My RedHeaded Muse asked me for a story, and how could I deny her this... or anything?
Why do hotel suites all look the same? It doesn't matter whether it's Marriott's, Sheraton, or whatever. They all make you forget where you are, which city, which time zone. But I knew exactly which time zone, it was Eastern Standard Time, this wasn't the Australian version, but the American. The city... let's say it's just somewhere on the East Coast... with good points and bad... with some very boring people and some exciting folks. And I? I was spending time with someone very exciting, someone who had grabbed a piece of my heart and held it hostage since we met.. a long time ago. Someone who had, for so long, been a scribble on a page and now I was learning to love in real life.
The day had been like a number before, a discovery of time, of space, and of heart. But even more than others, it had a certain tension, the sort that one feels before dawn breaks, or before a thunderstorm strikes. The kind of tension that presages a release of pent up energies... almost elemental in its nature. We held each other tight as the elevator made its way to our eyrie high above the traffic noise. Your perfume as intoxicating as the first time I felt it. Your curves melting into me like heaven's own pillow. I didn't know what the evening might hold but I knew it would be good. Your eyes are shut, and your sensual mouth is smiling as if to itself, the kind of smile of a cat that knows it will eat the canary...
Walking into the suite felt almost domestic. You drop your shoes lying by the front door... make your way to the couch and turn the TV on. I can't even remember what we talked about. I remember going to the kitchen counter, picking up the bottle of Glenfiddich and pouring out a couple of glasses worth. It was one of my many small and pleasant surprises that you also liked scotch whisky. The TV was blaring out a message of violence and nihilism, Schwartznegger I think. I brought you your glass and then sat on the floor between your legs, relaxing in the embrace of your thighs and calves. Your hands caressed my hair and I pushed back against them, enjoying the feeling. Your fingers felt warm as they traced a path down the back and then sides of my neck. It reminded me that my neck was sore, and I purred with pleasure at your touch. 'Why don't you take your shirt off and I'll massage your shoulders?' you said innocently.
My response became a muffled noise as I took the hem of my polo shirt and pulled it off over my head. The room felt somewhat chilly as I nestled once again within the embrace of your legs. Your fingers took on renewed strength as they sought to dissolve the knots buried in my muscles. 'Hmmm... gawd you're good at this!' I luxuriated in your effort as your hands worked magic on my shoulders, and neck. The pleasure of your touch was working its magic, and I became increasingly horny. I turned within your legs, kneeled, and reached forward to rest my head on your breast. Your arms reached around me, cradling me and pulling me towards you.
My head rested on the think film of silk of your blouse. For once you were dressed in silk and skirt, rather than tee-shirt and jeans. Your skirt was black and short, but not outrageously so. It suited you so well that I wondered why you didn't wear it more often. I reached up and kissed you, bringing my soul to touch your lips. It was a wonderful kiss, slow, warm, our tongues teasing each other in nature's own dance. I said 'There's something I want you to do, and I don't want you to ask questions... but it will be fun'. You looked at me expectantly, not knowing what could be in my mind. 'I want you to go to the bathroom and take your bra and panties off... that's all. Take your time and then come back out'.