Dennis Inn

He walked quickly toward the entrance and I stood. He pushed through the door and then he was in front of me and without conscious thought I was reaching for him as he reached for me, each of us pulling the other into a hug. I felt the hard warmth of his body, his heart pounding as quickly as mine. I wanted to stay there, to melt there, but he pulled away and took a step back, looking me over. I could tell he was nervous, trying to think of something to say and trying not to stare. His eyes were chestnut brown, the same shade as his hair. I studied them, those unfamiliar eyes, searching for the man I knew behind them.

"I'm Tom," he said finally.

"I'm Julie," I replied. "It's nice to meet you."

"Julie," he repeated. He nodded toward the cup on the counter in front of me. "You got coffee already?"

I nodded back. "Peppermint mocha. I usually just get regular coffee, but it's a seasonal flavor and there's something about the mint and chocolate combination..." Realizing I was babbling, I took a deep breath. "I'm guessing you're a no-nonsense black coffee kind of guy?"

"I can take it black, but I prefer a little cream."

"It would be inappropriate of me to say 'that's what she said' now, wouldn't it?" I smirked.

He snorted. "Since when do we give a shit about appropriateness?"

"Since never." We smiled at each other. "Anyway, I'll wait here if you want to order something."

"I'll be right back." Tom went up to the counter and I sat back down on the stool. He returned a few minutes later and settled onto the stool next to mine, unzipping his jacket but leaving it on over his light blue button down.

"So did you want to maintain an air of mystery?" I asked playfully. "Or are you going to tell me a little about your offline life?"

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, there are the standard getting to know you questions. We should probably go over those if we're pretending to be regular people having a regular conversation here. So Tom, what do you do for a living?"

"Well, Julie," he said, sitting up straight and tenting his fingers beneath his chin, mimicking the serious air of a talk show interviewee, "I'm an analyst for a consulting firm."

"That's very interesting, Tom," I replied in a singsong voice. "What does that involve exactly?"

"Well, Julie, I gather and analyze data with the goal of helping clients streamline business operations."

I dropped the interviewer persona and grinned. "So you're like the Bobs in 'Office Space?'"

He laughed and took a sip of coffee. I could tell he was starting to relax. "Not exactly. Probably far more boring. So what about you?"

"Nonprofit administrator. Also boring, but for a good cause."

"Whereas my boredom is entirely mercenary."

The conversation continued to flow with relative ease as we discussed our backgrounds, our education, our kids, our homes, the biographical facts we'd never made a point of learning about each other. I could feel the tension draining from my muscles. I could relax and breathe. I wasn't overcome with the urge to rip his clothes off. This felt normal. My plan had worked. After about an hour, we parted with a brief hug and vague promises to do it again sometime.

bored_and_old: Thanks for meeting me today! I know you were a little reluctant. Was it what you expected? Not too disappointed about the lack of blowjob? ;)

EverybodyWantsSome: I should thank you for talking me into it. I enjoyed our awkward conversation.

I don't know what I expected, if anything. You do have nice full dick-sucking lips...

bored_and_old: You noticed those, huh? Could be my mouth was made for your cock. See anything else you liked?

EverybodyWantsSome: Jesus. You also have fantastic tits. That dress you were wearing...holy shit!

Dammit, I was tingling with excitement. I wanted to keep going, to make him tell me how much he wanted to rip off that dress and exactly what he'd do with the goods underneath. The worst part was that the words now had a face, a name, a voice...and it made me want them even more. I wanted the mind that wrote those words and the body that housed it.

I spent the rest of that day in a dreamy fog. "You have a big smile on your face," my husband Dan remarked that evening, plopping down next to me on the couch where I sat folding laundry. "What are you thinking about?"

I looked down to hide the flush that crept into my cheeks. "Just thinking about...a conversation I had today. With a colleague."

"Something good happening at work?"

"Maybe. A new project we might be starting..." I could have kicked myself. Why was I manufacturing a work project? Why did I have to say anything at all? The more complicated the deception, the more likely it was to fall apart. "Anyway, I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"Ooh, mysterious," he teased. "If you told me would you have to kill me?"

I replied with a forced chuckle and pretended to be deeply absorbed in the sock matching process.

