Winy-Din

If we'd been sticking to the classic cliché, we should have been having a smoke break. Instead, Charles sat up against the wall at the head of the bed, while I sat, in all my naked glory, on the single chair. We were sharing a little half-bottle of white wine from the mini-bar, sipping out of the ubiquitous motel room tumblers. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, until it was softy broken by the rhythmic thumping of, most assuredly, a bed against the wall of the room next door.

I laughed. "Sounds like we're not the only ones misbehaving;" although my not-completely-subdued-conscience still wondered, "Why am I, Marcie MacCallaster, whom, at forty-seven years old, still claims to be happily married and madly in love with my husband--why am I misbehaving?" No! Scratch that. Let's call a spade a spade! (or as one dear old friend used to say, back in the day, "Let's call a spade a fucking shovel!") Regardless, why am I cheating on a husband that I love to bits? I honestly don't know. It just happened to happen, and, being rather enjoyable--as well as, so I deluded myself, risk-free--it slipped into habit.

I first met Charles Phillips at an advancement / promotion party for my very bestest girlfriend, Patsy. He worked--works in her office, as a commercial mortgage broker. I'm an Executive officer of a successful financial organization, and whether us both being in the big-money business had anything to do with it or not, we really hit it off--good chemistry at the very least! After bumping into him a seemingly inordinate number of times while mingling in the throng, and chatting at length at each meeting, he surprised the hell out of me by suggesting; "Can I take you to lunch some day?"

I looked at him askance. "Even though we're both married?"

He gave me a mischievous grin. "I won't tell if you don't."

Now, it just so happened that Garrett, my hubby, would be away on business for the next couple weeks. He works for the government in some 'need-to-know' capacity, and I, his long-suffering wife, doesn't, apparently, even remotely come close to needing-to-know. In any case, his job requires that he travel a lot. And I can generally keep myself amused; in what little spare time I have. So, I hesitated for a few moments, then, feeling just a tiny bit naughty, said, "What the hell!" We made a date for the following Friday.

That first lunch, at a hotel restaurant midway between our offices was flirty and suggestive--filled with innuendo; and a shitload of fun. He had me laughing, hysterically, right through the meal. It was, surprisingly, most enjoyable!

For some reason, I didn't say anything to hubby when he phoned that evening. But Charles and I had agreed to meet again for lunch, in a couple or three weeks. By the third lunch, over the next couple months, we were getting increasingly touchy and lewd; however, it was only the fourth time we'd met, when, out of the blue, Charles asked if we could maybe, meet for dinner the following Friday. He said his wife, Lenore, was away on business--again.

She, it turns out, works for a large law firm, as an immigration lawyer, and is away a lot. Just to simplify things, I informed Garrett who would also be, coincidently, away on business--again, that week, that I might not get home that Friday until late due to an important meeting.

A little bit cautiously apprehensive--on my part, at least--we met after work Friday, at an upscale Surf and Turf restaurant attached to a swanky downtown hotel. Once seated, however, Martini in hand, I found the situation--circumstances, location, and company to be not at all intimidating. Indeed, Charles' light conversation was so pleasant, that I quickly relaxed, and enjoyed the soothing atmosphere of an exquisite meal. So much so that, when, in the middle of the very companionable dinner, Charles said quietly, "I took the liberty of booking a room," I didn't immediately respond.

I just stared at Charles for a moment, fork poised, then following his cue, just went on as normal. While we continued to chat, the rest of the meal was a bit of a fog. We declined dessert, and Charles suggested, sounding oh-so innocent, that we take our after-dinner digestif in his room. "It has a well-stocked mini-bar." Feeling strangely odd and removed, I simply nodded.

We rose calmly, and, though I was still rather stunned, we shared a mischievous grin, as I allowed him to usher me into the lobby and through to the bank of elevators with a studied decorum that, in my case, anyway, felt rather contrived. As we exited the elevator, Charles took my hand and guided me along the corridor to room 1717.

As the door quietly latched closed behind us, I turned to face him, but before I could even formulate the question, "What now" he was on me. He pulled me into a passionate kiss, his lips, puffy and wet, crushed against mine, moving about like he was trying to ingest me--swallow me whole, python-like. In fact, his arms around me--one hand behind my head, the other arm around my back--felt rather python-ish as well.

