I, Connor Dixon, was planning a move to a new city -- one where my favorite cousin Jeremy lived -- and to scope things out I took a long weekend trip there. The original plan was to stay with Jeremy but his wife's entire family decided they wanted to visit at the same time so I was relegated to a Hilton hotel. It was no big deal one of the few problems that I didn't have in life was money. My major problem was the lack of worthwhile female companionship. It seemed that I was attracted to all of the wrong types of women, usually resulting on my part in either anger, disappointment, lack of understanding, or heartbreak.
Since Jeremy didn't like spending too much time with his wife's family he and I palled around while I investigated places to live and to set up my law practice. My practice is such that I rarely have to meet with clients in person so I can live and work anyplace where I am a member of the State Bar.
On Saturday night Jeremy and I went to a party hosted by one of his business associates, Tom Bering. The party was typical for people in their late twenties except that he had a large dance area in his finished basement that got lots of use. There were some unattached ladies there and I am a decent dancer, and I enjoy dancing, so I was kept quite busy.
There was one perplexing thing, however. Tom's wife Susan seemed to be a cross between a servant and a wallflower. She didn't seem to have much to say to anyone, and mostly worked making sure that all refreshments were available. She also seemed to take lots of shit from Tom -- who I immediately disliked.
I noticed Susan primarily because she was wearing a nice dress -- not fancy, just nice -- while most of the other women were in jeans or shorts. Susan's face would not launch a thousand ships, and her clothed body would not inspire Michelangelo or Da Vinci to sculpt it, but she was more than a decent looking woman. The old phrase "I wouldn't kick her out of bed" somehow came to mind, embarrassing me since I didn't like thinking about women like that, especially married ones.
Eventually, when there was a minor interruption in my dance card, I noticed Susan going to the kitchen to get more refreshments. I had been introduced to her when we got to the venue when she said the only word I had actually heard her speak all night -- "Hi." I followed her into the kitchen and said, without startling her, "Susan, it looks like you're working too hard and not enjoying yourself. Can I help you with something? In case you don't remember from our brief introduction I'm Conner."
She stared not just into my eyes, but seemingly into my soul, with eyes so dark that they were almost black before responding "Thanks." She then started washing glasses in the sink and asked "Can you dry?"
I picked up a dish towel and started drying. I tried engaging her in conversation and while she would respond to questions the responses were terse (not unfriendly, just really brief), and her responses to statements were usually just a head nod or smile, rarely words. After we had washed all of the glasses I helped her arrange some more snacks on platters and then I carried half of the platters and glasses to the dance venue and bar.
A little while later I asked her to dance. She was reluctant. "Tom doesn't like me to dance," was probably the longest sentence she had spoken so far that night.
"Too bad," I snickered, and led her out to the dance floor. She was an athletic dancer and seemed to enjoy it but at the start of our second dance Tom approached her and more or less ordered her to get him something. She shrugged her shoulders and left; I was pissed, and if he wasn't the host and one of Jeremy's co-workers I would have intervened.
Sometime later I found Susan again alone in the kitchen. I turned her toward me and asked "Why do you let Tom treat you like that. You seem to be a wonderful with-it woman; you shouldn't let him run roughshod over you."
She smiled and simply replied "It's complicated. Could you help again?"
I willingly performed another task for her and afterward she actually approached me. "Where are you staying?" she asked, her first initiation of a conversation not only with me, but with anyone that I observed.
"At the Hilton on Grand; how did you know that I'm just visiting?"
"How Jeremy introduced you," she smiled; then she shocked me with another question. "Does your room overlook the lake?"
"Yes, it's a nice view."
"So it's an even numbered room -- on which floor?"
"It's 810 -- you must be familiar with the Hilton," I replied with a smile.
She smiled back, and then went off to so some other chore.
When Jeremy and I left I made a point of saying goodbye to Susan; at that point Tom was drunk and wouldn't have remembered what I said to him so instead of thanking him I just mumbled "You're an asshole." I think Susan overheard me; at least I think that's what occasioned her grin.
Jeremy and I went to a local hangout, shot some pool, and then I went to my hotel.
************
I had showered, was just in my underwear, and about to go to bed when there was a knock at my door. I looked through the peephole but all I could see was what appeared to be a woman's hair. I partially opened the door and was shocked to see Susan. She had a trench coat on.
