You stare at the ceiling, lying on your back, thinking "How did I get myself into this?" Your brain is still a little fuzzy, so you strain the think back.
You setup another meeting with me by email the other day. I said I was going to be in town on a business trip and that we should get together for dinner. Acting nonchalant online, but with your heart pounding in your chest, you said that sounded like a great idea. I had been working on you pretty hard, trying to convince you to make another road trip down to see me, so this opportunity seemed to be a wonderful compromise. We agreed to meet at a restaurant for dinner. Both of us left unspoken what might happen later as the evening progressed.
You decided that telling your husband that you were meeting a man you had met online and had lunch with before would probably be a bad idea. So you told him you were going out with the girls for dinner and maybe go dancing afterward. He smiled his little smile and said that sounded fine with him.
For the next couple of days, you re-read the stories I had sent you, each reading getting you a little hotter at the prospect of actually acting out some of the scenes. You seesawed from one extreme to the other, from contacting me to say our meeting was off to trying to decide what panties you would wear. Each time you would read a story, though, would tip the scales in favor of the meeting.
On the morning of our dinner date, you realize it's too late to back out - I'm already on the road. You stand in front of your closet, twirling your hair, wondering what you possibly are going to wear. You finally decide on a dress like the one you wore for our lunch, the idea of being braless making you giggle. Yes, you think, this one will do - not too revealing or enticing, but with hidden treasures lying just beneath. You giggle even more.
Just after lunch, your stomach is a jumble of nerves. You think perhaps a nice bath is in order. And a drink. Definitely a drink. As you slide into the warm water and slip underneath the bubbles, you feel yourself relaxing a bit. After downing half your drink in one gulp, you lean back and close your eyes, letting the soothing water and the alcohol work their magic. As the warmth from the bath permeates your body and your body absorbs the alcohol, images from my stories pop into your head. Scenes that excited you before play out on the mental movie screen behind your eyelids. Your hands slide over your body as each scene plays out, every nerve in your body becoming more primed for excitement. You pause occasionally to sip on your drink, soon draining it down to the ice cubes. Wanting another and realizing your skin is starting to look pruney, you let out the plug and wrap yourself in a robe.
Padding back into the bedroom with a refreshed drink in your hand, you glance over at the bed, smiling wistfully. Your glance then falls on the nightstand and the toy that's in its drawer. Checking the time, you smile and head for the nightstand. Taking out the vibrator, you slip out of your robe. You take a big swig from your drink and settle down on the bed. Your body is still electrified from your bath, so it doesn't take long for you to take off the edge. Running the vibe over your breasts, down over your belly and finally to you already moist pussy. A few short strokes brings you quickly to a climax. Breathing hard, you realize how horny this whole situation has gotten you.
Time to get dressed. You slip on the french cut panties you had picked out earlier and turn to your dresser, retrieving the perfume bottle. Dabbing carefully in strategic places, you're cautious not to overdo it. Slipping into the dress you had laid out, you check your look in the mirror. God, what am I doing, you ask yourself. Then you smile coyly, because you know what might happen. I mean, damn, you think, if he's half as good as he writes....
You say your goodbyes and get into your car. You barely hear the music on the radio as you make the short drive to the restaurant, your thoughts swirling madly around your head. You reach the restaurant and pull into an empty space. Turning off the car, you look into the mirror. You can still back out, says a voice in your head. He'll understand. He's here for business, after all. Not like he's paying for it himself. He'll understand. Just turn the car back on and head home. Make up a story on the way. No problem. No fuss, no muss. Then you realize that your hand is on the doorknob and the door is halfway open. Thinking back to the bath, you smile at your image in the mirror and head for the restaurant.
We had agreed earlier to make the reservation in the name of "Mr. RedBeard". When you check with the hostess, she says that I'm already there and leads you to our table. You spot me sitting alone at a table with two place settings, dressed in the same purple shirt I had worn for our lunch. I stand when I spot you and you congratulate yourself for having worn flats. I take you hands in mine and lean forward, giving you a soft kiss on the cheek. The whiskers from my beard and mustache tickle against your soft skin and a chill runs down your spine. Damn, you think, this is going to be quite an evening.