Initially I held my lips closed tight, resisting his attempted intrusion. His insistent tongue knocked and poked and pried, trying to gain entry into my mouth. The part of my brain that knew this was wrong must have, somehow, been switched to standby. I wasn't really thinking; just reacting. Slowly I relented, batting and pushing his tongue-tip with my own, as it emerged between my lips and into my mouth, swiping tentatively across my teeth. As Charles gradually gained further access, our tongue-interaction took on more of a choreography--twisting and caressing and fencing--until we were both fully involved in full-contact tonsil-hockey. It had been over twenty years since I had rubbed my tongue over someone's--besides my husband's--soft palate. There was a sort of novel delight to it--an illicit thrill. Actively sucking face, our grip on one another slackened slightly.

Suddenly, we were tearing at each other's clothing like a couple of teenagers, trying desperately to maintain our lip-lock; stumbling back towards bed, and leaving a trail of strewn clothing puddled on the floor. I flopped onto my back, hands against his shoulders, gazing up at him, in a way, challenging the inevitable. Charles paused for the briefest of moments, holding himself over me. But the instant our eyes met he stabbed himself fully into me--slipping in with ease, my vagina already flowing in anticipation. My legs, reflexively, flew up and locked tight over his lower back.

The sharp smack of his groin against my butt armed, in me, an ignition sequence--an inexorable ascent towards climax. As the fury of a massive orgasm overwhelmed me, my head snapped violently from side to side, and through the exploding shards of my awareness, I felt Charles' hard-on get impossibly harder. Bucking and vibrating, I pulled him firmly and deeply into me, as my heels, by turns, dug into his quivering back, and played a quickstep tattoo on his sacrum, until he exploded within the tight confines of my vagina, with an amazingly powerful ejaculation. Held in virtually immobile by my spasming pussy muscles, he juddered and jerked, jetting volley after volley of hot liquor into my welcoming twat, filling me to overflowing. His panting and puffing played counterpoint to my high-pitched squeals--until we sounded like the soundtrack to a television wildlife program.

Eventually the paralysis of orgasm released between my legs, and the marvelously exquisite sensations calmed and quelled. Dropping my feet from his back, I allowed Charles to roll off me and lie at my side for a spell--as I silently mused. I realized that it was the current circumstances as much as anything that were so incredibly arousing; the naughtiness I was perpetrating.

I had not been a virgin bride--not by any means--when I'd married, twenty some-odd years ago, but the sum total of my previous experience had been, more or less, simply adolescent rutting. The only adult experience I'd ever had was with my husband, under the parameters of consummated marriage. This was my first ever extra-marital fling. But, boy; what an introduction!

I was still trying to gather my pieces--still trying to reassemble myself, when Charles rolled back onto me and began sucking and nibbling my tits--one with his lips and tongue, with a hand clasping under the boob, holding it steady; the other with the busy fingers of my free hand twiddling and pinching--switching sides randomly. I could not believe the depth of pleasure that filled my chest with sparks and arcs, boiling up my spine to flare, once again, behind my eyes! His worshiping of my breasts went on and on, accumulating erotic energy until I could barely stand it--wishing he would stop and hoping like mad that he wouldn't! Writhing beneath him, I mewed and moaned inarticulately. Almost imperceptibly, his one steadying hand slipped down to gently stroke--pet, really--my dripping pussy. I gasped when he dipped a finger into my quim. As he drew his fingertip up in search of my clit--a successful search, I might add--my breath seemed to catch in my throat. A powerful current of arousal sparkled from my puffy clitoris, filling my body with heat and electricity--flashing pinpoint lights escaping through my eyes in random twinkles.

Lifting his head abruptly, Charles seemed to magically glide down my body in order to sink his face into my vee. The explosion of sensation fomented by his tongue and lips stroking my furrow and licking my clit, was almost more than I could bear. As I convulsed on the bed, under his savage stimulation, he carried me swiftly to yet another climax. Somehow, I was able to slither out from under him, escaping, for the moment, his persistent arousal. Rolling him onto his back, I proceeded to swing a leg over him, and drop my dripping cunt over his waggling hard-on. With a breathy "ride 'em cowgirl" my energetic bouncing took us on a fairly short ride to another incredibly satisfying simultaneous orgasm.

