That Questioning LookbyT_Elle©
I pull in to the parking lot of the hotel, in town again for a conference. The place is familiar, well-known to me and comforting. My life has been so prosaic – I've been in a rut that feels as deep as a canyon. I feel as if I could die from ennui. I'm resigned to attending the conference, but can't help feel a slight breeze of optimism; with this welcome break in routine and typical of my nature, like a sailboat, I tack into it. Almost against my will, my spirits lift as I check in and get settled.
The next morning, I'm driving into the rising sun, fortified by a restful sleep, a continental breakfast and a large cup of coffee. I still can't help but feel this is the advent of better things. From where is this ridiculous optimism coming? It's like a premonition, but of what, I can't even explain to myself.
As I walk into the conference auditorium, I greet familiar faces and settle myself in one of the middle seats. Several minutes later, the conference coordinator comes in, followed by about a half a dozen of what I assume is her staff. After a brief welcome and introduction, I realize these are her instructors. My gaze rests on each as they are introduced, and my attention is caught by one man, who stands at her side.
He is tall and broad, has dark hair touched with gray, with arresting features and eyes that snap with intelligence and wry humour. There is a hint of arrogance around his mouth, which is full and sensual. As the conference coordinator introduces him, my pulse increases and my mouth goes dry. Why do I find this man so compelling? He doesn't seem to notice my regard at all, but I can't see anything or anyone else in front of me.
The conference has begun in earnest. I have no choice but to pull myself together, ask pertinent questions and take notes. The information that's being imparted is essential to my work at home, and I can't afford to miss a single detail.
When it's almost the end of the day, we've had several knowledgeable instructors for each topic on the agenda, and there's only one more topic left. The conference is three days long, but I can't help but wonder if the man who so drew me earlier would be instructing the class next.
Oh... and he is. He strides to the front of the room to the dais, introduces himself again and immediately confirms what I suspected at first glance: He is incredibly intelligent, articulate and is able to hold our attention with a solid knowledge of his material and a humourous delivery. He emphasizes main points, gesticulating with his hands, and with the quirk of an eyebrow, he has the entire class in the palm of his hand. I'm completely entranced. As he speaks, his gaze wanders between his presentation on the screen, to individuals sitting in the auditorium, keeping them engaged. I'm almost desperate for his eyes to catch mine. Then, for just a second, they do, and it almost seems like his eyes can see right into me. Both eyebrows slightly lift, almost as if asking me an unspoken question. Before I know it, his lecture is over, and he is swarmed by my colleagues, who have to ask him one more question or make one more point... but I know there are women in the class who are like me, and just wish for a few minutes more in his presence. A hot, swooping sensation is in my stomach. I can't stay another minute when we're finally dismissed for the day.
In agitation, I drive back to my hotel. I change into clothes that feel uncomfortably tight, and go for a drink in the hotel bar. I have a book with me, but I can't get past the first page. Colleagues arrive for supper and a drink, but I can't eat. I finish my drink, make my excuses, and head to my room.
After two hours of television shows I can't remember, even my skin is tight, and I can't sit still. I opt for a shower, and stay in the steamy wet heat for at least a half an hour, repeatedly stroking my body, when the soap and shampoo have long since been rinsed away. What is wrong with me?
When I've dried off, I step out with some determination, and snap off all the lamps but one in the far corner. The bed is enormous, with four pillows end to end, and I arrange them all to my satisfaction. I reach into my suitcase, and bring out my vibrator, resolved to get rid of this inexplicable craving. I try to start slow, to build the pressure and enjoy the final release, but I just can't. I touch my clit and find myself swollen and soaking wet, so with no preliminaries, I fuck myself with the dildo, with the attachment vibrating against my clit, and I come explosively in seconds. I've just made an incredible amount of noise, but as I lay there still panting, with a fine sheen of sweat on me, I'm all alone in my room and don't care. But my satisfaction is short-lived. In another minute, as I experimentally play with myself, I realize I need it again. This time, with the image of a big man with that piercing gaze in my mind's eye, I get there even faster, and there's no way I want to stop it, as I pluck my nipples with my other hand. Two more times throughout the night I reach for my vibrator, desperate for release, all the time, taunted by his image.
