A Conference Cream Pie

I was at a literary criticism conference in Baltimore. My hotel room had a balcony, and after a long day of presenting and listening to other scholars present, I was in the mood to relax and have a little fun on it. I changed out of my uncomfortable button down shirt and pencil skirt, removed my glasses, and let my hair down out of its bun. I left my thigh-highs and heels on and pulled on a matching black negligée with a snap crotch and see-thru cups. It was around ten o'clock, and several floors down was the sidewalk, bathed in the orange glow of streetlights, with its current of pedestrians. The light was behind me, coming from my room, so I discarded my idea of flashing pedestrians below, thinking they wouldn't be able to see me. I went back in the room, turned off the lamps, and returned to the balcony to sit in the plastic green chair to enjoy the darkness. I lit up a joint and inhaled, holding the creamy smoke in my lungs for a few seconds before exhaling a big cloud of smoke which seemed to hang in the air in front of me before drifting toward the balcony adjacent to mine.

I closed my eyes, took another hit, and set the joint in the ashtray. All dressed up and nobody to play with. I let my hands wander up and down my own body, and eased aside the cups of the negligée so that my breasts spilled out. The light from the sign of the hotel across the street lit up my breasts in a red glow. I took another hit from the joint and held it, letting my free hand roam down between my legs and unsnap the crotch buttons. I exhaled another great cloud and began touching myself, propping one heeled foot on one chair and the other on the balcony railing. I smoked, playing with my pussy, thinking I would just rub one out and go to bed early. Then I heard a nearby muffled cough.

I had thought nobody was around. But the cough had come from the balcony adjacent to mine, from the dark recesses against the neighboring room, whose lights were all out. I strained my eyes in the darkness, trying to see. Had I imagined it? Then a faint green glow appeared and illuminated the cloud of smoke that was drifting across the balconies. The features of a male face became foggily distinguishable, and I gawked, my legs still spread eagle, my fingers still inside me. I realized that it was a man holding a phone towards me, watching the screen. He must have had night vision on his device, because it seemed far too dark to take a picture or video.

Then I noticed his other hand, barely identifiable except for the flurry of motion as it stroked up and down his exposed erection. How long had he been watching me? I stood and approached the balcony railing, my heel clicks echoing in the small space. As I approached, he neared the railing the two balconies shared, and he guided his cock through the railing and onto my side of the balcony. I watched the cock twitch and waver in the cold air.

"Suck it, bitch," the man slurred, and reached across with his free hand to grab a handful of my exposed breasts. His breath reeked of whiskey. I noticed a wedding band on his hand as he withdrew it from my boob and placed it around the base of his cock, wriggling the penis at me.

I squatted, my legs apart, pussy fully visible, and let me warm breath coast across the tip of his penis before I gave the head a long, lascivious lick. It tasted of pre-cum. I steadied his cock with my left hand, and began to suckle him, gently at first, pleasuring my clit with my free hand. The man aimed the phone lower to film me as I sucked and licked, then moved the phone sideways to get my masturbation in the frame.

He reached across the railing and grabbed a fistful of hair. He pulled me by the hair, closer to him, forcing his cock deeper down my throat, and then started to fuck my face roughly, his penis punching against the back of my throat before squeezing just a bit down my esophagus.

I withdrew, and stood up. He seemed immediately upset, as if he were about to start screaming at me, until I twirled around and bent over, pulling my asscheeks apart and pressing my ass against the railing. It took him a moment, in his drunken stupor, to understand the meaning of my change in position, but then I felt his slippery dick pressing against my asshole, sliding slowly in, his girth stretching me, until he was in all the way.

He pounded me from behind, reaching around to grab my tits, and it wasn't long before I heard him draw in his breath, felt his cock tense up inside me like a piece of wrought iron, and then felt the warmth of his cum spurting inside my ass. He slowly withdrew his cock.

"Fucking slut," he said.

Down below, on the sidewalk, a man had stopped and was looking up in our direction. Across the way, at the hotel across the street, a man stood on his balcony. He was all silhouette, the lamps in his room blazing behind him. I couldn't tell if he was pleasuring himself or not.

I looked back when I heard the door to the neighboring room click shut. The adjacent balcony was again vacant. I wondered if his wife had been asleep in the room the whole time, while he drained his balls in my ass. I sat back down on the green chair, resumed my fingering, and wondered, excited by the prospect.