Flopping, enervated, off his abdomen, and onto the bed next to him, I asked, innocently enough, "Ever done this before?"

"Once or twice." It was so obvious that he was, if not actually fibbing, then downplaying the truth; but I chose to let it go as I got off the bed to get us a drink, donning one of the room's complimentary robes while I was at it.

Sipping at a beverage as we took a bit of a break, between sessions, as it were, I stepped up to the window and drew open both the black-out curtains and the sheers. Standing there, in the plush robe, gazing out the window high above the older buildings of the next block, I noticed a movement in an upper-floor window of the tower across the way. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. The couple in the window were having doggie-style sex.

"Wow!" I said, gesturing for Charles to come and see. Still naked, he stepped behind me as, fascinated, I watched the other couple in the window of their hotel, the better part of a block away. "Look at that. They're fucking right there, for all to see!" Without taking my eyes off the spectacle, I asked him, "Ever seen that before?" Interestingly, my pussy began to seriously tingle as I watched.

"Oh, yeah. Generally only in upper floors, and usually either doggie-style or blowjob." Charles sounded unimpressed.

Giggling like a school-girl, I turned, leaving my back to the view, shucked my robe, and crouched to take Charles' already rising cock in hand--manually lining him up with my suddenly salivating mouth--lining him up for some enthusiastic fellatio. Doing it in front of an audience seemed to titillate and enflame my ardour; Charles' too, if his rigidity was any indication.

I leaned in to taste the precum oozing from his plum, and at the first taste, pushed my mouth firmly onto his twitching shaft. I had him fully engulfed by my third push, and began, right away, give him energetic, frenetic head--crouched, as I was, in the window, high above the street. Charles cupped the back of my head as if supporting my efforts, but before he blew, he lifted me by my armpits, and giving me a sizzling kiss, snaked his arms around my thighs, his hands naturally cupping my glutes. In that way he lifted me off my feet, my back still to the window, and carefully lowered me onto his erection. It was, effectively, one long slow in-stroke that ignited a burning arousal as his trembling shaft eased into me, until I hung, fully supported by his peg. Stepping forward to keep his balance, as my legs circled his hips, he shoved my ass against the glass. Without a pause he set to fucking me hard and fast. I could feel my butt cheeks squelching on the class like an animated pressed ham!

Although I couldn't see the competition, I breathlessly pestered Charles for updates. "The neighbours--unhh--are they still..., er... fucking?"

"Oh, yeah. Ahh! Nnnggghh .... They've picked up the pace!"

"Oooohh. Oh.... They still doing doggie-style?"

"Sorta... Oh, Christ! I'm getting close! She's climbing the glass."

"Oh, fuck!"

"He's slamming, now! She's pressed against the glass--hands and cheeks."

"Oh fuck," I could feel my climax erupting. Starting in my butt, and expanding into my cunt before rushing through my chest and exploding around my brain! "I'm cuuummmmiiing!" My squishy bum cheeks spread my love juices all over the window, as Charles pushed in savagely, then froze, to pump his cum into me, as deeply as he could.

"Oh! Oh! Oooohh!" Breathlessly, Charles continued as his orgasm faded. "Oh. He's rammed in and stopped. He must be cumming! She looks like she's cumming, too--screaming against the glass, and pawing!"

As we regained our composure, we tumbled back onto the bed, still panting; still giggling. Then Charles sat up a cleared his throat. "I think," he began, rather pedantically, "we'll have to give it to them:" gesturing out beyond, "The Best Public Sex in a Hotel Window; for while I believe we all got there at the same time, they were both facing out. We'll have to do better next time." He couldn't quite finish his sentence without breaking into a laugh.

I pointed out that it was our third pair of simultaneous orgasms in one afternoon. On that note, we ordered room service dinner, and I let Charles convince me to stay the night: May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb!

Oddly enough, at bedtime, we lay apart staring at the ceiling, and stumbling through inane small talk until we fell asleep. I slept very well--and so, apparently, did Charles. We woke up in a tangle, together, not, I told myself, in love, or even, at that point in the morning, in lust. It was a little bit weird, but seemed to become benign once we'd order coffee and pastries from room service, for brecky. I opened the door to the room service waiter in my floppy, untied hotel robe. On a naughty whim, I accidentally/on purpose flashed him, throwing him an innocent smile and a wink, as he left.

