Short sex stories

Sex stories




Booking Mistake

As I said in the introduction to another of my stories, I'm no believer in a lot of mostly splashy anatomical detail in the romance section. And of course, all my characters are over 18. Most of them are over 30.

This story has a basis in fact. Once I was working as night receptionist at a hotel on the night before the largest IT exhibition of the year. As usual, relying on some cancellations, we were overbooked. And two people arrived late, when we only had double rooms left. We solved the problem as described, and I often wondered how the situation had panned out.

*****

It had been a long journey and I was tired. For seven hours we had been travelling by train from Inverness to London for the annual computer convention, which we were going to combine with a visit to our latest customer for discussions on a new system we were constructing for them. We would have flown if there had been a convenient flight, but with changes and one thing and another, it would have taken just as long, and we'd have had to keep track of our luggage at each stop. Francis had done his best to make it a pleasant trip, talking, mostly about work, when I wanted to, reading or working when I didn't. I didn't understand how our colleagues at work could have such a negative view of Francis. He was generally considered to be a half-autistic nerd, socially incompetent and extremely shy.

And I suppose, thinkng back, that it was just so that I had seen him when he was first assigned to my group. But as I became familiar with him and he with me, comfortable with me, and particularly when he had begun to appreciate my competence, or so I hoped, he had changed, and now it was hard to remember those early feelings of frustration at his inability to communicate. We had become friends, and he had introduced me to his wife, and we had had threesomes over dinner, or foursomes when I had a boyfriend, for, I must admit, I'm not a great expert myself at personal relations either. Not in Francis's class, I have to say, but not given to opening myself to others willingly.

I often used to wonder how Francis had met his wife, who seemed to be quite normal in so many respects, but I'd never had what I considered to be a suitable opportunity to raise the matter. And now it was irrelevant. His wife had divorced him nearly a year ago, and was now living with another man, planning to marry, and already pregnant.

And here we now were at last, outside the hotel and I was looking forward to nothing so much as to check in to my room, take a shower, eat a late meal in the restaurant and away to my bed. Whilst Francis paid off the taxi and found a trolley for the luggage, I went ahead to begin the check-in process. The receptionist was apologetic.

"You've booked two single rooms," the young woman began. "Unfortunately we've had a problem with the booking system, with the computer convention and all, and we're accidentally overbooked. We were wondering whether you and your colleague could be persuaded to share a room for one night. As a compensation we would be able to offer you both a double room for the remainder of your stay."

At this moment Francis joined me and the receptionist blanched.

"Oh, my god," she said. "We thought you were two women. Someone spelt your name as Frances with an 'E'." This to Francis. "Oh, dear. Then I'm afraid we'll have to pay for a taxi to take you to another hotel where we have been able to book a few free rooms. The problem is it's a fair way out, about thirty minutes away."

We looked at each another. We were both tired. The thought of a thirty minute taxi journey before I could get my shower and late meal - if we could get a meal at all at that time, so far out of town - was not appealing.

"Give us a few minutes to talk about this," I said, and drew Francis over to a couple of easy chairs in the reception area.

"I don't fancy their plan B," I said. "It's not just tonight. It's tomorrow morning, as well. Another taxi ride back, after packing our things again. Can we cope with a shared room for one night?"

"I guess I can cope if you can," said Francis. "But what's the bill going to look like? If we get a bill showing we spent the first night in the same room, it'll be all over the company as soon as bookkeeping gets their hands on it."

"You're right," I said. "There are some who have us down as a pair already. Let's check."

We went back to reception.

"Is there any danger that we'll get a bill showing that we spent one night in the same room?" I asked.

"None at all," replied the receptionist. "Worst case, we'll type out special invoices for your two rooms, the two you will be in tomorrow night and the night after."

We looked at each other once more.

"Then we'll take the double room for tonight."

"Thank you," said the receptionist. "Is there anything we can do for you as a sort of thank-you gesture?"

"You could pick up the bill for our dinner in the restaurant," suggested Francis.

"That we will."

We received our keys and made our way to the elevators. We were silent on the way up to our floor, and a little reserved when we came to the room. I think Francis was more shocked than I was to find that, instead of twin beds, we had been assigned a queen sized double bed, and Francis wanted to go back down and ask for a room with twin beds, but I stopped him.

