Mark's alarm clock blasts on like a buzzsaw. He punches the sleep button and settles back to hump his bed a little. He has a terrific hardon.
Vague outlines of a dream linger... something about a woman in unexpectedly slinky gold-colored lingerie...firm, bare, modest cleavage...low top reaching almost to the bold pointy nipples...full moist lips curling into a smile, parting, waiting... piercingly clear blue eyes ...who was this woman?
It wasn't his girlfriend. She has brown eyes, large breasts, and nothing surprising about her clothing...Mark drifts back to sleep.
The alarm rudely buzzes him awake again, and this time Mark makes himself get up. It's still dark out. He's alone. He feels some urgency because the convention starts today and he has to do all the set-up.
No temptations from his girlfriend this morning; she slept at her apartment last night. Alone, he hopes. Well, he doesn't really think she cheats on him, but he has a habit of worrying about it, probably because of the way they got together.
She had been living with another guy at the time and he could never forget how uncontrollably crazy it had sometimes made him feel. Oh, she had assured him she was moving toward the breakup, but he couldn't stand how much time she thought she needed to give the other guy a "soft landing."
Mark makes some strong coffee, thinking about the big day today. Before audio-visual companies were all about computer video and powerpoint presentations, the first day of a convention meant someone like Mark driving up very early to the A-V office, loading all the equipment onto a van, driving the van downtown to the hotel, unloading everything at the loading dock and hauling up all the screens, movie and slide projectors to the staging area.
It's a lot of heavy work, but Mark likes it for the freedom. No office to be cooped up in, plus he gets to drive the van, work behind the scenes, and be in charge of himself.
He also likes living for a few days in the bright clean world of smartly dressed women and men, all being paid to take a break from their offices, open up to new ideas, make new contacts, and flirt ceaselessly, with bars and hotel rooms at the ready to back them up.
Mark is burly and strong, and his flannel shirt and jeans fit snugly. He zooms up the highway to the office, his radio rocking.
His young boss, Charlie, is there to give him a hand, pick out the right equipment and help load it. They get to work checking the work order, sorting and carrying.
Mark stops for a moment in the back room and smiles, but then gets on with the work. He's daydreaming about the time he came back from a job to discover Charlie and another guy watching a porno flick in that back room. They invited Mark to join them.
One scene from the flick stuck with him and it brings the smile to Mark's lips this morning as he gathers the equipment together.
The plotline was that a mysterious master kept several women as sex slaves for his clients, but no one but the master was allowed to cum. One of the "slave" women was clearly a master cocksucker and enjoyed it, and didn't look like a sex slave at all. In fact, the "clients" seemed to be completely at her mercy. The scene Mark remembers was when she was working her magic on one guy as he lay on his back, sucking him steadily, taking every inch of him in her mouth and pumping him slowly. You could see how excited he was getting, and suddenly he jerked to sitting up, and you knew he was cumming but wasn't supposed to look like it. With a single motion of her hand she calmed him and made him lie back without missing a beat, as she sucked him and no doubt took every spurt of his cum in stride, swallowing as she went, and making it look like nothing had gone wrong.
The van loaded, Mark hops in and heads for downtown. He can't seem to get sex off his mind. Things are mostly good with his girlfriend Carrie, but he also likes to get away--to work, to his apartment, to his fantasies--so much that he sometimes wonders if they should be sticking it out. Maybe he needs someone new. Easier said than done. The thing is, he can't put his finger on anything wrong with her. She even buys him expensive presents, like the cross-country skis that erased his doubts about breaking up, at least through the ski season.
On the highway, he remembers the camp counselor jobs they had last summer. He and Carrie had one night off and he paid her a surprise visit at her cabin in the woods.
Her face lit up when she saw him walk in. He remembers her showing him a postcard over by the crude wooden desk, and as she turned to him, he kissed her soft mouth, and her body turned to meet his, her large breasts pressed full against his chest and his hands tracing the soft curve of her hips.
He lifted her up so she sat on the desk as they slid tongues and lips together, and then he managed to check that all the curtains were drawn before dropping his pants and freeing up his hard cock. She reached down to feel its size and heat, and edged closer to him, straddling him with her legs so he could feel her heat too.
Mark is driving too fast, thinking about all that. He brakes, checks the traffic, and makes sure not to miss the exit for the hotel.
He had lifted her soft round ass towards him and she locked her legs around him, still reaching down with one hand to feel the head of his cock.
"Condom?" she had asked through the kiss.
"No luck on that," he had murmured, hardly missing a slurp of her soft mouth.
This was the moment that always brings a smile to Mark's lips, and he quickly wets his lips with his tongue as he turns into the hotel loading dock driveway and keeps on with his daydream.
She guided his rock hard cock past her hot pussy, right to her asshole. Very gently he pushed, slowly making room for the tip of his penis. Once he was in, their urgent hips kept slipping him deeper into her until soon he was just fucking her tight hole as if it was her pussy and they still kissed, her legs wrapped round him, standing up, half leaning her against the desk, and when he rocked and bucked his loads of cum deep into her, they held tight and felt very close.
OK, back to reality, Mark thinks. Unlock the van door and start hauling up the stuff to floor 3. Screens, huge and small ones, heavy projectors for movies, lighter ones for slides, boxes for chords and duck tape.
As he lays down the last box on the third floor, a loud clopping of high heels comes down the hallway. Mark has to find the meeting coordinator now, so he steps into the hall and finds himself following those heels. And the high leather boots above them, and the saucy display of ass from an hourglass figure topped by a bleach-blonde hairdo display. As he passes her, he turns to complete the picture with a view of ruby red lips, smooth madeup face, heavy eye makeup, and a lowcut cleavage about the size of Dolly Parton's. All that's missing is a sandwich board sign: "Available for drinks and bed. Rich hunks only." Or maybe that's just sour grapes on Mark's part.
Mark takes note of other well dressed women stepping purposefully up and down the hallway. He imagines that at the dinner for "regional all-stars" that night, some of these women would be absolutely stunning in their evening gowns. Just now they are mostly business. He wonders idly which ones would loosen up and let their hair down in bed, and which ones would bring along a to-do list to make sure that all foreplay, orgasmic and post-orgasmic activities are suitably accomplished within the allotted time.
The meeting coordinator's office bustles with people registering and asking questions, and others filling out forms, handing over packets, pulling out files from temporary file cabinets, and lining materials up on folding tables. There is nothing sexy about there...until he meets the coordinator herself.
Mark finds her buried in paperwork, and waits for her to finish up some writing and notice him. She is wearing a dark feminine business suit, her light streaked hair tied in a fashionable bun. Her nails are neat but without garish polish. It's hard to guess what she really looks like because of that blocky suit.
Finally she puts away the paper and pen, and looks up with full, moist lips curled into a smile. "Hi, I'm Audrey. How can I help you?"
Mark catches his breath for a second at the sight of her piercingly clear blue eyes. Her moist lips are parted, waiting for his answer.
"Uh, yeah, I'm handling the AV for you. I've got all the equipment here."
"Mmmm. You mean all the projectors and things?" She eyes his snug jeans for a moment.
"Well, yeah. I just need to check your room schedule so I can set up."
They huddle over the schedule, and he notices a faint, fresh scent, probably from her hair. Her tan, graceful neck and smooth, lively face nearly distract him from the business at hand.
