The Hotel

The quiet whisper of the evening breeze gently ruffled the curtains as she stood at the French windows. Looking down on the moonlit lawn that sloped away from the swimming pool below, she could just make out small movements. As her eyes adjusted to the moonlight she saw that there were perhaps a dozen rabbits loping around, grazing on the lush grass that fringed the manicured lawns.

The Grand Hotel did boast some grand views across its seemingly endless grounds. The views led everyone who stayed there to forget that they were in the middle of the Surrey stockbroker belt. It looked for all the world as though the hotel was in the middle of a quiet, verdant forest, away from the rush and bustle of everyday life.

The moon's rays washed over her and past her into the darkened bedroom, picking out the luxurious four-poster bed and next to it, the elegant chaise lounge.

She heard the door to the room open. It was he at last. She had returned to their room before he did, leaving him in the restaurant bar talking to the friendly bar staff about local attractions that they could seek out in the morning. As she rose to go upstairs, she had whispered in his ear, "Just give me ten minutes...."

It seemed much longer than ten minutes when she finally heard the door open, but a glance at her wrist told her he was right on time. The door closed and he was lost in the blackness. She turned to look out over the grounds again and placed both hand lightly on the wrought iron balcony.

She did not hear his footsteps, but she could feel his presence in the room. His silent movements heightened her anticipation and when she finally felt his breath on her neck, she leaned back to ensure some contact.

The first touch she felt was when his hands lightly brushed the skin of her bare shoulders. A feather-like touch, as though he were exploring her skin for the first time. His hands ran softly down her arms to her elbows where they paused. His hands moved to her waist as his lips lightly kissed her shoulder. For a fraction of a second she felt the heat of his breath on her shoulder before the lips touched her.

She could hear, as well as feel, his hands move over the intricate brocade of her evening gown. As his hands held her firmly at the waist, his kisses started on one shoulder and moved in a delightful pattern across her back to the other shoulder and then up to where her hair was swept upwards into a confection of wisps and swirls that accentuated the elegant line of her neck.

Then nothing.... He was gone. Her eyelids that had slowly closed as she savoured the caress of his lips now snapped open. All her senses reached out for him. Then the touch came. He must have knelt behind her, for she felt his hands at the back of each ankle. Her eyelids slowly closed again as she relaxed, and her head angled back, lifting her face to the moonlight. His hands, with fingers pointed downwards, slowly traced the seams of her stockings up to the calf of each leg. She knew that he could go no further because the slit at the back of the gown stopped just below the knee. She wondered what he would do next, where he would go next.

He was standing again, and his hands went to the clasps of her gown in the centre of her back. She arched her shoulders to make it easier for him and she wanted him to hurry. But he took his time. He unclipped the hooks and eyes in his own time, to his own rhythm. It became a delightful torture that she had come to expect from him. He always took longer than she wanted, but somehow it was always just right.

The silky lining eased the passage of the gown over her hips to the floor. She wondered if the pause that followed meant that his eyes were taking in the sight of her in the moonlight. She had carefully chosen the black lace basque to create the maximum effect. She knew that it showed off the curves of her hips perfectly.

In the ten minutes before he came to the room she had removed the thong that came with the basque, deciding that she could do without the awkward phase of stepping out of it as he slid it down her legs.

He was indeed feasting his eyes on the sight before him. He was almost startled by the beauty of what he saw. The moonlight reflected off the glass of the open French doors and bathed her body in subtle tones of gentle light. The two globes of her buttocks were highlighted to the point where he could see the perfect contours curving smoothly out from the severity of the basque, round and down to the lace tops of her stockings. She always wore her stockings high on her legs, so that they almost touched her sweet derriere. This always accentuated the length of her legs, and he was devoted to that sight.

She heard an almost imperceptible sigh as he knelt again, his hands touching her ankles once more. This time his fingers slowly traced the seams of her stockings up to the top of her legs, then across her buttocks to her waist. She felt his breath on her neck once more and she leaned back to feel the strength of his body behind her. As his hand moved upwards, she relinquished her grip on the balcony and reached back as far as possible till she could pull him against her. She loved the hardness of his body. She always felt that she wanted to melt into him, become fused to him as though they were one entity. Her naked derriere pressed firmly against his groin and she experienced that thrill of finding his erection. Her hands moved rapidly to get at this trouser fastenings, but he swiftly pinned both wrists with one of his hands as he simultaneously nipped at her neck with his teeth and slid his other hand over one breast.

She was imprisoned there for a second as she felt the shivers of delight course through her neck and back. As his hand slid down over the top slope of one breast, she was frozen in anticipation of the ecstasy she knew would come when he found the nipple.

He had had many lovers, but she knew of no other man who could make her feel this way. He sensed that she adored the way he stroked her nipples. He never played with them as her previous lovers did. He explored them. Each time he touched her breasts it was almost a new voyage of discovery. His fingertips would lightly surround the nipples and he seemed to delight in the sensation he felt from the different textures of the skin; the breast itself and the darkened area around the nipple, each different to the nipple itself. Sometimes, he noticed, the areole was raised with tiny goose bumps. He savoured the different textures before he would reach for the nipple. This always had the desired effect of making the nipple more erect, and much more sensitive to his touch.

He regarded her nipples as something sacred, beautiful in themselves. They needed caressing, stroking, almost encouraging to burst forward to declare the joyous sensations that they felt. His middle finger and thumb slid slowly either side of the now engorged nipple and with the smallest of pressure he started to stroke the length away from her body, as though he were trying to elongate it. The stroking action became rhythmic, and always away from her body. Her head was now leaning back on his shoulder as his increased the rhythm of his strokes. He knew, she knew, that her first orgasm was imminent. He increased the pressure of his fingers, his nibbling bites on her shoulder and neck became stronger. Her hands, released from his grip sought his hard penis and tried to grip it through the silkiness of his suit trousers. She felt the ripples of pleasure in her breast connect directly to her sexual centre and she could do nothing to stop the rising climax. Her mouth had opened as her head had tilted back onto his shoulder and she guessed he could hear her now rapid breathing. A low moan started in the back of her throat, but it came out as a whimper as the beautiful drug of sex exploded from the base of her brain into her bloodstream. Her whole body shuddered as the orgasm swept over her.

He knew she must rest for a while to allow the wonderful waves of pleasure to wash over and though her body. He held her tightly to him, for she had truly gone weak at the knees. Her head moved off of his shoulder and hung forward for a while, like an athlete who has just run a fast race. His arm round her waist felt firm and reassuring as it supported her.

As the waves receded she turned, placing her arms round his neck and kissing him deeply, like it was the first time. She never knew whether she was trying to eat him or kiss him, but that first kiss after an orgasm always contained the feeling that she should devour him, so that they would become one, and she would never let him go.

He gently led her by the hand across the plush carpet to the chaise lounge. The night had just begun...........