When Inga and her friends returned to their hotel is was close to 2AM. She was tired, both from the number of pastel-colored drinks she'd consumed and from gently--and then, not so gently--informing a number of guys at the bar that she wouldn't be going home with him tonight. Under normal circumstances she might've given in, fucked one of them, left him exhausted and moaning and covered in sweat. But not after the day she'd just had. Not after the man she'd met today.
She and her giggling friends walked down the hall, talking about the night's events, though Inga still hadn't told any of them about the man who fondled her to orgasm that afternoon, the man who had ejaculated into her mouth at the bar. And she remembered that he said that their little encounter wasn't over yet, and that he'd "see her tonight". But how was that possible? It was 2AM. He'd left the bar shortly before her group did. And when he did leave, he hadn't so much as looked over at her. She wondered if what he said was just talk. And then she remembered his hands on her, all over her, how strong and confident and skilled, and knew that he wasn't just talk.
She reached in her purse for the keycard to open her door. And couldn't find it. She rummaged around, sure she'd brought it with her...but it wasn't in her purse. "Oh, shit," she said, and one of her friends asked what was the matter. "I don't have my card," she said.
They gathered around as she searched once again, and then one of her friends said, "Maybe it fell out when that guy knocked your purse on the floor."
And Inga felt butterflies take wing in her belly. "What guy?"
"This guy came to the bar to get a drink, he bumped your purse with his elbow. Maybe it fell out when it hit the floor."
Inga nodded. "I'll call the bar tomorrow, maybe they found it." She swallowed. "What did the guy look like?"
"He was cute. Pretty blue eyes, he had a nice smile. He apologized for being klutzy. But he didn't seem to interested in us, he was there with a big group of people."
Inga nodded, and said good night to her friends as she took the elevator down to the lobby. She explained to the clerk what happened and the girl said she'd have a new card made up. Inga slowly looked around to see if he was waiting there in the lobby. He wasn't. She was excited and as her nipples slowly hardened she had to fight the urge to touch them.
"Here you go," the clerk said. "There will be a $10 charge if you can't find the original..."
"Oh, I'm sure I just left it in the room," Inga said with a smile. "I'll return the extra tomorrow morning."
She went up to her room, stripped, and fought the urge to masturbate. She knew, she KNEW, he'd come to see her tonight. She wanted to be ready for him, for whatever he had ready for her.
She thought about running a bath, but she was afraid he might come when she was in the bathroom. A bath together would be delicious...but it wasn't big enough. She turned down the lights and lay down on the cool, white sheets. The air conditioner hummed, the bed was soft, and despite herself, despite the excitement and anxiety, she felt herself falling asleep. And a few moments later, she was asleep.
How long she slept she didn't know. She heard the soft "click" at her door, saw a sliver of light cross the room as the door open and closed. She was wide awake now, frightened but aroused, as footsteps sounded and a large figure appeared at the foot of the bed.
"You're awake?" he asked in a soft voice.
"Yes."
"Good," he said, and she heard him set something heavy down on the dresser. Then she saw him pull his shirt up over his head, heard him unzip and step out of his shorts, and then his boxers.
"I hope my lip prints didn't cause you any problems tonight," she said nervously.
"They did," he said as he gently seized her ankles and pulled her hips to the edge of the bed.
Inga tried to keep her voice from breaking. "With that girl you were talking to?"
"Mmm-hmm." He went down on his knees between her splayed legs. "She wanted me to fuck her, but how could I, with your lipstick all over me. Plus I'd just come like a gusher and wasn't much in the mood."
"So what did you do?" Inga asked, biting her lower lip in anticipation of what must be coming.
"I did this." And his lips brushed the outer lips of her pulsating vagina. He didn't go at her right away, he took his time, as he always too his time. His tongue traced a wet line along the inside of her left thigh, and then across her pubic bone to her right thigh.
His tongue gently touched the tip of her clitoris. "You made her come?" Inga gasped.
"Of course," he answered, before returing his attention to her thighs.
"And you didn't come yourself?"
He paused and looked up at her. "You think I'd be content to ejaculate inside anyone but you?" He shook his head as if her question was silly--and his tongue brushed against her clitoris, and this time he didn't pull away.
Inga had to stay quiet, because her friends were sleeping in the rooms on either side. But she wanted to scream. She wanted to SCREAM because he was giving her head and it was so good, so fucking GOOD, that screaming was the only way she could burn off the crackling energy throbbing throughout her body. His lips surrounded her clitoris and his tongue moved in slow circles that made her entire body turn to jelly. His fingertips gently stroked her thighs and he made gentle, "mmm...mmm" sounds that drove her nearly insane.
She leaned forward to run her fingers through his soft hair, pulling his face deeper into her groin, and his hands reached up and filled themselves with her heavy breasts. His fingers found her nipples and that was all Inga needed, she closed her eyes, bit her lip, and trembled from head to toe as a titanic orgasm thundered through her body. His tongue didn't stop as she climaxed, driving her to greater and greater peaks of ecstasy, until she was whimpering and struggling not to scream. But just as her clitoris became too sensitive, just when the pleasure turned to discomfort, he pulled his mouth away. He sat up. And Inga saw that he was hugely erect, his cock pointed straight her her opening.
"Yes, yes," she said as he mounted her. "Yes," she said, scuttling back on the bed to give him more room. Yes, he was going to fuck her now, his penis would be inside her vagina and he would stroke it in and out of her until she lost her mind and he lost his resolve and poured himself inside her. Yes, yes, yes...
But he didn't pause to insert himself. He kept crawling forward, until he was sitting lightly on her stomach. "Wait," she said, wanting him to move down and fuck her, but now she saw that he had something in his hand, he'd picked it up off the dresser and he popped the cap on it and tipped it forward. The voluptuous smell of baby oil filled her nostrils, and he poured the buttery liquid all over her breasts. She arched her back as he drizzled oil over her nipples, down her cleavage, down her neck, on her shoulders. He snapped the cap shut and put the bottle down and used both hands to smooth the oil all over her skin. Inga lifted her arms over her head and let him caress her, the oil making her skin slick and pliant and fragrant.
She knew what was coming. He grabbed the bottle, poured more oil between her breasts, tossed the bottle aside, and rose up on his hips. He gently squeezed her breasts together and used his thumb to force his bobbing erection between her oily pillows.
And then he began thrusting, titty-fucking her mammouth breasts with his cock. Inga looked up and saw his powerful frame silhouetted against the wall, his hips rocking back and forth as he stroked his cock between her breasts. "I've wanted to do this since the moment I saw you on the beach," he said through clenched teeth.
"You could have in the shower stall," Inga said. He shook his head. "That was all about giving you pleasure," he answered, and Inga moaned at the memory of his soapy hands roving over her body. And then she moaned as his oily thumbs began twiddling her nipples in rhythm with his hips.
A few times his thrusting became too frantic and he popped out. "My cock isn't quite long enough for this," he said, almost apologizing.
