Early flight
He can't keep his eyes off of me. He sits a little further in the main room, in the same row as me.
He has been looking my way all afternoon.
He is wearing a nice suit, with a stunning Italian cut. It looks so very good on him, with that slender, athletic body.
I am enjoying the attention he's giving me, I love to tease. It makes this deadly boring conference a little more exciting.
I wear my bold Ivy skirt, with a long slit and shiny metal buckles at the side.
His gaze glides down my legs to my new stilettos by Maison Ernest: glossy black, with towering high heels.
I am keenly aware of all my movements and poses. I show a little more thigh, straighten my back a little more.
Under my tight cashmere sweater I wear the Wilde balconette bra by Bordelle, which gives my breasts wonderful fullness.
For a moment we make eye contact; he doesn't act like he's caught out, rather amused.
In the evening, during the closing drink, we search for each other's gaze. I feel the tension, the attraction.
When I decide to go up to him for a chat, I can't find him anymore. A bit disappointed, I decide to go to my hotel room. Tomorrow morning, very early, I've got a flight to catch.
Then I suddenly see him standing in the hall of the conference hotel, by the elevators.
I stand next to him; our glances cross each other. He looks surprised. Pleasantly surprised, I see.
When the doors silently slide open, I enter the elevator.
I feel his hand in the hollow of my back. It feels like an electric shock. I don't respond, want his hand to stay there.
The doors close; I turn to him. My soft chest presses gently against his slender upper body.
I feel his warmth, the tension. My pounding heart.
We look at each other in silence.
He wants me. I can see it in his eyes. And I want him.
I press myself against him, kiss him on his mouth.
A few seconds later we are in his hotel room. Impatient, excited.
His jacket glides off his shoulders, I take off his tie. Hastily I open the buttons of his snow-white shirt. I want to feel his smooth naked skin.
He pushes my tight sweater up, above my breasts; I quickly remove it all the way.
A hand slides under my skirt, roughly pulling my thong down and I can hear it tearing.
It excites me even more.
He goes down on his knees, making me quiver with pleasure when I feel his mouth, his tongue.
I lean back on the bed. Half-sitting, leaning on my elbows, reveling, wide-legged, with eyes closed.
I let him carry on, I fully surrender, numb with sheer pleasure and lust and excitement.
Suddenly, he stops; I open my eyes and see that he loosens his trousers. His very upright manhood betrays how excited he is.
I turn on my stomach and he suddenly enters me, huge and hard and delicious.
I feel his weight against my soft buttocks, his hardness inside me. He takes me powerfully deep, slow, fully absorbed.
I am intensely enjoying it, I want more, want him even deeper, even harder. Panting, loudly relishing, urging him.
Then, I feel the pleasure in my lower abdomen welling up even more, I feel how it engulfs me, I howl with utter delight.
Straight after, I feel him shock and convulse, a hot explosion inside me, so luscious.
Early that morning, he watches me from the bed while I get dressed. I hold up the beautiful Wilde strap string by Bordelle; one of the straps is torn.
He casts a guilty look at the string: "Sorry…I'll get you a new one."
Smiling, I stow the delicate lace string into the breast pocket of his jacket, which is hanging over the chair.
"For you…a memento." Then I hurry to my own hotel room.
I have a flight to catch.
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