It was Washington DC in December, shortly after Christmas and rather than spending time with our families, we found ourselves working in this impersonal city. A cold wind blew down the streets, tossing the decorations that hung from buildings and light posts, as we had wandered, and I, not used to any cold weather, was freezing. I suspect he was freezing too, but he wasn’t going to say. We had been walking silently for blocks, thinking over the events of the day, but when we got back to our hotel room, we tumbled in the door wrapped around each other and fell laughing onto the bed. At that point I think we were quite through with playing at being grown up, and professional ready to untangle our minds and bodies from the tedious hours of meetings for which we had come to DC.
Maybe out of long habit more than anything else, we sprawled out on the broad hotel bed that took up most of the room (how do such expensive hotels get away with such small rooms anyway?) and flicked on the television set. When you don’t have much money, but a lot of ambition, it’s amazing how fascinating cable news can be. Our TV back home barely got three channels. Playing with the remote control, he moved between cheerful holiday programs, and the grim talking heads of the evening news.
We hadn’t been watching long when he rolled over and began to idly stroke my black stocking clad leg. To his chagrin, I didn’t where thigh-highs and a garter belt nearly enough, but today for some reason I had decided I would feel stronger as I dealt with hordes of strangers, if I felt a little sexy underneath. He glanced up at me wickedly with his quiet brown eyes, and gently spread my legs apart, easy his hand closer to my silken panties, and already moistening pussy.
Violating every rule my mother had every given me about taking the top cover off a hotel bed (“People have sex on those and the hotel never washes them!” she would say), I soon found my sweater, bra, skirt, and panties flung aside, leaving me only wearing my stockings. He put his hands on my thighs and brought his mouth down upon me slowly. His lips and tongue soon began to make me writhe in ecstasy. Just when I began to think I would release into shuddering orgasm he paused, smiling at me, with only the hum of the television behind him making sounds. Outside the rushing traffic and cold wind was long forgotten.
He bent his head to me again and slowly inserted a finger, tickling inside me as he gently sucked and nibbled my clit. Finally I screamed out in a tremendous orgasm and lay back, hot and gasping. He lay by me still fully clothed and held my naked body close as we watched the news. He leaned over and poured a shot of whiskey into the hotel glass by the bed from the bottle I had given him for Christmas, and gave it to me to sip, then poured himself a hefty shot.
We lay for maybe fifteen minutes, drinking and holding each other, when he leaned over me again. This time he dipped his finger into the whiskey, then ran it gently around my pussy, finally slipping it inside. I gasped as the alcohol stung, but he soon soothed the sting with his hot tongue, lapping at my juices, as well as the whiskey. As his lapping intensified, I protested, the sensations were almost too much, in response he paused only to smile his droll smile again, and returned to his ministrations. Even as I moaned at him to stop, I found myself again being brought to the height of a shuddering orgasm.
