Hedonist

Chapter one: One night stand.

I broke a nail in my hurry to open the envelope. I had got it! My first London job.

I was buzzing with excitement all the way to work. I had got it! Silly really, it was not my first job, nor did I need it. I have enough money of my own not to need to work to live, but I needed to work to keep my mind active. The first thing I did once at my desk, was to write a letter accepting the job. The second thing was to write a letter of resignation, quitting the job that I was in. Then I tried to concentrate on work.

I was called 'upstairs' about an hour later. They were sorry to see me go, blah, blah.

It was their fault that I was leaving, they had been my only employer since uni, but I had started work at the head office, in Edinburgh, my home town. It was a promotion they said, but it would mean moving to the Liverpool office. The job was fine, but Liverpool and I just did not gel, so I decided that it was time to move on.

The day dragged. I decided that I ought to celebrate. That evening. I called one of the big hotels in town. Not the one with the best star rating, but the one with a reputation for a good restaurant.

" A table for one please. At eight o'clock."

I usually eat much earlier, but dinner at eight sounds sophisticated. Table for one? I was unattached. That was my problem with 'The Pool'. My attachments had been very short term. There must be a few good men in Liverpool, but I had failed to sniff them out.

Oh, I had plenty of men. Many of them good fucks, fine for a one nighter, or even for a week or two, but more than that? No luck. So I would celebrate alone, but in fine style.

Work over. Back home at my (rented) flat, I bathed, applied my make-up and dressed in a sexy green cocktail dress. Under it I wore my new undies. A 'waist cincher' they call it. Not that my waist needs cinching. It is just a very sexy thing to wear. It is like a Basque, but without the bra cups. It has boning, to lift and support the breasts (not that they need support) and suspenders to hold up stockings. A miniscule thong completed the underpinnings, all in pale green. Very high heels completed the 'available' look.

I looked at the clock. It was six-thirty. I was ravenous. Should I try to change the booking to a bit earlier? No. I was determined to stick to my plan. I did call the taxi though, and asked them to pick me up at seven, not seven-thirty, as arranged. I would have an aperitif or two, at the hotel bar.

I hauled myself up onto a bar stool and ordered a drink. The place was almost empty. To my right was a glamorous looking woman, alone, with a tall drink in front of her. To my left was another glamorous woman, also alone, also with a tall drink. Like bookends, I thought. After about ten minutes or so, one of the women left her seat and went over to the other. Their eyes had not left me since I had arrived. I began to feel uncomfortable.

They both came over to me, one on either side. One of them leaned in close and spoke softly;

"Fuck off. This is our manor."

I was startled, I did not have a clue as to what had upset her. The other joined in;

"We pay for this beat, peddle your arse elsewhere."

I decided to do the opposite and stayed put. I looked for the barman for support, but could not catch his eye. One of my antagonists took hold of my arm, just above the elbow, and squeezed hard. It hurt.

"Leave me alone," I said, "you're hurting me."

The other woman took a grip on the other arm, I could feel tears starting. What offence had I committed?

"Darling, sorry I'm late, can I get you another drink?"

The horrible harpies melted away, to opposite ends of the bar. My rescuer was tall, well dressed in a good suit, but no tie. About forty I guessed. The barman was there at last. My rescuer ordered a drink for himself and added, indicating my still almost full glass;

"And another one of those for the lady." Then to me;

"Let's sit at a table."

He took my arm, gently, and steered me to a table well away from the bar, sitting next to me on a low sofa. I thanked him, adding that I had no idea what he had rescued me from.

"They are both prostitutes, they work this bar. Non-working single ladies sit where we are. They thought that you were muscling in. I presume that you are not hooking?"

I saw the funny side of it. I suppose that I did look like a whore. On the high bar stool, my short skirt was probably revealing plenty of stocking-top, perhaps more.

"No. I'm just here for dinner." I explained. But then, mischievously;

"How much would you be willing to pay?"

"To them? Twenty quid perhaps, but I suspect that you are beyond price."

I liked him. He was in Scouseland on business and staying at the hotel. He too, was dining in. Perhaps we could share a table? Of course we could. He was a bit old for me, but quite dishy. Amusing and well spoken. My nipples hardened, my cunt moistened. I had had older men than him. And enjoyed it.

We had an excellent meal, he insisted on paying. There was an awkward silence. Was he going to ask me? I made up his mind for him.

"Is your room comfortable?"

He smiled and stood. He placed his arm around my waist and steered me to the lift. Our first kiss was in the lift. He placed both hands on my arse cheeks and pulled me against his erection. The lift pinged it's arrival. The kiss was broken. Our second kiss was in his, very comfortable room. His fingers found the tab of my zip and slid it skilfully down. He stepped away. The dress fell in a pool around my ankles. At arms length he admired me. My stiff nippled, bra-less tits pointing straight at him.

"Sweet Jesus, you are stunning." He gasped.

He took me in his arms again, kissing me again, his hands roaming over the material of my corset.

"This can stay on, I think." He said.

