It was one of those evenings when every single thing seems like foreplay. From the spraying of scent and the choosing of earrings to the long hot kiss in the elevator on the way back to the room they’d been unable to resist booking for the night, the last few hours had had only one ending in view.
“Sorry if this is going to be boring for you,” Nick had said as they headed into the hotel ballroom. “These award ceremonies can drag on.”
“How can I be bored with this view?” replied Venera, already revved up by the sight of her man in his dinner jacket and shiny black shoes. She reached up to tweak his bow tie, letting her fingers slide inside his collar and brush his neck, just for a second.
“Likewise,” he said unsteadily, putting a hand on her silk-clad hip.
Then there had been champagne, footsie, lots of clapping, sneaky hands under the table, loud congratulatory conversations, skirt hems lifted to expose stocking tops, canapes, dropping canapes under the table and rubbing her face against his erection before getting back up… the night went on…
And now here they were in the hotel room, hot enough for each other that they could have just ripped each other’s clothes off and got down to it up against the wall. But she wanted to keep riding this tantalising wave of desire a little while longer. She wanted her throat tighter, her skin more flushed, her nipples harder, her pussy wetter. She wanted to be so turned on she could scream.
So she put the tip of a warning finger on his chest and reached into her beaded evening bag with her other hand.“Easy tiger,” she purred, drawing out a pack of cards. “I’m in the mood for a game.”
“So am I,” he said hungrily, his lunge at her neatly sidestepped. “Hide the s…”
“Don’t!” she begged, laughing. “You’ll put me off. I’m trying to be sophisticated and seductive.”
“So am I,” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into his chest. “Caveman style.”
“No cavemen,” she said, wriggling against him, feeling his rock-hard erection against her lower belly. “Not yet. Come on, how often do we get all dressed up like this? Let’s make the most of it. I promise you you’ll get yours, but the anticipation will make it all the sweeter. Now sit down and deal.”
Growling softly, he sat down on the plush rug opposite her and shook the cards from the pack.
“Strip poker then?” he suggested.
“Um, I’ve never played poker. Can we make it strip pontoon?”
He laughed and dealt.
They played a few rounds; she made sure to pronounce the words ‘stick’ and ‘twist’ with maximum sibilance. They had a lot of jewellery and pocket squares and bow ties to get through before it could get really interesting, but they made the most of each little act of denuding—she unclipping her bracelet and draping it slowly over her breasts and dipping it into her cleavage; he spending deliberate moments on his cufflinks before turning up his cuffs to reveal the strong tanned wrists and forearms she found so sexy.
By the time she was down to her silky shirt and stockings and he sat on the rug facing her with his bow tie hanging loose from his collar, their mutual desire was showing in the heated bloom of their skin and the breathy lowering of their voices.
“Ah, unlucky,” he crooned, smirking. “Looks like a stocking goes next. God, I’ve been waiting for this bit.”
His pupils flared bigger and blacker than ever as Venera slid a finger inside her stocking top and began to peel it, achingly slowly, down her milky thigh. Seemingly unable to help himself, Nick yanked it from her foot and flung it away over his shoulder, almost dropping the cards in his eagerness to shuffle for the next round.
Once the stockings had gone, so did any semblance of restraint. They pulled closer, stroking and poking at each other’s exposed skin. Nick’s dress shirt was soon off and Venera’s silky blouse almost melted off her into the warm golden air.
Now his crossed legs displayed his shorts-clad bulge, and she knew her long blonde hair drifted tantalisingly over her breasts, only just contained by her lacy black bra. The stakes were never more visible.
Arching her back, Venera knelt up with her knees apart, watching as her lover dropped the cards between them, trying to distract him by leaning closer, letting one finger glide down his cheek, moving her lips up to meet his. It worked too well and she snapped back, laughing at his confusion.
“We forgot the champagne,” she whispered, getting to her feet and sauntering off in search of it.
She knew Nick would be watching her retreating bottom with frank appreciation, almost salivating as her smooth cheeks undulated beneath her suspender belt, the unclipped straps swaying slightly with each deliberate sashayed step, her black lace thong dividing them perfectly.
“You ready for this cork to pop?” asked Nick, wrapping his fist around the bottleneck.
“I know you’re good at that,” she purred, sliding down beside him, then she giggled as he raised an eyebrow.
“I seem to remember you having a pretty good grip,” he said.
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The cork flew and each took a swig, laughing as the bubbles took effect and the champagne wetted their faces, splashing onto Venera’s breasts.
“Uh oh, spillage,” whispered Nick, “assistance needed.” He leaned into her and she sighed as his breath warmed the chilly drips then his hot tongue lapped them up.