We enjoy the room service coffee, sitting up in bed, chatting about nothing--nothings--like old friends or, perhaps--though I hate to think, this being our very first morning in one another's company--an old married couple. Once I finished my first cuppa, I drew the curtains and sheers open, and stepped to the window, still in my robe. I remember thinking that I really needed to clean the smudges off the window before the housekeeping staff get there. At the same time, I thought, with some warped sense of pride, that it was a pretty big smear! A movement outside caused me to shift my focus, and, to my surprise, another Doppelganger stepped up in her robe, having just opened their drapes.

She was not the same woman, I'm sure-- not the same hair colour; not the same window; not even the same floor; nonetheless, she was in a window of the same neighbouring tower. She lifted her head slightly, and, despite the distance, made eye contact with me. I could feel her gaze holding mine. Very slowly, and deliberately, she peeled back one side of her robe, flashing her boob, and leaving it exposed for a few long moments. I don't know why, but I understood her actions to be a challenge. "Okay, sweetie," I murmured, under my breath. I folded back one lapel of the robe and, hefting my tit, pressed it firmly against the glass.

As she began to respond, baring both boobs, I muttered, "Game on, Baby," and shrugged my robe off completely, pushing my full frontal up against the window. Then, slowly, as gracefully as I could, I brought my right hand up to my breast, while dropping my left hand onto my pussy, engaging both in a subtle but noticeable (or so I hoped) fondling caress. I watched as my neighbour copied my self-caress.

Curious, Charles came up behind me, and, correctly sussing out the situation, took over--reaching around to grasp my boob with his big hand, he pulled me tight against his chest, his erect nipples pressing into my back. Then, of course, with his other hand, he pushed in, insinuating his fingers into my bush, stroking and poking and twiddling and twirling, taking over with expert manipulation and stimulation.

Across the way, my fellow performer turned momentarily, apparently calling over her shoulder. Her partner appeared out of the gloaming of their room, and hugged her from behind, one hand on a boob, the other cupping her snatch.

Charles began to kiss and snuzzle, his kisses trailing down my neck, as his lower hand came up to claim my other breast; now grasping, squeezing, and generally mauling both my boobs. He was naked, against me. His growing erection bounced and twitched between my thighs, so I reached down, and began to stroke him rigid. Once more, he slid a hand down onto my puffy pussy. His palm resting in my bush, he began to draw his fingers up and down my furrow, dipping fingers randomly into my well-lubricated vagina.

So, there we were, standing right in the window--showing off to our exhibitionist cohorts who were doing pretty much the same thing. I let go of Charles' woodie to raise my arms--hands flat on the window, boobs pressed against glass. Flexing my hips, I pushed back in an attempt to capture Charles. And I did. He entered me swiftly, stabbing with his lance. Making my sense sparkle and flutter, charging my elevated arousal. I closed my eyes and swiveled my hips, throwing my bottom back to meet his thrusts; engulfing and gripping his wooden shaft. I could feel the rumbling of an orgasmic ignition sequence deep in my fundament.

Peering through slit eyelids, I saw the other couple still at it--seeming to mirror us. Furthermore, I noticed in another suite, the sheers held open a crack--additional spectators were apparently watching us from slightly back of the glass.

As my climax built, expanding, and pressurizing my gut, I suspected my double and her partner were approaching crisis, too. She appeared to be slamming the window, pressing her cheek against the glass, pressing her hands up to cushion the violence of the thrusts.

I believed her eyes were open, and the idea of spectators watching us further fired up my arousal. Dropping his hands to my hips, with a low, dangerous growl, Charles pulled my butt tight into his groin, and let go several shots deep into my cunt. At the feel of the liquid heat flooding my innards, a strangled scream rose to my mouth, releasing, as a keening howl--the harbinger of the extra-strong, extra-long climax that ripped right through me, leaving me pressed limply against the glass, hanging from Charles' cock. As he finally pulled out, I slowly slithered slid down the window, collapsing boneless on the floor. Across the way, the naked bodies had apparently pulled back, away from the windows, too.

Initially I thought our--what? affair, tryst, indiscretion--would be a one-off. I mean, it was good, but, hey, all sex was good--pretty much. It really wasn't any better than what I got at home. Yet, somehow it was 'way more thrilling, more titillating.