After holding your chair for you (always the gentleman) and sitting down across from you, we order drinks. Definitely drinks, you think, smiling to yourself. We exchange small talk while perusing our menus. You decide on a salad again. I order some kind of chicken dish. I also order a bottle of Zinfadel to go with our dinner. You order another drink and the waiter scurries away.
We begin chatting as we did at lunch, revealing things about ourselves that we probably wouldn't otherwise. The wine arrives soon followed by our food. As you eat your salad, dressing gets caught on the corner of your mouth. Waiting to be sure that I'm watching, you flick your tongue out and remove it. That's it, you think, let the games begin. Our conversation turns more toward erotic subjects, not quite centering on what's going on between us but dancing lightly around it, moving ever closer. The drinks and the wine are definitely loosening you up as we talk more and more overtly about the electricity between us.
We both decline dessert but order another round of drinks. Yeppers, you think, definitely more drinks. We begin talking about writing. Back and forth we talk about the power of words. You tell me about how you enjoyed and continue to enjoy my stories. Our feet brush against each other under the table, smiles sprouting on both our faces. You slip your shoe off and brush against my leg, this time no accident. I begin telling you of another idea for a story I had as your foot slips up to my crotch. Revealing more and more detail, I begin to massage your foot. You sip your drink, watching me over the glass, your eyelids have closed, a sultry look on your face.
Sudden uncertainty floods your brain. God, WHAT AM I DOING, you think. Then you suggest we go dancing. I smile and say sure. We leave the restaurant in my rented car and head for the club. We find a table and order drinks (definitely more drinks). You're starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, but it's still the early phases of the buzz. A favorite song of yours starts paying and you grab me by the hand, leading me out on the dance floor. Well, this one is full of surprises, you think. He's actually got a sense of rhythm... Not a bad dancer at all. Another tune with a good beat starts up. Our dancing becomes more sensual, more hypnotic, the rhythm moving us both. The next song is a slow one. Taking your right hand in my left and slipping my right hand around to the small of your back, we begin to sway together to the music. I lean forward to say something in your ear, but you can't hear. You do feel my warm breath against your neck and the slight tickle of! my beard, however, and another chill races down your spine. Our hips bump against each other. Even though we haven't done anything overtly sexual, your pussy is hot. You skin is electrified. Every touch is making you hornier. You know where this is going to lead. Let's go ahead and get there, you think.
After the song ends, you excuse yourself to visit the ladies room. You stumble slightly on your way there and realize you had way too much to drink. You spot a pay phone on the way and decide to go through with it. You call home, saying you're too drunk to drive, so you're going to spend the night at a friend's. Have a good time, your husband says, and that is that. In the bathroom, you take care of business and check yourself in the mirror. Focusing seems a bit difficult and your smile at yourself. Yep. Definitely buzzing.
Winding your way back to our table, you grab the waiter and order a round of Sambucca. I laugh. "I remember what you told me about that stuff... And how it affects you" The waiter returns with a bottle of 'bucca and two chilled glasses. Before you know it, two shots have burned down your throat. When the bottle is empty and both of us feeling no pain, I pay the bill and we head out into the night.
You remember us weaving our way back to my car. Getting in. Chatting for a bit. Then... waking up here.
Musta passed out, you think. And now I'm here. Staring at the ceiling. Lying on my back Staring at the ceiling. Tied hand and foot to the bed. Completely nude.
You glance around the room. His hotel room, you think. But where is he? A light shines from the open bathroom door, but there's no movement in there. Straining your neck up, you look over at the nightstand. A clock. A bottle of something floating in a glass of what looks like water. What looks like a toothpaste tube. Your head flops back down on the pillow, your head spinning slightly. Your eyesight is still too fuzzy to have read the labels.
You hear the door to the room open. I walk in, dressed in a bathrobe from the room, carrying an ice bucket. You glare at me through narrowed eyes. I smile and say, "Hey! You woke up! Welcome to my room!"
