A Chance Encounter

Pretty soon my cock was again slamming her tight ass, but now my sack, strapped securely in that device, was kissing her pussy lips throughout my prolonged stroking, driving her crazy with passion until I brought her to another orgasm.

I kept fucking her ass, and she asked me to tell her when I was about to explode. She told me that she was going to show me a new trick. When I informed her that I had reached the point of no return, she had me pull my length out of her, except for my engorged head.

Then, with just my tip inside her tight ass, I started to orgasm, and when I did, she began contracting her tight anal opening around my throbbing glans nine or ten times in quick succession at the moment I was shooting inside her. It was a sensation unlike anything I had ever experienced!

After I was done cumming, she asked me to lay down on the desk, while she squatted over me and leaned over to give me a passionate kiss. Then, reaching back to her tight hole, she opened herself up. I felt my warm load begin to trickle slowly out of her ass. She continued to kiss me and finger herself until she had drained her chute completely, as it ran down her pussy lips and dripped all over my stomach!

Then, just as she done the previous night, she climbed down from the desktop, and I watched as her sexy body tiptoed its way to the bathroom, from which she returned with towels to clean us up again. Though she clearly loved anal sex, she was meticulous about hygiene.

We had room service deliver a late evening meal. Then, we went back to the bedroom to make love. When we woke the next morning, we picked up where we had left off, until our hunger got the better of us. We had room service deliver breakfast again, and then we followed that up with more sexual games. Doreen reasoned that because I had to leave, we needed to prepare ourselves for being away from each other. She suggested mutual masturbation.

She also liked the possibility that people might see us, that we could get caught, so we moved our playground to the living room. There, she parked herself in a big, comfortable, leather armchair in front of the window overlooking the resort's swimming pool. The curtains were fully drawn.

I sat only eight feet or so away in another chair across the room. The only thing she was wearing was a pair of black, sexy, and impossibly high stiletto heels. She sat on the edge of the chair and spread her legs wide open for me, with those heels flat on the floor, and her legs arched sexily in the stilettos, and put her hands on her thighs. Her incredible pussy was right there in front of me.

At first, she just sat there, not saying or doing anything, but looking at me with that look; the one that I'd seen twice before; the one that had me beating myself silly for a whole year; the one that, by itself, made me incredibly hard without me even having to touch myself.

Now, she was giving me that look and exposing her whole naked body to me. Under the circumstances, not touching myself was not a possibility. I dropped my shorts around my ankles and began stroking myself. Then, I inserted a cockring over the base of my penis.

People were walking by headed to the pool or the beach, and there she was in all her glory, right in front of the window! And there I was, only a few feet away, but facing the window, with my cockring-enhanced erection in my hand! She started to touch herself and began moaning and writhing.

After a few minutes, she lay back in the big, leather armchair, and began encouraging me with a profane monologue: "Do you like to watch me touch myself, handsome? Oh, you're making me wet when you beat your big cock for me! Watch me stick my fingers in my hot holes, baby. Oh, that feels so good! And you turn me on so much when you stroke your cock for me!"

She lifted her legs and spread herself even farther open as she splayed them over the arms of the chair. She was using her fingers from both hands now on both her pussy and her ass, entering herself with them, sliding them over her clit. "Oh, baby, my clit is so excited. If I touch it with my other fingers in my pussy and ass, it's going to make me cum. Watch me make myself cum, handsome. Keep jacking yourself; I want us to cum together. Come on, honey. I'm almost there. Make your big dick shoot a huge cum load."

I could see her getting wetter and wetter. She was staring at me, right over the top of her big tits, and I was pounding harder on my erection, and grabbing my balls with my other hand. We were getting each other really excited.

Now, she was more frantic, "Come on, handsome. Yeah, grab your balls! Keep pounding your cock, harder! Oh, god, I know you're close! Shoot your hot cum load everywhere, baby! On, my god! Oh, my god, I'm gonna cum. You're making me cum, baby, oh, god, oh god! You're making me cum. Oh, oh, oh!"

The image of her, with that look of ecstasy on her face, and her face, framed by her big tits, while she exposed her pussy and ass, and penetrated each with the fingers of her left hand, while her right hand frenetically rubbed her clit, sent me over the edge.

I blew my wad all over the hardwood floor, shooting cum spurts half way to where she was spread out on the armchair, and simultaneously, she reached another mind-shattering climax, shaking and quaking and moving the entire chair, as her orgasm swept over her entire body.

About noon on Sunday, after we had showered and packed our things up, she wanted one last go-round in bed. I had paid for another night in the hotel, even though I knew I couldn't stay, just so we could be together for a few more hours.

But then, I asked her, if, instead of sex, we could just talk. I wanted her now, not her body, but her whole being. For the next four hours, we lay in bed, and I held her in my arms and told her how incredibly beautiful she was. How funny, quick-witted, intelligent, kind, empathetic, and selfless she had proven herself to be over the course of that incredible weekend.