“Mm, I think you got it all,” said Venera, eyes shut in rapture, “but don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop, kissing the slope of each breast and slipping his tongue into the furrow where they met.
“Kiss me,” she urged, and he lifted his head so their tongues could meet, fizzy with champagne and desire. Her lips alternated between caressing his mouth and the mouth of the bottle, wrapping around it, teasing as he tipped more bubbles into her. But the bottle’s charms were limited when placed in competition with the warm man who held it and soon he found better uses for his hands, kneading her breasts while she dipped her hand down to massage his thighs.
It was crazy, she thought, how a simple thing like putting your mouth on somebody else’s could cause so many reactions in unrelated parts of your body. She was hot everywhere now, despite her near nakedness. Her chest felt as if it were popping like champagne bubbles. Every inch of her skin tingled, and trembling sweetness channelled itself from her lower belly down between her legs. How did kissing do that? Who cared… her thoughts swirled away into a vortex of pure need.
More champagne and she was deliberately careless this time, barely taking any into her mouth, letting it all coat her breasts.
He put his hand between her thighs and the shock was like electricity. She leapt back onto the sofa, spreading her legs wide, inviting him to explore the secrets within.
“Did you get champagne on these?” he murmured, kissing her soft inner thighs and then turning his attention to the strip of black fabric covering her pussy. But she was beyond words, sighing as he kissed a hot path across her pubic triangle.
Thank God, was her only semi-coherent thought when he yanked the little string of material aside and buried his face between her thighs, which she opened even wider in eager offering. She pushed herself towards him, willing him to keep the pressure on and turn it up. She was sure her clit must be as red and swollen as a strawberry by now—why wouldn’t he push his tongue against it?
She gasped as he sat back up, praying that he wasn’t going to stop. But he took another mouthful of fizz and then dived back in, letting it tingle until she felt unbearably sensitised and desperate for him to seal his hot lips over her. As she writhed, he slipped one finger inside her, so quickly and easily that it felt greased. He wriggled and pushed it back and forth, dropping back down to bathe her clit anew until she was grinding against him, her hand on the top of his head.
Disappointment at his withdrawal soon turned to pleasure at the realisation that Nick was bent on removing her thong.
He grabbed her bum cheeks, holding them firmly as he went in for another round of cunnilingus. She could only clutch at cushions and pluck at her own skin as her ability to control her body was surrendered to Nick’s intentions. He was ravenous, sealing his mouth over her pussy, stroking his tongue top to bottom, side to side, diagonally, around the edges of her clit, every which way, while she moaned wordless encouragement.
Now she was wet enough for two of his fingers to penetrate, and he lifted his head to watch her as he worked them. She tried to focus on his face, on how hellbent he looked, at how sexy that was, while she felt herself giving way to his insistent probing. Her soaked pussy begged for more attention but she knew it was coming now. She knew there was no going back.
Two fingers became three, and he drove them in and out of her slick, greedy pussy, kissing and licking her spread lips as he worked until she was so close to the edge she could feel the scream building from way down within her.
Of course, that was his cue to stop, to pull out, to sit up and whip off his pants so that his erection was released, springing and eager.
With one leg bent on the sofa and the other straight to the side, he braced himself above her. She watched avidly, drinking in the look on his face, the way his chest lowered to meet her breasts, spreading herself as wide as she could in anticipation. She felt his hard length press into the soft skin of her inner thighs, and then before she could even blink, he was inside her, pushing up and stretching her, making her purr with the sudden brutal pleasure of being filled. He had prepared her so well that he sheathed himself easily and it was a small step from there to establishing a hard, fast rhythm.
He must know how much I love this, she thought, her cheeks hot with the delicious shame of it, it must be obvious from how wet I am. He knows I need it. He knows what a desperate slut I am.
She wondered if she dared say any of this out loud, but he was slamming so determinedly now that she was panting, making words hard to jerk out. She decided to stick to enjoying the sensation of his body on hers, in hers, completely mixed up and tangled together.
They knew each other’s bodies so well now that he seemed to have a sixth sense that told him when she was getting close. Was it her heat, her sweat, the pitch of her sighs that told him? Was it a look in her eye? Whatever it was, it was deadly accurate and he slowed down straight away, drawing out the tingling, stomach-tightening thrill of it until she was drowning in it. The way he did this always made her fall over a precipice of vulnerability and understand how deeply she loved him. The realisation was frightening, but somehow the fear gave an edge to the pleasure, made the almost-unbearable wonderful.
She kept her gaze locked on his through the many variations of speed and intensity, stroking his damp face, willing her body to make it obvious to him that he was the best and no other man could give her what he did.