"Well, whatever it is, it suits you," Dan said. "You are absolutely glowing. When you came home wearing that low-cut dress today...man, you looked hot!"

He slid a hand up my arm to the shoulder and I stiffened. His touch often set me on edge these days. Demanding rather than comforting. Another needy person wanting a piece of me, and once I'd finally broken free of the two children who wrapped themselves around me from the moment I walked in the door until their bedtime, I had nothing left to give.

When Dan's fingers suddenly tweaked my nipple, I yelped and slapped his hand away reflexively.

"Did you seriously just slap my hand off you?" he asked, looking hurt.

"Did you seriously just give me a freaking purple nurple out of nowhere?" I snapped. "How many times have I told you it's uncomfortable for me to be touched in sensitive areas without any warmup?"

"I was just being playful!" He stood and stomped off toward the kitchen, muttering, "Jeez, Julie, there is no pleasing you sometimes."

"It's not just some weird preference of mine, you know," I called after him. "I'm a normal woman." A normal woman who likes to be touched with consideration to her own needs and desires, I added silently, not pinched and poked for your amusement as though I'm your plaything. I wanted to be touched by someone who saw me for who I was and appreciated my uniqueness, who listened when I told him what pleased me. Someone like Tom.

It was only a matter of time. I couldn't stop myself.

But Tom was non-committal about meeting again over the next several weeks. Once a week I invited him for coffee and each time he claimed he was busy but could maybe do it in a few more days. His messages decreased in both frequency and length. Instead of responding to my evening message first thing the next morning, he was often silent until afternoon. Then he'd often take until the end of the work day to answer my subsequent message. Sometimes his messages were no more than a brief expression of agreement with whatever I'd said - nothing to expand upon, nothing to work with. He hardly flirted with me anymore and he sidestepped any attempts at erotic fantasy.

He assured me he was simply busy, but I knew better. He was fading, maybe even the proverbial slow fade. I was hurting. I knew if he "ghosted" it would break my heart. I was too far gone to turn back. I had to make him choose one way or the other.

***

December 2016

bored_and_old: I'm tired of this limbo. I'm done playing games. I booked a room at the Dennis Inn. I will be there at check in time, 2pm, and I'll PM you the room number.

EverybodyWantsSome: I can get there by 3

bored_and_old: Room 108

The knock on the door comes sooner than I expected, a few minutes before 3:00. I've been staring uncomprehendingly at the screen of my kindle, trying in vain to focus. I practically lunge toward the door. Peering through the keyhole, I see him standing at the threshold, face cast downward as he idly studies his hands. Heart thundering, I take a deep breath and open the door, keeping my body behind it in case there's anyone else outside who might catch an eyeful of me in my lingerie.

"Come in," I say.

He doesn't move. I reach one arm out from behind the door and grab his hand. There's no need to pull since he starts moving forward the moment I touch him. As soon as he's inside, I shut the door and stand with my back against it, blocking his escape. He looks me up and down, his eyes flickering with surprise, then darkening as his pupils expand.

"Fuck, Julie," he whispers. He lifts a hand and for a moment I think he's going to touch me, but then he rakes it through his short hair instead, sighing hard. "I don't think—"

"Stop thinking," I murmur, skimming my fingers over his chest with the softest of touches. I slowly pull the zipper of his jacket down and nudge it apart. He shrugs it off his shoulders, then curls his hands over mine. We look into each other's eyes while his fingers trace light circles on my knuckles. His hands are cold, but his touch warms me. I can see the turmoil in his eyes even as they soften and haze over. I try to project the intensity of what I'm feeling into my gaze, to show him what's waiting for him if he wants it, to draw him in so deep and far that doubt can't follow.

He steps closer and I see the change, see him surrender to the inevitable. His grasp on my hands tightens and he lifts them over my head and pins them to the door behind me. I sigh and rock toward him, but his firm grip keeps me in place. His face descends to mine slowly, painfully slowly, his gaze unwavering. His lips graze mine, teasing briefly before pulling back. I whimper. I am impossibly aroused already, my nipples achingly taut, my slick pussy throbbing with need.

He answers the silent plea in my eyes by tilting his body into me and pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is soft and controlled, but I can feel the coiled tension in his muscles and I want more, want to release the passion I know is seething beneath his self-restraint. My impatient tongue parts his lips, strokes along the roof of his mouth until he opens wider and our tongues swirl together, probing and tasting and exploring thoroughly while our lips join the dance in a sensual, sucking rhythm.