"It's okay," I said. "I don't want any more hassle."

"So, do you want to shower first?" asked Francis. "I can unpack in the meantime."

I nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. When I returned, wrapped only in a towel, I discovered that Francis had stripped down to his boxer shorts and fallen asleep on the bed. I looked down at him. He had a nice body, I thought, and felt an unaccustomed stirring in my loins, which I quickly quelled. I liked Francis, both as a colleague and a person. We worked well together, and often ate lunch together, usually stuck together when the company had a jippo at the start of a new project or one of the seemingly constant re-organisations. Luckily we had never been "re-organised" into separate groups, and we made a successful team. I had pepped him after the divorce, which had devastated him.

"Wake up, sleepy head," I laughed, and shook his foot. Francis woke with a start, struggled up from the bed, and moved apologetically to the bathroom, hardly daring to look at me, although he appeared to be very much aware of my body, and my long legs beneath the towel. When he returned, I was dressed demurely and sitting in one of the armchairs at the window end of the room, checking my email.

He turned away, dropped his towel, showing me a firm pair of buttocks, and dressed quickly in casual clothes.

"Shall we go?" he asked, turning to me.

I smiled, and stood up.

"You look very nice in that dress," he said, and nearly bit his tongue. "If you'll excuse me making a personal comment," he added.

"I will. And thank you," I smiled.

In the dining room we made no special demands of the hotel, taking two reasonably priced meals from the a la carte menu. The waiter told us that the hotel had included a glass each of the wine of our choice, and I chose white to accompany my fish dish, whilst Francis chose a red wine to his cutlets.

We each took a dessert, and Francis paid for liqueurs, and we lingered over our drinks until we realised that we could no longer put off the return to our room. I think we were both privately thinking hard about the logistics of two people getting ready for bed in the same room. Although I have to say, I also felt a certain excitement.

We entered the bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed, each of us apparently very much aware of the other and that we would soon be sharing this bed which fortunately had separate duvets. I felt my itch return.

"Where do you want to be?" asked Francis indicating left and right sides with a wave of his hand.

I took a sudden decision.

"Underneath," I said, to his surprise, and removed my blouse and stepped out of my skirt then came and stood beside him again.

Once again Francis could not help admiring my body and legs, and had trouble looking into my eyes, though not from shyness.

"No, I mean which side do you want me?" he asked.

"Inside," I replied, and again took him by surprise. I removed my bra, and came over to him, my breasts swinging gently. He tried hard to keep looking me in the eye. I began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

"We're here," I said. "Nobody is going to know. I think some of them suspect that there's something between us, with all these business trips we have to make together, but they can't confirm it. You're divorced. I'm single. You're not too off-putting, and I hope I'm not. Let's go for it, if you're willing. Just a wild fling and then, if you prefer it, back to normal."

"Just a one-night stand?"

"One-night, two-night, or all three, whatever we decide."

Francis stared at me, then began to undo his belt and fly. I finished opening his shirt buttons, stroked his chest with both hands, and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, caught it as it fell towards the floor, and threw it casually over a chair back. I helped him lower his pants to the floor, held them whilst he stepped out of them, folded them neatly and placed them on a chair. When I turned round, Francis had taken off his socks.

I walked over and stood in front of him, our bodies close together.

"Will you go first or shall I," I asked.

"Go first?"

"We each have one item of clothing left. Will you take mine off first, or shall I take yours off?"

In answer he reached down, slipped his thumbs under the elastic of my panties and pushed them down over my hips and a bit down my thighs until they began to fall of their own accord. I stepped out of them and imitated his action with his boxer shorts. As they passed his hips, his penis sprang free and began slowly to rise.

"Nice," I said. "And very flattering."

He pulled me to him, bent his head, and kissed me, and I felt his penis lengthen and harden between us. I gently took hold of it and cupped one hand under his scrotum.

"Next stop nirvana," I said, and climbed onto the bed. I lay on my side, thighs slightly splayed and he looked at the triangle of curly blond hair between them. He climbed onto the bed and lay beside me, kissing me on the lips and stroking my body from shoulder to hip. Slowly he moved his stroking hand from my side to my front, stroking the side of my breast, over my stomach, and down to the top of my thigh, then pushed me slightly so that I lay on my back. He stroked down to my breast, cupped it, leaned down to kiss it, took the nipple in his mouth, and then let his hand glide down, over my navel to my loins where he began to stroke me gently, pressing slightly harder with his middle finger.