“Yes,” she whispered, “yes, yes, yes,” wanting him to ride her over the edge. He was not ready to come yet, and she understood this, and understood also that he would be quite happy to eke his own pleasure out until he had wrung more orgasms from her.
Their passionate communion did not let them down. Nick upped his rhythm until the pressure was too much and Venera could not keep a lid on her climax for another second. She moaned lustily into it, luxuriating in the pride he took in his erotic handiwork, keeping her eyes fixed on his until they melted into stars.
She could hear his heart hammering along with his ragged breathing and they kissed each other back down to earth with deep, grateful kisses until they were conscious again of being on a sofa, in a room, in a world that contained more than the two of them.
Nick withdrew and sat up, and his persistent erection showed Venera that she still had work to do. Giggling, she slid off the sofa and knelt in front of him, bobbing down and licking her own taste from his stiff rod. He reclined like a Roman emperor while she traced a line up and down his shaft with her tongue tip, sometimes teasing him by slipping her lips over his rounded top and giving it a cheeky suck.
She knew he’d be watching her wrap her lips around his cock or close her fist mid-shaft and tug it up and down. She loved that she enthralled him by the way her mouth moved in the service of his pleasure. Slowly, expertly, her grip tightened and her lips wettened until he was so rigidly hard that she knew it would not be long before she had a mouthful to swallow.
But that wasn’t her plan. She climbed back onto the sofa, straddling him, smiling at the way his eyes locked on to her swaying breasts. She placed her feet on either side of his thighs and crouched above him, taking his cock into her hand and guiding him into her spread pussy above, lowering herself so that she was slowly impaled on that needy pole.
Now she was in control of the pace and action, and she was going to make him understand how she had felt earlier. She was going to make him desperate and grateful and crazy for her, just as she was for him.
He took hold of her flanks as she bounced up and down on him, bending down to kiss him through the motion.
“Don’t you worry, boy, you’re getting yours,” she vowed to herself, pushing her tongue hard against his, fighting it into the corner of his cheek.
She sat up and ground hard, knowing that the sight of her jiggling breasts would spur him closer to his orgasm. He seemed hard-pressed to choose whether to handle her tits or her arse, and he kept switching between the two, grabbing quick, enthusiastic handfuls of each as she upped and downed and screwed around on his cock.
“Faster,” he gasped, but she wasn’t going to be told what to do now, and she opened her palm and slapped it lightly against his cheek, to his apparent delight. She was his hard-riding bitch, and he needed to learn that he would get his orgasm when she decided.
But now, bending and kissing while he squeezed her breasts, she could feel the stirrings of a second wave. She pushed down hard on his shoulders and began to pump in earnest, building the friction, pulling him in deeper, squeezing, then letting go, over and over.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grunted and she slapped him again. When I say so. Kisses and slaps, slaps and kisses.
“You’re too close, boy.” She pulled him out, moved so that he was rubbing up and down between her bum cheeks. “Do you want it? Do you?” Their teeth clashed mid-kiss. He wanted it.
She took pity on him and let him back inside her. This was the home straight now. She went back in hard and fast, one hand on her clit, charming up the second orgasm that she knew was on the way.
She ground slowly for a moment, giving him the signal that he might need to help her along if he wanted to make her come again.
He read and understood it.
“Get to work,” he hissed, grabbing her hips, making her speed up into a final ferocious rhythm.
She fell gratefully under his control, wanting him to dictate the pace, wanting him to show her she belonged to him.
As he fucked her, his hand landed with a perfect crack on her arse cheek, and she felt the quick bloom of sting push her into the space she wanted to occupy. Yes, here it was, it was coming. Again, and then again, he spanked her into her final unravelling. She worked so hard she was trembling everywhere, but she couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop until he allowed it.
She grabbed his chin tight and then she heard the change in his breathing that always happened before he came and she knew that one more spank would do it for her. Together they bucked and cried into climax. She collapsed on his chest, filled with his warm seed, glorying in it.
Then it was time for breathless laughter and satiated kisses. He slipped out of her and she felt her thighs coated in his thick seed, pressing them together so that some of it might stay inside.
“Oh my God,” she drawled, picking up the neglected champagne bottle and wetting her dry mouth. “That was…”
He laughed, took the bottle from her and agreed.
Even now, exhausted as she was, she felt she could do it all again. Like this was their very own strip poker sex story, they could re-enact on repeat. Lying back against the sofa arm, she stretched out a fatigued leg and let her foot play with his softened cock. A few more sips of champagne and he would be ripe for another round, she thought.
But this time, there would be no card game. Nick might be a lot of things—handsome, passionate, a skilled lover and hot in a tuxedo—but he did not play fair.
The End
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