Chicago Hotel Adventure Ch. 04

"Where are we going?" Sylvia asked.

Wes grabbed the luggage and put it in the trunk of the limo. "Call it a second date night," he said, kissing Sylvia on the cheek. Then he held the limo door open and helped Sylvia in.

The cab driver was the same guy who brought Sylvia and Wes the first time. He stood beside his car and yelled, "Hey! Did you call me?"

"Yeah, but we got a better offer," Wes said.

"Oh no you don't! I drove all the way over here for you."

"All the way? I called ten minutes ago. You couldn't have been that far from here."

"Well," the cabbie said, shoulders sagging, "I sure could use another fifty."

"I'll see what I can do." Wes shook Mr. Craftsman's hand without a word and closed the car door. The limo pulled forward. On the other side of a gray felt panel sat the driver, silent and unseen.

"I don't know what's going on," Sylvia said, as she moved her face closer toward Wes's.

"I don't either," Wes muttered, leaning into the kiss himself.

"You'll tell me later?" she asked.

"Probably," Wes said.

Their lips met. Sylvia's skin was still warm from her performance. Every true musician was bound to sweat a little on stage, and Sylvia had proven herself a true musician. Her toned, muscular arms encircled Wes. He inhaled deeply the smell of her from her neck and hair, as she ravished his face with tender, slow, wet pecking kisses.

"Don't you want to see the city?" Wes asked, obligatorily.

"I've seen it," Sylvia said, grabbing Wes's hard cock through the fabric of his slacks. Wes watched with fascination as the gorgeous woman pecked her way down his torso, over his tummy, until she sat on her knees before him. She unzipped Wes's Armani slacks and pulled both the slacks and his white briefs down roughly so his hard cock sprang out. She took the thick, muscular tool in one hand, curling her fingers with their short manicured nails around the shaft. Her dark red lips glowed in the dimly lit compartment as her long tongue pressed flat and full against Wes's balls and moved up, up to the tip. Sylvia gingerly dug the tip of her tongue into the hole atop Wes's dick, something Wes had never seen or felt before.

Wes took deep long breaths, inhaling and exhaling with deliberation, looking back at Sylvia's wide-eyed stare. He twitched his cock, making the beast jitter in Sylvia's hand. She giggled.

"I can't believe we both won," she said, then licked Wes again.

"Uh-huh," he replied numbly.

"I feel like a fucking rock star."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm so horny for you, Wes."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you gonna tell me who that guy was?"

"He bought our dinner last night."

"Oh shit, you're right!"

"Sylvia, please!" Wes lovingly placed one hand on Sylvia's head, coaxing her back to the task at hand. She opened her mouth wide and descended upon Wes's cock as though her face had been designed to fit this particular pole. She placed her palms flat on top of the seat as her neck and head did all the work, sliding further and further down, with her sexy black curls falling all around Wes's exposed crotch.

Wes felt the back of her mouth open up, allowing the head of his penis to move into her throat. Instead of moving her mouth up and down the penis, she cradled him with her mouth, wrapping her tongue flat against the shaft, pressing from side to side, all the while sucking him with her throat. The pumping action created just enough friction on the topside and head to drive Wes out of his mind.

"Jesus christ," Wes muttered, his eyes closing with ecstasy, only to shoot open so they wouldn't miss anything.

The limo pulled to a stop – it felt like a curb, not another traffic light. Apparently, the ride had been shorter than they'd anticipated. Sylvia laughed and sat in one of the side seats as Wes yanked his pants up around his still tremendous boner. "Blue balls," he lamented.

"Not for long, Wes," Sylvia said.

"Look, a TV," Wes kidded.

"Oh darn," Sylvia kidded back.

Someone – the driver – opened the limo door. "We're here, sir."

Wes and Sylvia exited through the open door, with Wes offering a hand to his date. They now stood in front of The Penbrook, an older but immaculately well-maintained skyscraper with ornate moldings on the ledges. Everything about the place screamed a rich and illustrious pedigree, and if this was the scene from the sidewalk, what could Wes expect from the penthouse?

"Gee whiz," Sylvia said, looking straight up.

Porters grabbed the luggage and Sylvia's cello from the limo's trunk. Wes asked, "So, can I tip you or anything?"

"Not at all," said the driver. "I'm a personal assistant to Mr. Craftsman. If you'd care to refresh in the bar, the concierge will let you know when the penthouse is ready. The hotel regrets that they didn't have more notice, but they say the wait won't be long. Will you be dining out this evening?"

