The Conference

Ever since I left Terminator, my relationship with Mr. Jones has blossomed. Spiritually, emotionally and sexually we are closer than ever. This doesn’t mean that I want to be tied down exclusively, but as I’ve said before, the love is worth me trying. And I’m trying really, really hard.

He must feel this somehow because his dick has been in a constant state of wood for weeks. Glory Hallelujah.

We’ve been fucking each other senseless for weeks. Our hunger has steadily increased, but we can’t always sate it. Life, distance and circumstances limit our time together, but we figured out how to squeeze some extra time together during the week.

Sometimes we meet in the middle of the workday because we just have to have each other. We’ll get a room in a small hotel and have at each other for anywhere between 30 and 90 minutes. Sometimes we don’t even take off our clothes. We fuck, we come and we’re back out on the street in less than an hour, sometimes in less than 30 minutes. It’s glorious.

It started accidentally one weekday afternoon that we were both free. We went to a luncheon that I had been invited to attend that was partly networking and partly me stalking people I wanted to pitch to in the future. I remembered I had the tickets and I was glad to be able to take him with me.

We were seated at a table for ten, and slid into our chairs while we introduced ourselves and shook hands with everyone. Shortly the “event” began with speeches and presentations (fascinating. I’m being sarcastic). Servers arrived with food (pretty decent) and drinks, we had fun and as always, I’m impressed with Mr. Jones’ intelligence and breadth of knowledge. At a table of people in an industry he wasn’t involved in, he managed to get into some pretty interesting discussions. Brains. The best panty-ripper known to man. That and humor.

Just before the coffee and desert was served I stood to go to the bathroom. “I’ll be right back,” I said. Mr. Jones gave me a look. I knew that look, and it didn’t belong at this luncheon.

I continue to the bathroom with a little smile on my face, wondering when the hell Mr Jones got so horny. He’s been the perfect gentleman the entire afternoon. Other than placing his hand on my thigh a couple of times under the table, he hasn’t touched me or indicated the hard-on I just saw in his eyes. When did this happen?

When I return to the table he stands as I sit down and then bends down and whispers in my ear: “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.” and walks away. I almost spilled my coffee. I heard the gravel in his whisper and I knew I was in trouble.

I turned to look after him and I realize that he’s not going in the direction of the bathrooms, he’s going out to the hotel lobby. Huh? Wait. Is he getting a room? I can hardly stand the suspense. Just thinking about it makes me flush and I start fanning myself with my hand and sip some ice water.

“Are you OK?” asks the man to my left, who notices my discomfiture.

“Yes, I’m fine, the coffee burned me a little. It’s nothing.”

As with most of these business things, just when you start enjoying yourself another jerk has to take the podium and send you into a coma. My entire table ignored this development and we continued our own conversations sotto voce. Much more productive.

I noticed his return because of the heat he gave off when he sat next to me. I glanced over at him. He looked straight at the podium and downed a glass of ice water. Then he sat back in his seat and looked at me. The fire in his eyes made me glance at his crotch. There seemed to be some sort of baton stuck there. My my.

It was torture waiting for the luncheon to end. We didn’t touch and barely looked at each other until the lunch ended. Mr. Jones took my arm and lead me firmly out of the hall into the lobby of the hotel and to an elevator bank. There were other people in our elevator so we were silent until we got off on the 23rd floor. His hand didn’t leave my arm as we walked down the dim corridor. He was on a mission. I was excited but silent.

Suddenly he shoves me against the wall and kisses me with so much heat and desire I feel myself open up right there. His hands are all over me and I feel a wave of heat so strong my knees buckle. I just melted into that kiss like butter on toast. I wanted to wrap my legs around him, but he has other ideas.

He breaks the kiss and in one swift move scoops my tits out of my bra and dress. My dress was a wrap dress with a deep V-neck that I loved. He squeezed my tits and bent down to suck my nipples. That’s when I thought I would slide down the wall.

