Chloe The Accountant Is Picked Up

Notes:

This is a role-play fantasy story involving one-to-one consensual sex. There's no blackmailing, BDSM or gang banging, although the sex can get quite firm and spicy at times. It's written by a man to a woman, but I hope that men and women will both relate to it.

It's clearly about two people who know each other, but I have left out any details of their relationship so that readers can interpret it however they wish, and imagine the story is about them.

I have also left out much in the way of description of the couple's physical characteristics for the same reason. 'Chloe' could be blonde or brunette, skinny or full figured, 21 or 51 - it's up to you.

This is my first attempt at writing erotic fiction. I don't know how it will be received, but I hope any comments will be kind and helpful. Thank you.

I hope to write part two soon: I have great adventures planned for 'Chloe'.

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It's an evening that feels like any other, but we both know it's not. You make your way to a bar in a town where nobody knows you. By your side is a small overnight bag, really a big handbag. You don't need much in the way of clothes, just one change and a few toiletries. You're staying in this town for just one night. One night with me.

As you push the door open you feel your breathing speed up, your pulse racing. You briefly see your reflection in the glass and it reminds you how carefully you chose your outfit.

The summery boho dress is blue linen with a design of tiny white flowers. It's buttoned all the way down the front, has spaghetti straps, is synched in under your boobs, and ends just below your knees. Somehow it manages to be casual and elegant, classy and sexy. It shows off your curves perfectly, hugging your waist, flaring out at your hips and revealing enough cleavage to draw the eye.

You wanted to wow me, without drawing undue attention from others. You also know that what you are wearing underneath the dress will wow me even more.

I am sitting at the far end of the bar, dressed in a smart, dark suit. To all the world just someone getting a drink after a day in the office. But I am not here for a drink. I am here for you.

The journey to bring us here has been too long and too complicated for words. All that matters is that finally we have this evening and this night together. We don't know when we'll get another chance, so we have planned it in a way that will make the most of it.

You resist the urge to throw me a smile of recognition because tonight is all about role-play. Cliched though it may be, the excitement and anticipation are palpable as you take a stool at the bar a few feet from me and order a drink.

We drink together but apart. I am engrossed in paperwork, so it seems, but I am studying you out of the corner of my eye. You look amazing. Your legs shapely and perfectly smooth. The curves of your wonderful bum showed off by the way you are sitting. Your breasts with plenty on show but in a tasteful way. Your hair falling perfectly past your shoulders. Your lips that I have been waiting so long to kiss. And your eyes. Those eyes that I know will later be locked onto mine when we are moving together in passion.

Soon a boisterous group of men come in, already half-way drunk. About my age but very different to me, all dressed ten years too young for them, with huge flashy watches on their wrists and too much product in their hair. There's not much space at the bar so to give them room you move over to the next stool, the one closest to me. It's still cramped though, and a couple of the men push into you, maybe on purpose as they both try to get a reaction from you. But you're having none of it and you move your stool away from them, closer to me.

"Do you mind?" you ask.

"Getting a bit noisy all of a sudden," I reply.

"Boys will be boys, I guess," you say. "Chloe, by the way."

I smile inside, loving the fake name. Even more funny is your accent, a little posher than your natural voice without being over the top. I'm loving the fun you're already having with this.

"Richard." I hold out my hand and our eyes lock. I'm testing the role-play by using my real name. But I love hearing you say my name too much to give it up, even for a while.

You can't quite hide a smile as you take my hand and we shake like strangers. But the touch is electric. After so long apart, even a simple handshake is sensational.

Your touch, the familiar smell of your perfume, the warmth all around you, the memory of how your skin feels under my fingers and my mouth; it's already working its magic on me.

"Are they boys? They look like men to me."

"Nope. Definitely boys. Pissed by 6.00pm and seeking attention like that. Little boys in men's bodies."

"So, what makes a man a man, Chloe?"

"A proper handshake, for one thing. A nice suit. The confidence to start a normal conversation without stupid chat up lines. That's a good start."

"Damn," I say. "And here's me figuring out which chat up line to use on you. So, if they are ruled out, let's try another tactic. Good old-fashioned Q and A."