How even though I knew she was out of my league, she was always complimenting me in subtle ways - how she told me that she liked the way I walked; told me my eyes were really romantic; said she liked my jokes - but also in some not-so-subtle ways - how she was always telling me how big my cock was, when I knew I was just a little bigger than average; how she kept calling me handsome, even though I clearly wasn't; how she kept telling me what an amazing lover I was.

The thing is I know I never performed better sexually than I did when I was with her. It's not like before meeting Doreen, I was some kind of Valentino or something, but I had been with my share of women. I had done a little bit of experimenting. But with Doreen, I did things that I had never done before - showed a mastery of some inventive, and physically demanding sexual positions, exhibited greater stamina, held back my orgasms for a long time until I could make her cum first.

But I couldn't have done any of it, if it had not been for her. She made me feel good about myself, and the better I felt about me, the better I performed. Doreen was way too hot to be with me, but she was with me, and I guess that made me a stud, and if I felt like a stud, then I fucked like a stud. Even in confessing all this to her, she couldn't stop herself from lavishing me with more compliments.

She told me that I was the best lover that she had ever had, bar none, that it wasn't even close, and that if she had told me that my dick was huge, or that I was really handsome, or that I was an exceptional lover, that was because she really believed all those things about me. Beauty, she reminded me, is in the eye of the beholder, and as far as she was concerned, no one was more beautiful lovemaker than I was.

Then it dawned on me, everything she did and said was designed to make things better for other people, to make them feel better, to make them more confident in themselves. She made everyone better.

But not everyone was like her; they weren't as kind and generous as she was. They didn't return the compliments she offered them, and in the process, she couldn't see herself objectively. She didn't think she was out of my league, because she couldn't understand herself: didn't know she was beautiful, because very few men had ever told her she was.

Instead, they just told her she was a hot fuck. She didn't know that she was intelligent, because how intelligent could a bartender be? She didn't know she was kind and generous because she thought everyone was that way.

I told her she was unlike any woman I had ever met. That she was complete: mind, heart, body, and soul. I told her she was a better person than anybody I'd ever known. I told that every man who had ever touched her, including her ex-husband, must have been an idiot if he didn't appreciate who she was, how good she was, and how much she had to offer.

She cried and cried, hugged me as tightly as she could, and then opened up to me. She told me her back story.

It turns out she hadn't always been a bartender. She'd had a really promising career - when she lived up in Idaho, she'd been an administrator in charge of a state government agency.

She told me how she had started as an administrative assistant in that same agency after college, and for three years had worked her way up, by learning every job in that office, until finally - after the head administrator, a man who, despite her resistance, had been sexually harassing her the whole time she worked for him, and who was eventually fired for inappropriate sexual advances on another female employee - it became obvious that she was the only person who could handle the job.

She was hired to head up the entire agency. She told me how she had been pulling down nearly $200,000 a year for five straight years, had gotten unbelievably great performance reports, and was being considered for other, even more lucrative positions, that is, until disaster struck.

She told me how that same asshole that she had worked for had begun a five year campaign to undermine her after he got the axe, because he blamed her for getting fired, despite the fact that she has never told anyone a word about what he'd done to her.

Instead, he claimed that she, not he, had been the sexually promiscuous one, and how eventually after years of complaints that he had orchestrated by bribing other men that she had previously dated to tell lies about her, she had been fired, despite not a credible shred of evidence that she had ever done anything untoward. How after losing that job, she had, in essence, been blackballed, couldn't get another job of any consequence, anywhere. Wound up having to bartend to pay the rent.

Then, she told me about her marriage - that she had married her husband after a short "romance," because he was insistent, and she needed security. How he had been a fairly well-to-do businessman, who frequented the bar where she had worked and had bought her lavish gifts and pursued her relentlessly until she gave in and married him.

How she had found out that he had started cheating on her a week after their honeymoon had ended. How she had agreed to stay with him if they would move back to this area, where she had grown up, hoping that by doing so, she would keep him away from the woman he was cheating with. But how, instead, he had taken up with a bevy of women as soon as they got settled in town, and how she finally filed for divorce after a year of marriage, when he was unapologetic after she confronted him with his infidelity. We ended up talking for four hours.

I had to leave to go back north by 4:00. I didn't want to go, but I figured I had to. Before I did, we exchanged phone numbers and addresses and made plans for her to come visit me the next weekend. Then, we walked down to my car in the parking lot.

She had told me a lot about herself, but there was something missing, something that just had to be addressed before I could leave. How could this incredibly hot woman have been alone? She, of all women, didn't have a man in her life? As we hugged next to my car in the parking lot, I just blurted out the question, "Is there somebody I should know about?"

The answer, she said, was complicated. She asked me if I remembered the guy that was with Donny that day at the brew pub. So she had remembered me! Turns out, I was wrong - he wasn't her brother.