He continued kissing me, kissing my breasts and stroking me until he felt my thighs move apart. He moved his knees between mine, leaned forward on his hands and slowly bent his head down to kiss me again. I parted my lips and gently licked his lips, and he opened his mouth also to take in my tongue and I could taste the freshness of his breath.

He pulled back, breaking our kiss, and looked down at my body beneath him, my breasts now flattened against my chest.

"You're a very womanly woman," he said. "Your body has beautiful curves. I like the way it draws in towards your waist then expands again to your hips and thighs."

"You're very poetic," I breathed.

He bent down again to kiss my breasts and gently suck my nipples, alternating between them and my breathing became heavier, my urgency greater.

He lowered his hips towards mine, and I felt the tip of his penis on my loins. He swayed from side to side and up and down, drawing a convoluted picture on my lower stomach. Surely you know where it is, I thought, then realised he was doing it to tease me, excite me, circling my vagina. At last he seemed to find the right place, and began moving up and down along the line of my labia until I was wet with longing. I could feel my breathing becoming more and more laboured, and he bent his head down again to kiss me, at the same time pressing his hips down, and easing himself into me.

"Oh," I sighed as he filled me. He continued kissing me as he moved his hips up and down, filling me with each down-stroke. My breath was coming in stertorious gasps, and he slowly increased the pace of his movements. Suddenly he stopped at the top of a stroke, nearly out of me, just the tip of his penis inside, and I cried out in frustration. He sank down again, and I let out a long sigh.

"Don't do that again," I breathed, and in answer he did just that, pulling almost out, and holding. I growled and pummelled his back, and again he sank down into me, and this time continued with slow penetrations. I felt my ecstasy grow until finally I nearly blacked out, and a cry escaped me, and I felt myself tighten around him, sending him, too, over the edge. I felt him pulsing inside me, and the warm glow of his semen spreading inside me.

"Oh, yes," I gasped and locked my legs around him, stopping him from withdrawing.

"Stay just where you are," I said. "Let's see if we can make that happen again."

I began rocking my body gently, and felt myself tighten and release my vagina around his penis. Slowly he began to grow again until he once more filled me.

"Nice," I said.

"Yes."

"Can you reach down to my breasts from where you are?"

He tried, and found he could almost reach them. I slipped a hand round one and lifted it up so that he could cover the nipple with his lips. He sucked and I cried out, then I lifted the other breast and he transferred his attentions to that, producing another small cry.

"Enough," he said, and began to move again.

"Oh, yes," I said again and fell in with his rhythm. Once more he took me to the peak of ecstasy and over, and once more I felt him shudder and fill me with his seed.

Afterwards he collapsed on me and I held him tightly with arms and legs, until he rolled off me, gasping for breath.

"Thank you," he said.

"My pleasure," I replied, and we fell quickly asleep with me curled up in his arms.

In the morning the alarm woke us and we turned sleepily to look at one other. I smiled, and he smiled back.

"Some night," I said.

"And now it's morning," he said, and reached for me. He suckled my breasts, breaking off every now and then to kiss me on the lips, until I became impatient. I moved my legs apart and pulled him on top of me again, and we made satisfying love for the third time.

We spent a useful day at the exhibition, and arrived back at the hotel around five in the afternoon. The receptionist greeted us and told us that we had now been moved to separate double rooms and that our cases had been moved to the new rooms. We thanked her and took our new keys. In the elevator we compared keys and found that we had been given adjacent rooms, and each went into our room.

I messed up the bed, lay on it and wriggled around, punched the pillow and generally made it look as though it had been slept in, then grabbed my towel and bathrobe, and went to knock on the next door.

Francis had not been in his room long enough to do more than remove his jacket, hang it in the wardrobe, and open his laptop when I arrived.

"I wondered if I could use your shower," I said, and he invited me in.

"You realise we have to use both rooms," he said. "Otherwise the hotel will know."

