She Said He Said 3

HER:

It's funny, we seemed to have learned so much about each other in the time we'd been emailing. We'd learned about each other's likes and dislikes, our interests, the day to day victories and annoyances. We'd fantasized and imagined, but were never sure that we would manage to connect in the real world.

That made the time leading up to my trip more nerve-racking than it usually was. Normally, I would only be concerned with packing; arranging for bills to be paid; finding someone to watch the house and the dog and water the plants; hoping I would make my connections and would be able to "unfold" myself after sitting in those cramped conditions known as "economy."

This time, though, I also was second guessing my decision to come to Sydney. I'd been burned once by meeting up with someone who assured me that his marriage was in name only, that he really had no commitments, that the divorce papers had been signed. Turns out he lied. Long story, but when his wife caught him sneaking into the hotel when he was supposed to be at the office, it wasn't a pleasant scene. Would that happen again? Had you lied to me? Would you have feelings of guilt because your wife was waiting at home? Would you like the "real" me? Would I like the "real" you? In short, would our meeting live up to the online fantasies?

The flight to Australia is always long. The airport connections are always tedious. The food is always (let's be blunt here) the equivalent of "prison swill," and the seats are always too small. This trip was no different. I arrived in Sydney tired from lack of sleep, stiff from being confined to the airline equivalent of a straight-jacket, and in need of a stiff drink. I refuse to drink on flights. The one time I did so, we hit turbulence and my gin and tonic ended up all over the front of my suit. I was on my way to a business meeting, and, when I arrived and introduced myself, the faces of the executives around the table seemed to suggest that I should have attended an AA meeting rather than made a sales call. I didn't make the sale, and I've stuck with drinking only water on flights since then.

After a quick drink at the bar, I checked into my room and took a brief nap followed by a long hot shower. The water cascading over my breasts and down my body was soothing and relaxing, working on my tired and stressed muscles and joints and bringing me much needed relief. Thinking about our rendezvous later that evening made me want to seek a different kind of relief, and my hands spread the lather of soap over my nipples and slowly down my stomach to that sensitive place nestled between my thighs. As my mind worked on all the possibilities that awaited, my fingers stroked and probed, bringing me closer and closer to climax. My fingers gently massaged my clit, while my other hand spread my lips apart and I dipped one and then two inside me. I imagined that, instead of my fingers on my clit, they were yours. Instead of my other fingers probing my depths, it was your cock thrusting in and out. The rivulets of water blended with my juices and I brought myself over the brink, my inner muscles clenching my fingers and my pussy gushing.

I leaned back against the shower wall, my legs slightly weak and my body quivering as I felt the spasms continue, albeit more slowly. Eventually, they subsided and I was left with that wonderful sense of warmth and well-being that comes after an intense orgasm. Only three hours before we were to meet. I turned off the water and wrapped myself in one of the big, fluffy white towels. Going into the bedroom, I lay down on the bed and perused the room service menu. The hotel was in the Rocks area of Sydney, and my room had a wonderful view over the harbor. It didn't take long for the salad I'd ordered to arrive and, as I sat there in my towel, I ate slowly, enjoying the view of the water and pondering for the hundredth time just what the evening would bring.

You had booked the hotel, so you knew just where to find me, but we had agreed to meet at a local bar and restaurant called Pony. Their small-plate menu sounded like a perfect way to start the evening, especially since I was still nervous and seriously doubted that I would be able to eat much. Time passed quickly as I watched the activities on the harbor. The water reflected the deep blue of the sky and contained the watercraft of the myriad souls whose lives did not require them to be in an office from 9-5. Eventually, I rose, fixed my hair and makeup and considered what to wear. After careful consideration, I picked a short dress, black with ruffles and a low-cut neckline, not so low that it was indecent, but certainly low enough to advertise a generous amount of breast. A lacy, slightly sheer black bra and thigh-high stockings went on first. I debated whether or not to wear the matching lace panties. They were lovely and set off my assets well, on the other hand, I thought that perhaps you would be intrigued if I didn't include them in my choice of clothing for the evening. I slipped my dress over my head, checked my hair and make-up again, and left the room.