Instead, he was the guy she had taken up with after her divorce. They had been together for over a year; then he too started cheating on her with, get this, her best friend from high school, the attractive brunette that had come into the brew pub that afternoon all those months ago. I remembered then how coldly she had regarded the brunette in the pub that day, and how out of character I knew that was for Doreen, even then, only a few minutes after I had first met her. It made perfect sense.

After that, the guy - Dan - couldn't make up his mind. He'd go back to her, then back to the brunette, then back to her again. Finally, she said, "Enough is enough" and broke it off with him for good.

That was five months ago. Since then, her self-esteem had been in the tank. She had lost her job, her career, her husband, her boyfriend, and her best girlfriend all in the last three years.

So, she had decided to give up on love. Instead, every month or so she would pick a night, and before going out, give herself a warm bath or a Fleet enema, take a muscle relaxer, get herself all dolled up, have a few drinks, and then just a find a man, any man for sex - any and all kinds of sex.

Sometimes, she'd find him at the bar, and after she closed up, go back to his place for extended fucking sessions. She always made him wear a condom, something she never asked me to do. That was what she was planning again, two nights ago, when I stumbled into Scotty's after 18 months of lusting for her.

She asked me if her story bothered me - if her debauchery with other men would be a hindrance to having a relationship with her. I looked at that beautiful face, a face that I had seen glazed with my cum more times than I could count that weekend, and I broke down.

I started crying right there in that parking lot. I shook my head back and forth while I bawled my eyes out. It was two or three minutes before I could even speak.

I told her how much it had meant for me to have found her again. How in lust with her I had become after having only seen her once. But now, after I had spent the last 40 hours with her, lust had turned to love. No one I had ever been with had done the things that she had done for me and to me. We had laid ourselves bare in that hotel room in far more ways than one.

It wasn't just sex any more; it was everything that the sex represented - complete and total submission, each of us to the other - the willingness to do anything to please the other person.

I had started out as such a fucking asshole, making stupid double entendres to flirt with her, looking at her body as if she was just an object, there only to satisfy my wanton desires, treating her like I was some stupid, immature frat boy half my age.

And instead of treating me the way that I deserved to be treated, instead of calling me "a pig," and telling me to "fuck off," all of which she had every right to do and was easily within her power to do, she had given me everything that she had.

I had now come to realize, that, in her mind, all that she had left at that point in her life was her sexuality. That's why she was offering me and other men sex, that's why she exuded it, not because she was "a hot, little slut," but because she thought she had nothing else left to give anyone else.

And sex was a way to feel something, anything other than depression, disillusionment, loneliness, shame, embarrassment, and humiliation. Those sex binges were the only way to feel pleasure of any kind, if only for a few dozen hours, but just like drugs or alcohol, afterward she felt even worse, because she didn't need sex. She loved it, and like me, she wanted it, but she didn't need it.

What Doreen needed was painfully obvious to me - she needed love. She could get as much sex as she wanted, but no one had really ever loved her, certainly not the way she deserved to be loved.

Her sexuality, though it was incredibly powerful, was more of an impediment to her than it was an asset. Because she was beautiful, because she had an incredibly hot body, men perceived her as nothing more than a sexual object. So when she offered, they fucked her, they came all over her, they used her for what they thought she had, but they didn't love her.

I was not going to be that man. I was not going to be another asshole who kept that cycle going. Not me, not ever again. I had to break it. I owed her that. I knew right away that I loved her, and my love was something I could offer her.

Doreen had asked me if her story was a "hindrance" to being with her. Were the other men, and those sex binges a problem? Oh, my god, I thought how could they have been?

Instead, her story was exactly the opposite, and I told her so right then and right there in that parking lot. Her story became the imperative never to leave her side for a moment, a promise that I knew I was going to break in the next five minutes. It was the reason that she deserved to be treated like the goddess that she was. And I was committed to doing just that.

After kissing for five minutes while we cried in each other's arms, I got in that car and drove north, but I knew it was wrong; that I couldn't do it; that I shouldn't have left. I cried for the next five hours because Doreen wasn't there beside me.

Then, I got home, and I knew immediately that place couldn't be my home any more, not without her there. I called her the moment I got back. The first thing I said was that I was deeply in love with her, and that I would never not love her. That I didn't deserve her, but that if she was willing to have me, I wouldn't leave her side again, ever. That I would give up everything I had for her.

She said that she was in love with me, too. I cried again, because those were the most beautiful words I had ever heard. I didn't think I could stop crying, but when I did, I told her to skip her plans to visit me that weekend. That tomorrow I would be back with her for good. That I was quitting my job. That I was going to call my old boss and get my old job back. That he'd offered it to me before, in fact, the very night I first met her. That I was moving back there, because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

We've been together ever since. The sex? Oh, it's still incredible. I'm convinced that she's unlike any woman I, or anyone else, has ever seen in bed. But that's not why I love Doreen, and it's not why I made her my wife.