisible to the outside world, swaying back and forth in pleasure.
Our room, like many others, might not have great soundproofing. But the fitting glass window keeps prying eyes from seeing what's really going on behind the curtains. The carpets go otherwise untouched, and the glass remains marked by your snot and spittle. I have no idea how or when the brat will make her appearance, but for now, we both give in to bliss.
Even though the curtain hides most of you from view, your bare breasts within full view, leaking warm liquid. Your face is firmly pressed against the glass, leaving an unclean, wet trail while I stand fully inside the room. The sight entices me as I flash a perfect view to passersby in the square, allowing them to gawk at your tits and smeared glass. Embarrassment seeps into every pore, yet you manage to slip away in pleasure, no longer a mature woman with a real job. This experience erased all of that, and you emerge victorious as a reborn submissive.
What's your intention, you enquire?
I softly whisper "Shh...shh..." near your ear.
"Masturbate. Follow my instructions. Touch yourself."
You gaze at me suspiciously like I'm nuts. Viewing me once more, though, reveals my sobriety and sanity. This confuses you. I'm not insane; I only lack care. This puzzles then excites you. Your heart beats faster, your clit gets wet due to my command.
You begin to act on my orders. You stroke your legs, caress your thighs, locate your sex, fondle your breasts - all activities typically reserved for private moments, like showering or hiding under covers, but now performed in front of a third-floor window.
Your clit tingles at your own touch. You pinch your nipples while you masturbate, an action you learned long ago when you thought no one would judge. Now you do it on command. What a good girl!
You reminisce about all the times you engaged in secret self-pleasure: masturbating under the sun in a cemetery, from a car by a lake, competing with your roommate in college. These memories fill your mind, but this time it's different; you're in public, three floors high.
Your eyes wander, imagining who may be watching this spectacle. A beautiful woman, dressed in a pane of fogged glass, smooshing her breasts and belly, masturbating in full view. Bold and brazen.
I kiss your shoulders again, then your neck, turn your chin towards me, and kiss you back. Your hands are a whirring blur against yourself. Pushing boundaries is thrilling to you.
Three fingers are inside you. Your lips are moving distortedly. Moans, sighs, heaves, and shudders come from you while you keep at it. Fingers stretch your clit, pinching and swirling. You're moaning, your lips part, you can't help it.
"Oh god...ooohhhh!" Your pronunciation slurs; the sound of your arousal intensifies. Your hips snake up and down for emphasis. The sight of you masturbating, combined with that sound, captures people's attention.
You sit on the chaise, flushed and satisfied, cuddling me. With the shades open, we both see what you've done: your body, imprinted on a foggy glass panel, your face and lips smushed against it, your breasts, belly, and the trail of your climax. The result is a clear image of a woman lost in lust. I contemplate signing it.
"You're great at this," you tell me.
"If you enjoy what you do," I claim, "it's no longer work."
"More is needed, though," I declare.
In this new experience, you may not have planned it, but you're happy it happened. You're unsure who I am - saint, sinner, corruptor, or saviour, but I'm here and you're satisfied that you're not trapped in your large house, alone, ordinary, and miserable.
We share another deep tender kiss, deeply felt in your core. Your toes curl instinctively at the sensation. [A][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][MY][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][you], we're together, and you're glad! [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][T][][][][][][][][][][][][][][I'm unsure][][][][][][][][][][][][][][no].[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][you're][][][][][][][][][][][][][not][][][][][][][safe].[][][][][][][a][house],[][][][][][][unusual][][][][][moments][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][but],[][][][][][we][][][][][][][(together)].[][][][][I'm][][][][][][][][here][][][][][][][][],[][][][][and][][][][][you][][][][][][][enjoy][][][][][][][][][][][][it][][][][][][][][][,][][it][][][][isn't][][][][][][][][work].[][][][][][][You][][][][][][][][need][][][][][][][][][][]~
Your skin prickles with goosebumps once more. My cock reacts in the same way. Your arm brushes against its wet, dewy tip. Your eyes meet mine.
"Suck me," I whisper softly. It's not me asking. It's an order.
Immediately, your head dips toward my groin. My dick is met with a warm mouth. My balls involuntarily rise and fall due to the sensation. You cup them with cold fingers, causing me to take a sharp breath from the refreshing minty tingling.
You can't believe you're doing this - sucking a cock that was recently in your butt. Anal to oral should be abhorrent, but on the contrary, you're basking in the twisted nature of it all. Your heart beats faster with pleasure from performing something outrageous, vulgar, and dirty. You're stroking your clit as your mouth expertly teases my dick.
My hands move to the windows and pull them open. Next, you're harshly pushed back against the cold, frosty window pane. I close the blinds again, leaving your ass up against the chilly, misty glass; your upper body safely hidden in the room, while you suck my penis and pleasure my balls with your fingertips.
You feel the coolness of the window on your bottom and understand you're fully exposed to the world. Even worse, you sense the glass against your anal opening. Despite this, you don't care; your embarrassment melts away like snow on a hot stove.
