Breaking the Ice

He knew what I was thinking without my saying a word. I could sense it from across the room.

I sat demurely, idly flicking through a magazine which I couldn't really manage to read under the mellow lighting scheme. He regarded me carefully from his seat at the bar, as if he could mesmerize me into getting up and joining him.

But I wouldn't. He knew I wouldn't. I was waiting for him to make the move. I wasn't toying with him, it's merely that this is my own personal watershed: allow me to feel desired, and I would reward him.

Tenfold.

With a flick of my wrist I summoned a waiter, and ordered a drink ("Single malt, rocks, please"), which arrived gratifyingly quickly. I sipped slowly, still not looking directly at him. Instead I gazed at him via the bronze mirrored tiles that were strategically, yet seemingly randomly, placed around walls of the room.

I couldn't help but feel a surge of power... I knew how desperately he wanted me to be the one to make the first move, and I had no intention of doing so. I knew he would break. I knew he'd come to me. I knew... and I so wanted him to.

And I was right. He did.

He slid into the booth next to me, and made himself comfortable. He wasn't too close, or too distant. Sitting with his body half-turned towards me, leaning his elbow on the leather-covered seat cushion, our eyes met for the first time.

I smiled... his eyes were more welcoming than I could have hoped, more friendly than I would have imagined and the level of desire in them matched the that of my own.

I cleared my throat, softly.

"I'm so glad we finally met. You look just as you did in the photo, but... better. If you know what I mean."

I giggled, betraying for the first time how nervous I was, despite my tableau of studied and careless poise. He laid a comforting hand on my arm, and unobtrusively edged closer to me.

"I'm just as glad. And thank you. So do you."

The ice thus broken, we began to relax, and started talking to each other in the manner in which we'd become so comfortable over the phone those preceding few weeks. As the conversation flowed effortlessly, I found myself wondering how the curve of his shoulder would feel to the touch, especially under the expensive tailored shirt he was wearing.

Without thinking, I lifted my arm, and ran my fingers gently up his arm, and along his shoulder, to his neck; delighting in the smoothness of the linen beneath my fingertips, and the firmness of the sinew that lay beneath it. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he turned his head and nipped at my fingers, catching my index and middle fingers in his mouth, and beginning to softly suck on them.

The shivers already running down my spine increased, and once again our eyes met.

I moved closer and edged my other hand onto his leg, under the table. Gently I palpated and massaged his inner thigh, deliberately avoiding his crotch area, aside from the occasional straying of one finger over his fly. He was hard already -- as hard as I was wet... and he was dying for me to touch him.

And god, I so wanted to.

The massaging was sending him into paroxysms of delight and anticipation of what was yet to come. I sensed, correctly, that he wanted to move to the next stage of the evening. I indicated that I understood this by removing my hand from his leg, and using it to down my scotch in one, before I turned and looked at him intently.

There was no need for conversation.

He removed my fingers from his lips, and kissed them, rising from the table. He didn't let my hand out of his, using it to pull me up and away from the table. Wordlessly, I walked beside him, fingers entwined, bodies bumping and brushing against each other, out of the bar, through the softly-lit lobby and down a long winding corridor to the ground-floor room that he had reserved.

Ice well and truly broken, the fun was just about to start.

************************

Continuing our alcoholic theme, the first thing he did after leading me into the room was to head for the mini-bar, after he'd pulled me urgently to him and kissed me until my head span.

"Another drink, Missy?" he enquired.

I sat on the bed. "Sure," I replied, still a little winded from the passion of his kiss.

He poured me a scotch, and brought it over to me. I had shifted my body so I was sitting against the wall, legs stretched out straight and crossed in front of me, shoes kicked off and lying haphazardly on the floor. I reached out to take the crystal tumbler, and was surprised to see him move it out of my reach.

I looked at him quizzically. He clicked his tongue and gestured at me to remove my blouse.

I did so, my eyes barely leaving his.

He reached forward, still holding my drink at arm's length, and flicked the catch of my front-opening bra. I said nothing, as I shucked off the offending item of clothing, and sat facing him, breasts proudly on display.

