Goodbye Jennifer Brown

Jennifer Brown downed the rest of her drink in two burning swallows. Her heart was pounding and she felt light-headed, as though she was standing at the edge of a precipice.

It was happening. It was finally happening. All her dreams, all her fantasies of being touched, of being seduced, of being gloriously fucked, they were about to come true.

She took a deep breath and angled a sultry look at the visiting manager. She had handled paperwork for him, so she knew his name was 'Mr Richard Pearson'. But he hadn't offered it, and she hadn't offered hers. She was not in the least offended that he had not recognised her even after spending the better part of a working day at his beck and call. More than anything she was thrilled with the total success of her new persona.

"Well," she replied, still a little breathless, "Who am I to stand in the way of your happiness?"

She heard a faint growl as he pushed away from the bar, and grasped her elbow, manoeuvring her out into the lobby and toward the lifts. His hand drifted briefly and possessively down over her bottom, but with a superhuman effort he controlled himself and rested it instead on her hip.

She smiled at him. "I didn't mind," she whispered, as the doors rolled apart and they stepped forward into the lift together, "You can touch me anywhere."

The doors closed and he pushed her against the back wall, trapping her there with his body. She shivered, and spoke huskily against his ear, "I want you to touch me everywhere."

He groaned and ground his hips against hers. She could feel his erection straining against his trousers, and longed to explore its outline with her fingers, but there was no space between their bodies. The dampness between her thighs became an insistent throbbing.

She wanted him to fuck her right now, wanted him to pound her violently against the wall of the lift. But she also wanted him to fuck her slowly, to make these feelings last for hours. She wanted everything all once. She had waited much too long for this.

The lift chimed as it reached his floor and the prosaic sound calmed her a little. She pushed him away firmly, but smiled. "Shall we reconvene somewhere a little more comfortable?"

"God yes," he muttered, and she squealed in surprise and excitement when he suddenly reached around her and swept her up in his arms. He fairly ran down the corridor and only replaced her feet on the ground at the threshold of his room, to fumble with the keycard. Jennifer was breathless. No one had carried her anywhere since she was about six years old. She wanted to giggle. Giddy elation buoyed her.

The door swung open. Jennifer had briefly wondered how this part of the evening would go. Would he offer her another drink? Would it be awkward? Would she know what to do? Would her inexperience suddenly be exposed?

She need not have worried. Richard Pearson had had enough of talk, it seemed. He pulled her inside the door, and maneuvered her swiftly and expertly so that the door slammed shut with the weight of their bodies falling against it. He shoved one hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and the other started roughly dragging her skirt up over her thigh. She was just as enthusiastic, pulling his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers and pulling sharply at the opening at his neck. Buttons popped noisily. She loved that he didn't seem to care. Mr Pearson the Manager would have cared very much. This man was blind to everything but his lust for her. It thrilled her to the core. She spread her hands over the exposed part of his chest, glorying in the texture of the coarse hair under her fingers.

He groaned and instructed hoarsely, 'Unbutton your blouse.' His hand had managed to ruck her skirt right to her waist and his fingers had found the wet and swollen tissues between her thighs. He began rubbing her firmly through her panties. Her breath was ragged but she did as she was told. Her generous breasts were exposed, pushed up and spilling out like a Playboy model's thanks to a miracle of modern engineering. Looking down at her own lush cleavage all evening had even been turning her on.

Mr Pearson seemed to agree they were something special. He groaned and dragged his hand from her hair to explore and caress her breast. His thumb found her hardened nipple, and strummed it gently. Between that and the firm rhythmic pressure through her soaked panties her knees went weak.

Desperate not to come so soon and so obviously, she groped forward for his crotch. More by luck than expertise she managed to close her hand around a straining shaft. She pumped it quickly through the cloth of his trousers then reached for the button and zip and set it free. She dropped to her knees, bereft to lose his erotic caresses, but giddy with excitement at getting to try something she had imagined and fantasied about for a very long time.

Possibly she should have acted with more finesse, but in her enthusiasm she simply opened her mouth and slurped his hot, silky cock as deep into her mouth as she could. He gave a strangled cry and just for a moment she hesitated, but a second later his hand was at the back of her head, guiding her forward again. "God, you can't stop there," he groaned.

Jennifer didn't want to stop. She sucked and licked and slurped and gagged, then went straight back in to do it all again. Groans and obscene encouragements let her know she was doing something right, and the excitement was mutual.

She wasn't nearly done when he suddenly reached down and grasped her elbows, dragging her to her feet.

"What – "

But he was already forcing her to turn, whipping her around to face the closed door of the hotel room. Her skirt was still up around her waist, her flimsy panties were dragged aside. Had she wanted to object (she had not) she would scarcely have had time to before her slick, tight pussy was abruptly impaled on his rampaging iron-hard cock. They both cried out simultaneously at the wonder of the feeling.

Jennifer felt like she was being stretched beyond bearing, it was painful and intense and bright lights burst before her eyes. Then he drew back and thrust again and the pain was less – pleasure rippled through her. A third merciless thrust and she actually bucked back against him a little – the feeling was fucking incredible.

As though she had given some secret signal, he began to pump faster. One hand was steady on her hip and the other reached around to play with her aching nipple. The sensation made her pussy contract involuntarily, and that intensified the pressure of his fucking even more. She could no longer control the sounds she was making. There were no words left.

Her orgasm felt like a drowning. Hiccoughing and sobbing, she begged him incoherently not to stop as her whole body began to convulse. Her pussy gushed warm fluid but she scarcely noticed, especially once his release began, following hard on the heels of her own. A final frantic pumping and a drawn out cry of painful pleasure and with that his body was as limp and spent as hers.

After a few moments of no sound but two people breathing heavily, she straightened up and turned her head. Perspiration was still drying on both their faces but her eyes were gleaming as she met his gaze.

"Let's do that again," she said.