"Oh, I already did," I said. "I mussed up the bed to make it look as though it had been slept in. But I had thought about actually sleeping in here if you've no objection."

"How could I have?" he replied, and drew me to him. "Now, help me get you out of these clothes."

"Aren't we going to have dinner?"

"Later."

"Then I have a suggestion."

"Go ahead."

"We'll be in bed quicker if we each undress ourselves."

"Good thinking!"

And in a matter of minutes we were in bed, kissing and stroking one another until we could wait no longer, and he entered me and we began the slow process of exciting one another to mutual pleasure.

Getting dressed again for dinner seemed like an anti-climax in more than one sense.

Our meetings with the customer on the following two days were interesting from the energy which we brought to the discussions. I have never felt more alive. We made notes of the agreed upon changes, were even able to give an estimate of the cost of certain items, and generally impressed the customer with our co-operative willingness. On the afternoon of the second day we were once more in the carriage of a train taking us back up to Inverness. We sat quietly for half an hour or more, relaxing after the hectic time in London, and I was thinking about what had happened between us. I offered to go to the restaurant car for coffee and cakes. When I came back we spent a few moments arranging things on the table.

"So where do we go from here?" I asked, taking a bite from my slice of carrot cake.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, is our relationship different now? If so, is the change permanent or do you want to go back to normal? Whatever normal means."

Francis was silent for a while, chewing and drinking. His silence was so long that I began to have misgivings.

"If you want to say no, just say it," I finally burst out impatiently.

"I don't want to say no," said Francis. "I've just been working out whether what you said means that you want it to be different or go back to how it was before, and how I'll persuade you to keep the new relationship. I'm getting used to the idea of sharing my bed with someone again, and I want it to be you, and I'm wondering whether I want to move in with you, or have you move in with me, or whether we'll both keep our apartments, and decided each evening on an ad hoc basis."

I gave him my most brilliant smile and saw the mixture of relief and happiness. I reached over the table and took his two hands in mine.

"I'm glad," I said. "Now why don't you come over to my place when we get home. I've seen too many batchelor pads to want to go home to one the first night of our new relationship! And by the way, you can take me out to dinner before we go home."

*****As I said in the introduction to another of my stories, I'm no believer in a lot of mostly splashy anatomical detail in the romance section. And of course, all my characters are over 18. Most of them are over 30.

This story has a basis in fact. Once I was working as night receptionist at a hotel on the night before the largest IT exhibition of the year. As usual, relying on some cancellations, we were overbooked. And two people arrived late, when we only had double rooms left. We solved the problem as described, and I often wondered how the situation had panned out.

*****

It had been a long journey and I was tired. For seven hours we had been travelling by train from Inverness to London for the annual computer convention, which we were going to combine with a visit to our latest customer for discussions on a new system we were constructing for them. We would have flown if there had been a convenient flight, but with changes and one thing and another, it would have taken just as long, and we'd have had to keep track of our luggage at each stop. Francis had done his best to make it a pleasant trip, talking, mostly about work, when I wanted to, reading or working when I didn't. I didn't understand how our colleagues at work could have such a negative view of Francis. He was generally considered to be a half-autistic nerd, socially incompetent and extremely shy.

And I suppose, thinkng back, that it was just so that I had seen him when he was first assigned to my group. But as I became familiar with him and he with me, comfortable with me, and particularly when he had begun to appreciate my competence, or so I hoped, he had changed, and now it was hard to remember those early feelings of frustration at his inability to communicate. We had become friends, and he had introduced me to his wife, and we had had threesomes over dinner, or foursomes when I had a boyfriend, for, I must admit, I'm not a great expert myself at personal relations either. Not in Francis's class, I have to say, but not given to opening myself to others willingly.

I often used to wonder how Francis had met his wife, who seemed to be quite normal in so many respects, but I'd never had what I considered to be a suitable opportunity to raise the matter. And now it was irrelevant. His wife had divorced him nearly a year ago, and was now living with another man, planning to marry, and already pregnant.

And here we now were at last, outside the hotel and I was looking forward to nothing so much as to check in to my room, take a shower, eat a late meal in the restaurant and away to my bed. Whilst Francis paid off the taxi and found a trolley for the luggage, I went ahead to begin the check-in process. The receptionist was apologetic.