"Shoot," you reply with a cheeky smile.

I catch the barman's eye and point to our half-empty glasses, mouthing 'thank you'.

"It's a bit odd to see a woman - or anyone really - out on their own here at this time of night. I'm guessing you're waiting for someone? Or killing a few hours before heading to a soulless hotel room after another day working away?"

"Bingo. The second one. Last night of three, a morning in the office tomorrow then back home. It's not always an exciting life working in accounts, even at a senior level for big media companies. The past two days have had late finishes in the office and late nights on the laptop in my soulless hotel room. So, I thought, fuck it, why not see a bit of the town, have a couple of drinks and maybe a nice dinner."

(The slightly posh accent makes sense now. Chloe the accountant, a degree educated high-flyer.)

"Great minds think alike," I reply, noting your use of an expletive. And that expletive in particular.

What follows is quite lovely. The conversation is easy, opening up little by little as we share a mix of our role-play lives and our real interests. There's the slightest hint of flirting to begin with, and then it ramps up slightly until...

"Look, by all means say no, but I have a table booked at the best little Thai restaurant in five minutes. I'm sure they would pull up another chair, if you'd care to join me."

You think for a moment, down what's left of your drink, pick up your bag, stand up and say, "Sounds perfect. Let's go."

"I just need a minute."

"Why? What for?" You are puzzled.

"I mean, I need a minute. Before I can stand up."

The penny drops and you look genuinely shocked. "Oh. I see."

You step towards me, lean forward and place your mouth next to my ear: "That's one advantage we girls have. Even when you are as wet as I am right now, we can usually hide it."

As you talk your hand reaches down and brushes against my hardness. "Golly! I think you might need more than a minute!"

We arrive at the restaurant just a few minutes late, which is pretty good going given my earlier predicament and your quick pitstop to powder your nose. The owner is all smiles and wastes no time swapping a bland table for one near the loos for a romantic table for two in a quiet corner. He sets it up so we are sitting close together rather than opposite.

All I can think about is the dampness under your dress. But we are still role-playing getting to know each other, so things will play out a little slowly. My hands stay in clear view, for now. We enjoy the wonderful food and share a bottle of Pinot.

The conversation is even better than the food, a mix of more getting-to-know-you chit chat, some more serious moments, and lots of laughter. We pepper our talk with lies as a fun part of the role-play. 'Chloe' was born in Peru to a father who worked as a diplomat but may have been a British spy, and a mother who was a former actress who may have been an exotic dancer. She likes cocktails but not gin, swimming but not running, and is about to get her pilot's licence. It's all bullshit of course, but you do it very well. As for me, I can be just as bullshitty: I run an Anglo-Spanish marketing agency, ride a Ducati and have travelled to 99 countries.

Gradually, it heads in a more flirty direction...

"You know, earlier, that I couldn't stand up?"

"Not again! What's wrong with you, dude!"

"It's not me. It's you. Since you walked into the bar I just can't think straight. Can't keep my eyes off of you. Can't stop thinking about how I don't want this evening to end after the dessert. And can't stop thinking about what's going on under that lovely dress."

"Well, Richard, while we're waiting for dessert why don't you find out?"

"You say the sweetest things."

Challenge accepted. I move my right hand down, under the table, across my lap and onto your right thigh. The long, heavy tablecloth is hiding what I'm doing from the staff and other diners.

As if to inspire me to go further, you lean forward to give me an even better view of your tanned cleavage. It's all I can do to stop myself from pulling your dress down and moving my lips all over your sexy tits. But I continue my focus elsewhere, slowly easing your dress up over your knee and up your thigh. I realise your legs aren't bare after all, but are enclosed in the smoothest, sheerest hold-up stockings I've ever felt. Reaching the lacy top of the stocking makes me gasp. I love sexy lingerie, and it doesn't get any sexier than this. Or you.

What comes next makes me gasp again. The skin of your thigh is unbelievably smooth and soft. So soft that I can barely feel it. There is almost no friction under my fingertips.

Now I'm not the only one gasping. At the sound of your intake of breath I stay on your thigh, slowly circling my fingers on your skin. I am dying inside with the desire to rip off your knickers and fuck you here and now in front of everyone. It soon becomes clear that this isn't an option though.