Susan didn't say anything when I said "Hi Susan, why are you here?" Instead she opened her trench coat displaying a very nice naked body (much nicer than it looked when she was clothed, including quite prodigious tits) and when that got its designed shock value used the opportunity to simply move past me.
By the time that I closed the door and my wide open mouth -- although my eyes remained wide open -- she had nothing on but high heels. She grabbed my neck, gave me a kiss hot enough to set off the smoke alarm (although thankfully it did not), and moved one hand inside my boxer's finding my cock already rock hard.
What transpired was the weirdest sexual experience of my life. As best I can remember no words were spoken; there were lots of groans, moans, yelps, and excited exclamations, but no real words. I don't think that Susan was in my room for more than three minutes before she had impaled herself on my upright cock while I lay on my back on top of my bedspread. She occasionally bent over and kissed me while bucking up and down apparently trying to rip my cock off. I switched my hands between mauling her visually and tactilely inspiring tits and grabbing her hips to assist her up and down movement.
I hadn't been laid in two months but I was able to prevent myself from going off too early.
The more I touched and kissed Susan the harder my cock got and the more excited I did.
Susan was the most uninhibited and vigorous sex partner I had ever had in my life -- or even dreamed of.
When we both were glistening with sweat her pussy suddenly clamped on my cock like a vise and I erupted like Mount Vesuvius. She screamed but kept squeezing and releasing my cock until she had milked every last drop of cum out of me.
We finally stopped moving, both of us completely drained. We somehow detached our mating parts, and given the hour and the intensity of our copulation either fell asleep or passed out.
Some indeterminate time later I felt activity at my crotch. I looked down to see Susan sucking my cock. I rubbed her head as she sucked. Once I was again rock hard she detached herself, got on her hands and knees on the bed, slapped her ass, and pointed her pussy at my face.
Despite the intensity of our first copulation, and the wetness of her pussy, when I penetrated her doggy style she was tight; and incongruously she still had her high heels on which excited me as much as her scent and her apparently perfect pussy. Once I was buried I was more energized than at any other time of my life, and somehow she was able to move asynchronously with my thrusts and retreats while pulsing her pc muscles. I soon let loose the largest second load of my life, as we both collapsed down onto the mattress.
I was in a twilight zone and didn't recognize it when Susan apparently got up, put her trench coat back on, and was gone. I got cold lying on top of the bed, finally got under the covers, and fell into a deep sleep.
When I woke up the next morning I was sure that it had just been a dream. I was only convinced that it was real because my cock was red and there was a note on the dresser in lipstick. On the note there was a smiley face and one word "Thanks."
I tried my best to remember whether Susan had spoken at all the previous evening during our debauchery. I couldn't remember her saying even one word -- but if her actions were words they would have filled a book as large as Tolstoy's War and Peace!
The next day I was basically in a trance. Jeremy and I looked at some houses and offices together but I wasn't really with it. He must have asked me a half dozen times "What the fuck is wrong with you Conner?"
I made some lame excuse about being hung over, despite the fact that I probably had two beers total the previous evening. I was in fact hung-over, however; sexually hung-over.
On my drive back home Monday morning all I could think about was my sexual encounter with Silent Susan. While I had dated at least a dozen women better looking than Susan, sex with her was a light year better than any other sex I'd ever had. I should have been chagrined and felt guilty that I had had sex with a married woman, something I had never done before and intellectually and morally despised. Instead, I felt only excitement.
**********
I was basically fucked up emotionally the next month as I prepared for my move. Except when I was working or intensely working out I thought about Susan. It took until a month after my move before I got my head out of my ass, and started looking for female companionship in my new city. I made a point of never going by Susan's house or attempting to contact her.
I really liked my new city after about three months there; I was making even better money than before, the surroundings and environment were invigorating, and I had made a few friends, both male and female. I had had a few dates, but nothing that really floated my boat. It was almost exactly the three month anniversary at my new home when I went to a party, sans date, at Jeremy's house. I was having a fairly good time when Tom and Susan walked in the door.
When I saw Susan my mind immediately went back to my heavenly experience in Room 810 of the local Hilton. She looked exactly the same as she had at her party -- although the dress was a different color and her hair style was more refined. I waited until Tom had chugged a couple of drinks of hard liquor, and when Susan was standing alone off to the side of Jeremy's small dance floor before I approached her.
"Hi Susan," I smiled.
