Discovering Charlotte

I had no idea what she had in mind. I got a text message telling me I should book a room. And to book it in Atlantic City. She gave me the dates, but not much else. When Charlotte tells me to book a room, I book a room just about as fast as I can. But we have history in AC. Good history. So by the time I get my wallet out, I was already at the Taj's website.

You see, this all started a few weeks ago. I was at work bored out of my mind as usual. And as usual, I start thinking about Charlotte. Unfortunately, I can't think about Charlotte for too long before I start thinking about Charlotte. That can be occasionally inconvenient; especially when I'm at work. I sometimes have to stay seated behind my desk when I've been fantasizing about Charlotte for too long. At least into the image passes.

On this one particular occasion, I just couldn't get her out of my head. I tried. I really did. I even picked up that report on Microbial Forensics that had been sitting on my desk. It was just about the most boring thing I could think of. Surely that would get my mind off sex. But when I came across the word "germ," I read it as "sperm." And when I read the word "glass," I saw "ass."

And while we're on the topic, I need to take a minute to make a statement about Charlotte's ass. It is quite possibly, the sexiest thing in the world. I for one, have never seen anything like it. I could try to describe it, but words won't do it any justice. It is impossibly big. Completely disproportional to the rest of her body and thus, unbelievably curvaceous. It makes an hourglass look as straight as a ruler. It is so perfectly round that even after seven years of doing the things I've done to it, I still lust after it, and her, as the day I first met Charlotte.

To make a long story short, I end up reaching for my phone and look to text some nasty messages to her. It's a ritual we've established over the years, but one I just can't shake. I love it when we go back and forth and talk about all the things we'd like to do to each other. Texting is unbelievably hot, and despite all the high profile cases of people accidentally texting in the wrong places to the wrong people; I still can't help myself. My heart still skips a beat when the phone buzzes. If I see the text ID as being someone else, I'm crushed. But if it's Charlotte, and she's in the mood, man, it's a great day. For me, getting dirty messages from her must be what an alcoholic feels like when he gets his first glass of Scotch. It completely stands me to attention. Suddenly, no matter what I'm dealing with, nothing is very important anymore. I don't stress about anything. I just sit back and fantasize with her for the next few minutes about the next time we're together.

There's something about texting that I can't explain. The funny thing is, we'd never say half the things we've texted out loud. Even after seven years, there are things I couldn't bring myself to say face to face. But for some reason; texting just brings that out in me. It gives me a freedom that eliminates any measure of self-doubt or embarrassment.

Even as disconnected and cold as technology can be, it can also be the catalyst that removes our insecurities. Over the years, we've used it to explore each other in a way that we wouldn't have ever done just talking. In fact, the first time I got the courage to ask her for a pair of her dirty panties was through text. Even to this day, we still reserve the nastiest conversations for our phones.

On this particular instance, it just so happened that she didn't respond. Two minutes, three, four. Damnit. She must have been at a meeting. I put the phone down and try to concentrate on that damn report but before I know it, the double helix starts looking like the double curves of her ass cheeks. Not only can I not concentrate, I'm really starting to see things. It seems to get wider, as if shifting to the same impossibly wide proportions of her ass.

I throw down the report. I go back to my phone to find she still hasn't texted me. Damn. It's driving me crazy. So just like any good red-blooded American, I decide I'm just going to have to scratch this itch by looking at some online porn. It usually only makes things worse, but what the hell? It wasn't like I was going to get any work done anyways.

Watching porn on your work computer is about the dumbest thing you can do. Which of course, is why the smartphone was invented. Yes it can make phone calls, but more importantly, you can use it to watch porn. Unfortunately, it's not quite the full 24" inch screen that I'm accustomed to so instead of typing in a web address, I accidentally type in a google search. And instead of clicking on the right link, I accidentally click a pop-up ad. And wouldn't you know it, it's an online sex shop.

Just as I hit the back button, I see a gorgeous piece of glass. It's cobalt blue, shaped like a bullet, and perfect for Charlotte's ass. I suddenly get this picture of the last time I was behind her. She was bent over the bed and screaming at me to "just fuck her."