Wes looked at Sylvia. Sylvia shook her head slowly.

"We'll be eating in," Wes said.

"Okay then. Have a good night."

"Thanks."

"Alright, spill," Sylvia said, putting her arm through Wes's as he escorted her to the lounge.

"It's like this. That guy wants me to go to Germany and study piano."

Sylvia stopped dead in her tracks. For the first time in a long while, Wes could not interpret the look on her face. Then she smiled and said, "That's so great, Wes."

"Well, I haven't decided. He wants to discuss it tomorrow morning."

"There's nothing to discuss. You have to go. Oh my god! Do you think he was serious when he said that last thing in the hall to me? About me going to Germany, too?"

Wes let out a deep sigh. "I guess we have some talkin' to do tonight."

"And that's not all," Sylvia said seductively, as they continued to the bar.

Wes ordered two glasses of the house white wine. "He owns this hotel."

"Shut up!" Sylvia said, catching a drop of wine on her lip with one finger. "Unreal. Let me guess; he's buying airline tickets to replace the ones we're giving up tonight."

"Sure enough."

"Come on," she said, thinking he might be kidding.

"I know I can't afford them."

"And what am I supposed to tell my parents? And the professors?"

"We'll call Roger from the room and give him a message for the coaches. As for our parents, tell them what you'll tell them when we fly to Germany. We're busy being adults."

"Bullshit. I've never had so much fun in my entire life."

A moment of silence ensued. Light rock trickled out of a hidden loudspeaker somewhere in the ceiling. Wes watched Sylvia nurse her wine, holding the glass by its stem, swirling the liquid around. She was deep in thought, either searching for her next words or content not to have any. Wes knew the feeling; he himself had always been comfortable with long silences. Sylvia looked up, and Wes could tell she'd changed the subject in her own head.

"I need to finish what I started. In the limo."

"True."

Sylvia asked, "Do you regret anything we've said or done?"

Wes put his wine down, looked at the rows of bottles against the wall, collected his thoughts. "I guess in some way, I've always been worried about what other people say and think about me. I know in my brain that I'm in control of my own life, that none of their opinions matter, but when people tell me I've done something wrong, I get all quiet and shy and shit. It's a miserable feeling, it really is."

"Yeah."

"So, in a way, I guess I'm thinking you and I have moved too fast, partly because other people would say that if they heard us talking, but also... because I'm afraid we don't know each other as well as we should. You might get bored with me, or see me someday do something you don't like and call it quits."

"Or you might decide you don't like me."

Wes heard a distinct choke in her voice. It made him smile at her, naturally, full of love. "I've seen the best you have to offer, Sylvia, and it's better than I've ever seen. Anything you've done you can't forgive, I'll forgive for you. I'm... It's true. I'm in love with you."

Sylvia nodded, as though pondering an intellectual exercise. "So."

"So."

"Alright then. Which will it be? Germany or Florida?"

Wes chuckled. "Hell, we have another year of school to decide, don't we?"

"Ah damn," Sylvia moaned, remembering the inevitable. "I don't want to go back."

"We could drop out of school," Wes said. "We could fly to Germany tonight."

Sylvia's face reflected a cavalcade of emotions. Her mouth dropped open slightly, uncertain and worried, but her eyes lit up like flames. Wes could only guess what she was thinking, but he hoped she believed in him as deeply as he did in her. At that moment he wanted her body very badly. It was a desire Sylvia would understand very well, and most likely share.

The bartender answered the phone, then told Wes his room was ready. The guy handed them keys, and told them how to use them in the elevator to activate the "P" floor. Wes paid for their drinks and led Sylvia through the plush, fairly high-ceilinged lobby, covered in dark reds, not-too-dark golds and a variety of woods. They got in the elevator and did not attack each other, but simply held hands and nervously awaited whatever was waiting for them on the "P" level.

The doors opened, and neither student could find the words.

They stepped directly into the penthouse room, which was not a hotel room but a magnificent excursion into another world. Without taking a step further, they were able to see, past the tall marble entry hall, a massive open space that threatened to dwarf its own elegant furnishings. Wes would have called this the "living room" back home. Beyond the living room lay a wall of windows, framed in wood with curtains, looking out onto a balcony that appeared to surround the entire suite, covered in green plants and delicate red flowers. The elevator appeared to sit in the center of the penthouse, a house-sized structured that covered at least 2,000 square feet of the hotel's roof. No doors or walls separated those interior spaces directly within view, creating one single loft apartment built in tiers and levels. The marble entry hall opened to both sides, leading to a kitchen on the left and, to the right, an enclosed sundeck with wide skylight windows in the roof. The light through the skylights had turned gray, promising rain.