His fingers found the thin string of my 'hardly there' knickers.

"But we won't need these." He added, sliding them down over my hips.

I stepped out of them and sat down on the edge of the bed, reached out and undid his trouser belt. He helped, tearing off his clothes. Then he was on me, showering me with kisses, feasting on my tits. He kissed his way down to my belly. My belly-button was hidden by the corset, so the first bare flesh his lips encountered was just north of my trimmed and perfumed bush. I spread my thighs for him and his mouth made shocking first contact with my dribbling cunt. Heaven.

He was very skilled with his mouth, kissing and licking, probing with stiffened tongue. And not just my cunt, his tongue was pushed deep into my arse-hole. I could not stand much more. Nor did I have to. He had avoided my clit so far, but he now took the slippery little bud between his lips and sucked hard. I came like an express train.

I was lying across the bed. I shuffled myself around so that I was North-South, lifted my knees and spread my thighs as wide as I could. An invitation surely more clear than just words. My lower mouth was begging to be fucked. He knelt between my thighs and lay on top of me kissing me on the mouth over and over again. He moved up. His prick would need no guiding, my cunt was acting like a homing beacon.

But it was not to be. His tip brushed along my wet slit, but avoided the hole. He kept moving up. So it was to be my mouth to enjoy his hardness first. I moistened my lips instinctively. But he stopped, his prick lying against my breast-bone, against my beating heart. One throbbing organ against another. Okay. Tit sex is good too. I used my hands to push my tits up and around his shaft, forming a tunnel of flesh for his pleasure. I was half-sitting, propped up by pillows, with my head resting against the head board. I looked down at the head of his prick peeping out from it's prison of soft breast-flesh. He was making very small fucking movements.

Suddenly, he gave a little gasp and released a torrent of spunk. I just had time to throw back my head to avoid getting a face-full. The first powerful spurt hit the point of my chin, splashing onto my lower face, I instinctively licked it from my lips as the first spurt was followed my many more, landing on my stretched out throat. It felt hot, despite the heat of the room.

I don't mind come on my face, but I don't like it to go up my nose. For as long as I could remember, I did not like water up my nose, I have to pinch my nose closed if I jump into a swimming pool. Fear of drowning. And as much as I like spunk, I have no intention of drowning in it!

He had finished his come. I let go of my tits, releasing his now deflated organ. He apologised, saying;

"Sorry. That was not supposed to happen."

"Nothing to be sorry about," I replied, as long as there is some left."

"I might be able to find some more." He grinned.

His spunk was beginning to go cold. I looked down at what he had deposited. Because of my raised up position, it was running down over my tits. Or to be accurate, one tit. I must have been on a sideways slant as well as an up and down one. My right tit had escaped his hosing, my left was covered in creamy-white, it looked like one of those icing sugar coated buns. But the still stiff nipple was poking up through the icing, like a cherry on the bun. I placed a hand beneath the tit and raised it up. At the same time, I lowered my head and stuck my tongue out to lick the stuff from where I could reach it. I licked up what I could, and finished by sucking the nipple into my mouth.

He was sitting astride my waist. He cock was recovering already. He leaned down and kissed my spunky lips, then dismounted, lying next to me on the bed. He handed me a tissue to mop up the remainder of his spend. I cleaned up and headed down the bed to his groin. Without question, the best way to get a man hard again is to use mouth-to-cock resuscitation.

I kissed the re-aroused tip, again tasting his semen. I opened my mouth and throat and sucked in as much of his length as I could. He gasped and thrust upwards, forcing the rest down my throat. This ploy is impressive and delights a man. But it's not sucking, it's more like sword-swallowing. I drew back, leaving a manageable amount in my mouth and began sucking him like a lollipop. I soon had him squirming, but I did not want to risk making him shoot off again. I had other plans for his second coming

I mounted him, crawling up his body and using my fingers to guide his hardness into my, by now, very wet and hungry slit. It felt wonderful to be stretched full of him. Impaled and pegged into position by his meat. I leaned forward, dangling each tit in turn into his mouth and began to fuck him.

He soon took over, pulling me against him with his arms around me, then exploring my body with his hands before grasping my buttocks and pulling me firmly onto his stalk. He seemed to be reaching new depths inside me, he was well endowed, but not excessively so, his ability to fill me so completely was simply technique. My clit was grinding against his pubic bone, sending pleasure shocks through my body, but it was more than that, I could feel little tremors rising from deep inside, like the pre-rumblings of an earthquake.

I ought to explain that up to then, I had never come with a cock inside me unless accompanied by external stimulation, either from my lovers fingers or my own. This felt very different. Exciting, but a bit frightening. I was losing control.

Suddenly, he rolled me onto my back, keeping his cock inside me all the time. Now he had me in good old missionary position, able to make harder, deeper thrusts into my seething insides. The tremors resumed, they had not really stopped. His tip must have been battering against my cervix, his thickness pulling and pushing relentlessly at the lining of my cunt and his pubes pounding against my clit like a jack-hammer.