I had wanted to go down on her first but her urgent scream and one look at that beautiful ass was all I needed to get myself inside of her. And as I slammed her pussy, I saw how her asshole tightened; just a tiny bit. It was enough to send shivers through me. And I remember at the time thinking how much I wish I had a dildo I could shove into her ass while my cock took her pussy.

A dildo just like the one I was seeing on my phone. A smooth cobalt blue glass dildo that tapered beautifully. So precisely. So perfect for insertion. I stare at the thing wishing it were in my hands. I can almost feel the smooth glass. God how I wished I had it the last time I was plowing into her. How I could make her scream hitting both holes at once with that thing.

Before I have a chance to figure out what I'm doing, I'm pulling out my wallet.

And by the time I'm finally typing my credit card number into the browser of my phone, my shopping cart has three dildos, a vibrator and some other assorted goodies. I pause for a second before I realize, what the hell is she going to think if I just send her a box of this stuff?

Then again, it's Charlotte. I know exactly what she's going to think. I smile just as I push the "submit" button.

Fast forward two weeks later and she's texting me to book a trip to Atlantic City. Charlotte and I have been together for a long time. There are some ways that we can still surprise each other but for the most part, we know each other as well as we know ourselves. So I didn't take more than thirty seconds to decide on the Grand Suite at the Taj Majal. A soaring tower on the boardwalk that would put us on the 30th floor overlooking the Atlantic. It's expensive, but in December, the place is dead enough that we get a good enough rate that I'm able to book an extra night.

****

The four hour drive from DC to Atlantic City is almost schizophrenic. At one moment, I feel like we can't get there fast enough and at the next; time seems to fly by. It's always this way with Charlotte. The anticipation kills me, but getting there is always part of the fun. Every time I'm with her my day is a little bit brighter, my week a little bit shorter.

The down side to that of course, is that when I'm with her, I don't want time to move. I want to freeze the moment. But alas, the car ride is over all too quickly and I suddenly find myself dragging our travel bags to the 33rd floor. Like all casinos, you can't actually get to your room unless you walk across the casino floor. It's determined to sway you from wanting to stay in your room too long.

Believe it or not, there have been occasions where we've spent days together without even thinking about sex. That's the great thing about Charlotte, she stimulates my mind and my body. So even as I pull up to the suite, I haven't been able to figure out whether this was one of those times where we were in AC to gamble, or to act like rabbits. Three nights is a little longer than our usual trips. Truth be told, my desires get the best of me but once she relieves me, I'm usually okay for a few days. So over the years, we've settled on just going away for a quick overnight when it's just about sex.

When we want to spend non-sex time together, we stay longer; just to enjoy each other's company. The way she was acting in the car tonight, I was starting to think this was one of those trips. I had floated some soft lobs to get her talking about sex, but she had batted them away. I'm not disappointed, we'd still have sex. But this trip had the feel of being about more than just sex. And I was okay with that.

Just as I'm about to slip the keycard into the door, she places her hand over mine; standing so close to me that I can smell her breath. We've been driving in the car for four hours so it takes on a stale aroma. It doesn't turn me off. Instead, it does the opposite. I love everything about Charlotte; including how she smells.

"You know I love you right?" She purrs.

"Of course, baby."

"So whatever happens, you'll know I still love you right?"

"What are you talk-"

Before I even have a chance to finish my sentence, she pulls the door handle and pushes me into the room. It's a little less than what you would call a shove; but a lot more than a lover's touch. It surprises me enough to send me sprawling head first. I lose my balance and catch myself just as I go careening into the couch. I hit the arm of the couch and spill over it. I'm still bent over when I hear a smacking sound and it takes me a second before I realize it's her slapping my ass. I don't feel anything for a second and then the sting of it spreads through my rear.

"Baby, what the hell?" I ask.

Once again I feel her hands on me as she pushes my top half down. She's intent on keeping me bent over the couch.

"I want this ass," she says as she grabs my hips and slams herself into me. She grinds me from behind. Hard. One of her hands make its way from my hips towards the front of my jeans. The other snakes up under my shirt and grabs at my nipple. I arch my neck and feel her tongue caressing my neck, just behind the ear. Even in my confusion, her hot breath makes me hard and I strain against the fabric of my jeans.

