A Night in London   added 4 years ago    

  By: Roger_Usenseless1

I will write it, as far as memory allows, just as I whispered it into her ear.



 
 

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The Naughty Meter
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“We are in London for a big dinner. One of the better hotels, the room is luxurious. Satin wall paper in pastel yellows and lemons, a beautiful dressing table with a damask clad chair and every variety of beauty products laid out on its lacquered surface. The carpet is thick, a sensuous joy to bare feet and the bed is enormous , covered by a crisp white duvet.

You have spent an hour luxuriating in the spa bath in the marbled bathroom. Your skin is soft, oiled with the creams provided, and you are enfolded in the downy fleece of the enormous white bathrobe. It is still some time before the dinner and you smile invitingly as you return to the bedroom. You express some mild surprise, but no resistance, when I produce a silk blindfold and wrap it round your head. I slip the bathrobe from your shoulders and lift you gently into the middle of the bed.

There is a knock on the door and you feel my weight leave the bed to answer it. The bed is not in sight of the door and you feel no need to cover yourself, stretching in anticipation of my return. There is a low murmur of conversation and then my weight returning to the bed. I kiss you and whisper softly in your ear “you have an audience, all the choices from here are yours”. You start in surprise, trying to cover yourself and blindly turning your head from side to side, questing the room for the unseen presence.
 

I push you gently back onto the bed and nibble your neck, just under the ear where you like it. Gradually your tension begins to fade. You know your oiled skin retains the colour and texture of light honey, delivered by the African sun, your stomach is hard and flat from the training and the muscles in your flanks ripple invitingly under the flesh. I kiss your breasts, unhurriedly move down, licking and nibbling, and eventually slip between your open legs. As my tongue begins its familiar patterns, the feather light rapid flicks with the very tip, alternating with the long laps with the coarse flat, your mind starts to explore the possibilities. Blinded, your heightened senses pick up breathing to your left and, almost unconsciously, you arch your back, turn to the noise and smile.
 

The exhibitionist in you stretches and purrs and revels in the heat you are raising in the watching man, when the thought steals into your into your mind “man or woman”?  Even as you think it, your stomach tightens and you know your display will be affected by this knowledge. It is necessary for you to know so you whisper “and you are”? The response is reassuringly male, already husky with desire, “awed” breathes the unseen voice.

Your left hand is caressing your breast, the raised nipple puckered and erect, when, almost involuntarily, it lifts and the finger crooks in a beckoning gesture. You feel the bed bend under another weight and shamelessly you lift the breast. A moment passes and then warm lips envelope the nipple, tongue flicking greedily. Your left hand curls round the unseen head strangely aroused by the unfamiliar texture of the long silky hair. As if seeking reassurance you right hand steals down between your legs, caressing the familiar short wiry hair at the nape of my neck.

You can’t help your exploration as your hands strays over new shoulders, broad and muscular, the skin hot but smooth and hairless. With a light gesture your raise your right breast and apply a gentle pressure to his neck. He moves, as expected, across you to take the nipple in his mouth, and now he is stretched over you, open to your exploring fingers. Sliding your hand over the shoulder along the solid bicep you slip it under the arm, across the tense pectoral and down the flat, lightly haired belly. His penis is rigid and already slick to the touch. You roll your thumb expertly around his glistening glans and drink in the tensing muscles and soft moan that that touch brings.

With light touches you push both of us away, and, with no words spoken, manoeuvre me beneath you. With absolute knowledge of the picture you present you straddle me, grip me, and, millimetre by millimetre, lower yourself onto me. You begin a gentle, rhythmic, flexing of thighs and buttocks, utterly irresistible in its feline sensuality, one hand lightly brushing your nipples whilst the other reaches down to where our bodies join . “Stand” you breathe and are aware of the shifting of the bed as the man moves. He stands close, you can feel his heat brushing your cheek. You run your right hand up a solid calf, along a muscled hairy thigh before sliding it round to grip tight muscular buttocks.

On impulse you bring the hand round and grasp his balls, digging your nails into the rippled skin between his legs and flicking your tongue over the end of his penis. You feel him gasp and realise that, in that moment, you are for both these men all that exists.  Both sets of eyes are fixed on your glistening body, both minds helplessly anticipating your every move. There is no request you could make that wouldn’t be instantly granted.
 

That knowledge brings the beginning of the breaking of a dam. As the pressure builds at the pit of your stomach you sense the familiar tensing in me, the subtle changes that indicate the movement from control to instinct. Even at that apogee of your power you know you have lost all control of this situation and liquify at the anticipation that knowing brings. My hands on your hips increase their grip, you can imagine the forearms rippling as I start to drag you down onto my thrusting. That increases in tempo and depth as the urgency builds and you lift, slightly, to give more room to the savagery erupting from my hips

. Gasping, you turn your face to the man standing next to you. Your hand is clutching his buttock, which is quivering with suppressed tension.  As the dam breaks, he siezes your head and pushes himself into your mouth, hips moving with a rhythm as old as time and an urgency he has no ability to control. You take him hungrily, revelling in the salt taste, your head returning thrust for thrust, greedily delighting as his grip in your hair tightens and shudders.
 

The world explodes in a tempest of swirling sensation, a kaleidoscope of colours whirling through your brain, there is clutching and gushing, spurting and groaning and somewhere, as if at a distance, somebody is shouting. The sheer intensity brings a sort of oblivion.

As sensation returns you find yourself slumped on top of me. You feel a light kiss on your shoulder and hear a whispered “thank you”. The bed moves and there are a few moments of rustling before the door opens and closes.
 

“ He will be at the dinner”  I whisper, “I won’t tell you who he is”





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Fantasy Info:

Location: A hotel room | Roleplay: Any
Fulfillment: I will tell you later | Nature: I will tell you later