Just for One Night

British English spelling and grammar.

No tags on this one: you'll soon work it out.

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Just for one night

Years ago, I read of a woman in an American bar, who drank from a bottle of Bud, and died. The story was that it had been stored in a cellar, and a rat (diseased?) had pissed on it. Could be bullshit of course. Or what we call an urban myth. Either way, I never drank from a bottle again.

In England it was the era of Sol. Now thought of as Mexico's second favourite beer, there was a time when everyone seemed to be drinking it. The fad was to stick a wedge of lime in the neck, and drink it from the bottle. Lemon would do if the pub didn't have lime.

Getting comments from bar staff was slowly wearing me down. If I want my Sol in a glass, then bar staff should fucking well serve it that way, without comment. Even raised eyebrows pissed me off. I deliberately started drinking it everywhere, just to give me a chance to vent. Stupid I know.

That night, I left my hotel room and went down to the bar.

"Sol please."

"Would you like it in a glass sir?"

I could have kissed her.

"Yes please, I'll pour it."

"Would you like a slice of lime in it?"

"Sure"

Not a flicker. Now this was a classy hotel!

I found a table facing the door. Whoever my date was, she would be entering from the carpark. I knew she was not staying here,and worked for the company I'd been with. I had no idea what she would wea, though I had been explicit about black stockings. She would recognise me; I'd be the only man sitting by himself, with an empty Sol bottle on the table, next to a glass of the stuff.

I hoped I wouldn't have to wait long; I didn't want to be drinking lager for ages. More than three, and I'm prone to brewer's droop. And there was no doubt I was going to be fucking her; a lot. I wouldn't even have to buy her dinner.

An absolute stunner walked in; strode in. Red hair, no bra, nearly six foot tall. She glanced at me, smiled, and then shrieked. She ran at another woman, arms outstretched. They hugged and kissed. Some of those kisses were full on. Not her then.

Next, mine arrived. Near-transparent cream blouse with matching bra. Black-clad legs under a pleated skirt that came half way down her thighs. She looked at me and I saw her eyes flick down to the glass and bottle, and she smiled. Beautiful teeth; well, beautiful everything really. She came straight to the table, and extended her hand.

"Hi, are you John?"

"I am."

I stood and we shook hands.

"I'm Maria."

"Please sit down. What would you like to drink?"

"White wine please."

I returned with her wine and suggested we move to a quiet corner. I made sure she had her back to the room.

"Before we go any further," I said, "perhaps I should just state why I am here, and what I expect from you. There should be no misunderstanding."

"Good idea."

"Then you can do the same."

"Fine."

"I'm a freelance consultant. Your company hired me for four weeks. They agreed to provide all the spreadsheets I required, and I should have completed my side of the deal with a couple of days to spare."

"Go on."

"Unfortunately, they repeatedly missed their own deadlines. Now it's Friday, I've been paid, but the task is not finished. I have them over a barrel. My contract, which terminated today, required me to hand over my findings when, and only when, the job was completed."

"So, they face getting nothing."

"Exactly."

"We negotiated. I'll stay in this hotel over the weekend; maybe do some early Christmas shopping. Monday, I'll get an extra three thousand in cash, but can leave when the project is complete. I get you just for one night."

"That was my understanding too." Maria replied.

"Just to clarify then. You will give me your mouth, cunt, and arse, without question. And I can use them as many times as I wish, between now and breakfast tomorrow."

"Fine. That's what they told me."

"And you agree?"

"Of course."

"I insisted no escorts, or prostitutes by another name. Now, tell me about yourself."

"Right. Three years ago, my husband racked up some serious gambling debts. I know our CEO personally and asked for his help. He lent me the entire amount, interest free, to get us in the clear. And, to my husband's credit, he went for therapy, and has never gambled again."

"But you had to have sex with the CEO?"

"Believe it or not -- no. He's gay, and has some sort of arrangement with his wife. But I, and my husband, agreed there would be times I would be asked to provide sexual services for people the CEO specified."

"How many times have you done this?"

"Six months later, I had sex with the executive of another company, who then signed a contract with us. I was only with him for an hour, and my company made lots of money from the deal. A year later, we were caught in a serious Health and Safety breach, which could have closed us down. I spent a weekend with the H and S boss and his assistant, while the company sorted the matter. I saved the day by having sex no less than eighteen times!"

"Wow!"

"Recently my husband got a bonus where he works. Next month, we'll be able to give my CEO the final payment. So, tonight is my last outing."

"Last one pays for all."

"Quite."

"And your husband knows you won't be home till tomorrow morning?"

"He does. He'll make me an early lunch; smoked salmon and champagne to celebrate. And he'll get horny when I tell him all the dirty things I did! Then he'll probably try them all himself; that's what he usually does!"

"Then he's a dirty bastard and ought to feel ashamed of himself. Let me see what's under your skirt."

Maria obediently hitched it up, revealing the expected black hold-ups and a cream thong. It matched her bra but not her stockings. I passed her a tenner.

"Finish your wine, go to the toilets, and remove your bra and panties. And turn that skirt over at the waist; twice. On your way back, stop at the bar and get yourself another glass of wine. Sol for me - keep the change."