"What are you up to?" I ask, a little less outraged now that I'm turned on.

"Did I slap too hard?" she asks me sheepishly. Suddenly it's sweet Charlotte again and I can't help but relent.

"It's okay, baby. It didn't hurt."

She continues to kiss my ear and whispers, "I'm sorry. I just can't help myself when I'm around you." Even after seven years and countless sex acts, Charlotte and I have maintained an almost impossible level of desire. It amazes me that, even now, we act like teenagers coming home from the prom. Smack!

This time it hurt. My cheek was still stinging from the first time and a part of me gets a little angry. Enough that I break her hold and am able to turn myself around. Only, when I see her smile, a small wicked little thing, the feeling passes. She has a look on her face that tells me I shouldn't get mad. That I'm going to want what happens next. Damn her.

Before I can say anything she puts both hands on my shoulder and gives me a maternal kiss on my forehead. "Shhhh." She motions for me to sit on the couch and I do; my behind still stinging.

"That was for sending sex toys to my house."

It suddenly dawns on me what this is all about. I had completely forgotten about that damn package. I had made the purchase on a whim and it never occurred to me it might make her feel cheap. I kick myself.

"Oh I thought-"

"What am I, your personal slut?"

"I didn't mean to-"

She's standing over me now and she puts a finger to my lips. "Shhhh." She says again.

Her hair falls over my face as she leans closer and I catch a faint whiff of perfume. It tickles my face and she starts teasing me again with that tongue to the side of my neck. Just below my ear now. I can't tell if she is either mad or horny. Or maybe both. I try to say something and as I part my lips, she slides the finger that shushed me into my mouth.

Now she's biting my ear and I get the sense the crisis has passed. My hands reflexively reach out for her ass but she pushes them away.

"Just sit there. Aren't you in enough trouble already?"

"But baby..." I start to whine.

In one quick motion she pulls the finger out of my mouth and slaps me. Not hard. Not an I'm-pissed-at-you slap. But it's not playful either. I gape in shock. She keeps her hand there, cradling my cheek. In our entire relationship, she has never once done that. I am completely speechless.

"Shhhh." she says again and goes back to kissing my neck. "I think you need to know how it feels to be a slut."

Without another word, she climbs on top of me. Charlotte spreads her legs far enough to straddle me, but not enough to allow my cock to grind against her. It's horribly evil. She holds the back of my head with both hands and it's then that I realize this might be a long night. I close my eyes and lean my head back. I think she means to kiss me but instead of finding her mouth, I feel a wet dollop of spit hitting me on my lips. I open my eyes to see a string of saliva tracing back to her sweet, evil smile.

Instinctively, I open my mouth and the second I do, I get a mouthful of fresh saliva. I savor it. It's warm and slick and all Charlotte. I love it and each time I taste her mouth all I want is more. Her spit is just an extension of that. I try to rise to meet her lips but she pulls away. The quick motion draws the line of saliva across my face and then she descends on me. A fury of kissing, licking and sucking. My eyes, my cheeks, my neck, my ears. She kisses and licks every part of my face. Every part but my lips. I so desperately want her tongue in my mouth but she avoids it. Switching from one side to the other with a deft maneuver that avoids my hungry mouth.

She has both hands on the sides of my head, her fingers buried deep into my long hair. When I misbehave, or even slightly move counter to her plan, she pulls my head back by the roots of my hair. Sitting over me now she does just that. She's grabbing my scalp with both hands as she pushes her breasts together. For the first time tonight, I get a good luck at her cleavage. They strain against the buttons of her blouse. It's not unlike the strain my cock feels against my own jeans. She has huge breasts that perfectly complement her huge ass.

These are the things I've always loved about Charlotte. Never ending curves that I'd happily spend the rest of my days exploring. After seven years, you'd think I'd have discovered every part of her but I don't get the sense I've even scratched the surface. Tonight is a good example of that. She's been wild before, actually she's always wild in bed, but tonight is a different beast altogether. I've not ever seen her take control as she has and I find it makes me insane with desire. To let her take control of both mind and body.

