There have been a few horny experiences in hotels down the years – especially with my ex-husband, who regular readers will know was pretty much obsessed with wanting to see (and film) me having sex with other men. I have always been quite horny though (as regular readers will know), and I agreed willingly to most things he suggested. Some were a real turn-on, some fell short of what I wanted. But all were worthwhile.
I remember once we had a long weekend in London, staying at a West End hotel. After a late-morning return to our room, we were talking about getting a room service guy to come and fuck me, about filming it, about me buying tied up so that he could have me whatever way he wanted. We were led on the bed swapping ideas and images, hands between each others legs, rubbing, panting possibilities into each others' ears as our minds raced.
Steve reached across to the phone and ordered a couple more bottles of champagne. "Let's see who comes up," he said.
When the knock came I staggered over to the door to check out my quarry. I looked through the peep-hole. It was a middle-aged black guy, not in bad shape, the night porter we had staggered past half an hour earlier. I turned to Steve and made a 'come ci, come ca' kind of sign with my hand, and opened the door behind me to let him in.
"Champagne madam ... sir?" he said as he pushed a trolley into the room. I checked him out as he opened and poured the bubbly. He would do, if he wanted to of course. He left politely and closed the door behind him.
"Could be worse," I said. "And of course he could potentially be huge down below." I grinned as Steve began setting up the camcorder.
"Shall we go for it then?" asked Steve. "Go and put something nice on... Here take some champers," he said passing me a bottle.
I took my bag into the bathroom and had root round. First I tidied up my face – the make-up wasn't great after petting with Steve all night – then I stripped off, throwing everything into the bath. I pulled on a pair of black hold-up stockings, complete with a deep lacy top, like six inches' worth, and put on a black see-through baby-doll negligee. Perfect. I pulled the handcuffs from the bottom of the bag and waltzed back into the room to show Steve.
He was stood, glass in hand, and gave me a growl when he saw me. "No one could resist," he said. "Can you spot the camera?"
I had a quick look round the room. I had to admit I couldn't. It was in the mini-bar, filming through the gap in the slightly opened doors. "I've had a test," he said. "It'll pick you up fine if you stay on the bed."
"Well I won't have much choice if you get on with it," I said dangling the cuffs in his direction. I lay on the bed, arms above and he clicked the cuffs on me, wrapped around the iron bars of the bed's head. He gave me a kiss on the lips and his hand groped between my legs, searching to see how wet I had got. I squirmed wanting more, but he moved away and smiled at me.
"Good luck." With that he grabbed his coat, and made for the door, leaving it ajar for my visitor. He had planned to go to reception and ask the guy to arrange for a bottle of water to be taken up for me, handing him a decent tip while doing so. I just had to lie in wait, my thighs rubbing together subconsciously as I waited for my dawn treat, all sorts of fantastic images running through my head mixed with healthy trepidation.
It was nearly 10 minutes before the knock on the door came. I hadn't thought what I should initially do, say "come in" or play hard to get? He knocked again.
"Hello, madam? Your water?" He pushed the door slightly. "Anyone there?"
I stayed silent – surely he would check inside. "Hello?" Someone else walked down the corridor and I heard the two men muffle "hello" to each other. The footsteps faded and there was silence. I called a tentative hello. Silence. The bastard had gone. I craned my neck to look over at the door. He had put the bottle of water just inside the room and gone back downstairs. Great. We had to pick a shy one.
I let out a resigned sigh. Steve would be back in an hour, I might as well have some kip. Not much else I could do. I led there and shouted a token, drunken "fuck" to help relieve a little of the frustration and closed my eyes, willing myself to dream all that I had missed out on in the flesh.
Somewhere in the no-man's land between wake and sleep I heard a noise, the door was opening. I looked over and the outline of a man slid past the door, kicking over my water as he did. It was no hotel employee, just another guest by the looks of it.
"Well, what do we have here?" he smiled. He was older, in his 50s, and thin. He had a suit on but it was in a slightly dishevelled state after whatever night out he had enjoyed.
