Room 423 Pt. 01

Brett pulled the heavy door closed behind him, loosened his tie, and surveyed the room, a typical business traveler special. Good wifi. Generic wall art. A book of sightseeing that he couldn't imagine anyone was ever around long enough to use.

Today had been a long day of hurry-up and wait in a crowded airport, then in a delayed prop plane, and last in a crowded shuttle bus. Now, after a nondescript dinner in the nondescript lobby restaurant, Brett was finally — finally — alone.

Without even bothering to turn on the lights, he propped the roller suitcase against the wall and dropped his computer bag on the night stand. In the darkness, Brett could see that his run-of-the-mill room actually had huge panel windows and a breathtaking view of the city. Well that was a nice surprise. The pulse of the traffic rhythmically quickened then slowed, quickened then slowed. A bridge twinkled, stretched, and arched. And from the posh hotel across the street, slivers of light outlined rows of windows. Every room heavily-curtained. Every room but one. Hers.

Bright and glowing. Unshaded. She was alone. And God, she was gorgeous.

Brett felt his cock jump. He wasn't the kind of guy who'd ever been with "that" girl. Not him. He was big, in a barrel-chested kind of way, but the truth was that this vision was straight out of every fantasy he'd never been bold enough to imagine.

Copper red hair cascaded down ivory skin and spilt down her back. She wore only a sapphire negligee, short, barely covering a perfectly heart-shaped ass. Brett was transfixed, watching her move. There must be playlist pumping through a speaker somewhere, he guessed, because she was obviously lost in the rhythm of the music, a glass of red wine in her hand, she was utterly uninhibited. Sensuously swaying tight, round hips, tracing her fingertips over the swell of her full, bouncing tits.

Brett poured a glass of the scotch from the minibar and grabbed the hotel lotion from the bathroom. Eyes locked on her every movement, Brett dragged a chair over to the window. He stripped completely and sat down like a king on his throne, devouring the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

He could almost feel his own fingers on her nipples, cupping her tits, her ass...running his hands through that strawberry silk. His breath came harder, and his cock ached, desperate to be touched. Brett poured some of the lotion into his hand and reached down low, grasping his balls thickly, pulling just a little. One long, stroke all the way up his shaft and already the precum was beading. Another stroke. Slow. Then he rubbed the ridge of the head, teasing himself and slapping his slick, throbbing cock against his hand. Oh God, that felt good...now, just don't stop, Beautiful, he begged across the darkness in a whisper. Please, just let me watch you enjoy yourself...

And she did.

Her back was to him now, as she stood on the bed and watched herself in the mirror. Shaking her hair back over her shoulders, she slid one satin strap off her shoulder. She dipped two fingers into the wine and then sucked them, licking off a droplet that must've run down her arm. Again, her fingers disappeared into the warmth of the wine. Eagerly, she dripped the wine onto her nipple, and began circling and tugging.

The satin negligee was falling now, caught at her waist, riding the curve of her hips. She was kneading those perfect tits — caressing them full in her hands, rolling her nipples. Even from this distance, he could tell how sensitive her breasts must be. Every time her fingers twisted or pulled on the rosebud tips, every time she tickled them with her own fiery-red hair, her face took on an expression of drunken desire, biting her lips, tilting her head back as if trying to draw the pleasure out as long as possible.

Brett dropped one hand back to his balls, massaging the pressure building up inside. If she could hold out, he decided, then he sure as hell wasn't going to cut the fun short by rushing to come...no matter how badly he wanted it. So instead of clenching his throbbing cock and pumping it hard, he lightened his grip on the pulsing shaft, shaking as he fought to slow his strokes...fought to watch her and not think about the precum oozing out all over.

Damn was he glad he was watching.

Still standing on the bed, she hitched over completely, hands flat, hair tumbling upside down. Her ass was high in the air, revealing the sweet, beautifully smooth pussy he'd somehow known would be under the satin...a moan escaped his lips. What he would give for a taste of that lusciousness, to lick her into a frenzy while she bent over like that for him...his hand began to speed up. It felt so good...

And then, all of a sudden, Brett's heart froze.

She was looking at him. She'd whirled upright, whipping her hair wildly, and turned to gaze back over her shoulder. "Hi," she'd mouthed, red lips sliding into a sly smile. The mirror! That must be it. All along, he'd thought he was hidden in the darkness...but she'd been looking in her mirror. She'd known he was watching the whole time. Brett sat completely still — except for the greedy cock still bouncing in his hand. Damn. He wasn't sure if he should be terrified or ashamed...or...confused. What was she doing?

Across the street, she'd stepped off the bed, full breasts bouncing, and was walking boldly to the window. One lingering finger touched the glass, she began slowly tracing: Four. Two. Three. The satin fell from view. Fully naked and spectacular, she stared daringly at him, smiled, and closed the curtains. Brett swallowed hard in disbelief. 423. It had to be her room number. And, with growing desire, he realized...he'd just be invited over to play.