Always Say Hi to the Museum Guard

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*

He knew immediately by the way she walked into the room, that she was hungry.

That casual appearance, not the good girl look and not the possessed woman either, shouted her desire to the world.

A lone white woman, quietly wandering through the palace. She was ignoring the other tourists and staring constantly at the ceiling, with no guides or maps in hands, her eyes were examining the architraves, looking for the hidden detail.

As if the discovery of a mysterious detail could bring attention to her, instead she was just getting smaller compared to the huge room, and more lost.

She just noticed another guard at one end of the room. Should she say hello? One greets those present upon entering a room; shouldn't she do so with museum attendants? Apparently not it seemed; nobody else did, anyway the two were alone in the big ballroom. Or was it a bedroom? Or a dining room? Oh damn those architraves and painted walls, without furniture they looked all the same.

And now a guy was staring at her; who knows what a museum attendant thinks. He may be guessing whether she is planning to do some damage to the precious walls, or he may be classifying her into a category of tourist. She hated looking like a tourist. More likely he was just waiting for the end of his shift and not giving a damn whoever entered the room.

Pivoting on her foot she observed the room in a badly disguised pirouette. How would it be if she was dressed in one of those long dresses, a crinoline or a cage to support it, soft ballet slippers to dance silently and a tight corset to push those firm breasts up? He could see her profile easily from the other end of the room, soft full breasts held by nothing other than a t-shirt, not even a bra. He certainly could see the prominent shape of her hard nipples through the fabric as she excited herself in her pretend dance.

His manhood reacted, engorging quickly, excited by the fantasy of dancing with her, of being close enough to smell her warm womanly scent. A bite to his lip reminded himself that was not her earlobe he was nibbling. He painfully looked away.

No, that couldn't last; he stared at her in her dance. She did not want to show her dreaming state so obviously. Her steps were small, pretending to be just moving around the room. She was hungry now, for love, for attention, for passion, for dreams, just as hungry as him.

A warm hand gently touched hers, abruptly interrupting her fake pirouette. With the look of a child found with her fingers deep in the jam she looked up to the museum attendant, deep brown eyes matched in silence. He lifted her hand up and away using just his stiff fingers in her palm to invite her to complete the pirouette.

He took one step back, the pressure in his pants growing and protesting. In his eyes, for just a moment, her jeans were a blue ball gown and her t-shirt a corset. He bowed, 'If Madam would grant me this danc...' and left the sentence unfinished. She stood puzzled and stared at him. Was this an ironic attempt to scold her? She was tempted to walk away and not turn back.

No, no reason to do that. She offered him her right hand, which he took and made a mock curtsey then looked up. He was smiling when he pulled her up and guided her into another pirouette then drew her close. His arm closed around her waist and guided her through improvised dance steps.

Their bodies moving together, she could now feel the hardness in his pants. In a whirl of dance and dream she wanted him. If this was a dream she did not want to wake up; the only man who could see what she wanted was there. She held tight to his shoulders, her imaginary gown moving like a bell around her legs, dreaming of another pirouette in the silent ball room. Her excitement grew together with his, he bit her earlobe. Passion! Yes, he was feeding her just more of what she wanted, she wanted more. She was wet!

With another pirouette he pulled her behind a screen. Her mind focused on the ancient paint, how many filthy deeds must have it witnessed in the last three centuries? With the privacy of the screen, their lips joined. He sucked her lower lip, pulled softly at her flesh and she responded venturing with her tongue into his mouth. His response was rapid and powerful. Her hands slipped down to feel the hardness in his pants. 'I want you,' she whispered as he replied with a moan.

Hands fumbled with clothes, her t-shirt came off first leaving her breasts hanging freely. He had indeed seen right, those were first class boobs. He took both in his hands pressing them together and buried his face in the valley between them. Her womanly scent excited him even more; the urge to take her became unbearable. Quick fingers pulled her jeans off.

He stepped back for a moment and removed his clothes with trembling hands. She stood behind the screen, staring at his quick strip tease with hungry eyes. Pussy juices had wetted her inner thighs, wet, wrong, excited, it was a mix of emotions but most of all she craved that hard shaft sliding inside her. He hugged her tightly, his cock uncomfortably pointing up to her belly and excited to the verge of madness.

'Take me.' She said lifting her leg to give him better access, unable to hold herself back.

'Yes, Madam.' He growled.

Her back was pushed against the wall and she was holding tight to his shoulders. She felt his cock spread her with no further foreplay needed after their dance. He pushed hard and made his way deep in her pussy. In another situation he would have taken her more gently but not now. Her juices traced a path down his shaft and she was more than ready. She was so ready, so hot; her nails left long red marks on his back while they fucked against the wall in a silent fury. She could feel him deep inside her, craving release. She grasped desperately to his back while her hips rocked unable to hold back her orgasm. It submerged her, then him, both lovers breathing deeply. A second orgasm shook her body as his last movements of passion surged within her. The room disappeared, mixing into the excitement of their dancing foreplay and brought up to a most pleasurable oblivion.

Still breathing heavily he stared at the redness of her cheeks.

'My shift ends at 6, if Madame wishes to finish this dance.'

She smiled at his mock formal tone and improvised another small curtsey 'I will indeed Sir.'