"Take off your clothes," Sylvia said.

Wes felt his penis twitch. "What?"

"Take off your clothes. Drop them right here. I want to feel like I own this place, before we take another step inside."

Showtime. Wes loosened his tie, draped his jacket over the back of a Victorian-style desk chair, unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. His eyes continued to peruse the premises, but the only thing more beautiful than the suite kept drawing his attention. Sylvia's eyes sparkled as she scanned her home for the evening, a silly grin on her face.

Still looking at the kitchen, she put her tiny jacket over the chair on her side of the entry hall. Then she daintily slipped the spaghetti strap off of her left shoulder, then her right. She unzipped herself in the back and let the garment fall to the floor, stepping out of it, forgetting about it. Wes felt his mouth go dry as he looked at her in her black bra, lacy thong and high heels. She unhooked the back clasp on her bra, freeing her breasts; the flesh of her mounds, moments ago smooth and hard in the cups, now jiggled and bounced slightly, medium-sized, inviting. Her nipples, protruding even in their softened state, would harden soon, the areolas puffy when she got really excited.

Sylvia held her arms forward and let the bra fall, making a small thud as it hit the bare wood floor. Without an ounce of self-consciousness, she gripped the sides of her panties with the tips of her fingers and pulled them down onto her thighs. Her tender, olive-colored skin burned pinkish where the panties had dug in, but then the red evaporated, leaving her skin smooth and flawless. The bald flesh of her pelvic mound seemed to reflect the hallway light, sparkling like a precious metal.

Wes, stepping out of his own pants, felt his penis press hard against the fabric of his underwear. "Geez," he said very softly, under his breath.

Sylvia smiled at him. This was a new smile, one that said she'd known him for years and trusted him completely. Once her ankle was free of her panties, she winked at Wes and stepped out of her high heels.

"Get those whitey tighties gone, boy."

Wes took off his underpants. His eight-inch cock protruded from his shaved crotch, longer than many and thicker than most. He liked the way his hairless balls felt against his thighs as he stroked himself, thoughtlessly, as he examined Sylvia. She stared at him. Her nipples went hard as though a switch had been thrown.

"Let's see the place," she said.

They held hands tightly as they went down three steps to the kitchen first, decorated classically with tasteful granites and stainless steel. Sylvia, girl that she was, had to open all the cabinets and drawers to find all the appliances and utensils, before announcing proudly that everything one could need was there, even though she probably wouldn't have time to cook anything in there. The fridge and freezer were filled with food of all kinds and price ranges, as was the pantry closet. Beyond the kitchen was a breakfast table looking out onto the balcony. Wes looked briefly at the Chicago downtown buildings towering overhead and at the streets far below.

"Let's see," Sylvia said. "I want you to fuck me on the tile floor, on the granite countertop, and in those chairs by the window."

Wes laughed. "Okay."

From here they could see that the suite was a huge oval, with round walls curving all the way around the roof but not a true curve; indents created the illusion of room breaks, and Wes suspected the place would look more like a flower petal if viewed from overhead, with the elevator at the center of the flower, the petal edges surrounded by the patio.

The open-air kitchen looked out to the right onto a nook space, a sort of study/TV room/play room with a computer in a corner, framed by trees to reduce the window glare on the screen. The lovers decided to investigate that direction later, although Sylvia was sure to point out that she wanted to have sex in the desk chair.

To the left sat the dining "room" (no walls or doors meant no rooms), filled with a long, oak dining table with ten chairs, surrounded by big-leaf plants on pedestals and counters for serving trays.

"Fuck me on that table," Sylvia said.

"Check."

Beyond that space was the living room, divided into three parts by levels and furniture. First was a huge circle pit filled with soft throw pillows, as big as a bed, with a semi-circle couch around one half and a wood cabinet filled with electronics on the other side.

Sylvia tossed her naked body into the pillow pit and flopped around, giggling. Wes jumped in after her, tickling her and wrestling around. They laughed and yelled, moving their hands over one another, their bodies against each other. At last they fell together, breathless, with Sylvia pinning Wes at the bottom of the upholstered pit, buried below the pillows. She kissed Wes quickly, deeply.