At seven o'clock sharp, I arrived at the restaurant. You must have been as anxious as I. As soon as I entered I saw you sitting at the table. Your picture didn't do you justice and I felt my heart rate increase slightly as I considered the evening ahead of us. The maitre d' escorted me to the table and the smile on your face mirrored mine as you stood up to kiss me. It was a deep kiss, our tongues entwining and your arm encircling my waist. I would have been happy to leave and head back to the hotel room at that minute, but the maitre d' cleared his throat and I saw that he was holding the chair and waiting for me to be seated.

I quickly sat down. After we ordered and were sipping our drinks, the tension that I had been feeling all day melted away, to be replaced by a tension that was far more centered. My mind drifted back to the shower and I thought how glad I was that there would be room in the shower later for both of us. Your hand had wandered under the table and was resting gently on my knee. I moved it slightly up my leg, giving you what I hoped was tacit encouragement to continue your exploration as I began my own. You looked momentarily startled when you felt my hand stroking your cock through your pants, but I could tell by the smile on your face, and the hardening I could feel under my hand that my attentions were welcome. Your hand climbed higher, finally reaching the lace at the top of my stockings. I felt your hesitation as you stroked the smooth skin of my inner thigh, but my smile and my increased pressure on your cock caused you to continue, stopping only when you felt the wetness of my pussy under your fingers.......

HIM:

It had been a long drive ; four hours before I finally pulled into the carpark of the Holiday Inn, top of The Rocks. It's a beautiful spot, nestled next to the Harbour Bridge and across Circular Quay to the opera house. It's a lovely old world building typical of the historic feeling that is The Rocks, but with all the creature comforts of today.

I was drained, and after throwing my bag on the bed, I collapsed, wanting to drift off but knowing it was "T minus 3 hours" before I met with you for the first time. The online conversations had been great, no, more than great. The way we knew where the other was taking a conversation, an actual meeting was inevitable; we had to take it to the next step. Guilt wasn't on my mind. You had made me so comfortable about 'us' and, as my marriage was a friendship, more like a brother and sister living together than husband and wife, I did not have any hesitation about this meeting. The adage of "staying together for the kids" made sense. A play and film that starred Jack Thompson and Russel Crowe couldn't have said it better - "The Sum of Us." Our children are no more, no less, than "the sum of us." So, why no guilt? The comfortable way we were. You had made it clear that you weren't trying to "steal me away" nor I was looking to "run away," and, after all, there had to be perfect affairs. You always hear about the ones that get caught, BECAUSE THEY GOT CAUGHT! The perfect affair doesn't get broadcast as it stays that way. Was it wrong? Well, sure there is a song, "If this is wrong, I want it to be right."

Enough lying on the bed philosophizing; time to shower, wake up a little, and get ready. Running the shower, and standing there in front of the mirror naked, the questions of self doubt raised themselves in my head. Should I really have had that McDonalds quarter-pounder in the car coming here? Look at that gut! A bit of sunshine on that pale lily-white body wouldn't hurt any. Glad I got the shaver out two days ago and trimmed a little, the hills-hoist clothes line always looks bigger when the grass is trimmed around it. Stepping into the shower and feeling the water run over me, I washed all the kilometers away. Falling over me and down to my toes, the warmth of the water, the steam, was so good. Oh, if only you were in here with me now. My hands glided over my shoulders with the soap cupped in my hand, and down to my chest, lathering as I watched the suds fall down my body, across my stomach and to the top of my pubes, trimmed, but not gone. Lathering left to right and closing my eyes, imagining, feeling your hand across my loins, and around to my bum, coming back to my stomach, and exploring down, chasing the suds, and feeling my dick start to grow at the thought of your touch around the base, circling, rubbing around and cupping my balls, massaging each ball and then running up the ever-hardening shaft of my cock. The soap suds acted as a great lubricant as I imagined your hand gliding, stroking my cock to its full erection, circling the red knob, tickling the rim and then gliding down to the base to massage each ball again. Gripping my cock around the base, I start stroking more firmly, faster, harder, as I brought my cock closer to my belly and saw the pink member covered in white suds and my hand gliding swiftly up and down it. All the time, I was imagining your soft body next to mine in this steamy den and your hand bringing me to the climax I was about to achieve. I stood, legs slightly apart, one hand outstretched leaning on the glass pane wall to steady myself. With no more than 3 strokes, as my hand came to the tip of the rim, my cock jumped and spurted out a load of cum that hit the glass pane and trickled down. I dropped to my knees and knelt in the shower, spent and satisfied and anticipating what might happen tonight.