As she returned to our table, it was apparent her nipples were incredibly dark, almost black. I don't know if she had deliberately pinched them to make them hard, but they were certainly making their shape obvious through the material of her blouse. The skirt was a turn too far. You could clearly see her stocking tops, and several heads turned to watch her progress. They all stopped looking when she sat down.

"You look a bit flushed. Embarrassed?"

"To be honest, I'm more excited than embarrassed. There's little I haven't tried sexually, and have enjoyed it all, but I've never exposed so much in front of a bar before!"

"A first then. Show me your cunt."

She lifted what was left of the skirt, and parted her thighs.

"Is that a Brazilian?"

"Landing strip, actually."

"Nice. I've never seen one up close before."

"Another first then!" she laughed.

"Now take my empty Sol bottle and put it on the floor."

I had a look round the room; no-one was paying us any attention. I pushed the used coaster across the table, and let it fall on the floor.

"When you squat to pick that up, you must also pick up that bottle."

She leaned forward.

"With your cunt!" I added.

There was a sharp intake of breath.

Maria shuffled forward in her seat; her cunt looked wonderful - open and poised over the edge. She reached under her thighs and pulled her lips apart. Then lowered herself onto the bottle. It took quite a lot of manoeuvring to get it in. She started to rise.

"Take your hands away, and don't forget the coaster."

She did, and there was a slight clunk as it slid back to the floor. She dipped again, and managed to grip it. Putting the coaster on the table she sat on her chair, leaning back.

"Sorry, this is painful if I sit upright. I know I said I'd do anything, but please don't make me sit upright. The bottle could give me an internal injury if I do."

"Take it out then and put it back on the floor."

She did. I placed some anal lubricant on the table.

"Now pick it up with your arse. Slight problem of course; too little lube, and it will hurt going in. Too much, and you may not be able to grip it!"

When she half-rose from her seat, only the top of her skirt was visible from behind. Nobody could tell she was lubricating herself. I suppose some might have guessed, but how likely was that? When she'd done, she repeated her squatting action. She looked so proud of herself when her sphincter grasped the Sol bottle first time. Then she hovered over the seat of her chair and it slid out gracefully. She put it back on the table.

"Very entertaining!"

"You're certainly a kinky one!" she replied.

We went up to my room.

"Take off everything except the stockings. Have you brought your own anal lube?"

"It's in my handbag,"

"Get it out and fill your arse. I'm using that first."

She kneeled on the end of the bed, doggy style, and I rammed my dick in. Her anal muscles clamped it tight, and she grunted.

"Does your husband do this?"

"Yes, he loves anal. But you're bigger than him; this is the best arse fuck I've had!"

That night, I couldn't manage eighteen but did fuck her four times before I fell asleep. I retrieved her panties and wiped up our joint mess with them. I woke once in the night to hear her in the bathroom, presumably cleaning herself up.

In the morning, we showered together and I got hard again. She got dressed, but left her bra in her bag. I retrieved her panties which were now getting quite crispy with our various emissions. But I waited till she was fully dressed before claiming my final anal rights. Despite my efforts of the night before, I flooded her bowels with the biggest load yet. I pulled her to her feet and stood her in front of me.

"Now put your panties back on, and pull them up tight."

I turned her so her back was towards me and pushed the material deep into her arse.

"Squirt the cum out. Fill these knickers!"

She did, and made a good job of it. Then I prised her buttocks open and shoved the back of her panties, what little there was of it, into her until it all disappeared. When her skirt dropped back into place, she was so soaked; it was seeping into the skirt.

"That's how a whore should go home; wet and stinking!"

We had the hotel breakfast and I checked out. In the carpark, I asked which car was hers. She preferred not to tell me. Fair enough. We stood by mine and kissed goodbye. I couldn't resist squeezing her bottom, and felt the growing wet patch. I decided against any Christmas shopping and drove home an hour later.

The house was empty when I got there. I guessed my wife must be out doing her own Christmas shopping. Around eleven thirty I started to knock up some lunch. The front door opened just as it was ready. She removed her coat, revealing a red dress.

"Michelle! Perfect timing! New dress?"

"Yes, I thought it would be suitable for the office party as they're holding it at the Hilton."

"And you wore it home."

"Why not. Do you like it?"

"Love it."

She kissed me, and I ran my hand over the material.

"No bra? You bad girl!"

"Worse than you think, sit down a moment, and I'll show you how bad I've been while you were away."

I sat on a chair and she backed up to me, raised her dress, and bent forward. I could smell the sex on her before her cream thong came into view. It had disappeared between her buttocks. She reached back and pulled it down to her stocking tops. The gusset was frankly revolting; full of old cum and brown smears. And the smell was unmistakable. I wondered how she'd had the nerve to change into this dress, in the shop.

"You dirty bitch! What have you been doing while I was away?"

"I'll give you a clue. You won't be getting any anal for a couple of days; I'm too sore. I'll just pop to the bathroom and have a quick shower first. You serve the salmon and open the champagne. Then I'll tell you all about it! By the way, did you know you used to have gambling debts?"