Two Anonymous Souls

At four in the morning, there's a quiet knock on the door, and his heart is pounding so hard he worries it might pop. She's here.

He tightens the cord around his bathrobe and approaches the door, leaning in to peer through the little security hole, to check it's not just one of his buddies drunk as a skunk and locked out of his room again.

It's not. He catches his breath at the sight of the blonde standing out in the corridor, distorted in the little glass pinhole, but stunning in that tiny little dress under a trashy leather jacket, still vamped up with over-heavy makeup from her night on the town.

God, what if someone from the hotel saw her on the way up? But they must get hookers in here from time to time.

All the time, she's looking left, right, watching for signs she might be seen. There's no one else on the floor awake at this time, he's been closely monitoring the situation for the past hour or so, waiting for her.

One last little look at his suite, ensuring everything is ship-shape, and he pulls open the door, the butterflies crazy inside his stomach.

Her face lights up as her eyes fall upon him, but then she flashes her eyes in warning, and he steps back to usher her inside. Off in the distance, he can hear some far-off babble of human voices, possibly coming this way.

"Sorry - took ages until everyone got to sleep," she whispers.

"Thought you'd be late - it's been a busy night," he smiles, forgiving her instantly despite the long wait. How could he not forgive a girl wearing white fishnet stockings, whether or not they were supposed to be ironic.

"Nice room." Confined in the darkened suite, she realizes there's no real need to whisper here, speaks normally as she casts her eyes over his place. "Nice suite, I guess. Jeez."

He shrugs, "My best man's loaded, and so are most of my friends. Hence, we're all in our own separate rooms."

She smiles, politely. Still taking in the scale of his suite, says, "My maid of honor thinks it's unlucky if we don't all crash in the same teeny room. God."

He takes her jacket, and she suddenly looks at him with fear in her eyes. He can see her tremble a little, though it's not cold.

"Are we really going to do this?" she asks.

He looks at her, on the level. "We don't have to," he says, trying to be reassuring, trying to keep calm himself while inside, he's as frightened as she is. "We can just talk, if you like. You can leave whenever you like - now, if you want to."

She swallows, spots the Champagne sitting waiting on the table, says: "Maybe I just need a drink. Guess I sobered up since we got back from the club."

He nods gently, and steps over to the table to pour them both a glass of Bollinger.

"You had a good night?" she asks as he hands her the flute.

Clink, cheers. He says: "It's been strange. I've never been to a strip club before."

"And you're what, a lawyer?" she jokes.

He smiles, "It's never really been my thing. Wouldn't have said it was the kind of place for a bachelorette party, either," he says, returning the jab.

She cracks her own smile, and takes another sip of Champagne. Relaxing a touch. "Fitted in with the vicars and tarts theme," she says. "Besides, Marianne - my maid of honor - said it was the best place in town to find desperate horny men."

"You found me there."

"Are you desperate and horny?" she eyes him up and down in his bathrobe, one corner of her pretty mouth edging upwards, along with an eyebrow.

He steps towards her, touches a couple fingers to her chin and tilts her head up to meet his kiss. The motion takes her by surprise, and she flinches. The brief taste of her lips is sweet, though laced with the bitter edge of Champagne. He hears her gasp, and she steps away.

"We don't have to - " he says again.

She blinks a couple of times, then tries to shake the startled look away. "No," she says, "I'm sorry. You... I wasn't expecting it." She looks at him, takes a deep breath, says: "I can't really believe we're doing this, that's all."

He nods. "Probably not the best time."

Now she presses forward. She kisses him briefly. Then, almost telling herself rather than him, she says: "We're neither of us married. And it's not like it's illegal or anything to - "

"You don't have to justify it to me," he says. "I'm just as much involved in this as you are."

She nods now, "I think it's just... I don't really know what I'm doing. I never pictured it like this. Never thought I'd do something like this."

He sips his own Champagne, feels himself trembling, though he's doing his utmost to hide it. He says, "Just imagine it's not you in here. It's like stepping outside our normal lives - but it's safe. Nothing leaves this room."

She puts her glass down on the table, puts her hands inside his robe, cold hands on his flesh, pressing forward as though sampling the firmness of his chest. "I love my fiancé," she says. "I want you to know that."