Now it's the next morning. Again, the sun is shining, and now I feel a different reason for my optimism. I'm so tired, but the anticipation is swelling. I return to my seat in the conference room, eagerly awaiting him. But like the day before, we have many lectures, with many instructors, and none have been him. With one more class again to go before the end of the day, he walks in. At his first word, I'm his again. Again, his gaze wanders to each of us, again, his gaze briefly locks on mine, and AGAIN, his eyes seem to ask a question. I so want to answer... but I'm so afraid this connection we seem to have is all in my head. But he's so completely knowledgeable about his topic, he's made it so absorbing and compelling, it would be impossible to not pay attention to him. He holds me prisoner with the timbre of his voice, those large, capable, expressive hands, that enticing hint of arrogance and those sharp, sharp eyes that seem to miss nothing. He can't possibly not notice the effect he's having on me. But perhaps he doesn't, as now his lecture is over, and we're done for another day.
But this time... he lingers, seeming to take longer than it should to pack up his briefcase, and again, I get that questioning glance that gives me tight little shivers inside. So I take my time packing up as well, wondering if this is all a product of my wishful reverie, or if we've somehow really forged this intimate connection that only I can see. Everyone has finally left, and it's only the two of us in the room.
"Where are you parked?" He asks me.
"Just across the street," I answer, not quite able to meet his eyes.
"I'll walk with you, then," He replies with a twinkle, amused, and seeming to sense how I'm feeling.
Arrogant man! Of course he's noticed the effect he's had on me. His self-confidence and obvious assumption that I want him so badly should have dampened the fires of my lust, but with the full impact of his charisma finally so close, I want to pull the very smell of him into my blood. I have no choice but to follow where he leads.
When we get to my car, I open the door and am about to get in, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. An electric current runs straight through me, and I know I'm wet. He asks me, "What room are you in?"
Of course, he'd know the hotel, as everyone who's attending the conference is at the same one. Before I can launch into him for his presumption, my mouth opens of its own accord. "422," I whisper.
He doesn't smile when he says to me, "See you later." Is that later as in tonight? Or later tomorrow, on the last day of the conference?
Either way, my stomach is tight, and I break every speed limit getting back to the hotel. I request a bottle of white wine from room service, strip off my business casual clothes and dive into the shower. The thought of spending another night in the company of my vibrator is beyond aggravating... and the thought of spending it otherwise is absolutely terrifying... and beyond exhilarating. But after my shower, I get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, with no underwear or bra, and I leave my feet bare. He may have consumed my every thought waking and sleeping for two days, but I have more spirit than to wait on my bed patiently in a bathrobe for someone who is toying with me.
I turn on the TV, more for the company than anything else, and open my laptop. I catch up on the news and read my emails. An hour goes by. Then, two. At the three and a half hour mark, there's a knock on the door. Hands shaking, I answer it. And there he is. He's changed into more casual clothes like me, which doesn't disarm his physical presence in the slightest. He takes in everything about me, from my hair that's been let down and is damp and curly still from my shower, to my t-shirt, with the outline of my tits with their nipples peaked, all the way down to how I fill out my jeans. I can't help making the same appraisal. He, too, is freshly showered, and the smell of him is completely clean and free of cologne. I feel my nostrils flare as I take in the purely male scent of him. His long sleeved shirt looks soft and comfortable, but is fitted to his frame. His jeans are snug, and now I've lost track of everything else, because he fills them out so perfectly, I know I've been staring too long.
"Do I pass inspection?" He asks with a grin.
"I think you'll do," I reply, deadpan, finally having found my own sense of humour.
There's a moment of silence, as he stands in my doorway and we look at each other. I get this funny feeling of a point of no return – that with his first single step into the room, there's no turning back.
"Do you want to talk?" His voice has lowered, and he's pointedly looking in my eyes, forcing me to hold his gaze, as he seeks my honest answer.
There could be only one answer to give him. "No," I whisper, and step back.
He steps in the room completely, and the door closes behind him with a snick that seems overly loud in the charged silence. At the sound, my heart races, and I'm trembling. A random thought occurs: Strange, how sex, fight or flight are all so closely linked.