"You've booked two single rooms," the young woman began. "Unfortunately we've had a problem with the booking system, with the computer convention and all, and we're accidentally overbooked. We were wondering whether you and your colleague could be persuaded to share a room for one night. As a compensation we would be able to offer you both a double room for the remainder of your stay."

At this moment Francis joined me and the receptionist blanched.

"Oh, my god," she said. "We thought you were two women. Someone spelt your name as Frances with an 'E'." This to Francis. "Oh, dear. Then I'm afraid we'll have to pay for a taxi to take you to another hotel where we have been able to book a few free rooms. The problem is it's a fair way out, about thirty minutes away."

We looked at each another. We were both tired. The thought of a thirty minute taxi journey before I could get my shower and late meal - if we could get a meal at all at that time, so far out of town - was not appealing.

"Give us a few minutes to talk about this," I said, and drew Francis over to a couple of easy chairs in the reception area.

"I don't fancy their plan B," I said. "It's not just tonight. It's tomorrow morning, as well. Another taxi ride back, after packing our things again. Can we cope with a shared room for one night?"

"I guess I can cope if you can," said Francis. "But what's the bill going to look like? If we get a bill showing we spent the first night in the same room, it'll be all over the company as soon as bookkeeping gets their hands on it."

"You're right," I said. "There are some who have us down as a pair already. Let's check."

We went back to reception.

"Is there any danger that we'll get a bill showing that we spent one night in the same room?" I asked.

"None at all," replied the receptionist. "Worst case, we'll type out special invoices for your two rooms, the two you will be in tomorrow night and the night after."

We looked at each other once more.

"Then we'll take the double room for tonight."

"Thank you," said the receptionist. "Is there anything we can do for you as a sort of thank-you gesture?"

"You could pick up the bill for our dinner in the restaurant," suggested Francis.

"That we will."

We received our keys and made our way to the elevators. We were silent on the way up to our floor, and a little reserved when we came to the room. I think Francis was more shocked than I was to find that, instead of twin beds, we had been assigned a queen sized double bed, and Francis wanted to go back down and ask for a room with twin beds, but I stopped him.

"It's okay," I said. "I don't want any more hassle."

"So, do you want to shower first?" asked Francis. "I can unpack in the meantime."

I nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. When I returned, wrapped only in a towel, I discovered that Francis had stripped down to his boxer shorts and fallen asleep on the bed. I looked down at him. He had a nice body, I thought, and felt an unaccustomed stirring in my loins, which I quickly quelled. I liked Francis, both as a colleague and a person. We worked well together, and often ate lunch together, usually stuck together when the company had a jippo at the start of a new project or one of the seemingly constant re-organisations. Luckily we had never been "re-organised" into separate groups, and we made a successful team. I had pepped him after the divorce, which had devastated him.

"Wake up, sleepy head," I laughed, and shook his foot. Francis woke with a start, struggled up from the bed, and moved apologetically to the bathroom, hardly daring to look at me, although he appeared to be very much aware of my body, and my long legs beneath the towel. When he returned, I was dressed demurely and sitting in one of the armchairs at the window end of the room, checking my email.

He turned away, dropped his towel, showing me a firm pair of buttocks, and dressed quickly in casual clothes.

"Shall we go?" he asked, turning to me.

I smiled, and stood up.

"You look very nice in that dress," he said, and nearly bit his tongue. "If you'll excuse me making a personal comment," he added.

"I will. And thank you," I smiled.

In the dining room we made no special demands of the hotel, taking two reasonably priced meals from the a la carte menu. The waiter told us that the hotel had included a glass each of the wine of our choice, and I chose white to accompany my fish dish, whilst Francis chose a red wine to his cutlets.

We each took a dessert, and Francis paid for liqueurs, and we lingered over our drinks until we realised that we could no longer put off the return to our room. I think we were both privately thinking hard about the logistics of two people getting ready for bed in the same room. Although I have to say, I also felt a certain excitement.

We entered the bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed, each of us apparently very much aware of the other and that we would soon be sharing this bed which fortunately had separate duvets. I felt my itch return.

"Where do you want to be?" asked Francis indicating left and right sides with a wave of his hand.

I took a sudden decision.

