More Sex with the XbyInsatiableSteve©
Author's note: This is the second installment of what I hadn't originally conceived of as a series. Before reading this you may wish to read the previous story, "Sex with the X?" It explains more about the characters' backgrounds and details their most recent sexual encounter.
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It had been nearly two years since I'd last seen Christina, and even though my cock hadn't so much as rubbed against her wonderful pussy on that occasion I still found myself regularly rerunning the events of that hot oral encounter at my old bachelor pad through my mind. All of that touching and stroking and licking and coming that we'd illicitly shared rarely failed to arouse me.
I was still with Melissa — in fact, she and I had given up our separate spaces and moved in together into a larger unit in the three-flat that I'd already been living in when she and I met, with the mutual understanding that we'd marry someday down the line and all that, no need to rush into anything.
Our companionship was strong; the sex, less so. Correction: Melissa and I had pretty satisfying sex, but not nearly as often as I would have liked. Her drive just didn't meet mine — despite the obvious love and care that she had for me, Melissa's career still came first, and me second. (And on many nights in our bed, not at all.) But back then, in my 29th year, I was beginning to feel fairly certain that I'd never find someone who was a great fit with me in both personality and libido; all of my exes seemed to fit into one camp or the other.
Except, perhaps, Christina. It was hard for me sometimes to even recall just why we had broken up. She had a tendency to shut me out at times, which was frustrating. She had a quick temper that often surprised me with its sudden appearances. And she was prone to jealousy; she confronted me at least half a dozen times with suspicions that I was cheating on her with one or another of my many platonic female friends. Which was funny, in hindsight, since Christina was actually the first and only woman with whom I'd ever cheated. In the end, our downfall came about from all of the little fights we had, each one a fissure in our relationship that eventually cracked apart from the pressure of the stress.
Now I was headed to Boston on an early Wednesday morning flight for a two-day summit my firm was hosting at the Ritz-Carlton. I'd booked an extra night's free stay there for myself through the corporate rewards program, ostensibly to meet up with Barry, a high school friend who'd attended college in Boston and decided to make it his home. To give myself plausible deniability to Melissa, I had in fact made plans to have Barry swing by the hotel at checkout time on Friday so we could hit a tavern for lunch and then get me to Logan for my afternoon flight home. But I'd already made Thursday dinner plans with Christina, who'd sounded very happy to hear from me when I'd called a week earlier to let her know I'd be in town. We'd even had a bit of phone fun before her fiancé Ted had interrupted things by arriving home before either of us could get off.
Needless to say, the summit dragged on. My attention was barely there half of the time, but I slogged through in hopes of a sweet reward at the end. I took my notes as best I could for the report I would have to write up, grateful that the panel sessions and discussions were being recorded as well. But like all things, the event eventually ended. With a final promise to my asshole of a boss "not to have too much fun" during my stay-over, I returned to my room to relax for a bit. Christina wasn't due to meet me down at the Avery Bar until 6, so I had a few hours to unwind and rest up.
I returned to my very nice Park View Room (I was in good with our Corporate Travel group, where my friend Misty always booked a better room for me than my boss) and took in the sight of the snowy afternoon for several minutes before removing my black suit jacket, tie, white shirt and shoes. I lay down on my back on the king-size bed, idly channel surfing until I found just the right cable news commentator to give me a bit of inspiration. She was one of those angry bleached blondes who complained about how our philanderer-in-chief Bill Clinton was destroying our country, teeth gnashing with feigned outrage. All I could think about was how much I wanted to fuck the rage out of her here in this very bed where countless hotel guests over the years had done everything from making sweet, tender love to acting out the most aggressive sexual scenarios.
I manipulated myself slowly despite the surprising hardness of my thoughts, savoring every sensation, alternately sliding my right hand over the front of my woolen trousers to massage the underside of my penis as it lay across the lower part of my abdomen, then reaching down through my waistband and my boxer briefs' fly, encircling my shaft and thrusting into my palm. I held the remote control in my left hand, considering ordering up some pay-per-view porn, stopped by the thought that Misty in Travel might somehow see the expense on my guest statement and decide against approving this particular in-room charge.