He deliberately walks toward me, slowly; I walk backwards, until the backs of my knees are touching the bed. The expression on his face is so intense, so arresting, I'm not sure what he plans on doing first. To my surprise, he stands in front of me, cups my face in both of his slightly callused hands, and kisses me... and kisses me... sliding his tongue along the seam of my lips so I'll let him in, stroking his tongue with mine, sucking on my lower lip until I'm whimpering. I'm so close, if I rise up on my toes, I might be able to rub my clit close to his cock. As I stand on my toes to do so, he reaches behind me, grabs my ass, and pulls me up to where I need to be. My control is gone, and I'm rubbing against him with wordless pleas. But he has his own agenda. When he's done, I'm gratified to see his kiss-swollen lips and to feel his iron cock pressing against me, but my patience has vanished. His seems to as well, as he grabs the neck of his shirt to pull it off in that masculine way. When he pauses, I take advantage, all shyness gone, and lick my way across his nipples, up to the line of his jaw, down the cords of his neck, his taste intoxicating. He doesn't indulge me for long.
He grabs my t-shirt from the bottom and lifts it off, eyes widening at the lack of bra underneath. He glances down at my bare toes, then back to my face, with that sexy, questioning look again. I quirk an eyebrow as if to say, "If you want to know what else is underneath, there's only one way to find out." I love our body language; I love the way we stay silent, but say so much. But he, too, gets distracted, cups my tits in both hands, suckles my nipples and buries his nose in my cleavage. He trails two fingers down the middle. I shudder, thinking of him running something else long and firm down my cleavage. I look into his eyes, and I can see the exact same thought, and suddenly, the reins snap.
He rips my jeans off, pushes me backwards onto the bed, with my legs still dangling over the side. He crouches in front of me, and opens me like a flower. I'm panting... I want to stay quiet for awhile, because I just know he'll be wringing sounds out of me that I've never made, but I can't hold back the moans. He begins to lick, sliding just around my clit, enough to drive me crazy. His lips rub my clit, then slip away to lick around it again. My moans are getting louder, and I can't stay still. He pulls up my legs so my feet are flat on the bed, then pushes my knees outwards, so he can hold me down better. I'm frantic. My hips are lifting in time. One of his hands is under my ass and a finger has slipped into my asshole. My eyes snap open, as it's uncomfortable, at first. But he keeps licking and sucking. Another finger slides in, and seems to be rubbing against an inner wall I can't imagine. While yet another finger has found another entrance, sadly neglected to this point, and aching to be filled. My panting is louder, my noises are totally out of my control, and my head thrashes on the bed. I start begging.
"Please...please...PLEASE!... I can't..."
He lifts his head up, his eyes now on fire, his lips wet with my juices, and his voice like gravel, "You can. You WILL."
Now he leaves his fingers in my ass, and totally concentrates on kissing and sucking on my clit. The pressure is building. My heartbeat is racing. I don't know where to put my hands, and they land on my tits, squeezing and pulling. When he looks up to see this, he hums against me, and then I completely shatter...."OHHHHH!" Oh, god... where does the magical mystery tour go from here?
Without giving me time to recover, he pulls me to my feet, then walks us to the hard-backed chair sitting in front of the desk. Intrigued, I watch as he sits down, then pulls me to him, so I sit facing him. I may be spent, but he certainly isn't, and I'm immediately impaled. "Ohhh...wow..." The possibilities seem endless to me. I can rub my tits against his chest, kiss and lick so many things, nibble on his jaw and his ear... but once again, he's ahead of me. He grabs my hands and pulls them behind me, able to hold both in only one of his. He grabs my hair in his other hand, and steadily pulls back, until my head is back tight and I can't reach anything on him. Just as I was his prisoner in the classroom, he has me willingly imprisoned again, and I'm so turned on, I can hardly bear it.
"Now what are you going to do?" He asks me roughly, slowly raising and lowering himself, so my body rides up and down his turgid cock. I rock against him in counterpoint.
But I'm through letting him have his way without a fight, so I say, "Hmmm... what do YOU plan to do?"
He stops moving and says, smugly, "Nothing, I think."
I squeeze the muscles of my cunt around him, and he just slightly flinches. I'm not totally defenseless.