Because as I now discover, you aren't wearing any knickers.

My fingers have made their way to the top of your thigh where I should be feeling underwear but instead there is bare skin

"Oh my. Do you often come out with no knickers?"

"No. And I didn't tonight."

You see the confused look on my face.

"I have a present for you."

You reach into a side pocket of your bag and discretely take out a small, yellow bundle of cloth. You reach for my left hand and pass me the cloth, my fingers curling around it.

I look down under the table and unfurl my fingers. In my hand is a pair of yellow, sexy, lacy panties.

"What are the odds," I ask?

"Of what?"

"My favourite colour. For underwear. And these look amazing."

You chuckle with pleasure. "And they look even better on."

I tuck the knickers into my trouser pocket, feeling the wet patch, and get back to the task in hand.

My fingers have been resting in the crease of your groin. The softness and warmth feel like home and slowly I move in towards you.

I ask, "What do you call it?"

"Nothing creative I'm afraid. It's my pussy. And at the moment I think it's yours too." Your voice almost breaks as you say it.

We are doing our best not to attract the attention of people around us. Like swans, calm and aloof up top but under the surface it's a different story.

The moment has come. After months of waiting, of longing, it's here. My fingers reach your most private part.

I gasp at the realisation that you are completely smooth down there. I don't mind pubic hair at all and it's a woman's choice whether she lets it grow. But smoothness feels so good under my lips and tongue and now I can hardly stand the wait to kiss and lick you all over.

I tease all around you, above and to the sides of your pussy. Gently brushing your lips with my fingertips, my knuckles and my nails. You are breathing heavily now, your sexy, kissable, fuckable tits heaving up and down with every breath.

I can't stop myself. I lean in and we kiss for the first time. A soft, gentle kiss, our lips seemingly sending electric shocks between us.

"You were right about one thing," I whisper as our lips part company slightly.

"What's that?"

"It is my pussy."

You sigh: an aching, longing sigh of pleasure and acceptance.

At that moment two of my fingers slip easily inside you. No teasing now. No gentle touching of your clitoris. I haven't touched that at all yet. Instead, a firm push and I am inside you.

We both gasp at the same time. Our thoughts:

You:

'Fuck. I can't believe he did that, but it feels so fucking good. I so need someone to take control like that.'

Me:

'Fuck. I can't believe how wet she is. And how tight she is.'

It's only because you are so wet that I slip inside so easily. I hold my fingers deep inside you for a long moment, feeling you contract your tight pussy around them.

Then I take them all the way out.

"That's enough."

"You bastard. How can you tease me like that?"

"You'll thank me later. Waiting is so sexy."

My fingers are absolutely drenched in your wetness. Normally I would lick them dry or offer them to you to lick. But instead, I take out the little bundle of yellow and wipe my fingers on it. Then I give an almighty pretend sneeze and bring your knickers up to my nose, to all the world looking like a man with a yellow hanky.

I breathe in the glorious scent of your desire before returning our yellow friend to the side pocket of your bag. "You'll be needing these. Later. Like you said, I bet they look great on you, and I need to see. Tonight."

We somehow manage dessert but there is no way we are having coffee. We both know we need to get out of here. I manage to cool my passion and lose my hard-on enough to stand and pull your chair back so we can leave. I discretely leave a few notes that will more than cover the bill. I don't have time to bother with asking for the bill. We just leave.

We hardly say a word. I just mumble "It's a two-minute walk" and that's enough. We both know exactly what's next.

(Except you don't know where. When I set this evening up, all I told you was to walk in the bar any time after 5.00 and bring overnight stuff.)

You gasp again when I gently steer you across the street to the grand steps of this city's oldest, biggest, most luxurious, most expensive hotel. I can see your mind racing and your look starts to question me about the expense, but you trust me enough to maintain the role-play.

We breeze through the tall mahogany entrance doors and I steer you to the hotel bar. "Really?" you ask. You are right of course. We both want to go straight to my room and tear into each other's bodies. But a little more teasing won't hurt.