With her breasts directly in my face, I lick my lips and stare directly into the exaggerated curves of her body. I move to unbutton her blouse but Charlotte knocks my hand away just as she slaps my face again. With the glaze of her spit, it makes an impossibly loud noise. For a second I see a quick flash of regret in her eyes before she recovers and is in control again. I'm glad to see it. Whatever she's thinking, she has to know that this is driving me crazy. Even as the moment passes, the sting on my cheek fades. And just like last time, she doesn't pull her hand away after making contact. Instead, she massages my cheek.

"Oh poor baby." she coos and before I know it, her thumb is in my mouth. I suck it like a pacifier and it seems to placate her.

"Do you feel like a slut?" she asks. Apparently it's a rhetorical question because as I try to answer, I get her other thumb in my mouth. She holds my face steady, a thumb hooked into each side of my mouth. She dribbles more spit down on me and I catch most of it. It makes me squirm, bringing my bottom half to life. I strain to push my cock against her but she just lifts away from me.

"Don't." She warns. Her face is stern and the in-control Charlotte is back in full force.

I try to say something but can't. The look on her face stops me cold and I feel another wet spray across my face. Just flecks of spittle now, but still enough that I feel its warmth on my skin. It's important to know that if anybody but Charlotte did this to me, I'd be completely disgusted. And very angry.

The thought of anybody spitting in my face is unthinkable. But for some reason, like so many other things, when she does it, it's not just okay. It's sexier than hell. I've long known that there's nothing about her I don't find attractive. I like the way she looks, the way she tastes, the way she smells. I've said before that she's taken to giving me her dirty panties. What I do with them is a story for another time, but needless to say, it makes the times we're apart very bearable.

There's an end table next to the couch and on it, there's a bottle of Champagne. Charlotte grabs it without saying a word or moving off me. Even for a second. While I watch, she rips the aluminum and pops the cork. I hear it land somewhere on the other side of the room and as the liquid bubbles over, she moves it to over my lips.

It's refreshingly cool, but much of it drips off the side of my face, soaking my shirt. She takes a swig herself and as she does so, she uses her free hand to rip her blouse open. I hear one button ping against the window while another skips across the wood floor. My hands immediately go to her breasts and start kneading them. I'm a little nervous I might get slapped for it, but I can't help myself. She takes another swig of the champagne and says,

"That's right slut. Time for you to do some work now."

With a practiced motion, I reach around and unclasp the lace bra. It sounds a lot easier than it is to do. Charlotte's breasts strain the clasp and it's taken me years to perfect the move. I'm instantly rewarded as they come tumbling from their restraints. To this day, I still gasp when I see them. So round, so big, so perfect. As I bring them to my lips, I feel a wetness from above and taste more Champagne.

When I look up, I realize it's not coming from the bottle but her mouth. I watch her take another swig and then, keeping it in her mouth, swish it as if it were Listerine. She's making sure that it's not just Champagne I'm drinking. She holds her right breast out and slowly, ever so slowly, she let' out a stream of liquid. I immediately bring my mouth to her waiting tit and suckle it like a baby. It's warm and incredibly erotic. Sensual even. I drink it all up as if my life depends on it. I immediately feel warm all over and I'm wondering if it's the alcohol rushing through me or something else. There are times when Charlotte can make me feel that good without anything but a kiss from her lips.

As she finishes, there's a stringy tendril of saliva that hangs from her mouth. I move to get at it and unbelievably, she brings it back into her mouth with a quick sucking motion. As I look up, she smiles and then makes like she's going to spit. She cocks my head forward and bring her face level with mine. Our lips touch and then she moves back just a few inches. Her eyes motion at me to open my mouth and as I do so, I close my eyes and hear her spit. Loud and wet and incredibly warm down the back of my throat. I simply can't take it anymore and pull her into me. At long last our tongues touch and we begin devouring each other. The kiss is so wet, so nasty, that when our lips move apart, they are still connected with saliva. Her face glistens with it and I have to imagine I'm completely covered.