Well, now the gloves are off. He picks up the pace, until I can no longer hope to keep up, and now the hand has moved from my hair, sneakily down my back and his fingers are in my ass again. This time, they're welcome, and I eagerly rotate my hips around his fingers and cock, until I feel the inevitable pressure building again. With little warning, the wave crashes, and I almost scream this time, before collapsing onto his chest, boneless, soaked in sweat, his and mine, and bodily juices from him and from me. The smell of sex is in the air, and I'm loving it. But as I catch my breath, I realize, he's still hard inside of me. He's been so in control, so playful, and so generous, I'm dying to return the favour.
I lean back, this time I give him the questioning look, and gently ease myself off his jutting cock. I kneel in front of him, as he still sits on the chair, pull my hair to the side, and gently put the head of his cock into my mouth. I can taste myself, and as I run my tongue down the slit at the top, I taste the pre-come, too. My mouth waters... this is going to take some time. I pull the full length of him all the way in, and it's significant. I let him out, and suck for a while on the very head, eliciting a moan. But I'm after more of a reaction than that. I lick all the way down to his balls, following the vein, and take them into my mouth, running my tongue underneath. The moan is a little louder, this time. I glance up, under my eyelashes, and I'm seeing some of what I'm wanting from him...his face is flushed, his eyes are burning, and the tendons are standing out at his neck. But he's still holding back. I relax my throat and come back to the head, pulling the entire length in again, so the head rubs against my soft palette, and part-way down my throat. I put both hands on his hips, and pick up the pace. I become so absorbed in what I'm doing, I'm moaning myself, and don't want to stop. His hands are in my hair, holding me in place, and I can tell, that just for a second, whatever plans he had, he's tempted to let me take him, to come in my mouth and let me drink him in. With one last thrust, he pulls away.
He then throws me bodily on the bed, face down, and I can hear him breathing hard. I'm not a slight woman, and his sheer strength takes my breath away. I look over my shoulder, and the look in his eyes is almost of a wild thing. He grabs my hips, and pulls me to him. He grabs my lube from my suitcase... how in the world did he know that was there?... and I can hear him spreading a generous amount on his hands. He grips my ass, pulls the cheeks apart, and rubs his fingers over the entrance of me. And now I understand... all those times earlier, with his fingers moving in and out, he's been readying me for his possession all this time. I think I've been ready for his possession my whole life, and while nervous, I can't wait. He puts still more lube, straight from the bottle, in the crack of my ass, massaging it in, dipping his fingers in my asshole and stretching the tissues as gently as he can. It feels a bit strange, but by the trembling of his hands, I know he wants it badly, and I'm going to give it to him. After rubbing some on himself, half of the container of lube is gone, and neither of us is holding anything back. He takes my hips, and pulls me to him... fits himself to the entrance of my ass, and slowly, eases in. It's TIGHT. At first, I can only take the head of his cock, moving in and out, but the feeling becomes so incredible, I raise my hips instinctively, and pull him right to the hilt.
OHHH... Not sure if I like it... wait a second. Can I still tighten around him? I pull everything as tight as I can, squeezing the muscles of my cunt, squeezing my ass cheeks... NOW I get a reaction! NOW he's making noise, and oh my god, NOW he's picking up the pace. Ohhh... and hitting this place inside me... somewhere I've never felt before... almost like I have to pee, but not... "OH GOD, PLEASE GO FASTER!" I'm overwhelmed... overpowered... and completely owned. He's pulled my hair back so tight, my neck snaps back and tears involuntarily start in my eyes. I don't care. He still isn't pulling hard enough. But there's no way I can keep up. He's the storm, and I'm just hanging on, hoping I won't get swept away. He's taunting me, too.
"You like it, don't you? You like it in your ass. Tell me you like it." His hot breath is at my ear, we're covered in sweat, and the sounds of our bodies slapping together are so raw, so primal.
"I love it!" I gasp, unable to say anything else. "I think I'm going to....oh god..."
"You're going to come?" He rasps out. "Then come for me. COME for me. NOW!"
And, incredibly, I come, and soak the bed like I've never done in my life; it's simply everywhere. I've been taken apart and put back together, and am no longer my own person.