He releases my hands and cups my chin, pulling me in to deepen the kiss further. I wrap my arms around his neck and slide my fingers up through the soft bristles of his hair. My fingertips trace the smooth curve of his ear, the stubbled ridge of his jaw, the bumpy slope of his throat. As if my touch can imprint meaning and memory on his skin inch by inch.

His hands drift to my breasts, squeezing lightly. When his thumbs graze my nipples through the fabric of the bustier, I moan into his mouth and push my hips in closer, grinding against the hard bulge in his pants. He moans in response and the fevered crush of his mouth on mine builds to a desperate intensity, as if he would swallow me whole if he could.

He tears his lips from mine and trails feathery kisses down my neck. He sucks at the base of my throat, drawing my skin between his lips and nipping lightly with his teeth. I tremble and gasp. His hands slide the straps of my bustier down my shoulders, freeing my breasts. While his mouth works its way toward them, excruciatingly slowly, I run the tip of my tongue along the side of his neck and the shell of his ear, lapping up and down a few times before sucking the fleshy lobe into my mouth and scraping with my teeth. I feel him shudder as his mouth reaches my left nipple and his tongue circles my areola. His fingers move to my other nipple, mimicking the motions of his tongue.

"Oh god!" I breathe into his ear when his lips close over my nipple and he sucks slowly but forcefully, simultaneously pinching and pulling my other nipple with his fingers, the sensation teasing between pleasure and pain. When my head rolls back and my knees buckle, he cups my bare ass cheeks and lifts me, urging me to wrap my legs around his waist. He walks us toward the bed. The press of his hard cock makes me frantic to be filled with him, and I grind against him desperately.

"Fuck," he groans, laying me on the bed and leaning over me. But I sit up and shove him down onto his back, climbing on top to straddle him.

"This feels a little uneven," I say, gesturing to his fully covered torso and my bare breasts. His eyes linger on those breasts swaying above him while I unbutton his shirt and tug it out of his waistband. He rises slightly so I can pull it off, then helps me lift his undershirt over his head. I smooth my hands across his chest and belly, feeling his muscles tighten under my touch.

He is in good shape with well-defined pecs and abs, if not a perfect six-pack. Sparse salt-and-pepper hair surrounds his nipples and trails downward from his navel. I trace those areas with my tongue, pausing to lick and suck each nipple before kissing all the way down to his belt. I unbuckle it and work it slowly out of the loops with my right hand while gently massaging the outline of his cock through his pants with my left. He groans and thrusts up into my hand.

"We talked about this, Tom, remember?" I murmur. "About how neglected your cock is, how you haven't had a good, enthusiastic blowjob in over a decade. How much you need and deserve to have your cock well and truly worshiped."

"If I remember correctly," he says, "the word 'devour' was part of that conversation." While I release the buttons of his fly, his fingers drift beneath the lacy hem of my bustier to skim along my pussy. I know he can feel my wetness seeping through the flimsy scrap of my thong.

"We talked about this, too. Remember, Julie? I said I'd worship your pussy with my hands and mouth. I hope you brought that dildo." I rub myself shamelessly on his hand as he slips my panties aside and his fingers probe my folds. "Mmm, so fucking hot and wet."

By now I've opened his pants and I slide them over his hips along with his boxers. "The terms of the agreement were that I'd take care of you first." I reluctantly move my pussy off his hand in order to drag his pants down his legs and drop them onto the floor. His cock stands at attention waiting for me, but first I move back up to his face and kiss him deeply.

I whisper in his ear, "And I did bring a dildo. Neon purple."

He inhales sharply as I lower my head to his crotch, scratching my fingernails lightly down his torso as I go. I take his cock in my right hand and stroke gently up and down, running my fingers along the veins and ridges. My left hand joins in, the diamond on my ring winking as I roll my palm playfully over the head. "Hmm," I say appreciatively. "This is a beautiful cock. Perfect shape and size. Hard as a rock, straight as an arrow." I look back at his face and we smile at each other. "Swollen, bulging mushroom head in an attractive shade of reddish-purple."

