Business Trip Fantasy

It had been 69. Soixante-Neuf. It sounded sexier as she said it, as did almost everything she whispered to him, her love and sex talk and moaning in her native tongue. He understood the sense of it, if not the literal translation. It had been slow, intense, deliciously fantastic--he barely knew her, yet somehow, there was this wet, hot, extraordinary meeting.

Somehow it had progressed from seeing each other at a meeting of international partners: a look, a checking out, an assessing and measuring of an unknown person, had gradually come to include secret smiles as they each noted finding amusement at the same points in the tediously long presentations.

As if in a dream, they had both walked out at a break point in the proceedings. It was meant to be 30 minutes for a stretch, a pee, a coffee, or time to call in and retrieve messages:all the myriad chores attendant on being "on the road" and away from home.

Without discussion or introduction, they had got on the elevator, travelled to the executive floor, each one nominally going to their respective rooms to freshen up.

At her door, she turned to him and simply said, "Come in."

There was no pretense, no verbal foreplay. She simply walked in, expecting him to follow. She turned to face him, looked him in the eyes, and stepped out of her skirt.

He was afraid to say a word, to break whatever spell this was, to make it pedestrian, or awkward, or to stop whatever magic was making this woman present herself to him as if a gift.

"Je veux soixante-neuf," she breathed, so softly that he could barely hear, could scarcely believe. But he moved to her, quickly taking off his own clothes as he watched her continue to undress. She laid her silk blouse on the sofa, retrieved her skirt and placed it there as well. She stood before him in her bra and panties, a teen fantasy dream of garters and stockings and high heels. Jesus. Is this what all French women wear?, he thought.

He stripped. She led him to the bed, and motioned for him to lie down, and then the crawled up over him, straddling his shoulders with her knees and affording him an amazing view of pussy and ass. She hung over him for a moment, teasing him, as she began her oral laving of his raging hardon. Quickly he realized he couldn't bear it, ripped her wisp of panties aside, snapping the gossamer thread that held them together, he grabbed her ass and pulled her down into his mouth. His only defense against her power was to try to stir her as she had stirred him.

He slurped and plunged. He tongue fucked her. He concentrated the hard point of his tongue on the ridge of her clit, sucking it into his mouth, nipping and mouthing her lips. He moved her with his hands, pulling and pushing her ass to gain access to all of her slit, from the top of her clit hood to the opening of her asshole.

She was sucking him, moaning, her body shaking and quivering with arousal. He quickened the pace of his sucking, loving the taste, the smell, the sound of her. Shortly, she began to buck and cry out, a high, keening sound, signalling her seeking, her closeness to completion.

He plunged his fingers in to aid his tongue, to press against the swollen, ballooning flesh at the top of her inner wall. God, she was dripping! Suddenly, she was beyond control or thought, over the edge, cumming in rolling waves and spasms, her body almost convulsing with the strength of her muscle contractions.

The intensity of her cumming drove him over the edge-- the erotic intensity was beyond his ability to think, to delay, to prolong. He felt the rope, the cord of his cock become lava, hot, liquid, explosive. He throbbed and spurted, cumming and cumming in great torrents. An ocean of cum.

On recovery, he paused, stunned. Good God Damn. What the hell do I say after THIS! He was still powerfully aroused by what had happened, a little embarrassed, a little fearful of what could POSSIBLY come next. Realizing that her breasts were covered in his spunk. She smiled at him, her laughing, warm eyes conveying her satisfaction and pleasure. She slowly stroked her fingers across her breasts, collecting cum, and placed her fingertips at her lips, first painting them as if with lip gloss, and then sucking the cum off them, and always, always, smiling at him with that cat-got-the-cream look on her beautiful face.

He wanted to do something, to be more than an observer or recipient of her sexual largesse, so he began to massage his cum into the cramy skin of her torso and breasts. As he did so, her nipples pebbled, and she began to move, and arch, and tilt her pelvis.

He moved to her now, kissing and licking her mouth, gently pulling and squeezing and pinching her nipples as he continued to smooth the cum into her skin.

Now he took charge, gently moving her body, turning her on her side, spooning her, his body curved protectively around her back, his arms caressing, his limp cock nestled in the wet between her thighs and ass cheeks. He stroked her with his right hand, her arm, her breast, her hip, down to her lovely pussy. His cock began to stir in animal response to her moaning and pelvic movements against his urging hand.

Now he moved her over further, almost on her stomach, his cock head surged, wanting to be inside that hot, red, glistening cunt. She moaned, she fucked his hand. Finally, she breathed, "baise-moi".

And he rose up over her lovely round ass and plunged his cock deep, deep, deep into her glorious pussy.

She groaned as he hit her back wall, arching up, fucking him back, on her knees now, urging him, urging him, begging for all he could give and spend and cum. And she let out a shuddering cry and gushed, flooding out of her. He felt like a God, a primal, elemental, sexual, animal FUCK, and let out a cry of triumph as his own cum engulfed them both. Ramming and thrusting, he came and came and came.

As he fell back to the bed, barely conscious, he heard her gentle laugh and sweetly spoken, "merci, bel ami".