In just a few minutes the rough friction of my calloused hand on my cock began to draw my pre-come forth — sticky, slippery drops that I rubbed into my head and down my shaft. The temptation to pull my pants off and continue on through release was strong, but I had my wits about me enough to decide that delayed gratification would ultimately bring me greater satisfaction. I stopped, rolled over onto my stomach with care, removed and placed my glasses on the pillow next to me and quickly drifted off into a sweet sleep.
My internal alarm clock brought me awake shortly after 5. I walked into the bathroom, saw the pillow's effect on my face and the mess that my nap had made of my hair, and opted to shower. The water pressure felt great on my scalp and back, so much better than the dribble that passed for a shower back at the apartment in Chicago. The combination of my soapy hand and thoughts of the prospective sweet treat ahead quickly made me erect again. In my younger years I might've finished the job in hopes of lasting longer later, but now I liked to exert more control over my climaxes. Again I denied myself, and my hardness slowly subsided as I exited and toweled off. I went through my usual quick preparation of finger-combing my hair, brushing my teeth, gargling and applying a bit of deodorant before getting dressed, swapping a yellow button-up in place of my white one and putting on a powder-blue tie and my black suit.
I took the elevator down to the Avery Bar with a few minutes to spare, happy to find some room at the bar. I ordered a neat pour of Blanton's, enjoying the bourbon's deliciously sweet caramel corn nose, taking tiny sips while waiting for Christina. I took in the scenery, wondering how it is that high-end hotels always seem to feature very glamorous, attractive women with perfect hair and makeup in sexy cocktail dresses decked out with all manner of sparkling jewelry. I would've laid fair odds that the blonde with the obviously fake breasts sitting at the end of the bar giving a wolfish smile to that guy old enough to be her grandfather was in fact a prostitute.
My musings came to an end when I felt a hand on my arm. "Hey, you," Christina said in greeting. I turned to look at her, both of us smiling, and slid off of my barstool to embrace her.
"You look amazing," I said, holding her close against me for a moment and kissing her near her ear. She really did. Christina was a little thinner then when I'd last seen her, which actually enhanced her hourglass figure, all hips and tits. She'd also applied some blondish highlights to her shoulder-length red hair. I helped her off with her coat, revealing a wintery black dress that fell almost to her knees, a hint of black hosiery showing between the hem of the dress and the top of her black leather boots. She wore minimal makeup as always, her lightly freckled pale skin practically glowing, her lips painted a beautiful crimson. Delicious.
She sat in the bar stool to the right of me and ordered a dirty martini while I opted for another pour of Blanton's. We decided to have a light meal at the bar, bruschetta and a cheese plate. She told me about how much she was enjoying her graduate program in music, that she'd switched her area of concentration, and talked about the fun she had playing at open mics with different combinations of classmates. I caught her up on my doings, my boredom with my job, the lack of appealing alternatives. Neither of us mentioned our partners.
As the hour passed 7 pm the bar grew increasingly crowded. Christina and I sat closely together, our legs touching electrifyingly every time either of us moved. She finished her second martini, picked the blue-cheese-stuffed olive up by the cocktail pick, placed it on her lips, then closed her lips together and gently sucked some of the cheese out while I watched, entranced and aroused. Still holding the olive between her lips, she pulled the toothpick away, swallowing the round green orb into her mouth and swallowing audibly. Her left hand felt up my right leg, gave the tip of my erection a quick squeeze, and gestured toward the door with parted lips and a movement of her head. "Your room?" she asked. My right hand shot up, beckoning the bartender over for the check and charging it to my room, Christina periodically stroking me over my pants during an excruciating two minutes.
I held my coat in front of me, walked uncomfortably to the elevators, where a couple that looked to be in their 60s was waiting. I put my free arm around Christina's waist, whispered in her ear just how badly I needed her. Even with the muted lighting, I could see in the mirrored elevator doors that my face was flushed. A chime sounded as the elevator arrived and the doors opened, a couple stepping out before the elderly pair entered, the two of us following. I pressed the button for my floor, turned to stand face to face with Christina, my brown eyes looking down into her green ones. "It's so nice to see two young people in love," the old woman remarked while her companion shushed her. Love hell; this is just lust, my inner voice insisted. Five floors up, the doors opened, the geezers departed and we were left alone, our mouths immediately finding one another, tongues circling one another urgently for the few seconds it took to arrive at my floor.
