Hotel, imagined (1)

Thoughts of you flow in rivers from my mind when I find myself in the shower. The slip of soap, the warm fingers of water shooing it away. The bubbling glass doors that tease the outside viewer.

Would I be pegged from behind, or maybe milked in a reach around by you? Maybe the force of being pushed up against the glass will create a sort-of ruined orgasm by frottage. I imagine your forearm across my shoulders and neck, you using your other arm to leverage yourself against me. As I get aroused by the force of your dominance, the position of my body in subservience to you, I can feel you up against me, naked, wet and shaking, your erect nipples dig into my back like thumbs.

But the glass is no longer a shower, it is the window to a hotel balcony, late at night. Below us the city traffic streams in iridescent snakes, under the golden glow of the urban nightscape. We can watch below, safe in the anonymity of the darkened room.

And now I feel you fully, as your outstretched arm finds its way between your legs, pumping your cunt with practised fingers as you grind against me. As your breath quickens, you keep up a steady stream of orders: “Take it, fucktoy, c’mon. Who owns you? You’ll come when I say you can and not before, we’re going to ruin that pretty little orgasm all over the glass and I’ll make you lick it off as I wank my clit…”

You bark an orgasm, rhythmic. Thrusts. Jolt. Through. Me. As you grasp and twist the climax from deep inside, croaking “come, now, Darling”. The change of tone and cracking vulnerability push my edging cock past the point of no return and I let you hold me tight against the cool, wobbling glass as the white streaks seep around the edges of my belly.


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