Here's how I want it to go next time we get the opportunity. Next time I get you alone.
We're away for work. Again. Another conference, another city, same colleagues, same delicious, fucked up game.
We've been bad and broken the rules of our affair recently. The 'no actual fucking' and 'no digital evidence' rules in particular. We're trying to be good again, but it's hard when the memory of your tongue buried between my legs as I sprawl in a hotel room chair is fresh in my mind. I can hear your voice saying "good girl" as I deep-throat your cock, your hands in my hair pulling me close, your tip grazing the back of my throat. My cunt remembers the feeling of you inside it as you thrust into me hard from behind, standing beside the hotel bed and tearing my flimsy lingerie off. How you positioned me for the perfect view and the sound you made when you came... it's hard to get it all out of my head.
We've got two nights and two days away, and no plans. Planning too tightly is like tempting fate, and it feels slimy. In this affair, we prefer to leave things a little bit to chance. Let inspiration strike...
The first evening drinks are the usual stand up, cocktail and canapes affair. You're in a new suit, a crisp white shirt open at the neck to show the top of your chest hair. I'm in a black leather pencil skirt, demure in length but skin tight. Heels. A silk blouse. A red lip. I know what you like.
These events can be torture. I make conversation with people and watch you out of the corner of my eye. I look at your hands and imagine them on my naked ass. I stare at your mouth and imagine you licking my thighs. Every chance we get to touch, we take. A hand on the lower back as you pass by. A brush of knees under a table. A pat on the shoulder. It's innocent enough, but it makes me hornier and hornier. By about 9pm, I'm tipsy enough to call it. I want you, and I'm not waiting any more.