Courtesy

I pulled my own hand away, and captured hers. Against a slight resistance, I put her hand on me. I pulled her hand up, and pushed it down. She continued on her own as I returned my hand to its former position.

We kept at our separate fondlings, while our kiss continued. Her tongue became more demanding and her hips started to pump more forcefully. I wasn't ready for her to orgasm yet, so I took a chance. I broke the kiss.

She had only promised me one kiss, and it had seemed so far that almost anything went during that kiss. I wasn't sure what would happen when it ended, but I wanted to make her come on my tongue. I broke the kiss and slid to my knees in front of her. She started to push my head back, but I murmured, "It's only another kiss..."

Her hand relaxed and I tasted her. She surprised me in that she seemed less ready to come with this stimulation than with my hand. Her hips pumped and her hand twisted in my hair, but I couldn't seem to push her over the edge. I finally resorted to the old trick of writing the alphabet with my tongue on her clitoris. She came on "j."

I would have continued, but she pulled me to her face, and we kissed again. She didn't give me a chance to wipe my face, so she tasted herself on me. It didn't seem to bother her.

This new position, however, presented me with a test of my character. My cock was at her vagina. A small adjustment and a hip thrust, and I would be in her. Heaven knows I wanted it.

But she had said we would not go all the way. Then suddenly it was not up to me. The car lurched, or her hips bucked slightly, or both, and I was in her. Only an inch or two, but in her.

She froze. I froze. The kiss ended as she looked down between our bodies, to where the head of my erection had disappeared into her. Deliberately, she moved her hips so that another inch disappeared. I am not big, so this was near half-way for me. I stayed still, waiting. After a second, she pulled her hips back abruptly.

"I'm sorry, Miles. I can't do this. This is more story than I planned. I'm not even sure I can tell my husband this much. I have to stop."

"I understand, Natasha. I shouldn't have plied you with so much liquor. I wanted us to have fun, but I didn't want you to regret it later."

"Oh my," she laughed, " I won't regret it. I wanted a naughty story to tell my husband - not quite this naughty, mind you - but I won't regret it. Someday I'll probably regret stopping now, but not tonight. Tonight I regret nothing." And then she kissed me one last time.

We cuddled for a few more minutes, and then the intercom dinged. The driver informed us that we would be at Natasha's hotel in a few minutes.

We scrambled to dress in street clothes, giggling and playing like children. The limo stopped, and the door opened. And then she was gone. I haven't seen her since, but one of these days we'll be on the same flight... and we'll share a secret smile.

Or perhaps she did continue her hip thrust, and buried me in that extraordinarily tight sheath, moving up and back until I took over the rhythm. Telling me not to come inside her. Me telling her it was inside her or in her mouth. And it was, one or the other.

Or maybe coming up to my suite, murmuring, "Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb."

And after mutual oral resuscitation, considerably more pleasant than what I experienced on the airplane, reprising our performance in the limo.

Maybe she was tied face down and spread on the bed, with her charmingly reluctant consent, while I took what she said was her last virginity.

Or maybe a just peck on the cheek after dinner was all that happened. She was a faithful wife, you know.

The story ends differently each time I tell it to my wife.

I was pleased that my wife found the story erotic, and doesn't seem threatened by it. Whether I will ever get her to come through with her side of the deal remains to be seen. I am not holding my breath.

Well, that is the story, told in just the manner I think they wanted me to tell it. Most of it, or maybe all of it, is even true. Or at least, that's what I tell my wife. I don't know what Natasha tells her husband.