"Of course," he says, touching his lips to her forehead. "I'm the same. But in here, we're just two anonymous souls, taking a time-out from reality."

"I'm just frightened, I guess."

"By this?"

"This... and tomorrow." She puts her head to his chest now, her hands sweeping the bathrobe off his shoulders. Right up against his warm skin, she breathes in his musky scent, feels comfort in the subtle masculine aroma.

"It's natural to feel nervous before the big day," he says, running his fingers through her pale silky locks.

"Are we going to spoil it all, doing this tonight?"

"We're just taking a break, that's all. Nobody will know about any of this."

"Afterwards, all this will be forgotten?"

"Precisely."

She pulls his head down to kiss his mouth, this time long, lingering. He can taste the crisp tang of the Champagne on her lips, and along with the soft scent of candy from her special girly bachelorette perfume, it makes his blood stir. His cock stiffens even before she pulls his body towards hers.

"Mmm," she purrs, "you are a good kisser."

"Thank you. You too."

Her hands snake down his chest, over his stomach, round to cup his behind, before she's seeking out the shape of his swollen manhood through his underwear.

"We don't really need to be ourselves right now, do we?" she says.

"Isn't that the whole point of tonight?" he asks. "I mean, you don't normally dress like a hooker, do you?"

She offers a shake of her head, but as she quietly explores the full length of the hardness between his legs, she says, "But I'm beginning to suspect it might be a good look for me."

"Any man would agree."

She feels it pulse in her hands, and it startles her. She squeals, drops her hands to her sides, then looks into his serene brown eyes with a giggle. "It moved," she says.

"That was your fault, I think."

Her hands wander back, and he lets her explore, slowly getting comfortable with this situation.

"Have you ever had a one night stand before?" she asks.

"A few, maybe - at college."

"I never did. I'm not sure how it goes."

"How it goes?"

"What you're supposed to do."

He smiles, and now he slips the straps of her dress over her shoulders, and the garment tumbles down her curves, falling to the floor around her ankles to reveal a turquoise lace bra and matching thong panties, trashy as they offset the pure white of her suspender belt and accompanying fishnet stockings.

"I think you're supposed to do whatever feels good," he says, his hands closing around her breasts, his fingers gently massaging her through the rough lace.

"I'm not sure I remember what feels good," she jokes, her hands now tracing out the shape of his manhood again, through his stretchy form-fitting boxers. "I guess that's one thing that worries me."

"Worries you?"

"My fiancé and I... we never really seem to enjoy sex any more. And when we do, it's fast and always in the same position. It's like he's relieved when it's over. Like the whole thing is just like a duty for him to perform now."

"And that's why you're here with me now?" he asks.

"I guess." She absently fumbles with his cock through his underwear, and he kisses her neck, taking it slow, not wanting to rush things, make her feel uncomfortable with any of this. Her skin tastes slightly salty, though with an underlying almond sweetness.

She says, "I'm worried he doesn't find me attractive any more."

And he replies, "That's ridiculous," sweeping her into his arms again, kissing her like it's New Year's Eve, pressing her hand up against his rock-hard cock. "Can you feel that?" he says as they eventually break apart, both of them breathless. "You're stunningly attractive."

She smiles, and slips her fingers under the waistband of his boxers to explore his erection completely unobstructed.

"You know," he says, "you don't have to go along with what your finance's doing in the bedroom, if you think it's dull."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs, "Take charge. Tell him what you want."

She's standing there in front of him, gently stroking his erect cock, but she shrugs her shoulders coyly, like she's shy. "I don't know... I suppose I don't exactly know what I want," she says, and he looks at her like she's crazy. "I mean, I haven't really been with many people, you know. Before we met."

"That shouldn't have anything to do with it."

"It shouldn't?"

"We can't all accidentally run into a porn star or two to give us the lowdown on how to do it all."

"And you have run into a porn star or two?"

"No. What I mean is, in the real world, people have to teach themselves."

"I guess that makes sense," she says.

"There's plenty of material available on the worldwide web these days," he grins, adding: "so I'm told."

"I should just say what I want? Just like that? I won't offend him, make him think I'm criticizing him?"

