A Last Minute Decision

There was no reason for it.  We simply had not been out for a really nice meal for a while.  Our busy work lives mean that we frequently would meet up at a cheap restaurant simply because it was easier than cooking late at night.  This night was different, though.

I had rediscovered a nice restaurant and decided to take my wife there one Friday evening after work.  A chance to relax, recuperate and forget about chores and work.

The menu was fantastic.  I can’t remember for the life of me what I had to eat, but it tasted fabulous.  There were better reasons for that night to be memorable.  It was not the $150 bottle of New Zealand wine.  Though I do recall that being the smoothest New World wine I have ever tasted.

Nor do I remember what it was my wife was wearing – just the recollection that, nice as it was, she would look better wearing nothing.

As the weariness of the long week worked its subtle catalytic chemistry with the wine, we got sillier and the conversation reduced to hushed tones about wanting to find a quiet corner somewhere and just have raw, unadulterated sex.  I think we may well have done, had the near-empty restaurant not have been able to cotton on almost immediately to what was happening if we both stood up and excused ourselves at the same time!

By the time the main course arrived I was in a state of almost permanent arousal.  Not helped, of course, by my wife reaching over every time the waiting staff’s backs were turned, to check on the firmness of my trousers.

I joked about booking a hotel room in town rather than heading off on the hour-long journey home on a cold train in the pouring rain.  There were plenty of good reasons why we could not do this: who would feed the cats? It would look like we were having an affair, just turning up with no luggage.  Town hotel prices are quite high.  It’s Friday there will be no availability.  Do you have any numbers of hotels?

Like I say, plenty of good reasons.  But then again, my boss once told me that you earn your salary not when the job is easy and everything is going swimmingly – you earn your pay when every deal seems a million miles away, when you really struggle to get up in the morning, when your best customer has just hung up on you.  I suppose this has bred in me a resilience to overcome good reasons for not doing things.

As my wife went to powder her nose, I checked my cellphone-based business directory and rang round hotels.  This did not look good.  They either had no availability or could not hear me.  The restaurant was in the cellar of a former port warehouse and the cellphone signal was weak.  By this stage almost everyone in the restaurant could have heard what I was trying to say loudly yet discreetly to these hotels.

When the wife returned I simply headed back out into the rain to try a few more.  Eventually…bingo!  OK, the room was for $250-300, but I was just so desperate that it was worthwhile.  I could see the choice before me – head home on the cold train and fall asleep as soon as we get home or jump into a cab, get into bed earlier and see what happens.

First obstacle overcome – there were vacancies, even if it did take a few calls.

Well, the wife is surprised and comes up with all the objections again.  But, as Will Shakespeare once said, “methinks she doth protesteth too much”.  Time would tell.

Coffee came and I downed mine slowly.  Deliberately.  As if I was waiting for something.  I was – waiting for the bulge in my trousers to subside before chasing after the nearest cab.

As we approached the landmark hotel in the city we were in, I could see a frisson of excitement.  She was no longer as concerned with the cats.  I promised to wake at 7am and run to the first train home to feed them.

Second obstacle overcome – the cats would get fed.  Several hours late, but I would drop everything and rush home.  In that order!

To be honest, I was getting so sexually overdone by this stage I would have agreed to anything.  The wife, on the other hand, was making it clear that she was not necessarily agreeing to anything.  She could not be bought so easily.  I though twice about arguing over the phrase “so easily”.  It had not been easy.  Or cheap.  but it would be worth it, I was determined of that.

We walked into the grand hotel.  The doorman opens the door and clocks the lack of bags.  I sign us in – the receptionist asks about our luggage.  Do we need showing to our room?  Do we need our luggage sent to our room?  No thanks, we will just run to the room and close the door.

Third obstacle overcome – we were not thrown out on our ears for clearly having arranged to stay in a hotel at the last minute.  It could have been worse, we could have asked to pay by the hour!

The room was lovely – a free bottle of wine with some cheese and crackers (a little off-putting after a heavy meal, but a nice gesture), two big double beds and a big walk in wardrobe with sliding floor-to-ceiling mirror doors along the wall at the foot of the beds.  Shame we had nothing to put in the wardrobes.  Shame about the overeating sensation.

The overeating sensation!  The unexpected fourth obstacle.  To be honest, the spirit was definitely willing, but the body was weak.  I thought “what an expensive way to fall at the last hurdle”.

