Thursdays: Snapshots of a Weeend

We are sitting in a restaurant. Thursday night She leans forward in that wonderful dress, affording me a view down the neckline of her breasts contained in a thin, lacy bra. Her hand reaches out and touches mine. Beneath the table, I slide my hand up her thigh, slipping a finger inside the crotch of her panties and rubbing her cunt gently. Her eyes close and her mouth opens slightly, and I watch her suppress a moan as I tease her opening.

Click.

We kiss our way up to the room in the glass elevator. I want her right there, but am able to restrain myself until we get to the room. There, I am in absolute charge. I undress her and kneel in front of her, tasting her cunt again, manipulating her most sensitive and private places with my tongue.

Then I fuck her on the edge of the bed, her feet on my shoulders, plunging as deeply as I can. She seems to take joy from my desire, and I thrill to the way she writhes as I push against her again and again. Finally I explode inside her. Afterward, we share a tender moment as we kiss, her legs wrapped around me. We fall asleep together; I sleep naked, she in panties only.

Later, I awake and look at her in moonlight streaming through the window. Her pale skin gleams in the darkness and I am struck by the elegance of her impossibly long back. She is nestled against me, and I feel myself stiffen.

Lightly, I begin to stroke her side, beginning at her hip and gently tracing its curve upward, continuing along her ribcage and grazing the swell of her breast. She stirs and moans, not quite awake. I repeat the stroke a few more times, and then back away from her, sliding downward so that I can reach the small of her back with my tongue. Making it as wide as I can, I lick up the indentation of her spine, thrilling to the light salty taste of her skin, feeling each of her vertebrae as I progress upward to the nape of her neck. She shivers as her breathing changes, telling me she is awake.

Moaning again, she presses back against me, feeling my hardness against her ass. I reach over her and cup her breast, circling her nipple with my thumb before rubbing across it. My hand begins to wander, running down her abdomen, between her thighs, a finger slipping along her panty-covered sex.

She reaches down to take it in her own, drawing it to her lips and kissing it. I continue to stroke her for a long while, tracing a pattern around her breast, up over her shoulder, and down the indentation of her spine. All throughout she sighs her appreciation, insinuating herself against me until I feel like I'm about to come on her back.

Sensing my need, she deftly removes her panties and again nestles against me. She opens her legs slightly and I place my cock between them, pushing along her contour until I find her opening. I thrust forward, she shifts her hips slightly, and I bury myself in her cunt like this, driving into her until we are spooning. I lean my torso back slightly and hold onto her hip with one hand and stroke her back with the other.

From this angle she fits me more snugly than ever. As I thrust my hips forward, she pushes her ass against me, allowing me to drive deep inside her. Looking down, I am able to see myself disappear, to see her lips spread wide, moving back and forth with my thrusts. She comes quickly like this, her cunt gripping my cock tightly, so that I cannot help but come, too.

My orgasm is suprising in its intensity, seemingly echoing through my whole body. I arch against her, feeling the stretching of my legs, seeking to get just a bit more of myself inside her as I pump an unexpected amount of semen into her.

Once it has subsided, I withdraw from her and, wordlessly, put my arm back around her. She takes my hand once more to her lips and kisses it. We drift off to sleep again.

Click.

We are at a dance, Friday night, one of the only worthwhile social events of the conference, and I hold her close, kissing her, oblivious again to anyone who might be watching. The dress she wears tonight is less elegant than the one she wore to dinner, red as her hair, with a skirt cut a few inches above the knees. The top is not as loose either, though I am close enough to see that she wears no bra. My hands are on her waist, hers around my neck. Her lips brush against mine, her mouth open, her tongue seeking mine. She brushes her pelvis against mine, subtly if such a thing is possible, until I feel like I might come in my pants.

Click.

We find a secluded hallway, having fled the dance. I trail kisses down her neck as she leans against the wall, again running my hand up her skirt until I feel the curls of her pubic hair, quickly realizing that she wears no panties.

The hallway is dark, so I kneel in front of her, sticking my head up her skirt. I run my tongue along her slit, enjoying the natural aroma and taste of her cunt, made stronger by the day's prespiration. Her hands settle on the back of my head as I explore her folds with my tongue, occasionally probing her opening, but focusing mostly on her clit and the area in between. She shudders against me as she comes, the force of her orgasm pulling her off the wall.

Her juices smeared on my face, I stand, and she reaches to unbuckle my belt and open my pants. She opens them just enough to pull out my cock, stroking it, and moaning at its hardness. She leans against the wall and lifts her skirt just enough for me to get myself in the general vicinity of her opening. Then I stoop slightly, just getting the head in. She lifts a leg and wraps it around me and I am able to stand, lifting her slightly and sliding myself all the way in to her soaking cunt.

Cupping her ass, I begin to press against her. Her raised leg provides the leverage I need and I am able to drive more or less forward, using the wall to support most of her weight. She rests her chin on my shoulder, whispering encouragement, as I awkwardly thrust into her, marveling as I lift her slightly each time. Her excitement is clearly building, and I am aware of our potential for discovery, so I pick up the pace. The familiar surge begins to build in my testicles and with one final thrust I pin her to the wall, firing off inside her as she tightens around me.

There is no time for post-coital languor and I withdraw abruptly, quickly putting myself back together. As I zip, I notice a drop of semen on the floor. She sees me noticing and we both begin to laugh.

Click.

We are sitting on a bench in a dark corner of the park in the city center on the last night of the conference. We have been kissing passionately, our hands wandering. While I have been rubbing her breasts, her hand has rested on my crotch, moving up and down my length through my pants.

At some point, she unzips me and pulls my cock out, pumping me until I am on the verge of coming.

She stands up and then kneels in front of me, lifting her skirt enough so that she doesn't get stains from the moistening grass. Taking my cock in her hand, she runs her tongue up the underside, swirling it around the tip. Finally, she engulfs me, and I feel the familiar sensation of her tongue as it cradles me. Her lips drag up and down, quickly getting me over the edge she had driven me to with her hands. I explode down her throat in a torrent.

When my spasms have subsided, she backs away and takes her seat beside me as I quickly tuck my shrinking cock back into my pants. She starts to say something, but thinks better of it and doesn't. There's nothing, really, for me to say, either.

Click.

We kiss good-bye at the airport. Once we have returned there will be no taking chances. I hold her against me, enjoying the sight of her in broad daylight, enjoying the knowledge that for most of the passersby this is perfectly innocuous. When we break the kiss, I look into those deep blue eyes for what must be the thousandth time this weekend. Neither of us seems on the edge of tears.

"Thank you for this weekend," I venture.

"My pleasure," she replies with a devilish smile.

As I board the plane, I slip my wedding ring back on. It feels slightly odd, its weight new again.

Click.

The last of the photographs falls from my fingers onto the dining room table. They are plenty damning, though not as explicit as they could have been and I wonder what the photographer might have in reserve.

At the restaurant, in the elevator, dancing, in the hallway, on a park bench, at the airport—there is the story of our weekend in miniature, all neatly stuffed in a manilla envelope, waiting for me when I returned to a darkened house on Sunday night. I read the note again:

"I'll be back tomorrow. You should be elsewhere," followed by a single initial. Then, as a postscript. "How many?"

I replace pictures in the envelope and ponder how to deal with the note. Not seeing any good response for the moment, I settle on the one I

can give.

"One."