He entered the hotel lobby feeling rather conspicuous. A hotel liaison like this had long been a fantasy for him, and now it was happening - a night in a hotel with a beautiful woman. He felt sure the staff could guess why he was there. Smart in his suit, nervous, looking frequently at his phone, waiting for a message to say which floor, which room. Perhaps it never would, he thought. Maybe she had decided not to, or had been delayed. Or even, he smiled to himself, just fallen asleep. It had been so hard for them to get time away, to arrange to be able to meet like this, even for a little while. He wished it could be more often, but understood that this was impossible with their busy lives and responsibilities, and was just grateful that they could both manage this brief time together.
The text came through. Room 237. He breathed again, suddenly conscious that he had been holding his breath for a while. He smiled, again, easing a tension that had been building. Not wishing to delay a moment longer, he checked his appearance once more, picked up the flowers and quickly found the room.
As she opened the door to the hotel room he smiled appreciatively. She looked stunning as usual. Her make-up was just enough to enhance her prettiness, without masking it. Her outfit enhanced her body, revealing those areas she knew he especially adored. She smiled at the flowers. A typical, old-fashioned touch, revealing his nervousness. She took them from him with a quick peck on the cheek, and stepped away to put them on the table inside.
Quickly, he stepped inside and closed the door. Without speaking, he turned her round, put his hand up to her face, brushed her cheek and then ran his hands through her hair. Grasping it firmly, he pulled her towards him and kissed her passionately, holding her there for what seemed like an eternity. He released her from his kiss, but not his grasp, looking at her appreciatively once more, as he felt her hands stroking his body.
He kissed her again. A little more slowly this time, pushing her firmly back against the wall. He let go of her hair, but took hold of her hands, as they fumbled with his tie. Her hands were held firmly above her head as he kissed her once more, looking all the while into her eyes. He smiled. "No," he whispered, "you don't get to undress me yet."
Gently, he led her to the chair by the dressing table. He sat her in it and stood behind her, the pair of them chatting about their day and looking lovingly at each other in the mirror. As he stood there, his hands stroked the back of her neck, her hair, and then under her chin and to her throat. Teasing it gently with his fingers, or pressing on a little more firmly, his whole hand against it. His hands teased still further, running down over her tastefully displayed cleavage and then on to her nipples, at first teasing them through the cloth, circling them, encouraging them to become fully hard. He pulled on them, causing her to gasp, as she always did, and then abruptly returned to stroking her chin.
Seeming to remember something, he pulled a small gift-wrapped box from his pocket, and passed it to her, wordlessly, his eyes glistening. She looked at him in the mirror, seeking permission to open it. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and she tore the paper off to reveal a thin box. Opening it revealed a dusky-blue ribbon with a silver locket threaded onto it. Inside was a tiny picture of the two of them, and a single inscribed word. Mine.
He took it from her and tied it gently around her neck. A choker. Or, she suddenly realised, a collar.
She smiled up at him, and they kissed once more, the animal lust becoming stronger in them. His free hand was at her throat, massaging it a little, encircling it, pressing just firmly enough to make her gasp a little, and then melt. His fingers teased the choker, and then he bent and kissed her throat - gentle butterfly kisses all over making her tingle - and then harder, more insistent kisses as his need became even stronger.
The abandoned flowers forgotten, he took her hair once more, pulling her to her feet as they kissed, and led her over to the bed, kissing her and then pushing her onto it; face down, so she was bent over in a position that made his intentions plain.
"Hands," he ordered. She hesitated a second, and then obediently placed her hands behind her back. Taking a silk scarf from his pocket, he bound them gently but securely at the wrist, taking care to make sure they were not dangerously tight. His fingers stroked her arms gently, and then worked their way down her body to the hem of her skirt. His hands slid up the inside of her legs, taking the skirt with them, parting her thighs and teasing deliciously to the innermost top.
"The meal..." she protested weakly.
"Don't worry. This will not take long. The first time, anyway," he promised, his voice smiling.
A sudden slap, though expected, made her gasp. Then 3 more, stinging, even through her panties. Then his warm hand, stroking away the stinging. Caressing her. She moaned a little, parting her legs hopefully, and was not disappointed. His strong fingers sought out her mound and rubbed it, touching her, pressing the slightly rough cotton against her increasingly wet slit.
Again a slap, stroked gently away, and then another. No pattern or rhythm, so that each was unexpected. A sharp, unexpected, but pleasurable sting, followed by a gentle caress that soothed away the edge of the pain, whilst leaving the warmth to grow and to spread throughout her body.
Several sharp spanks in quick succession this time, on her ass and also on the bare flesh of her slightly parted thighs. No gentle stroke met her moan of protest, but this time he did let his fingers stray between her reddening thighs once more. His fingers gently caressed her thighs, starting just below the livid hand marks. Tracing them, teasing them, as he felt her wriggle. The fingers inched further between her thighs, moving ever closer to the top. He could sense her need; feel her willing him to touch her properly, to enter her. His fingers roamed down again, nails scratching a little, and making her tremble. Again, they crept towards her throbbing, wet pussy, ever higher, closer. Finally, so close that she could almost feel them entering her. His fingers traced the lace edge of her panties as it ran across her backside and down to her labia. Stroked it, lifted it gently, as he ran his finger underneath it.
Once more, the sharp sting of the slaps cut her moans short, this time ranging further down her legs, but always returning to her increasingly hot cheeks. Once more, his caresses eased away the sharp sting, but, where they had once been soft, they were now firm and passionate, kneading her flesh, his strong fingers working deep into the muscle. Once again, the delicate fingertips traced the marks they had made, creeping up her inner thighs to their ultimate destination. She wriggled more and more, moaning in frustration and need.
Finally, gently, he hooked the satin-smooth, damp cloth with his finger and pulled it to one side. He leant forward and gently blew a little warm air over her glistening labia. She gasped, and he blew a little harder, the steady stream teasing the tip of her aching clit. He moved his head around a little, holding the panties clear and parting her lips gently to allow the air to work its magic on her. The pitch and insistency of her moaning increased, and did the frequency of her quiet pleas for him to give her the release she was hoping for. The steady stream changed to short, sharp lasts, as he blew hard enough for it to almost feel like a touch, his head close enough to her to for her to be able to feel the warmth of him.
He released the now cold, damp fabric and watched intently as it clung to her beautiful form. He pulled on it slightly, encouraging it to work deeper inside her, knowing the cloth would stimulate her further, and suspecting that the pressure on her clit might be welcome. He tugged on it, ensuring it rubbed back and forth over her clit, teasing it, doing the work she eagerly wish that his fingers would do.
Yet again, his fingers traced the very edges of her panties. This time, she hoped... and yes. Yes. He ran her fingers across her mound, tracing, touching and even parting her lips gently through the cloth. The tip of his middle finger sought out her clit. Teased it. Stroked it. Encouraged it to grow and respond to his touch. He enjoyed the feeling of the cloth between them, and wondered if it felt as good to her. It seemed to, from the muffled, but increasingly insistent moans.
She whimpered a little as he pulled her panties roughly to one side, exposing her sex once more to the cool air of the room. His fingers repeated their exploration of her lips and returned once more to her clit, finally, finally touching it for real. She sighed, then moaned and pushed back against him, her hips rotating to try to get his fingers into her. She knew they were in vain, but tried none the less, almost crying in frustration as he left her clit alone to trace the very edges of her opening without entering her.
