The Visitor (Part 1)

He said to meet him at the airport. He didn’t want to wait until the next day to see me; he wanted me to be the first person he saw as he stepped off the plane. How could I refuse him? All that time spent exchanging emails, photos, messages, and short flustered online conversations–all of it was the build up to this moment. We’d been foreplaying for much too long at this point; it was finally time to take all those words and turn them into actions. But I couldn’t help but wonder: would he enjoy this weekend? Would he enjoy me? Photos and emails are nothing compared to reality; I didn’t want to disappoint him. I wanted his short visit here to mean something; to be remembered while he bathed, or slept, or even while he drove to work. I want him to tell the story of our meeting twenty years from now and remember my name, goosebumps covering his body as he re-lives the moment…

As these thoughts raced through my head, I saw him, coming down from the escalator as though he were descending from the bubble of my daydreams. We locked eyes, and for as long as it took him to walk to me, we kept it that way, eagerly examining each other. I’m sure he, like myself, was sure this was a mirage that would sweep away with the slightest breeze. The worry of that dissipated when his pale lips parted and said “Hello Scarlett.” Handsome, tall and confident it was as though he’d stepped out of a Jane Austen novel. I was beside myself with the images of what might happen once we were alone. His emails were so descriptive; fantasy inducing words that made for very tired hands before I went to bed.

Business had brought him overseas, and we took that opportunity to meet. I told him that for the sake of business, I would be his personal secretary for the weekend, there at his every beck and call, indispensable to him for two days and two nights. And I even dressed the part: a pinstripe pencil skirt; tucked-in white blouse, slightly transparent so as to show my bright red lace bra; and a simple black blazer. To finish the look I wore my favorite red  patent leather peep toe pumps. With my hair in a bun held together by a pencil, I expertly guided him out of the airport and into a cab where we headed to the hotel. As he sat behind the driver, we spoke innocently at first, asking the proper questions: How was your flight? What time is your meeting Monday? Are you hungry? What would like to eat? After this question, the conversation ceased to be innocent.

“I want to eat you of course. I want to appease this appetite by taking all of you in and satisfying this hunger you’ve instilled in me since the first time we spoke,” he said, his eyes piercing and unwavering.

“Well then, in that case, I guess we will be eating in doors tonight,” I said. “By the way, I think you should know,” I reached out and grabbed his half-stiff cock and said “I like my meat well done.”

I continued to grab and stroke his member, my other hand gliding through his hair, my lips at his neck kissing him lightly. There wasn’t time to waste; we knew everything we needed to know about each other and now it was time to put everything into motion. His right arm reached around me, cupping my right breast in his hand, his finger so easily finding my pert nipple and squeezing it. I tried my best to filter the moan that came out of me, and in my attempt to hide it I bit his neck, in which his cock replied by jerking strongly in my hand. Arriving at the hotel, he quickly registered, and the next thing I knew, we were in his hotel room. Greeting us in the bedroom was a bottle of chilled champagne, strawberries, and whipped cream. I slowly walked over to the cart, removing my blazer to the ground as I moved. I pulled my almost transparent blouse over my head, to reveal an even more transparent red lace bra. I glance behind me at him, and looked into his eyes as I slowly peeled down the zipper to my skirt and let it fall to the ground around my ankles. And then he saw my other surprise: the remaining set to the bra; my red lace thong, and lace garter belt attached to black lace top stockings. I took out the pencil from my hair, and reached for the champagne. I poured two glasses, lifted mine and took a sip; I then slid the glass from my lips to my chest, where I allowed a supple stream to fall down and drip to my already wet pussy.

“Are you ready for dinner?”

The Visitor (Part 2)

-Scarlett