From deep inside, waves of uncontrollable pleasure swept me. It felt like every fibre was climaxing. I think that I must have fainted for a few seconds. When I came to, it was over. He rolled off, panting. I could feel his gift running out past my cunt lips. He must have poured prodigious amounts into my clasping sheath.

He raised up on one elbow, still struggling for breath, and cupped a hand over my sex.

"What do you keep in there?" He gasped. "A milking machine?"

I just smiled. Truth was, I had no idea what had happened. Even allowing for my few seconds of unconsciousness, I knew that this had been a quite extraordinary coupling. For me, a whole-body orgasm.

I got up from the bed and walked unsteadily to the bathroom. I did what I had too, then removed what little clothing I had left. Both stockings were ruined. The Basque/waist cincher was soaked in sweat and spunk. I had a quick shower, then returned to my new found super-fucker, naked, fresh and perfumed.

On the bedside table was a bottle of Pol Roger Champagne and two flutes. Where had they been hiding? Or was room service really that good? It mattered not, it was just what I needed. He opened the wine skilfully. No popping of the cork, just a discreet hiss. We each drank off a glass in one, the toast was to bigger and better orgasms, and more of them!

It took time to be ready for round three. He must have been drained and I still felt woozy. Not from the champagne, but from my still tingling nerve-endings. I lay with his arm around me. With his other hand, he began to caress me. Naked now, he was able to explore what little had been hidden by my single garment and my stockings. As his hands wandered, so did mine. I began to gently stroke his burgeoning erection.

"Do you make your wife come like that?" I asked.

He smiled. I noticed that he had a crooked smile, one side of his mouth smiled more than the other.

"I'm divorced." He replied. "And no. She never came like that. In fact, I have never seen anyone come as powerfully as you did."

My turn to smile. But I did not tell him that I had never come like that before either. He leaned over me, his mouth now covering the ground explored by his hand. Lots of attention to my erect nipples, licking, sucking, kissing. Now onto my tits, making me squirm with new found desire. Down, down. Tongue in my belly button, a miniature replica of the larger, wetter orifice lower down. Then his mouth was on my cunt again, rediscovering every fold, this time with less urgency.

I stopped him long enough to squirm round so that we were 'tète a queue'. I drew his fine cock deep into my mouth again. I licked and kissed it from tip to root, I kissed his balls and sucked each of them in turn, then licked and kissed my way back along the thick underside ridge, ending with his knob in my mouth again.

"Careful," he said, "I want to fuck you again."

That was what I had hoped. He moved behind me, right way up now, and pressed his body against mine. We were on our sides, like spoons. I reached between my legs for his cock and guided it into me again. He fucked me slowly, gently. He pulled me up so that we were in the 'doggy' position and continued his slow, deep penetration. I laid my chest down on the bed, pushing my arse up so that he could fuck deeper.

He began to speed up. Faster, deeper, faster, deeper. Then he stopped. He placed his mouth close to my ear and whispered;

"This may be my last shot. How would you like it?"

It took only seconds to decide. I replied, nodding towards a bottle of hand cream that I had noticed on the bedside table.

"Up my arse, use that as lubricant."

He reached it without disengaging from my cunt. He leaned back, still connected, and dribbled the cool cream onto my coccyx, where it ran down my crack, pooling in the tight pucker of my anus and against the junction of his cock with my cunt.

He drew slowly out of the hole he was in and pressed his tip against the clenched ring of the less-used hole. He pressed, I relaxed, he popped inside, I squealed.

"Are you alright? He asked.

"Yes. Do it. Bugger me hard. Shoot your spunk up my arse."

Was that me? I wanted it like never before. I like it up the bum occasionally, but I really wanted him there, spurting into me. He obliged. He went slowly at first, building up speed until he was ramming me at full speed and with full power. I felt like all my feelings were concentrated there, my entire body screaming to be used and abused.

He was doing me deliciously, but there was no friction on my clit and I wanted to climax as he had his. I reached down, intending to rub myself off, then had a better idea. This was a night for new experiences.

I pushed my thumb into my juicy cunt. Through the thin dividing membrane, I could feel his prick as it reamed my arsehole. He whimpered, he could feel it too. I pushed my fingers between my legs and spread them so that two fingers were either each side of his piston. I could now squeeze against his shaft as it moved in and out of me. He gave a great roar and fired shot after shot of his boiling spunk deep into my entrails. When he had finished thrusting, e drained and soft, he withdrew gently and collapsed sideways onto the bed, exhausted.

I had to make another urgent visit to the bathroom. When I came out he was asleep. I dressed and quietly slipped out of the room, down the stairs and out to one of the waiting taxis.

In the short ride to my home, I re-lived the evening. He had rescued me from the high-stool whores, wined me and dined me and had fucked me to near oblivion. I had repaid him by sneaking away like a thief in the night. I did not even know his name! I seriously considered going back to him. But decided against it. It could not be the same a second time.

Besides, in spite of his denials, he was probably married. The best men always are.