"Of course not. Control's sexy in a woman. Telling guys what to do makes it easier for us to know how to please you. It's win-win."

She looks at him, and just nods her head a little, contemplating.

"And you know, if you do, maybe he'll take the cue from you, start to be a little bolder himself."

"If you say so."

"Try it out, if you like."

"Now?"

She looks at him with a moment of doubt and uncertainty. This is taking a big step, up until now, they've only kissed, there's only been a bit of light touching. It's unfair that he should expect her to make the first move.

But after brief moment, she realizes the importance of taking this big step. She needs to be the one to break through her passivity.

"I want to suck that wonderful cock of yours," she says, and shudders a little at the dirty words passing her lips, but he can see from the little wiggle in her hips and the smile spreading across her mouth that it arouses her, too.

He drops his boxers to the floor. Standing there naked is enough of an invitation for her to sink to her knees, her hands closing around his cock, her lips parting to taste the dribble of moisture already seeping from the tip.

"See? You can do it" he says, as she sticks out her tongue to lick his hard purple helmet, beaming up at him as though it's a delicious ice cream she's holding.

She withdraws, raising her eyebrows at him briefly to signal her own surprise at the wanton power that apparently resides within her. Then she holds the base of his shaft and leans forward, taking as much inside her hot mouth as she can.

"God, I love it," she says, snatching a breath and then darting forward again to slide her lips around his cock.

He moans, and his hands are caressing her head, keeping the silky strands of her golden hair out of the way as she bobs up and down on his hardness. She really gets into it, she's really enjoying the contact - the expression on her face suggesting she knows she's naughty, but she loves it, and now she's unafraid to show it.

"Mmm... I like telling you what I want," she purrs.

Sucking on him, rolling him around inside her mouth, swirling her tongue around him, pumping him with her fists, she really indulges in his cock. She rubs him against the outside of her cheeks, her face, as well as making full use of her hot wet mouth itself.

After a long while, in which she seems not to want to stop, he has to urge her to bring it to a halt, he doesn't want to finish now.

"Careful," he says, "I just need a minute, or it might go off unexpectedly."

She laughs, "Mmm... hot cream all over me. That wouldn't be so bad."

He smiles, says: "Don't you want to see the bed? It's huge."

She laughs, and pulls herself up to her feet. "You didn't even give a girl the grand tour yet! It's just pants down, cock down her throat for you," she jokes.

So, he tops up their Champagne and does give her the grand tour. It's a pretty big place, smartly fitted out in chocolate brown and ivory, stylish furnishings, designer furniture, a bathroom decked out in white marble and gold.

The bedroom, and in particular the huge bed, is the star attraction.

Tour over, she makes a passing remark about his teaching her to take more control in the bedroom, and then pushes him down on the bed before climbing onto him, straddling his thighs and then sitting, to press her hot flesh on his hardening cock.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" she asks him.

"Yes," he nods. "I'm pretty nervous. But mainly about the speeches, how the whole thing goes."

"Aren't you worried about - you know - marriage?"

"A little."

She trails a finger around his chest, tracing a path through the hairs, over his pectorals, down over his stomach. Almost innocently, except that she's gently rocking her hips, stirring his cock with her pussy, which he can feel so hot against his flesh, even with the lace of her panties in the way.

"So what's your story, mister?" she asks.

"How d'you mean?"

"I mean, why are you here now, with me, rather than drunk and passed out after a wild night in a strip club?"

He shrugs, "I guess I liked the idea of anonymous sex. Not being myself for a while - the whole thing appealed."

"What's the problem with being yourself?"

He sighs, which suggests something deep lurking inside him, a concealed flaw, inner weakness. It's a surprise since he's seemed so strong tonight, confident. "I guess it's difficult being with someone so long," he says.

"You're a commitment-phobe?" she asks, eyebrows lifting up her head to look at him in complete surprise.

"No, it's nothing to do with commitment," he gives a shake of the head. "I don't have any problem with being with one woman the rest of my life, once I'm married. But with the sex..."

"You don't find your fiancée attractive any more?"

"No, I do. I definitely do. It's just..." he reaches for the words, then seems to recall that they're just two anonymous souls here tonight, and nothing will leave these walls.