"Underneath," I said, to his surprise, and removed my blouse and stepped out of my skirt then came and stood beside him again.

Once again Francis could not help admiring my body and legs, and had trouble looking into my eyes, though not from shyness.

"No, I mean which side do you want me?" he asked.

"Inside," I replied, and again took him by surprise. I removed my bra, and came over to him, my breasts swinging gently. He tried hard to keep looking me in the eye. I began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

"We're here," I said. "Nobody is going to know. I think some of them suspect that there's something between us, with all these business trips we have to make together, but they can't confirm it. You're divorced. I'm single. You're not too off-putting, and I hope I'm not. Let's go for it, if you're willing. Just a wild fling and then, if you prefer it, back to normal."

"Just a one-night stand?"

"One-night, two-night, or all three, whatever we decide."

Francis stared at me, then began to undo his belt and fly. I finished opening his shirt buttons, stroked his chest with both hands, and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, caught it as it fell towards the floor, and threw it casually over a chair back. I helped him lower his pants to the floor, held them whilst he stepped out of them, folded them neatly and placed them on a chair. When I turned round, Francis had taken off his socks.

I walked over and stood in front of him, our bodies close together.

"Will you go first or shall I," I asked.

"Go first?"

"We each have one item of clothing left. Will you take mine off first, or shall I take yours off?"

In answer he reached down, slipped his thumbs under the elastic of my panties and pushed them down over my hips and a bit down my thighs until they began to fall of their own accord. I stepped out of them and imitated his action with his boxer shorts. As they passed his hips, his penis sprang free and began slowly to rise.

"Nice," I said. "And very flattering."

He pulled me to him, bent his head, and kissed me, and I felt his penis lengthen and harden between us. I gently took hold of it and cupped one hand under his scrotum.

"Next stop nirvana," I said, and climbed onto the bed. I lay on my side, thighs slightly splayed and he looked at the triangle of curly blond hair between them. He climbed onto the bed and lay beside me, kissing me on the lips and stroking my body from shoulder to hip. Slowly he moved his stroking hand from my side to my front, stroking the side of my breast, over my stomach, and down to the top of my thigh, then pushed me slightly so that I lay on my back. He stroked down to my breast, cupped it, leaned down to kiss it, took the nipple in his mouth, and then let his hand glide down, over my navel to my loins where he began to stroke me gently, pressing slightly harder with his middle finger.

He continued kissing me, kissing my breasts and stroking me until he felt my thighs move apart. He moved his knees between mine, leaned forward on his hands and slowly bent his head down to kiss me again. I parted my lips and gently licked his lips, and he opened his mouth also to take in my tongue and I could taste the freshness of his breath.

He pulled back, breaking our kiss, and looked down at my body beneath him, my breasts now flattened against my chest.

"You're a very womanly woman," he said. "Your body has beautiful curves. I like the way it draws in towards your waist then expands again to your hips and thighs."

"You're very poetic," I breathed.

He bent down again to kiss my breasts and gently suck my nipples, alternating between them and my breathing became heavier, my urgency greater.

He lowered his hips towards mine, and I felt the tip of his penis on my loins. He swayed from side to side and up and down, drawing a convoluted picture on my lower stomach. Surely you know where it is, I thought, then realised he was doing it to tease me, excite me, circling my vagina. At last he seemed to find the right place, and began moving up and down along the line of my labia until I was wet with longing. I could feel my breathing becoming more and more laboured, and he bent his head down again to kiss me, at the same time pressing his hips down, and easing himself into me.

"Oh," I sighed as he filled me. He continued kissing me as he moved his hips up and down, filling me with each down-stroke. My breath was coming in stertorious gasps, and he slowly increased the pace of his movements. Suddenly he stopped at the top of a stroke, nearly out of me, just the tip of his penis inside, and I cried out in frustration. He sank down again, and I let out a long sigh.

"Don't do that again," I breathed, and in answer he did just that, pulling almost out, and holding. I growled and pummelled his back, and again he sank down into me, and this time continued with slow penetrations. I felt my ecstasy grow until finally I nearly blacked out, and a cry escaped me, and I felt myself tighten around him, sending him, too, over the edge. I felt him pulsing inside me, and the warm glow of his semen spreading inside me.