Christina exited first, taking my hand and pulling me along just behind her. "To the right — room 1214," I told her.
I opened the door to my room and led Christina inside. We dropped our coats and her oversized purse on the luggage rack just inside the entrance and walked past the closet and bathroom into the larger chamber beyond. I turned around, put my arms around her waist and met her mouth. She took the lead in our dance, walking forward and pushing me backwards onto the enormous bed. I had barely even lifted my head when she was upon me, straddling me, grinding against me. My cock felt her damp heat, even through our many layers of clothing.
I reached up behind her, found the zipper on her dress, pulled it down. She stood, let the dress fall, shimmied out of it, walking across the room and folding it over a chair. She looked amazing, her pale DD-cup breasts spilling out over a too-small black bra, accompanied by matching panties, black garters, hose and those high leather boots.
She looked over at me, walked back to the bed, pulled me up by my tie and kissed me hungrily, breaking it off with a rough, unexpected bite to my lower lip as she brought her other hand up to undo my knot and lower my head back to the bed, using my untied strip of silk like a bridle to ease me back. She crawled onto the bed, lowering her panty-covered crotch onto my aching, clothed tumescence, and placed her hands on the top button of my shirt, slowly undoing each of my buttons while rubbing against me. Then she undid my belt buckle, slid back and off the bed, stood and pulled my pants down and off, sliding my shoes off to accomplish the task.
Wasting no time, Christina approached the bed from the side and swung one leg over my head, lowering her moist nylon panties over my face as she settled into a 69 position. The sensation was amazing; the smell of leather from her boots straddling my head competing with the scent of her arousal. I licked her through the nylon, adding to the wetness, luxuriating in her taste, my tongue surprised to find that she was hairless. I felt her teeth gently bite down on my cotton-sheathed erection before she opened the fly, freeing me, taking my tip in her mouth as I pushed her underwear aside to better access her sweet love tunnel. I curled my tongue and licked aggressively, parting her folds, my reward a taste of her indescribably sweet, tangy, creamy cunt.
I chuckled softly as I painted the shapes of the letters that make up my first, middle and last names around and across her vagina with my tongue, secretly claiming it as my own. She writhed on my face for several minutes while I enjoyed her mouth's ministrations on me. My glasses began to fog up from the humid heat. It felt wonderful, but I wanted more.
Christina let out a small, surprised shriek as I lifted her off of me and stood up, lining her ass up with the edge of the bed while she remained on all fours. I removed my shirt and tie, pulled her panties down and off of one leg, leaving them dangling from the boot on her right leg. I quickly reached up to the middle of her back and unsnapped her bra, then rubbed my hardness along her wetness, reveling in the contact between the bundle of nerves at the end of my cock and her swollen clitoris, my pre-ejaculate fluid mixing with her own lubrication, a river meeting the sea. I pulled back one final time, wrapped my hand around her thighs and pushed upwards, filling her tight fuck hole in a single hard thrust that elicited a gasp from her.
We quickly found a hard, fairly fast rhythm, me pulling her toward me with each stroke, her pulling away as I pulled out. The room filled with her sighs and moans, my grunts, and the sound of our flesh slapping together every time I sank completely into her wonderfully accommodating pussy. It had been years since I'd had the pleasure of Christina's box, and it felt better than ever. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me Steve," she moaned, looking back at me over her left shoulder. I slapped her on the right ass cheek in response, then sped up for another minute before coming to a sudden stop, not wanting to come just yet.
"On your side," I instructed, and she obeyed. I lay beside her on my left side and reinserted myself, luxuriating in the velvety smoothness of our conjoined sex. I licked, kissed and nibbled her right shoulder and the back of her neck as I found a slow but hard tempo, enjoying the sight of her right breast jiggling each time I slammed into her. I reached my right arm around her hip and found her clit, rubbing it with two fingers as she sighed with pleasure. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop...." she quietly intoned until her orgasm overtook her. I rode out her shaking, bewitched by the sensations in her quivering pussy and the wonderful song she let out, then found that my own need had grown too great just as she began to subside.