His hands squeezing my tits, his mouth tugs insistently at one nipple, then another until I’m moaning and my pussy is aching for his cock. I pull him up to my mouth and softly bite him into a kiss while I grind against his cock, which feels like a rock in his pants. He moans and his hand move down to my ass which he squeezes so hard I moan into his mouth. I throw my  arms around his neck and wrap my legs around him as he lifts me against his cock by my but cheeks.

His hot soft kiss, his woodsy aftershave, the brush of his suit against my bare breasts were all driving me mad but I broke the kiss.

“Let’s go in the room,” I panted. We were still in the hallway. Our room was a couple of doors away.

“Here. Now.” he said.

His voice is hard.

He let me stand while he unzipped his pants and I dropped my wet panties on the floor. His cock was huge and hard to the touch.

“Is all that for me?” I asked as he lifted me and pushed me against the wall.

“Every inch of it,” he whispered, sliding into my hot wetness like a shark through water.

“Oh my god,” I whimpered. “Soooo gooood,” I whispered into his neck. I couldn’t move and as he pulled back a little he looked at me.

“Are you ready?”


The force of his thrusts bang me against the wall, and I cry out softly with every bang, because how could I not. He fucked and fucked and fucked and fucked me until every curve and ridge of his cock was sucked in by my greedy, horny pussy. We were still in the hallway, and we didn’t give a fuck.

Every delicious thrust of his cock hit a spot (how may different ways can my pussy get hit by cock? How many different sweet spots is she hiding?) that just felt like the depths of me wanted to grab and hold his cock inside me until I could pump it to my release. This was something I’ve never experienced, an urgency so intense and so deep inside that I start grunting, mad with hunger and frustration.

Mr. Jones is enjoying torturing me, pumping me at a fast clip so that the depths of my pussy can’t  grab him the way she wants. My grunting is getting louder, as I feel a climax just beyond the horizon.

If i can just pump-pump-pump

hold — pump-pump-pump

fuck! hold on to — pump pump pump

The elevator dings at the other end of the hallway and we don’t even pause.

My pussy gushes all over the floor in her torturous attempt to get the cock to stay tight and close

We are dripping sweat. And I start to growl. growl in frustration.

He pumps me until my growl is loud. I can’t help it.

Then he impales me against the wall, shoving his glistening tool all the way in, until I feel his balls against me, and he slays me with these short little pumps that hardly move, but are stroking that magical spot that wants to suck and stroke him.

I start coming, a tidal wave of an orgasm that starts somewhere back in the depths of my pussy. I feel her clamp around his cock and I just pump and rock and fuck him until I’m growling like a beast and coming  like a tornado. We sink to the floor so that by the time I turn into a wild beast, he’s on top of me, all the way up inside me giving me that same stroke. The deep, wild guttral growl that exploded out of me was insane. I’ve never felt that kind of orgasm and I’ve never growled like that. Ever. Holy shit.

We lie there in silence catching our breath for a minute or so.

“I think we’re going to get tossed out of this hotel baby.”

“They can’t,” he responds, helping me up.

“Why not?”

He’s silent while we walk our sex-rumpled selves  into our room. We go inside and he hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the door before closing it.

“I’m not finished with you yet.”

32Buy Me a Coffee at

Terminator II

The craving went on much longer than it should have due to circumstances beyond our control, but on Tuesday the Terminator and I finally got together again.
“I kind of get the impression you wanted to jump me the minute I walked in the door,” I said when we were chatting in the bedroom.
We’re sitting on the bed and he’s leaning into me, trying to smoothly stare down my shirt and kiss me at the same time.
“Pretty much,” he laughs pulling me to him.
“Anticipation?” I ask, between hot kisses.
“Oh yeah, I’ve been waiting for this.” He bites my neck.

