Alana's Performance

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Working from the assumption that this was an audition for Alana, she noted that "you're little blonde is enjoying this entirely too much! She's going to burn out, get arrested or make you jealous before all this is over." I didn't have the heart to tell her that "Sabrina" was actually an MBA ad exec, with a doctor husband at home in Chicago and more societal propriety than George W. Bush (insert your own political punchline here ________________.

The subtle little edge that might have put Molly over the top appeared in the form of the bartender's satisfied smile, followed by a whispered message to the manager and each of the judges. The post-message, excited look on their faces didn't require an educated mind to determine what would happen after the winner was announced. For the latter part of the evening, I'm sure that Little Miss Molly was a busy little thing backstage! Sure enough, Molly was announced as the winner by "a razor thin margin." She celebrated by flashing the work her razor had done to everybody on one side of the stage.

After the awards ceremony, I was expecting a defiant or glum passenger in the rental car during the return to the hotel, however she was anything but. She graciously received her new fans, bestowing a few kisses, rebuffing a couple offers for the remainder of the night and rejecting a job offer from the management. During the first break in the noise and commotion, she whispered in my ear, "if you don't promise to fuck my eyes out tonight, I'm finding someone who will." That was enough for me! I grabbed her wrist and spirited her out of the club, into the car and back on the road to the hotel.

During the return, she treated me to a full account of her emotions on stage... along with oral attention the likes of which my cock had not experienced for some time. Between slurps and sucks on my member, she described the rush that she had experienced with the emergence of her nipples. Then there was the mini-orgasm prompted by her brief finger fuck and the feeling of my breath on her pussy.

Do you have any idea how difficult it can be to drive under those conditions?

We somehow managed to collect ourselves enough to rush through the lobby of the Anatole and into the elevator. There I was treated to a full blown body press, hand grope and tonsillectomy all in one. It was ardent enough to scare off an elderly couple waiting at the next floor, and I'm pretty sure I caught sight of at least three or four people watching in awe as our glass walled elevators passed each other.

In no time, we were in her room, conveniently located at the corner facing the other tower of the hotel. By now it came as little surprise to me that the windows were wide open, leaving our every move open to the prying eyes of at least a hundred or so of the hotel guest rooms. I didn't even ask, but began turning every light in the room on, the better for others to see us. Hell, by this point she could have invited the Dallas Cowboys to watch, accompanied by a film crew from Sixty Minutes, and I wouldn't have said no!

She was phenomenal, stripping off her clothes, removing mine and smothering me with kisses all the while. I was making up for lost time, sucking nipples, fingers, toes... anything my lips could get close too. I quickly made a mental note to check the seat of the car in the morning, if the passenger side was as wet as I expected it to be we'd better have a decent story to explain it. Alana was beyond soaked, she nearly drowned me when she pounced on my chest and slipped up for my first sincere taste of Alana-ade.

How does Dr. Simon B. Boring deserve such a hot piece of ass? How does he keep her? Those were questions to ponder at some other time. By this time I had been able to find the answers to two of the questions that had dogged me for the duration of my association with Alana. Yes, she was a natural blonde. And if those tits were enhanced at all, the surgeon had pioneered a new and exciting no scar/no stretch method. I was busy licking and playing with the sweetest tasting clit I'd ever encountered. For the rest of my life I'll be dreaming of the view I had, looking up from between her legs, past the neatly trimmed blonde thatch of her pubes, watching her moan as she pulled and extended her nipples.

Things went from good to great to "I can't believe this" as the night wore on. With her on top, we morphed into my favorite 69 position. I've never had any complaints about my ability to deliver face to pussy action, but if time to orgasm counts for anything, we set some kind of record. When she came, my cock was deep within her mouth stifling her screams and sending overload signals to the priapic node of my brain. My load left her with a foamy mouth that did little to dispel her newly acquired super-slut image.

We rolled over and switched into a transitional kiss and grope mode, during which she began to pour out all of the performance fantasies she'd ever had. Repressed by Dr. Dull's fear of community scandal, she'd buried them in her head only to have them released tonight. She just decided that at last, the timing, the setting and (I'm extremely pleased to say) the partner were all right.

Now with naked, horny me to validate her moves - not to mention an unknown number of the guests watching from the other hotel tower - she began to dance and move with abandon. She treated me to moves I'll never forget. It was by sheer force of will that I avoided instant ejaculation when she perched doggie-style on the bed, looked between her legs and whispered "you're not going to make me use my finger this time are you?"

Thank God our flight wasn't until noon on the following day. We made love, screwed and fucked until sunrise.

A quick visit back to my room allowed me to collect my bags and clothes. But not before a mutual shower had given her the opportunity to demonstrate the effect that one, long soapy finger can have on the male prostate gland.

By the time we arrived at the rental car return, we had returned our outward appearances back to business mode. Alana looking almost prim in her moderate length skirt ensemble and me with my khakis and sweater. We shared idle chat on the bus to the terminal, but as we settled into the seats at the departure gate, I noticed her leafing through her briefcase. "Looking for something in particular?" I asked. "Yeah, I could swear that I had a brochure for a training seminar in Las Vegas next month." The gleam in her eye was unmistakable, as was the renewed stirring in my pants. Surely there is something about "Communicating with Your Customers" that can add value to our business processes.

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