Easy Does It

At the age of 33, I felt like I had seen my fair share of the world; the good, the bad, the ugly and everything in between. I had so much life to live and so much to offer, but I

did

come with my kit of baggage. I recently divorced my husband about nine months prior and, in short, I was looking for some nookie.

It had been a hell of a year. I had lost my job and then got a new one -- that's where I met James, my much younger boss. He was just beautiful to look at. He had just turned 22 and had dark hair, dark eyes and stood quite tall. We had become friends at work, and we had friendly banter back and forth; he didn't know I had been fantasizing about him since we had first met.

The company I worked for traveled to Boston that winter for a two-day conference. James and I and a few of the other employees were on the same floor of the hotel where we were staying, and that excited me greatly, to know that beautiful young man was showering, dressing and sleeping so close to where I was in bed.

The night before the first meeting, I was in my hotel room getting ready to go down to the hotel bar, hoping that James would be down there as well. I had to admit that my room was quite nice: I had a full-sized bed, a television, all the necessities! The window curtains were spread that revealed the snow falling gently. It was very romantic.

I checked out my clothes and make-up in the full-length mirror: I was about 5'3" with a slim figure, green eyes and blonde hair that was neatly combed back with jeweled barrettes. My dress was clingy but casual, and it hung down to my ankles where, strapped on, were a pair of stilettos. If I couldn't bed James that night, I was going to bed

some

nice man. With the strained relationship I had had with my husband, I hadn't gotten laid nearly a year, and I was getting a little stir crazy.

When I arrived at the bar, I ordered a screwdriver. I was the only one sitting there. To be honest, it felt a little lonely, but that's what the drink was for, right? The bartender attempted feeble conversation, but I just wasn't into it: he wasn't James.

I had pretty much given up hope that I would run into my boss that night. I paid for my drinks and got up, when I saw James rounding the corner to the bar, my heart skipped a beat. I sat back in my seat, clumsily, and almost lost my balance, stumbling at bit. (Stilettos and being tipsy just don't mix.)

James rushed over to me, grabbing my arm and keeping me steady. I looked up into his eyes. We both laughed a little. I thanked him and asked him to join me. He agreed. We ordered two glasses of wine and talked.

"So, what do you think of Boston so far?" he asked, grinning over his wine glass.

I laughed. "Well, it has some good bars!"

He chuckled. "I would've shown you some of the sights if it wasn't snowing out."

"At night? There's not much sight-seeing at night."

"Oh, there are sights to see alright."

I looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. I got his drift. I smiled and scooted closer to him, putting my knee between his two. He rested his elbow on the bar and leaned in close to me.

"Don't tease me, Michelle," he instructed playfully.

I noticed a lump in his pants. That made those hormones of mine flutter around. I could feel myself getting wet for him and my nipples were stiffening. I placed my outstretched hand on his knee.

"How could I possibly tease you?" I asked, taking another sip of wine.

He turned serious, putting his glass down. "Michelle, I was always under the impression you just wanted to be friends. I'm confused."

"Are you protesting?" I confronted him.

"No."

I giggled, rubbing both my hands up his thigh. "I didn't think so. It doesn't look like your protesting," I whispered to him, looking down at his obviousness.

He blushed. "Well, I can't help it. It's that dress. You've always dressed so conservatively in the office. I'm kind of surprised."

What he said was the truth: in the office, I did dress in a very tame way, covering the voluptuousness of my body. But tonight was different. I wanted him to see me as a possible playmate, not just a friend of his.

"Well, we're not at work right now," I said, tugging at his collar playfully.

"Yes," he said, his face turning a more furious shade of red. "I suppose there's a lot of things you can do in a hotel....and not in a workplace."

The bartender was a nosy old fart who was watching nearly every move and hearing every word being uttered as he pretended to be drying Martini glasses. I could tell that James felt that way too. I wanted the two of us to be alone, just doing what comes naturally.

"Would you like to come up to my room with me? What do you say?" He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

There's no way I could refuse his offer. I knew we were both ready. We paid for our drinks and left the bartender to fend for himself. I was officially drunk and ready for James to take full advantage of me. We climbed aboard the elevator but could do nothing sexual because there was a woman in there, waiting to be lifted up to the fourth floor as well.

James took my hand when we left the lift and opened his door: Hotel room number 422. He picked me up, carrying me over the threshold. I feigned getting away and we laughed and giggled, two tipsy people just looking for a little fun.