But our clothes stay on, and we have a hot make-out session, like a couple of horny teenagers. He loves to make out, and before long we we’re writhing on the bed, panting, kissing, biting, dry humping. He holds me close, drinking me in with his hands, his lips traveling from my mouth to my neck, my ears, my tits, igniting a trail of blazing trail of heat which I had no intention of resisting. I was like a bitch in heat, humping against him, biting him and licking him.  He  growl-like moans in my ear, make me even hotter for him.

I don’t remember how or when our clothes came off, but when we were naked he dove head first into my pussy like he belonged there. Soft. so soft, yet so insistent, his tongue alternately hard and aggressive, then soft and caressing, guiding me through waves of pleasure so mindless I lost my senses, aware only of his mouth and my pussy.  He stopped only to turn me over and continue the sweet assault, which was even better, if possible.

So began a day-long  encounter (7 hours) that finally satisfied (for the moment) our hunger for each other. The last time I spent all day in bed with a guy George Bush was President (you know, dickhead’s father).  I recommend it. I recommend it highly. Everyone should devote one day a week to having sex, it would make the world a better place. Peace would break out everywhere. Monday, Tuesday, Sexday…

The Terminator and I are a perfect match in stamina and appetite, but even so, the pleasure our bodies give and take from each other still stuns us. Several times when we pulled apart, breathless and sweaty, we would break into incredulous laughter.
Part of what made this time so much hotter was that I was more comfortable with him, not as guarded, and let myself go more in every way. I encouraged him to go harder, faster (or slower), wilder, etc., because I knew he was holding back last time.

Soon he had me on all fours, he was smacking my ass and pulling my hair, and I was almost sobbing with the pleasure of the onslaught, when he lowered me onto my side and entered me again from behind – delicious – pumping me senseless. I tend to close my eyes during the intensity of a great fuck, but something made me open them and he was pulling my hair out of the way so he could see my face.  He leaned in and kissed the side of my face. So Sweet.

Although he likes to dominate the action and I prefer it, I loved that I finally got  to ride him, and take him and abuse him too. Every time time he would try to speed it up, I would stop. No amount of begging would move me until I felt like moving. Then I would tighten around him and rotate my hips in a slooooow circle and then start riding him again, driving us both to the brink — and stopping again. I did this a few times until he couldn’t take it anymore and threw me on my back and fucked me so hard we almost fell off the bed.

When we took a break about three hours in, I thought of leaving. I said I was going to leave, but he took me in his arms and held me, kissed me, and we started talking. Before I knew it we were curled up under the covers, his arm around me and he was telling me his life story. Two things he hammered home, his unwillingness to cheat (“If I’m in a relationship, I will leave you before i cheat on you”), his devotion to his family (Parents, sibling, and extended family), and that he overcame a difficult chldhood.

I was fascinated by the story but as he was telling it to me I’m thinking: “Why is he trying to build intimacy with me? Why does he care If I know whether he cheats or not?” This isn’t the behavior of a Craigslist hookup. Am I glad he’s trying to connect more than bodies? Yes and no. Of course I want him to be into me, but I don’t want to get emotionally involved. This is a guy who must have women lining up to fuck him. I don’t want drama, I just want fun.

“I’m sorry, did I delay you?” he asked after we had been talking an hour or more. He didn’t look sorry in the least.

“No, don’t worry about it.” I said. We kissed. Suddenly his tool was prodding my thigh. “Sorry, it gets hard on contact,” he said.

“That’s a blessing, baby,” I said.

And then we started fucking again with a vengeance. As I said, I usually close my eyes because it helps me focus on the sensations, but I felt his eyes on me, and when I open mine, he is right there, in my face. It seems odd to put it like that since we were having sex. His eyes never left my face, intent on my reactions but also, I sense, trying to connect. He was going so deep and so delicious, I didn’t ever want him to stop. “God, I love the way you fuck me,” I said. “Not as much as I love fucking you,” he said.


I left his bed near dusk. Condom wrappers littered the floor like confetti…

Image: via Picjumbo CCO
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