"We can't do this here." Sylvia announced.

"Why not?" Wes asked.

"I'll stain the pillows. Big time."

Wes growled, immediately turned on. Sylvia pulled him out of the pit. They walked through the living area they'd seen first – containing four couches, two coffee tables, and several armchairs and end tables, not to mention a chess set with such elaborate pieces that one could not tell them apart except in their starting positions – and into the third part, another open entertainment space with all the chairs facing a big fireplace, which was exposed on two sides so that one could look through the fire into the sunroom with the big skylights. A door between the sunroom and living space led into a ridiculously large bathroom, much too big to not contain a bathtub, but of course, there had to be room for the phone, television and bidet.

The sunroom was carpeted, except for an elevated wood deck with a below-ground hot tub in the deck. Beyond the sunroom was the first wall they had encountered, with folding doors pulled together to close off the room beyond, probably the master bedroom.

Sylvia grabbed Wes's arm. "That's our very own hot tub," she said, aghast.

"It's awesome," Wes said. "Let's get in."

Sylvia faced Wes, put her hand on his arms. "I want you so bad."

"I want you, Sylvia."

"Oh Wes." She kissed him, gliding her tongue inside his mouth. He inhaled sharply as his libido spiked, causing a tingling sensation just under his lungs. The girl revved up her attack, moving her hands up and down his naked body, grabbing at the tight flesh around his tummy, fondling his ass. Wes explored the girl with his own hands, tenderly caressing her smooth back and shoulders. Still groping and kissing, the two made their way into the hot tub, already bubbling softly.

Instead of fucking, they fooled around, taking turns sitting on the other's lap, making out. Wes fondled Sylvia's wet body tenderly, sucking her nipples, her earlobes. Sylvia often grabbed Wes's cock playfully, sliding the hard shaft easily underwater. After a while, the heat of the water overcame them, and they settled into a comfortable position, with Wes sitting legs stretched forward, his back to the tub wall, and Sylvia straddling him, legs open. Sylvia held Wes's face in her hands and methodically opened and closed her mouth over his. Wes licked inside her mouth with long, tasting probes. He held her bottom in his hands.

The sky thundered. The lovers realized rain had been pattering against the skylights for quite some time.

"Fuck me hard, Wes," Sylvia said out of left field.

"Let's see the bedroom."

The folding doors opened into the master bedroom, a luxurious affair colored in dark greens and matching earth tones. The rug felt thick and soft beneath Wes's wet feet. Another couch pit faced another fireplace, this one braced against a corner. A garden of flowers swayed outside in the wind and rain. Beside a set of drawers sat all their luggage -- several bags and backpacks, Sylvia's cello, and two three-feet tall trophies.

"Oh my god," Sylvia said. She pointed. Above the king size bed, on the ceiling, was a huge mirror.

"This is the coolest fucking hotel room on earth."

Sylvia ran at the bed and threw herself on it. "Fuck me fuck me fuck me!!!" she yelled, tossing and turning in the bright sunflower-colored bedspread, pulling the cover up, tossing throw pillows everywhere, not caring that she was still dripping from the hot tub. She slowed as her hand hit her pussy. Sylvia rubbed hard and slow, pressing three fingers against her clitoris. Wes watched from across the room as she dipped the fingers easily inside her glistening hole. "Oh god, Wes," she moaned with her eyes closed. "Fuck me hard, baby, come here and fuck me hard, come here and fuck me. Bend me, turn me, flip me, FUCK ME!"

Wes trotted as fast as his boner would allow to the foot of the bed. He climbed onto the huge mattress and grabbed Sylvia, flipping her onto her hands and knees. She eagerly spread her knees, and Wes could see a thick glob of cream on her right pussy lip. Wes's stomach felt tight and empty; he had to get inside her as quickly as possible. His penis twitched like a caged beast, red and thick from adrenaline.

He inserted himself inside Sylvia with a deliberate, delicious pace. Sylvia's body shuddered. "Ahh..." she gasped, and she fell forward onto her elbows. Wes slowed so Sylvia could catch her breath, but he didn't stop. Sylvia took short, hissing breaths through her teeth, and her back quivered, but her firm ass cheeks didn't jiggle in the slightest. Wes's own legs trembled hard, and he had to grab Sylvia by the waist to keep from collapsing. The girl's pussy tightened around his cock, hugging him with hot wet walls covered in a slick coat of slimy juice. At last Wes felt his own legs press against Sylvia's ass, and he was completely inside her.