The Marriot

He slid two fingers along her inner thigh, over her thin summer dress, subtly brushing to and fro, staying just two inches below her soaking panties. So intoxicating, but his earlier kiss and hand on her bra-less breast had told her that he had got over the surprise of her invitation. Frances moved her hand across the front of his pants and stroked the hard lump there.

This quiet bar at the rear of the Marriot was Frances' favourite watering hole. She could rely on friendly casual chat while sipping her medium white wine.

Bernard, she knew, was in publishing and was much travelled. Whenever in town, he always stayed at the Marriot. Frances and he had a few pleasant exchanges at the bar, and Bernard had always remained very respectful.

Tonight, however, when she had suggested moving into one of the more secluded booths his handsome face showed his shock. But once snuggled there, warm kisses with tongues tangling indicated his shock was replaced by passion. Frances had been delighted, when Bernard's hand traced her bra-less breast, increasing her seeping juices.

Now, his fingers heating her thigh, she looked into the dark hazel eyes of Bernard, thrilled at the lust shining there. Those hot eyes raged with fervor. "Would my room be okay with you?"

"Might be good," she whispered.

"It's 112. Follow me up." A quick kiss, and he was out of the booth and striding towards the elevator. Trembling, Frances watched him, tall, wide backed; he had always provoked a slight yearning in her.

But tonight was different, she was in, what she loved to call, her 'harlot mode', and it felt good. Stumbling out of bed that morning, she had recognised that familiar feeling. That fraught tingling need that ran right up to her cervix, as when a lover's fingers tickled at her clit. But this sensation had a totally personal and natural reason.

She had confirmed that by glancing at the calendar. There it was, clearly circled. Tomorrow would be the eleventh, exactly twenty-eight days since the last circled date. That's how regular she was. And always, this day before, brought on her hottest longing for fulfilment. No problem when she was in a steady affair, but unattached, she became the wild thing,

Fortunately, she had known Bernard was in town, and he was a most desirable target. Surely, he would provide the good stiff prick she so desired at these times.

In normal circumstances, she considered herself a slow burner. Generally, a man would have to work proficiently to get her aroused. But tonight, it was, 'Look out, Mr. Burrows. Here I come.' Two minutes, and she was outside room 112. Bernard was wearing a blue silk robe, and as he kicked the door shut, he was tearing at the buttons down the front of Frances' dress. And within five minutes, they were both naked and clinging. Bernard's hardness was a delight pressed against her belly, and all she wanted was to have him inside her, plunging through her wetness, hammering deeply into her flooding channel. "Give it to me," she gasped, desperately.

Without any preamble, Bernard swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he gently laid her on her back. All tensed up, Frances looked up at him, parting her thighs eager for his access. Bernard's bobbing, hard; purple-headed cock was all she longed for, and without delay.

His hand ran up the inside of her thigh. No foreplay. She didn't need that. Her eyes, wild and predatory, must have told him something. He looked momentarily uncertain as his fingers groped along her wetness. "God, you are ready," he grunted.

"Yes, Yes." She groped hopelessly for his cock, but Bernard had got the message. Quickly, he was over her, and Frances heard her own squeal of delight. Bernard's hard shaft, from looking normal, had become the biggest cock in the world, filling her, immense, as it coursed vehemently up her desperate channel, that had waited impatiently all day.

He withdrew slightly before thrusting once again, and impulsively she flexed her hips to welcome his solid rod. This caused Bernard to grunt, "God, you're fantastic."

"No talk," gasped a near ecstatic, Frances. "Just fuck." And to signal this, she did a double heave of her hips. In a haze, she caught Bernard's nod, and half smile as he lunged harder than ever into her. Her head swung from side to side, and her lower regions were fit to burst as her first orgasm hit her. So magnificent, and she wondered whether the eager pulls of her core muscles would bring him on.

But no! If she had wished it, it couldn't have been better, as Bernard placed his hands under her buttocks to lift her to further spasms of euphoria. But despite her enraptured state Frances was able to appreciate Bernard's expertise, as he slowed, yet increased the power of each stroke. Every nerve end in her body was aflame. She knew another orgasm awaited her, and she surrendered to it, floating on every thrust of his hardness.

Savouring the rapture of the moment, Frances noticed Bernard's grunts becoming more moaning, as his thrusts shortened, and he lurched into her with greater rapidity. Then came one massive heave which lifted Frances further up the bed, and she was sure she felt his hot cum flooding into her

Bliss and delirium mixed with the enchanted contentment of enjoying and being enjoyed. Bernard had given her more than she'd expected. She slowly relaxed, and Bernard's flaccid cock slipped out of her.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Bernard rolled his weight off her, and asked, "Might we repeat that tomorrow evening?"

"I'll be incapacitated," she admitted.

"Next time I'm up here?"

"I'd like that, but my mood today was—not usual."

"Meaning?"

Frances gave him her lascivious smile, "I need working on to hit that mood."

"I might enjoy that," Bernard said, warmly smiling.

"I'll look forward to that."