Hooker Or Not

He saw her sitting at the bar.

Oftentimes, seeing a single woman at the bar, as opposed to just in a bar, would label her as a hooker.

But this woman didn't look like a hooker.

True, she had on a short skirt, beneath which he just caught the glimpse of lace stocking tops, high heels and a close fitting sweater. Her outfit emphasised great legs, a great chest, and even sitting down with her legs crossed, hinted at a great ass. Her hair was blonde, but cut quite short, and he guessed her age anywhere between 35 and 50.

She wasn't smoking. She wasn't continually watching men enter the bar. She wasn't fiddling with stuff or playing with her hair. She had luggage near her – she was either checking in or checking out. She seemed very content and secure in her own company. She was still and self-contained. She was drinking red wine.

He was willing to bet money she wasn't a hooker.

However, hooker or not, he felt he had to speak to her.

'Hi' he said, sitting on the neighbouring stool to hers.

'Hello?' she seemed startled that he'd singled her out, not entirely sure if she recognised him. As if he wouldn't be talking to her if he didn't know her, or she him.

'May I join you?' he asked.

'Sure. Why not' she smiled.

Okay, he thought. Definitely not a hooker - she's British. She can't be a hooker. Mentally, he hit his head with the heel of his hand. Where do these stereotypes come from?!

'I'm sorry' she said, after a silent moment. 'Do I know you?'

'No. I just wanted to talk to you. Do you mind?'

'Not at all' Again, she seemed startled as to why he'd bother.

'You're very attractive.'

Not the most original chat up line, he thought. But she seemed stumped by the remark. He was used to all sorts of reactions to his chat up lines, but not usually this blank look.

Silently she gazed at him. He could almost hear the cogs going round in her head.

'Sorry' she said again, looking him in the eye. 'I'm married. I'm not used to men chatting me up' she smiled shyly.

Chatting me up? Is that British for hitting on me? he wondered.

'Married, huh. If you want me to leave you alone, just say'

'No. I'd like you to stay' She seemed to mentally shake herself and sit up a bit straighter on her stool, thrusting her breasts imperceptibly towards him and treated him to a big confident smile.

It was as if his attention were like the sun to one of those flowers that only bloom in the light.

'Can I get you another drink?'

'Merlot, thank you' she replied.

He gestured to the barman, then said,

'I noticed your luggage. Are you arriving or leaving?'

'Well, actually, I was just about to check out when my husband called. We were supposed to be going to LA tonight, but something's come up and the meeting he was in this morning has overrun and long story short, he's tied up for the rest of the day, and now we're not leaving 'till tomorrow.'

'So. You're at a loose end for the afternoon'

'I suppose I am'

'Have you had lunch?'

She regarded him with interest. He was well dressed and successful looking – perhaps a lawyer. He was wearing a suit that made him stand out in this land of casual dressing. He was tall, fairly well built that may well turn to fat in the future, with a pleasant clean-shaven face. He had black hair and blue eyes. She judged him to be late forties.

If he found her attractive, she thought, the feeling was absolutely mutual. She had never been unfaithful to her husband, even though she was sure he was having an affaire with his secretary. Actually, who he was probably with right now.

God, she thought, what a fucking cliché.

She had spoken the truth when she told him she wasn't used to being chatted up, but she was very aware that men found her attractive. She'd just never had the nerve to pursue how attractive.

Looking at this stranger, she was very, very tempted.

'No.' she said in answer to his question.

'They have quite a nice restaurant here in the hotel' he said. 'Would you like to join me?'

Why not, she thought.

'Okay. Thank you' she said.

She followed him outside to the courtyard. Big white umbrellas protected the diners from the early afternoon sun, and a fat cherub spewed water into a fountain. It was green and summery and pleasant.

They sat down at a quiet table in the corner.

The waiter brought them menus, but she suddenly wasn't hungry.

She was shocked to realise that she wanted this mans hands on her, his lips on hers. She wanted to be naked with him.

She felt a flush rise up from somewhere sexual. She couldn't remember ever feeling like this before.

She liked it.

She looked at him over her menu. He seemed engrossed. She smiled to herself – how did men manage to concentrate so intently on what they were involved in, at the exclusion of all else?

'I believe that lamb chops are very good here' he glanced up at her.

Not interested in food, and unable to help herself, she slipped off a shoe and placed her stockinged foot up under his trouser leg, feeling for the top of his sock to make contact with bare skin.

His eyes shot to hers. He held her gaze, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

Why was it, he thought, that a stockinged foot under the trouser was so stimulating, and suggestive.

Without breaking eye contact, she removed her foot and placed it in his lap.

She curled her toes around his cock, out of sight under the white linen tablecloth. Stroking back and forth, she felt him hardening and growing.

The waiter arrived.

'Can I get you something to drink?' he asked.

He was dispatched with an order for champagne - and that they'd changed their minds about eating.