As defeatism started gnawing at my confidence of getting some ‘attention’, it was clear that my wife was definitely warming to the idea.  I just lay on the bed, still wearing my suit, as I was 15 hours earlier, still wearing my shoes.

After a short while she stood up and started removing my shoes.  Then tugged off my socks.  Then pulled off my trousers.  Then she kneels beside me and lasciviously removes my tie.  The shirt soon follows and I am left in my underwear.  Briefs that she chose for me.  Briefs now stretched in such a way that only she could engineer.  Briefs that she can whip off me in a heartbeat, in the twinkling of an eye.

In the space of three minutes, I had gone from a feeling of abject defeat to being totally naked and watching in the mirror as my penis springs into life while the wife whips off its former prison – my underwear.

It only took another minute for my wife to strip.  As I said, I could not remember what she was wearing, but I was right – she looked better not wearing it!  At a little over 5ft 6in, medium length brown hair and eyes a man could drown in.  Wearing just a wedding ring, a necklace that was nestling between her petite but perfectly formed breasts and a smile.  Her exquisitely dark hair shrouding her delights.  Behind her I could see the back view in the mirror.  Equally delectable.

While she enjoyed me enjoying the view, my hands strayed down to my own erection.  Worried that I would be taking the job away from here, she knelt astride me and rubbed her moist body all over my erection.  As she did that, i could not help but take here breasts in my mouth.  I would love to have swallowed them whole.  I teased my tongue over her hardening nipples, I sucked, I brushed my lips against her wonderful mounds.  Meanwhile she continues to coat me with her natural flows as she rucks and bucks up and down my body.

I don’t know how long we carried on.  Maybe a minute, maybe an hour, but at some point we rolled over and I decided to explore.  The breasts tasted delectable, but I wanted to use my hands more.  Naturally, they cupped her breasts, they teased her thighs and then my fingers easily slipped inside her moist body.  As they slid along, her body raised off the sheets in response to my touch.  Back arching into the air, almost thrusting her warm, damp, pheromone-laden body into my face.

I did not want her to find release too quickly so I eased off and just looked at her wonderous, lustrous body.  I just love the way she looks when she is wet with excitement; the way she glistens, the way she smells, the way she behaves.

As I looked at her, she started looking at my profile reflected in the mirror – aroused and crouched over her for a better view.  She likes this.  Quite quickly she started sexily thrusting her body around.  I revert to Plan A – stimulation with fingers.  It sounds so clinical, but it comes so naturally to both of us.  This time, when I slip the fingers of my left hand inside here, I know she can feel the gold of my wedding ring rubbing her lips and massaging her own juices against her.  She looked again in the mirror.  She usually does not like to see herself in the mirror, but this time she spread her legs extra wide and asked me to move slightly so she could watch my fingers disappear inside.  Now she can watch AND feel.

I popped a pillow under her head and she stared at the mirror, moaning as much from the sight as the sensation.  She watched as I tried to fill her as best I could.  But I did not want her to climax there and then.

“Which do you want – c###k or finger-f###?”  Not our usual language to each other, but this was an evening for being down and dirty.

“Fingers!”

“I need to hear you say it properly!”

“No!”

“YES!”

“Finger-f### me!”  Just saying those words seemed to turn her on more.  She does not talk dirty usually.

I could not let her down.  I moved further to one side, rested my head on her left thigh and went back to exploring her with my fingers, while she avidly watched past my head and at the same time reached for my penis, to pay it some  attention.

It was not long before I could feel the pulsing of a major orgasm sweep down my fingers, followed by a calmness descending as she caught her breath.  I slid my hand away and tasted her bitter-sweet wetness dripping down my fingers.

It only took about 30 seconds before she once again grabbed me, pulled me over and slid me firmly inside her where, only seconds before, my fingers had been doing their best.

I held off for as long as I could as I slipped shallower and deeper, shallower and deeper into her body.  I could feel the exceptional level of lubrication resulting from our previous encounter.  I have no idea how long we both lasted before a second orgasm came over her.  Once I had savoured feeling hers, I shortly had one of my own and exploded inside wet, welcoming flesh.

By this stage we were in the early hours and fell soundly asleep; the aroma of sex still filling my nostrils.

Sure, I woke early the next morning, but you will have to work out for yourself whether my first thought was getting home to feed the cats!