I pulled out, slid away from her and got to my feet quickly. She fell onto her back, and I gave my cock a few quick strokes with my hand. I took in the amazing sight of her, her boots, hose and garter still on, her hairless cunt gaping open, lips distended, her creamy smooth stomach, pancaking breasts, pursed lips, eyes half open and very intent on me. I felt my little death extend from my thighs to my chest as I ejaculated for the first time in three days, my jism coming forth in thick ropes, the first two spurts reaching her breasts, the next few her stomach, then down near her pussy until finally I rubbed myself against the stocking just above her right knee, the final few droplets of my pleasure trickling out onto the nylon. I collapsed onto her, kissed her deeply, fell onto my right side and watched as my come began to dissipate, losing its viscosity and trickling into her cleavage, down the side of her torso every time she took a breath.
"That," I began....
"Was fucking intense," she said definitively.
"God yeah," I said, my voice softening with the satiation of my need. I ran my left index finger around her left nipple, scooped up some of my sperm and rubbed it into her breast absentmindedly as she watched with a sense of blissed-out wonder on her face. "I've missed this. I've missed you."
"I miss you too."
"And now you're a thousand miles away. If only you were closer, we could get together more often. Maybe even get back together."
We were quiet for a quarter of an hour, gently caressing one another's bodies as we silently spooned. Finally I had to get up to urinate, to flush out any stragglers from my urethra. I decided to brush my teeth and clean up a bit with some soap as well. Christina followed me, picking up her bag and placing it on the desk. When I exited the bathroom several minutes later I found her boots at the foot of the bed, and her beneath the covers, with only the light on the unoccupied side of the bed still on. I knew she'd had an early start to the day getting to class after closing at her retail job the night before, so I let her rest. I went to the door, opened it just enough to hang the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the handle, closed the security latch, turned out the light and joined her beneath the covers.
I lay there in the dark on my back for a while listening to Christina's soft breathing, my brain racing in contrast to the stillness. Was this just sex? Did I want something more with this woman? Could we start again?
My line of self-inquiry was interrupted when something else started again — my cock, which Christina had begun stroking to life. "Well hello there," she purred at me in the dark, the room lit solely by the ambient light coming through the sheer curtained window.
"Hello yourself," I replied, placing a hand between her legs, pleased to find that her wetness hadn't subsided, teasing along the length of her pussy with my middle finger while my thumb sought out her clit. The newly shaven thing was quite a turn-on; Melissa wasn't exactly a tomboy, but she didn't go for hair removal down there. Our mutual readiness evident, Christina rolled on top of me, sitting up straight, positioned my penis at her entrance and lowered herself onto me. She leaned forward, and I took advantage of the opportunity to lick her nipples and silver-dollar-sized areola, loving the feel of her nipples between my lips as they hardened in response to my stimulation.
I took her hands in mine, then pushed back against them to get her to lean back, keeping our pace slow but changing my angle of attack to increase the stimulation for both of us. I took her left hand in my right one, placing it on her clit. "Guide me to your pleasure," I instructed. She fingered herself with my hand over hers; I traced each of her manual movements as we continued fucking.
"God, I love this dick," Christina whispered hoarsely, bringing a smile to my face. I continued on, changing angles as best I could, exploring every bit of her tight womanhood. Her orgasm came suddenly, an unexpected series of cries as her pussy spasmed around me, what little light there was in the room showing the contortions of her face in shadow.
I slowed the pace, still in need of release. "Stop, stop it — I can't take it anymore right now; I'm too sensitive down there," Christina announced, releasing me and rolling off of me.
I stroked myself slowly, the combination of our fluids giving me plenty of lubrication. "Can I...do you in the ass?" I asked, testing her boundaries. Anal sex was a very rare thing for me back then; after we'd reviewed our mutual sexual histories years ago Christina had pejoratively referred to Tracey, a one-night stand with which I'd done it, as "Assfuck Girl." Christina had always been clear with me that she considered it an exit, not an entrance — but she'd evolved in some ways, so I was hopeful that she'd let me do something that Melissa was not at all into.