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?”

“Yes.”

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 ko-fi.com

Cocooning

A couple of days after that amazing tryst with the Terminator I was off to spend a couple of days with Mr. Jones. It had been almost a month since we had been able to have a weekend together and we were excited.
We talk and text everyday, sometimes Skype at night and when I have space in my schedule we spend a day together (he’s off work until June), but I always have to run home for my son. We hadn’t spend an entire night together in about a month.

We had all sorts of plans, places to go, drives to take etc. Within minutes of arriving at his place I was undressed (as was he) and we were curled up on the sofa watching movies, and caressing each other, in a state of bliss I’ve never experienced before. When he wrapped his arms around me I actually said, “God, I’m home, I’m home.” It’s like I have no peace until I’m warm and safe (and naked) in his arms.

We lay naked and spooning for a long time, in a state of contentment and bliss so profound it was practically transcendental. All we need or want is to be in each other’s arms, skin to skin. Our languorous arousal was constant but without urgency. We played with each other, satisfied each other and would return to our blissful embrace.  This lasted all weekend. We didn’t get dressed until Monday, when I had to go back home.

After what happened last time with the toy I decided I wouldn’t use it again until we had worked out his issues with it. We would just play without it, and I would have to forgo penetration. It turned out to be the best decision because he was more relaxed, playful and after an amazing session gave me multiple orgasms using just two fingers (yes, he’s talented), then he slipped on a condom and fucked me into a coma. Wonderful. Ironic. Horny.

I really believe that everything happens for a reason, and I think that the reason Terminator and J. are both in my life at the same time is so that I can see clearly for the first time, the difference between a real relationship and…whatever the thing with Terminator is, which is my pattern.

Mr. Jones and I are slowly falling deeply in love, and for the first time I know what that looks like and feels like, and its beautiful. Every day I’m more positive that Terminator and I will end in three months (this year is flying by), without regrets. Well maybe a little regret. But ending it won’t be painful, because I’m giving him up for something wonderful.

Image: original source unknown. I do not own the image or copyright and no infringement is intended.

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