The bar is beautiful. A perfect blend of tradition and modern style. The waiter brings our cocktails. Yours is a tall Mojito, mine a rum-based hurricane. We drink in silence for a moment, our eyes locked, our knees pressed together as we sit in the deep leather Chesterfield-style bench seat in our booth.

"Nice?" I ask

"So bloody nice. You certainly know the best places to eat and drink. This is all just what I needed after this week's work. I'm not always a big drinker but I think we both needed to let our hair down tonight."

"You don't let your hair down like this often?"

"No, Richard. I'm not in the habit of going to dinner and drinks with a stranger, or letting him put his fingers in my pussy in a bloody Thai restaurant, or going back to his hotel four hours after meeting him."

"So why now? Why tonight? Why me?"

"I can't answer with words. But drink up, let's go upstairs and I'll show you with actions. And maybe a few words. And just so you know, I like dirty words."

"And yet you seem like such a nice girl."

"I am. But tonight... I'm a bad girl."

We finish what's left of our cocktails, I leave a big tip, and rise. As we walk across the bar, hand in hand, I can sense every eye in the room on you.

The lift arrives quickly and you watch me punch the floor number into the buttons, noting that it's the top floor. The doors close and I take both your hands and pull you towards me. We don't kiss. We just stand close together, staring into each other's eyes. I let go of your hands and reach behind you, grasping your knicker less bum through your dress for the first time tonight, squeezing it hard. You moan and your mouth rests against my neck. Suddenly the lift comes to a halt and the doors open. I take your hand and lead you to my room, opening the door for you to enter before me.

"So much for a soulless hotel room," you say when you see the size and style of the room, or rather, rooms. We are in a small entrance hall, with a sitting room and separate bedroom ahead, both tastefully furnished and lit, and a bathroom to our left. You wander ahead of me, checking out the superb rooms, full of facilities like a well-stocked mini bar, plenty of food, and boutique toiletries.

As you look around the place, I press 'play' on the suite's excellent music system and the playlist I creates especially for tonight begins. You turn on your heel and throw me a knowing smile.

Portishead's 'Glory Box' spreads through the room and into our souls. I remembered you once saying how this song makes you feel. It's sultry, moody beat is perfect for what we both want to happen.

No words. We step into each other and embrace, your cheek against my neck and my nose pressed to your hair as I drink in your smell. So sweet. So familiar. So needed.

We move slowly to the music, swaying gently in time with its sultry tempo.

"Can't believe I'm doing this. I don't usually end up in strange men's hotel rooms, dancing and feeling his hardness against me.'

"You should get out more."

"Right now I want to stay in."

My dick is harder than it's been for so long. I'm using every fibre of my being to wait, to delay what's coming. But you make the next move.

"I'll be right back," you say and slip into the bathroom, picking up your bag on the way. I bring down the lights to a warm glow, and sit down in one of the comfy chairs. The wait is delicious. I can almost feel, smell and taste the expectancy in the air.

In a few moments the bathroom door opens and you step out. You floor me.

You have put your hair up a ponytail (I love how that looks) and unbuttoned a few of the buttons on your dress, giving me a tantalising view of what's beneath. I feel my heart racing and my dick getting hard again as you walk towards me. For the first and last time tonight, I'm not in control: I have no idea what to do next. Thankfully, you do the most perfect thing, swing your legs either side of mine and sit on my lap.

The playlist switches to Voodoo Child, the 15-minute album track, Jimi Hendrix's guitar almost as sexy as what you're about to do.

You treat me to a mini lap dance, gently grinding against my hard dick, gradually building up the pressure as the music picks up intensity. Your boobs are inches from my face, gradually getting closer, but still in your bra and dress.

I keep my hands by my side, completing the lap dance experience with a little no-touching rule.

As the intensity rises, you caress your tits through your dress, then move one hand down between your legs and under your dress. I love this. Love to see you pleasure yourself and love to hear you moan as you do it.

"That's it, pamper your pussy, Chloe. Fuck, you're turning me on."

Without losing eye contact, you bring your hand up and present two fingers for me to suck. They are so wet with your juice. I greedily kiss and lick and suck them, loving the taste of you. It's unbelievably sweet, yet musky and rich too.