Placing the drink on the bedside table, he then began to remove his linen shirt; slowly, languidly... deliberately. Never breaking eye contact for a second. His chest was revealed; smooth, broad, inviting; his nipples erect and his breathing fast.

Both of us topless. Each waiting to pounce on the other; waiting for that indeterminate moment when the tension would draw us together like magnetic opposites.

He reached into the glass next to him, and dipped his finger in the whisky. Lifting his hand to my breast, he began to encircle my nipple with his soused digit, causing me to gasp at the slight sting of the alcohol on that oh-so-sensitive spot. Then, as he bent his head toward me and took my nipple into his mouth, I gasped again at the warmth of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth as he nipped at me, and the joy that he had finally set the events of the evening in motion.

I tilted my head back, abandoning myself to the sensations he was arousing within me. I sighed audibly, and raked his hair with my fingernails, feeling myself grow wetter and hotter by the second.

When he paused for a moment, I pulled his head up by the hair, tugging hard for a second and then letting go. I raised myself unsteadily onto my feet, feeling the mattress fluctuate beneath me. With a carefully aimed and pointed toe, I flipped him onto his back. He now lay underneath me, enclosed between my feet, looking up with a face of delighted anticipation.

It was now my turn for slow and deliberate undressing, releasing first the hook, then the button, then the zip on the waistband of my tailored skirt. I held the skirt out to the side of my hips before allowing it to fall onto him; highly satisfied to see the garment land squarely over his bulging cock. He looked up approvingly at my silk panties and hold-up stockings.

Slowly I rolled each stocking down, following them with my panties, as his eyes and smile widened. I squatted nakedly over him, and felt beneath me for his fly. As I undid the zip, his cock bounced stright out at me, standing stiffly to attention, visibly throbbing.

He'd not indulged in any underwear at all.

He wriggled out of his pants, as I positioned myself astride him... leaning forward so that he could see the look in my eyes, and feel the soft caress of my hair as it tumbled down and across his face. I positioned my mouth by his ear, nibbling his lobe for a moment before growling softly:

"You want to be inside me, don't you?"

Instead of replying, he grasped me by my arms, pulling me onto him and sliding his cock into my overly eager cunt, in one slick and very sexy move. Any measure of control or restraint dissipated instantly, as the atmosphere switched to one of frantic and synchronized mutual fucking.

I matched him: pump for pump, thrust for thrust; our hips moving together, our lips meshing as we kissed passionately. The rhythm matched the pace, the pace increased with the intensity; my g-spot glowed a frantic lighthouse signal at my brain, which caused my cunt to become even more slippery; his cock grew in length, girth and rigidity within me as we fucked and fucked and fucked.

God, but he felt good in me. God, but this was great sex.

As I rode him hard, his hand found my anus, and roughly probed into it with a curious finger. I screamed in delight and he finger fucked my ass as urgently as he cock-fucked my cunt. It was delirious.

I couldn't believe we'd finally made it to here. Emails, then phone calls, and finally a business trip to Canada. Both of us behaving like frenetic carnal animals, bucking and tossing together on the bed. Neither of us wanting to be anywhere else, regardless of other entanglements.

This was all that mattered for now, this urgent, crucial and vital experience. If we never met again, this would be enough. We fucked harder and harder, each trying to meld into the other as we both soared higher and higher.

The heat in the room grew until I felt trickles of sweat roll down my face, as I neared my apex. His balls, as they repeatedly slapped against my ass, felt hotter and harder than they had before, and I knew he was nearing his too.

He drew back his head, and looked me in the eye, as he continued to silently grind his cock into me.

"Yes?"

I nodded, breathlessly.

"Yes!"

He let out a bloodcurdling groan of pleasure and raked my back with his nails.

"Oh my god, Missy. Yes! Yeeeeeees! Ohhhhh...."

I bit down on his neck as I felt the waves of orgasm sweep over me, moaning his name over and over. He yelped in pain and pleasure at the bite, and shivered tangibly as I held him close to me.

I felt his cock subside within my cunt, finger still inside my ass. He kissed me once more, before falling back onto the bed, utterly spent. I sat astride him, gasping for air.

"Shit, that was incredible," he breathed.

I nodded breathlessly.

"Best fucking blind date I ever had."