As I dressed, I justified my shower relief by telling myself that "getting one off" would ensure I was not "over anxious" should the same scene be played out later. Nice dress jeans, casual white shirt and a quick brush of the hair, and I was done.

I arrived at the restaurant about 10 minutes early, and the maître d' escorted me to a table in a secluded corner, next to a window overlooking the street, with a glimpse down the alleyway to the harbour. A bourbon to settle the nerves. Hell, I thought, I feel like a high school kid again, (but where do you find one at this time of night? No, it isn't the time for jokes to soften the nerves). Why be nervous I asked myself, but it is human nature I guess. All nerves evaporated when the maître d escorted you over. You were gorgeous, lovely dark long hair cascading over a low cut black dress with elegant ruffles on it; short, but not too short. The embrace showed you were as eager as I. The maître d' interrupted our welcoming kiss, well, more like a foreplay to foreplay, with a clearing of his throat. I hoped he wasn't bringing our meals to the table, I thought, with a cough like that! But I resisted the temptation to say anything. God knows what would have happened to the meal then! You sat on the chair that the maître d ' had pulled out for you, but as we were in the corner, there was a bench, sort of a booth-style seat, and I invited you around to sit next to me, really close. From there, we had a nice view out the window, and it enabled you to sit right next to me, something I preferred. It saved having to strain across the table to talk if the room got noisier.

After a glass or so of wine we talked as if we had been face to face for years, so comfortable with each other. I'm not sure what gave me the courage to place my hand on your leg, moving close to talk quietly in your ear and point out something of no consequence, but it gave me the excuse to get a little closer and touch that soft skin of your leg. I placed my hand on your knee. I couldn't believe how smooth your stockings were and how delicate the lace at the top. I drew little circles over the lace and soon found my own surprise as you placed your own hand on my groin. I tried not to look startled, but hell, a sexy woman like this, stroking my cock at the restaurant! I walked my hand up your leg to the top of your stocking and teased the naked skin where the lace stopped, tickling, circling. I drew my hand higher and higher up your upper thigh, so warm and smooth, equaled only by the pressure you were putting on my cock through my jeans. My cock was really straining under my jeans and then I moved a little higher and felt your soft, wet pussy. You could tell I was surprised by the look on my face. You had the most devilish smile, and you moved slightly back in your seat as my finger traced two moist, hot pussy lips.

I lean forward, "No panties?"

"Disappointed?" you replied.

"Hell no!" came my reply quicker than a heartbeat. All the while you were running your hand over the outline of my hard cock.

"I thought I would give you a surprise," you cooed.

"I hope I am all you expected then," I whispered.

You replied, with a seductive devilish grin, "I am sure we'll see if you measure up."

I caught the maître d' looking in our direction and decided to cool things a little, reluctantly saying, "Before we get kicked out, how about you put your hands on the table, and see if I can please you."

You brought your hands to the table and seductively stroked the stem of the wine glass with one hand, holding my free hand above the table with the other. This seemed to give us an air of respectability whilst I continued to work on your pussy with my other. My finger trailed from top to bottom of your opening. I brought my hand up and nudged your clit and saw you wriggle forward against my hand, eyes momentarily closing, a small moan escaping your lips. I felt you getting wetter and wetter, and although your hands were on the table, my cock had not gone down any. I slid one finger into your wet pussy, feeling how hot you were, how wanting you were. You pushed against the back of the bench, moving hard, almost fucking my hand. I curled my finger upwards rubbing the inside wall of your pussy, and slid another finger in. Two fingers and curling them, wriggling them, you bucked at my hand and I could tell you were going to cum , right there in the restaurant!

