Hotel bars always provide great sights. People seem to check their inhibitions at the front desk. This trip I found myself in a high-end boutique establishment I had been in before. The meetings lasted forever and it feels good to relax with a glass of whiskey and look around at the others doing the same thing. I cross my long bare legs under my knee-length skirt and squeeze the thighs together. It feels good to apply the pressure on my mound. I had brought myself to a glorious climax several times before coming down to the bar. Holding my thighs tight helps prolong the glow.
By a window, a woman sits at a table with a folder of papers scattered across the table. Her black skirt rests high on the thigh, the only thigh she has. The matching black, low-heal shoe flips against the foot as it swings back and forth. Crutches rest against the wall not far away. I stare at the breasts highlighted by the sunlight filtering though the nearly translucent blouse. I imagine if her skirt was like the blouse, I could see her panties or the outline of what remained of the missing leg. I consider if she is an exhibitionist. A thrill races though my loins as I picture her standing in front of a window rubbing her nipples against the glass.
She rubs her eyes again then sips the last of her drink. I suspect the day has been long for her as it has been for me. She pulls her barefoot onto the seat of the chair and rubs the arch of her foot, wiggles the toes, and puts the foot down, but not in the shoe. The foot rubs against the carpet a few times and I guess she would like someone to massage it for her.
I notice the man in the khaki slacks and dark blue, blazer jacket watching her, probably with many of the same thoughts I have. His blue eyes caught my attention when he entered the bar. His suffer blond hair and toned body did too. He adjusts his trousers, probably to relieve some of the pressure of the erection hidden inside. I imagine it large with a wonderful mushroom head, possibly in my mouth. He finishes the last of the beer from the bottle. The glass remains empty on the bar.
He smiles at Kate, the buxom server, and asks for another. I know her name. I've been here many times. I see her bend over and he stares intently down her cleavage. She has great breasts. I've watched them also. He'd probably like to take her upstairs and make her scream in pleasure. A tingle grabs my mound, as I think of them naked on the clean white sheets of a king-size bed. Then I picture myself in a line of women waiting for him to fuck us one at a time. Another tingle and wetness between my legs becomes noticeable.
I think of the woman with one leg as Beth, though I don't know her real name. She holds her hand up and smiles at Kate then whispers 'another'. Her finger points at the drink glass as if Kate might not understand what she is asking for. I tease my mind and pretend she means 'another missing leg'. She twists in the chair and the skirt slips up more, revealing the end of her missing leg. A finger scratches the end. She seems unconcerned that it is exposed.