Your sucking causes me to shiver, just like when I've stubbed my toe. This is the first time you've made me do this, and you've never heard it. It's always been a snarl or growl as my desire increases, but your mouth has managed to trigger the exact right response. A choked sob slips from me.
This excites you even more, as it strokes your ego just as your tongue rubs my penis. Your fingers are busy at your own sex, playing with it with quick, self-centered excitement. My moans spur you on; they're like fuel for the fire of your sexual cravings.
I resolve to make you cry out, to make me cum like never before. I'll make you feel like I'm on the verge of leaving my body!
Again and again, you force your cheeks down onto my cock, pushing your throat into it and squeezing my balls like eggs. You want to show me. You want to make me groan. My hips against your face tell you just that. My shivers and gasps spur you on even further.
I didn't plan on being outperformed. I reach between the closed drapes and find your bung; pulling them apart, I stretch your cheeks. Now, your anus and vagina are smeared against the cold glass. Alarm and panic fill your mind as you recognize that familiar sensation of my cum oozing out of you.
Shock and the desire to mortify and humiliate yourself give way to shamelessness and animal desire. These feelings are not mutually exclusive; rather, they are part of the same chain, much like delightful tastes and smells in a single sip of wine. Your humiliation is now propelling your lust; making you do naughty things and making your sex throb for it.
"Push it out," I command.
You know what to do. You've been holding back, trying not to make yourself feel demeaned and humiliated, but then what's the point? You simply let the slimy fluid slip from you.
"Boom! Brraapplffff!" Your fart sends a creamy splatter of cum against the glass.
The perverse revelry and the shameful, twisted nature inspire your mischievous side. Repressed for so long, it's like a ravenous bird comes out to devour my penis. You pull and push on it, utterly obsessed. You sense my balls tense... then you feel the inevitable climax rising in me.
"Ugh! Rub it out! Gluck! Gluck!" I gasp, as I'm filled with your hot ball butter.
You gulp it down. It's warm and salty - my cum. It's exactly what you wanted. "Who needs room service, really?"
Listen carefully. Initially, you're not positive whether you heard right. Is it... APPLAUSE?
In a flash, hollers and wolf-whistles join the applause. You both get up and head to the window. I join you, and we embrace. Even more applause and laughter erupt from below.
A vehicle zips by. The driver's curious about the commotion until he looks up and spots us in the naked window. He speeds off, honking his approval as the viewers scream and howl in support of us.
We nod to the crowd, then, like performers on stage in a theatrical production, we bow in their direction. We embrace once more as the applause and laughter create a positive energy current that blossoms from the street. I shut the curtains, dampening the audience's shouts with a chorus of 'AWWWWWW!'
I reopen the drapes. The crowd waves in the air, and one lady reaches for a lighter, holding it aloft in a show of admiration, like at a concert. We bow again, then kiss. I close the curtains. Your feet are suddenly off the floor, and you're dizzy from the surprise once more as I pick you up and take you to the bed.
LATER
About half an hour later, we're both breathless and sweaty, entangled in the sheets. You're resting on me, your head by my chest. A small stream of sperm trickles from you and down onto the bedding.
"It's fortunate," you comment, "that this chaotic mess will receive a thorough cleaning from the maids tomorrow."
"I'm not overly concerned," I say, "I just hope the maids did a proper job cleaning ROOM THREE ZERO."
"What do you mean, OUR ROOM?" you enquire, still short of breath, "but THIS is our room! I was into ROOM THREE TWENTY-SEVEN, the room you instructed me to go to."
"Oh, let's see," I explain, a grin on my face, "when I arrived at the hotel this afternoon, I noticed the maids scurrying about, trying to make everything perfect for their guests. I chanced upon this hall and overheard one say to her colleague that she wouldn't have to rush with number three twenty-seven since the hotel had available rooms. They both left, switching towels but failing to shut the door, giving me an idea.
I dumped my belongings in room three one zero - my original reservation - and returned here to room three twenty-seven, where I saw the door was still open. I phoned you."
"We've been doing it in the wrong room?" you ask, stunned.
"Indeed," I laugh, "how delicious!"
"But WHY?"
"As I explained earlier," I cut in, "we made a mess of the window with the crowd outside. It'd be worthwhile to have a nice room to escape to in case someone reporting the events of room three twenty-seven led to the police knocking down its door."
Three one zero is unlocked by my keycard. We step inside, into a fresh, clean space. You notice the change in my expression - I'm your lover, your corruptor, and your threat. You're irritated, but this irksome situation has turned you on even more, readying you for another session together. You tear off my robe and yours falls to the floor. However, before I can enjoy your naked body again, your hands push me on the bed. Down in room three twenty-seven, the aftermath of our insatiable lust and frivolous acts are captured by condensation on the window, their memory preserved for our viewing pleasure and maybe even a hundred or so onlookers who've likely gone home by now.
THE END.
Read also:
- Featured Volleyball Players, Part 1
- A Seductive Weekend Transcending Friendship
- Uninhabited Abode, Satisfied Appetite
- Seductive Swimming
Source: www.nice-escort.de