Her:

So much for you "cooling things"; you may have saved yourself from embarrassment but you were rapidly bringing me to the point of no return. Your finger rubbing my clit and then moving inside me was making me so hot. I knew when I'd decided to go without panties that I was opening myself (literally) to being fingered by you, but I hadn't anticipated how good those fingers would feel and how quickly you would be able to bring me to climax. I couldn't control the movement of my hips even though, in the back of my mind, I was vaguely aware that, should we be discovered, the maître d' would have us forcibly removed from the restaurant. On the other hand, dinner had paled into insignificance and my desire to forcibly drag you back to the hotel had increased a hundred fold. If I hadn't been worried about a possible write-up in the paper and an arrest for violating some law or another, I might have stood up, exposed as I was, and left with you right then. Instead I used every ounce of self-control to stifle my desire to scream as I came with an overwhelming intensity. I felt my cunt tighten and clench against your fingers, as wave after wave of pleasure permeated me to my core. My lips closed on yours and I muffled my moans as best I could. My body tensed as I moved the napkin from my lap to a spot between my thighs, hoping to catch my juices and avoid too much embarrassment when I stood up. At least a black dress wouldn't show the wetness, but the seat cushions might provide a clue should anyone care to look.

Of course, as waiters do, ours chose that moment to approach our table to let us know that our dinners would be out momentarily and to ask if we would like another drink. "Jet lag," I muttered as I buried my head against your shoulder and adjusted the tablecloth slightly, hoping the flush of my cheeks didn't give me away. You ordered another martini for me and a bourbon for yourself, which at least caused the waiter to scurry away from the table, his hopes for a large tip increasing with each dollar we spent.

The maître d' kept glancing at our table from time to time, but my eagerness at sucking my juices from your fingers was lost in what he assumed was your hand simply being held in both of mine to my cheek.

I could tell that much as you wanted my hand to resume its ministrations, you knew it would be difficult to avoid the obvious signs of arousal when you stood up, or the more obvious signs of satisfaction if you came. We had the next three days together, uninterrupted and there would definitely be time for our needs and fantasies to be satisfied. I knew, though, that as soon as we could, I wanted to get back to the hotel, undress you and begin to explore.

The arrival of our meal distracted me momentarily, but as I popped the marinated olives into my mouth, all I could think about was how your balls would feel on my tongue instead. As I slid the blanched asparagus between my lips, all I could think of was hungrily engulfing your cock. I ate rapidly wanting to leave as soon as possible. As I finished and pushed my plate aside, I realized you had already finished. Signaling for the bill, and leaving more than the waiter deserved, we hurried out, almost bowling over the maître d' in our haste.

Although it was nearby, reaching the hotel seemed to take forever. Fortunately, we managed to get into the elevator before we lost control, and, as the doors closed, I found myself pushed back against the wall, your lips on mine and your hands cupping my ass cheeks as your hardened cock strained against the fabric of your jeans, pushing into me and making me even wetter. There was no one in the hallway when the elevator stopped, although I doubt that it would have made any difference to us, as hot and eager as we were. We fell against the door as you pushed the key card into the slot and we were on the bed before the door even closed. Your hands pulled my dress over my head and tore off my bra as I pulled your jeans and boxers off. The urgent need we both felt driving us into a fenzy. Your shirt and my shoes were quick to follow, leaving me clad in only my stockings and you in nothing at all. I rolled you onto your back and positioned myself between your thighs, the moment I had been waiting for finally there.

My breath was warm and moist as I blew gently on your cock, running my tongue along its length and savoring the feel of each ridge and vein. I left a trail of saliva in my wake, lubricating you enough that my hand was able to move slowly up and down your shaft while my mouth moved down to your balls. Taking each one in turn, I sucked them greedily into my mouth, rolling them around within their sack, my tongue caressing and probing. They felt so smooth, so wonderful, and I almost didn't want to relinquish them. Each one was warm and seemed meant to belong in the wet cocoon my mouth provided. Eventually though, I left them to be massaged by my fingers, and my lips replaced my hand as I took the head of your cock between them. My tongue traced the ridge around the head, probing gently into the eye hole and exploring the head and the ridge around it eagerly and with varying degrees of pressure. Contracting my cheeks, I drew you deeper into my mouth, tasting the salty sweetness of your pre cum, and hoping for more. Your cock was so hard, so smooth, so thick, and it felt wonderful to have it there. I closed my lips tighter around you and began to move my head slowly up and down, my tongue constantly moving against you. As my head started to move faster, your hips joined the dance, your rhythm matching mine. I took a deep breath and could feel the head of your cock hitting the back of my throat as your balls hit my chin. Our movements increased in intensity, an animalistic need driving us on. My moans of desire echoed your gasps and groans of pleasure.