The champagne arrived. She continued relentlessly as the waiter opened the bottle and poured. And while they touched the crystal glasses in a toast, his eyes still locked on hers, his spare hand explored the soft, warm, naked skin of her inner thigh just above her stocking tops.

Above the table, she fingered her glass with both hands, while underneath, she squirmed as he discovered the damp lace covering her pussy. She took a big gulp of wine as he explored further to find her sopping cunt, open and succulent. While he topped up her glass with one hand, he slid two fingers of the other into her hot, wet hole.

What am I doing?! he asked himself. I have my fingers in the cunt of a gorgeous, and more importantly, willing woman.

He surprised himself – he wasn't usually so bold. Indeed, he was surprised she hadn't stopped him.

She gasped.

'Oh God!' she breathed.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

'I think we should take this upstairs, don't you?' And he withdrew his fingers, picked up the bottle, gestured the waiter to charge his room and guided her by the elbow to the lobby and the bank of elevators. Once inside, she fell against him, and he put an arm around her waist and pulled her mouth to his.

He probed her mouth with his tongue.

She felt the hardness of his erection boring into her stomach. She massaged and kneaded his bulge, and he took his tongue out of her mouth and gave her the fingers he'd had in her cunt, to suck. Tasting her own arousal was unbearably erotic. She swore she could feel cunt juices running down her thighs.

His room was a mirror image of hers. The bed was huge. She led him to it, kicking the door shut with her heel.

She stood in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed, slowly gyrating her hips as she started to strip for him. She locked her eyes with his as she

unbuttoned her sweater and removed it, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Slowly she slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders and reached around to unhook it. She bent down in front of him as she shrugged off the black lacy garment, teasing him with her breasts inches from his face.

He broke eye contact and gazed at the full breasts and at the nipples, dark and hard. She supported them in her palms, offering them to his mouth.

He wrapped one arm around her hips, pulling her nearer and cupped a breast in his big hand and brought it to his lips. He sucked the nipple inside and used his tongue to flick over the hard little cherry.

She moaned. At every tug at her nipple, her cunt throbbed. She felt fleshy and open and so dammed wet. She held his head to her, not letting him stop his delicious exploration.

While his mouth suckled her, his hands snaked up under her skirt and his fingers played lazy circles over her ass before finding their way back under her lace panties and gently massaged hot cunt juices into her pussy lips.

But he didn't put his fingers back inside her. He knew she wanted him to.

He pulled his mouth away from her wonderful tits.

'God, You are so fucking wet!'

She smiled and pushed him so he was lying on his back. Quickly she took off his shoes and socks, and ran both her hands up the inside of his pants, tickling the soft skin on the backs of his knees. She saw his cock stiffen, tenting the fabric of his trousers.

Quickly she shrugged out of her skirt and straddled him, wearing just the black thong that matched her bra, hold up stockings and high heeled shoes.

As she rubbed her lacy clad cunt over his trousered cock, he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip as if willing himself not to come.

'You are a teasing bitch' he managed.

'Shall I stop?'

In answer, he rolled her over, and in an athletic manoeuvre jumped off the bed and took of his shirt, pants and boxers. He stood naked, an impressive erection pointing up to the ceiling.

On the bed, she lay with her knees bent and apart, the high heels planted in the comforter, one hand massaging her breast, the other snaking down her stomach and pulling aside the lace. While she licked her lips, she started to masturbate, using her middle finger to stroke around her swollen cunt lips before sliding it inside.

She watched him watching her as she took the finger out of her cunt and sucked it before using the wet tip to circle her nipple.

As he gazed at her he wondered if he was asleep – if he'd suddenly wake up from the wettest of wet dreams and have to explain to his wife.

'Why don't you show me how you jerk off?' she said, her finger back in her cunt.

He didn't need anymore encouragement. While she finger fucked herself, he gripped his shaft and fucked his fist. Their eyes were locked together as they pleasured themselves – together yet separate.

She moaned quietly and rotated her hips as she felt herself clawing up the slope to orgasm. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation.

'No' he said, urgently. 'Keep looking at me'

Her eyes snapped back open.

'Are you close?' he asked.

'Mmm' she replied.

'I want you to tell me when you're nearly there' he said, his hand viciously working up and down.

'I'm nearly there!' she cried. 'Oh, God, I'm nearly cuming'

It was the signal he was waiting for. He covered the distance to the bed and pulled her fingers from her pussy and immediately replaced them with his tongue, lapping at her cunt and sucking on her clit.

She went into orbit and came in his mouth with a scream. And as she was coming back down to earth, he thrust his massive, infinitely hard cock into her furnace and came himself, emptying his balls into her like it was his virgin orgasm, spraying more semen into her than he thought humanly possible.

'Does the best fuck in the universe have a name?!' he enquired when his intellectual centres were functioning again.

'Rebecca' she said.

'David' he replied.