Anakin20
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 30, 2001
- Posts
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Please ensure you've read the OOC for this thread before posting, thanks!
For some reason, it wasn't raining.
"Doesn't it always rain during these moments of deep inflection?" I thought wryly to myself.
Of course, it helped that I was high above the city of Las Vegas. Rain was not something that happened here often. I loved the heat, after growing up the son of a poor mining couple in Northern Ontario.
At least, I'm pretty sure that's my true identity. Years of disguises and personas left me much like an Etch-A-Sketch. Pieces of my life had simply vanished. Friends, relatives, lovers, I did not have them anymore. I washed that thought down with a swallow of Lagavulin, allowing the scotch to swirl around my taste buds. Peat and smoke, the glories of scotch.
"Dillon?" I heard a sleepy call from the door of the hotel's bedroom. That's right, I was Dillon Armbrister, a heart surgeon in town on a conference.
So I was slightly wrong. I did have a 'lover'. Her name was Cassandra, or so she said. I had run her through my computer and found out she was Sandra Miller, a young heart surgeon from Topeka.
I turned, and the lithe blonde was draped in part of the bedclothes. It barely covered one small breast, but didn't cover the other, which was tipped with a delicate pink nipple. It also showed off the mound of her almost hairless sex. I loved the real ones, ones that had not surgically altered their bodies. She retained her shape forged from years of ballet dancing. She was certainly limber enough.
"I was just having a drink, dear," I said, flashing her what I called my $20k smile, for that's what the dentists had charged. For the conference, I had donned brown contacts to cover up my baby blues. Some other makeup touches had given my face the appearance of some age, though I was only 34.
She stalked the room with a sly grin, taking the glass from me and taking a small sip. She stood on tiptoes to reach my 6'3'' height and her tongue invaded my mouth, followed by some more scotch.
"Drink me, instead," she said, laying back and pouring a small amount of scotch in her navel. She dabbed a finger in the liquid and covered each nipple, which jutted out like erasers.
My tongue quickly lapped her navel, trailing scotch across her pale, freckled body and up to her nipples, which I took in my mouth one at a time. She was very sensitive up there, and moaned in delight.
While I sucked her nipples, she slid my silk pajama bottoms to the floor and took my hardening manhood in her skilled hands.
"I thought we might get it going again," she giggled. At age '54', I had begged off more sex, but it had been an hour, so...
She guided me to her sopping wet sex, and I slid in easily. She moaned deeply, as I had not let up my oral attack on her nipples.
"I love your cock," she sighed. "And your tongue."
I flicked her nipples, leaving my cock deep inside her, not really moving. She made little circles with her hips, rubbing it around her sensitive insides.
"ohhhhhh," she breathed, climbing the ladder to orgasm. I let her use me, taking her to her heights. She exploded in a noisy climax, and then I began thrusting deeply and swiftly.
"More, more, more!" was all she could say. More? She had already enjoyed seven.
She would enjoy numbers eight, nine and ten before my cum jetted into her churning pussy.
When she was asleep, I returned to the window. It would be four hours before sunrise, and Hespeler's message.
For some reason, it wasn't raining.
"Doesn't it always rain during these moments of deep inflection?" I thought wryly to myself.
Of course, it helped that I was high above the city of Las Vegas. Rain was not something that happened here often. I loved the heat, after growing up the son of a poor mining couple in Northern Ontario.
At least, I'm pretty sure that's my true identity. Years of disguises and personas left me much like an Etch-A-Sketch. Pieces of my life had simply vanished. Friends, relatives, lovers, I did not have them anymore. I washed that thought down with a swallow of Lagavulin, allowing the scotch to swirl around my taste buds. Peat and smoke, the glories of scotch.
"Dillon?" I heard a sleepy call from the door of the hotel's bedroom. That's right, I was Dillon Armbrister, a heart surgeon in town on a conference.
So I was slightly wrong. I did have a 'lover'. Her name was Cassandra, or so she said. I had run her through my computer and found out she was Sandra Miller, a young heart surgeon from Topeka.
I turned, and the lithe blonde was draped in part of the bedclothes. It barely covered one small breast, but didn't cover the other, which was tipped with a delicate pink nipple. It also showed off the mound of her almost hairless sex. I loved the real ones, ones that had not surgically altered their bodies. She retained her shape forged from years of ballet dancing. She was certainly limber enough.
"I was just having a drink, dear," I said, flashing her what I called my $20k smile, for that's what the dentists had charged. For the conference, I had donned brown contacts to cover up my baby blues. Some other makeup touches had given my face the appearance of some age, though I was only 34.
She stalked the room with a sly grin, taking the glass from me and taking a small sip. She stood on tiptoes to reach my 6'3'' height and her tongue invaded my mouth, followed by some more scotch.
"Drink me, instead," she said, laying back and pouring a small amount of scotch in her navel. She dabbed a finger in the liquid and covered each nipple, which jutted out like erasers.
My tongue quickly lapped her navel, trailing scotch across her pale, freckled body and up to her nipples, which I took in my mouth one at a time. She was very sensitive up there, and moaned in delight.
While I sucked her nipples, she slid my silk pajama bottoms to the floor and took my hardening manhood in her skilled hands.
"I thought we might get it going again," she giggled. At age '54', I had begged off more sex, but it had been an hour, so...
She guided me to her sopping wet sex, and I slid in easily. She moaned deeply, as I had not let up my oral attack on her nipples.
"I love your cock," she sighed. "And your tongue."
I flicked her nipples, leaving my cock deep inside her, not really moving. She made little circles with her hips, rubbing it around her sensitive insides.
"ohhhhhh," she breathed, climbing the ladder to orgasm. I let her use me, taking her to her heights. She exploded in a noisy climax, and then I began thrusting deeply and swiftly.
"More, more, more!" was all she could say. More? She had already enjoyed seven.
She would enjoy numbers eight, nine and ten before my cum jetted into her churning pussy.
When she was asleep, I returned to the window. It would be four hours before sunrise, and Hespeler's message.