"Come here, James," I told him, sitting on the bed, patting the spot beside me.

"Oh no, I'm not that easy," he chuckled. "I have to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."

He went into the bathroom and shut the door. I had an idea. I took off my shoes and my dress and my panties (I wasn't wearing a bra) and left them in a pile on the floor. I was wet beyond belief and I climbed onto his bed and lied on my back, spreading my legs. I started to play with my wet little pussy. I wanted to give him a sight to see when he came out. And soon he did. I heard the door open and he appeared before me. He looked surprised, but lustfully so.

My pussy had very little hair on it and the only sounds in the room was that of my squelching, moist private part. I looked deeply into James's eyes as I fingered myself, wishing his cock was in me.

He began to undress and I loved what I saw. He had a real man's body and I licked my lips when he started pulling his slacks down. His cock sprang free from its confinement and I spread my legs wider.

He whispered to me, "Do you want me to fuck you, baby?"

"Yes. Let's fuck." I moaned, bringing my hands up to my tits, pinching my nipples, twisting them, wiggling my lower body. I sat up on the bed, my knees tucked under me and stroking his hardness. Beautiful, pearly precum was leaking out the head and my tongue darted out, licking it up.

"C'mere baby," he said, taking me by my upper arms and pulling me down on the bed with him.

He lied on his back, and there we were, both naked, my smooth body on top of his hairy one, making out like high school kids.

"Oh James, honey, I want to fuck you."

I rubbed my hands along his young chest and climbed on top of him. I sat astraddle and spread my pussy lips with my fingers, accommodating his large cock. As I eased my body down on his, we both moaned in pleasure. I could feel his full, hard dick inside my little slit and I started to ride him slowly, teasing him.

"Michelle, baby, god, you're just torturing me. Fuck me, baby, that's it -- ride me, sweetheart."

I started to pick up the pace as I rode him. My petite hands holding onto his sides and bucking my hips first quickly and then wildly. But my mouth felt empty. My pussy was full and stretched, but my mouth was void. I stopped riding him for a moment and held my breast, licking the nipple. I really wanted something in my mouth too. James understood immediately and he held his index finger up to me. I held his curled hand between my two hands and started to give head to his finger, sucking it up and down, the wetness of my mouth glistening on his digit. I then licked it up and down like a lollipop.

I gently removed his finger from my mouth and began riding him again. "God, your meat feels so good, so nasty," I moaned as I resumed our sex.

"Baby, you feel wonderful. You're so tight, sweetheart."

His hands reached up to fondle my full tits and he bucked his hips up to meet my downward thrusts. Our lustful moans and wet, slapping skin were music to our ears. His cock was leaking so much now that his precum was dripping out of my cunt. I was going to cum, to coat his dick with my juices.

I rode him even faster, working desperately to achieve that climax that I had missed for so long. And then it happened: His cum burst inside of me. I couldn't take it anymore. I rode him madly and came all over his dick, rubbing my little rosebud furiously as I did. He came once, staining my insides and the bed, and I came twice.

I collapsed on top of him, trying to recover from possibly one of the best fucks of my life. I eased off his cock and gently slipped him out of me. We moaned once more. I laid beside him. We were both breathing heavily, our bodies dressed in sweat. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and he kissed me on my forehead.

"Oh angel," he moaned. "You were so good. Did you know that?"

"No, James, you were the good one."

He whispered to me, "I loved cumming inside you, baby."

I giggled, flirting with him once more. "I loved it too."

"And what was that thing about you sucking on my finger?"

I laughed. "Improv."

He smiled. "Well, I loved it."

We watched television, tiredly, happily, laughing at the late shows. We ordered some late-night pasta via room service and ate it hungrily. We were both famished. We talked, learning about one another even more, chomping on our food in bathrobes.

I spent the night in his room and at six a.m. our wake-up call rang to get us ready for the day. We took a shower together and our old banter returned as we dressed. He was in a nice three-piece suit and when I was getting my used clothes back on to return to my hotel room, I thought twice about my panties: I slipped them down my legs again and crumpled them up in my hand.

"Keep these," I whispered to him, kissing him and slipping them inside his pocket.

He looked down at me hungrily. I knew he wanted more. But I skipped off to my room playfully, stilettos in the crook of my fingers, knowing full well he would've screwed me again had I given him the chance.

But I left him wanting more.