He clears his throat and tries to be as bold as she has just been. "I guess since we're going to be together for the rest of our lives, I worry that I'll make a fool out of myself. I'll do something, or try something that will make her laugh at me or think me disgusting."

"You're embarrassed?"

He looks at her, brow furrowed, almost waiting for her to tease him, laugh at him. But she doesn't. She just seems interested.

"You're embarrassed to try things out?"

"Pretty stupid, huh."

She tilts her head, considering him. He's a little flushed, a little embarrassed even now, in this anonymous situation. "Not stupid," she says. "You know, lots of Italian men are supposed to be that way with their wives. See them as the mothers or future mothers of their children, not to be messed with. So they take mistresses for all that."

"Maybe it's something like that. I don't know. I love her, I respect her, and somehow that makes me freeze in the bedroom. I don't want to demean her."

"You don't want to demean yourself, either," she wrinkles her nose. "But you can't see it that way. Chances are she wants it as much as you do. And what's private between you stays private between you."

"You're right, I know."

Now she grins, and taking inspiration from him, says: "Okay, mister, now you try it out on me. We're anonymous, right? None of this ever goes beyond these two walls. Tell me what you like, what you want right now."

He laughs, but sees she's serious.

"Hell, even if you're desperate for a bit of missionary," she says, feeling that heat running through her chest again at the sensation of taking charge of this man. "I won't laugh at you, I won't go running to tell my friends - and I'll bet you anything you like, when you're married, your new wife will be the same."

"I suppose so," he says.

"That's what all this is supposed to be about, isn't it?" she asks, grabbing hold of his semi-hard cock again. "We're having a time-out from our real lives, facing our demons.

"Absolutely."

"Two anonymous souls doing whatever our hearts desire, the night before we commit ourselves to the long-haul." She says, "Come on - tell me what you want. Anything. Disgust me, if you like, if you can. I won't tell. Won't even remember, probably."

He sits up, and now he's stroking her flat belly, and she can see him building up the courage.

"I want to go down you," he says.

Her eyes widen, and her lips just about contain her beaming smile. "Really?" she asks.

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to say, "I want to bury my face between your legs and lick your pussy until you come all over me."

He looks at her a moment, frozen in place, as though waiting for her to laugh at him, waiting for the teasing. It doesn't come.

She says, "That was so embarrassing? Any girl would dream of you wanting that."

He shrugs, "I must have had a sheltered upbringing or something."

"Well, now that you've said what you want," she says, and lies back, lifting up her hips to slip off her panties, "I think you might as well indulge your desires. I mean if you still want to."

Now it's his turn to flash his eyes at her lustfully, and climb over to lie between her legs, which she parts oh-so willingly to reveal the delicate pink flower between her thighs, framed by her stockings and suspenders.

Looking up at her as if for one last nod of permission, he sees her grinning at him like a schoolgirl on Christmas morning. He smiles back, leans down to kiss her inner thigh, breathing in her perfume, which is laced with the spice of her arousal.

Gently, he licks her along the outer lips of her pussy, reveling in his proximity to the centre of her femininity. He traces his tongue lightly over the very edge of her inner labia, up to flick over her clit. Her soft moaning as she lies back against the pillow drives him on, to delve into her pussy, tasting her slick juices.

"God that feels good," she says. "See? You don't need to be embarrassed."

"No, I don't," he smiles, which she returns, looking down on him as he takes her clit into his hot mouth, sucking gently on her little sensitive button.

"It feels kind of good to open up, huh?" she says. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," he says, "you taste divine."

She wrinkles her face, since her question wasn't about her pussy but his opening up, though she's happy enough with his answer.

Emboldened now, he really buries his face in her smooth shaven snatch, his nose pressing against her clit as his powerful tongue penetrates her, and the vibrations from his moans of pleasure send little tingling waves of energy through her flesh.

She bites her lip as he once again envelopes her clit, his talented tongue swirling around it before he applies pressure, sucking her in his hot wet mouth. This time, a finger or two slips inside her slick pussy, and suddenly his desire for her to come like this does not seem in anyway like fantasy. She's bucking underneath him, gyrating her hips, her hands enclosing his head to press him down on her.