Tom snorts laughter. A drop of precum oozes from the tip of his cock and I lower my head and sweep my tongue across it. His laugh becomes a groan.

"Delicious." I grin, licking my lips. "I'm definitely going to need to devour you."

"Ahh, Julie!" he gasps as I wrap my lips around the crown of his cock and slide them down its length, wetting every inch thoroughly with my swirling tongue as I go. I pause when I've enveloped him fully, savoring the immersive sensation of my nose nestled into his pubic hair and my chin grazing his balls. I draw my mouth with slow, firm suction up his shaft. I pause again, this time to brush my tongue around the head, over the slit, meeting his eyes so he can see how hot it makes me to please him. To see his eyes cloud with pleasure as he watches me, to feel the restless movement of his hips beneath me.

I plunge my mouth down again and find a rhythm, sucking him in and out while one of my hands fondles his balls. He moans encouragement and I shift my attention there, dragging my wet tongue in circles over his sack while my hand strokes his cock, slowly because I'm not ready for this to end anytime soon. I suck his balls gently into my mouth one at a time, roll them with my tongue, scratch them lightly with my nails, until his breathing is ragged and his hips pump in earnest. Then I return my mouth to his cock, taking him deep and hard but in an unhurried, sensual rhythm.

Looking up to his face again, I see his eyes rolled back and his parted lips trembling. I feel his thighs quake and I know it's time to take mercy on him.

I suck him faster now, my head bobbing vigorously. He tangles his fists in my hair and pushes my head down as he fucks up into my mouth. Our rhythm is furious, each stroke punctuated with a loud, wet pop. Soon enough he thrusts deep and holds my head still. He grunts, "I'm cumming" and I feel the pulse start at the base of his cock and travel upward until his hot seed floods my throat. I swallow him, drinking down the warm jets of salty fluid while he cries out in ecstasy. Carefully keeping a little of his cum pooled at the front of my tongue, I continue to suckle softly as his breathing slows.

"Holy shit, Julie," he breathes, lifting my chin gently. "You made me cum so fucking hard."

I slide up his body and kiss him deeply, letting him taste himself on me. He moans and sucks my cum-coated tongue like he can't get enough. My pussy is pulsing with need and I shift against him, whimpering. He rolls on top of me, raising himself on his arms to look down at me. Eye to eye and skin to skin, I can feel the strength of our connection, the chemistry of mind and body that's led us inexorably to this moment together. His fingers smooth sweaty strands of hair away from my face and he leans down to kiss me again.

"Tom," I sigh against his lips, "make me let go."

Watching me with searing intensity, he props himself on one arm while his other hand finds my pussy. He shifts my panties to the side and his fingertips skim my opening, stopping just short of my clit before circling it teasingly without touching it directly, then skating back down. I gasp when a finger slips below my pussy, caressing where no one's ever touched me before.

Tom grins wickedly. "I believe we talked about this, too." His fingers continue to trace their path around my clit, between my pussy lips, then further down to brush that virgin hole. The tease is maddening and my hips writhe under him. "You said you'd never had a rim job. I said I'd remedy that injustice."

I release my breath in a half-pant, half-laugh. "Before or after you give me the simultaneous dildo and mouth treatment?"

He lowers his head to plant a lingering kiss on my neck. "Speaking of that dildo," he says, his breath warm against my ear, "where is it?"

"Duffel bag." He follows my glance to the foot of the bed and moves away from me to retrieve the duffel bag. The loss of contact leaves my skin raw and tingling for his touch and I bite my lip against a whine.

Tom returns to view, sitting up at the end of the bed. He waggles his eyebrows as the veiny, gelatinous, purple dildo wobbles in his hand. The effect is comical enough to draw a snort of laughter from me even in my lust-addled haze. Tom lays the dildo beside me on the bed at waist level, but he doesn't move. His smile fades as his hungry gaze rakes over me and I try to see myself as he does, all softness and curves and wanton desire. My legs spread wide in invitation, encased in sheer black hosiery from my toes to where the milky flesh of my upper thighs swells above the lace bands. My thong scrunched to one side exposing my bare pussy, slick and engorged with my arousal. The inward curve of my waist enhanced by the bustier that cinches me to the bust. My exposed breasts heaving with my breath, the light pink skin of my areolas drawn tight around my stiffened nipples.