"Oh, yes," I gasped and locked my legs around him, stopping him from withdrawing.

"Stay just where you are," I said. "Let's see if we can make that happen again."

I began rocking my body gently, and felt myself tighten and release my vagina around his penis. Slowly he began to grow again until he once more filled me.

"Nice," I said.

"Yes."

"Can you reach down to my breasts from where you are?"

He tried, and found he could almost reach them. I slipped a hand round one and lifted it up so that he could cover the nipple with his lips. He sucked and I cried out, then I lifted the other breast and he transferred his attentions to that, producing another small cry.

"Enough," he said, and began to move again.

"Oh, yes," I said again and fell in with his rhythm. Once more he took me to the peak of ecstasy and over, and once more I felt him shudder and fill me with his seed.

Afterwards he collapsed on me and I held him tightly with arms and legs, until he rolled off me, gasping for breath.

"Thank you," he said.

"My pleasure," I replied, and we fell quickly asleep with me curled up in his arms.

In the morning the alarm woke us and we turned sleepily to look at one other. I smiled, and he smiled back.

"Some night," I said.

"And now it's morning," he said, and reached for me. He suckled my breasts, breaking off every now and then to kiss me on the lips, until I became impatient. I moved my legs apart and pulled him on top of me again, and we made satisfying love for the third time.

We spent a useful day at the exhibition, and arrived back at the hotel around five in the afternoon. The receptionist greeted us and told us that we had now been moved to separate double rooms and that our cases had been moved to the new rooms. We thanked her and took our new keys. In the elevator we compared keys and found that we had been given adjacent rooms, and each went into our room.

I messed up the bed, lay on it and wriggled around, punched the pillow and generally made it look as though it had been slept in, then grabbed my towel and bathrobe, and went to knock on the next door.

Francis had not been in his room long enough to do more than remove his jacket, hang it in the wardrobe, and open his laptop when I arrived.

"I wondered if I could use your shower," I said, and he invited me in.

"You realise we have to use both rooms," he said. "Otherwise the hotel will know."

"Oh, I already did," I said. "I mussed up the bed to make it look as though it had been slept in. But I had thought about actually sleeping in here if you've no objection."

"How could I have?" he replied, and drew me to him. "Now, help me get you out of these clothes."

"Aren't we going to have dinner?"

"Later."

"Then I have a suggestion."

"Go ahead."

"We'll be in bed quicker if we each undress ourselves."

"Good thinking!"

And in a matter of minutes we were in bed, kissing and stroking one another until we could wait no longer, and he entered me and we began the slow process of exciting one another to mutual pleasure.

Getting dressed again for dinner seemed like an anti-climax in more than one sense.

Our meetings with the customer on the following two days were interesting from the energy which we brought to the discussions. I have never felt more alive. We made notes of the agreed upon changes, were even able to give an estimate of the cost of certain items, and generally impressed the customer with our co-operative willingness. On the afternoon of the second day we were once more in the carriage of a train taking us back up to Inverness. We sat quietly for half an hour or more, relaxing after the hectic time in London, and I was thinking about what had happened between us. I offered to go to the restaurant car for coffee and cakes. When I came back we spent a few moments arranging things on the table.

"So where do we go from here?" I asked, taking a bite from my slice of carrot cake.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, is our relationship different now? If so, is the change permanent or do you want to go back to normal? Whatever normal means."

Francis was silent for a while, chewing and drinking. His silence was so long that I began to have misgivings.

"If you want to say no, just say it," I finally burst out impatiently.

"I don't want to say no," said Francis. "I've just been working out whether what you said means that you want it to be different or go back to how it was before, and how I'll persuade you to keep the new relationship. I'm getting used to the idea of sharing my bed with someone again, and I want it to be you, and I'm wondering whether I want to move in with you, or have you move in with me, or whether we'll both keep our apartments, and decided each evening on an ad hoc basis."

I gave him my most brilliant smile and saw the mixture of relief and happiness. I reached over the table and took his two hands in mine.

"I'm glad," I said. "Now why don't you come over to my place when we get home. I've seen too many batchelor pads to want to go home to one the first night of our new relationship! And by the way, you can take me out to dinner before we go home."

*****

booking   mistake  

May 4, 2018 in romance

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