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A New Aspect

By: bellefleure



Self-reflection is a curious thing.

Looking back, some experiences I've acted out seem so out of character -- at least compared with how I perceive my everyday disposition -- that I find it hard to believe it was me. Maybe I'm possessed by some spirit that makes me do things I wouldn't usually permit myself to do. Or perhaps someone with a devilish grin and a remote control is watching my every move and altering a dial with markings at its limits ranging from 'Innocent' to 'Depraved Slut'.

As I sat alone with my thoughts and a glass of rosé, idly twiddling the ends of my long, dark hair, the lyrics of a lesser-known Pet Shop Boys song floated through my head:\

-- I feel like taking all my clothes off
Dancing to The Rite Of Spring
And I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing
I smiled. It was partly true.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

February 2010

There's a derogatory saying when describing a superficially elegant yet actually rather sleazy woman: 'all fur coat and no knickers'. After just one day in the city I was convinced the phrase was equally applicable to Vegas.

Beneath the glitz and gaudy neon exterior of The Strip, the seedy underbelly was quite apparent. It was as if the place was rebelling against the fact it had been dumped in the middle of the desert and left to grow without parental guidance; an unwanted child fending for itself, with street smarts and looks its only currency.

Every corner -- every square inch it seemed -- was a sensory overload trying to draw people into its murky depths. Magic shows, concerts and shopping extravaganzas vied for attention alongside adult entertainment the likes of "Bite" which promised erotic thrills and topless dancers; presumably to distract the wretched souls who had spent the day exchanging their chips for vague promises of wealth and fulfilled dreams.

Walking through the bleeping cacophony of the obligatory casino on my way to the hotel reception desk I could almost taste the desperation. Every expressionless, vacant person with a bucket of coins and the weight of the world on their shoulders sat feeding slot machines, yanking handles and stabbing buttons while very pretty, slim, scantily-clad waitresses brought drinks and food so there was no need to leave the seat. I had to admire the business model -- even if it was amoral -- but at the back of my mind began to wonder if The Spooks had drawn inspiration from the place when they wrote 'Karma Hotel'.

High up in the overly lavish room it was possible to detach from the hyper-sensitive mayhem in the lobby, which was probably why the casinos did their level best to stop anyone leaving the hubbub of the floor.

Kicking off my heels I regarded the room while waiting for my laptop to boot. Even up here the lavishness had a vague sense of despondency; the retro, now tired and occasionally shabby décor had well and truly lost the shine of its heyday if inspected closely. But it was still better equipped than most hotels I'd stayed: complimentary wi-fi, a selection of hot drinks and a decent mini bar for starters. I could pipe the sound from the TV or iPod dock into the bathroom where fat bath towels and robes, along with brand-name soap waited.

From the end of the king-size bed, full-height windows opposite afforded an aspect to the virtually deserted poolside garden resort below. The TV weatherman had said it was low-to-mid 40s -- below 10°C in terms to which I could relate -- and felt mild to me but was, by all accounts, pretty cold for the locals.

A few city lights twinkled in the distance and I sighed. Foreign city. Alone again. And I missed Adam.

Our close friends called us inseparable. Others -- probably the jealous ones -- hinted we were sad to be so openly in love, while the rest said we should just marry and get it over with. In truth I didn't care what anyone thought: I was enjoying myself more than I ever considered possible, due in some large part to Adam's carefree spirit and knack of sexually liberating me.

After logging in and checking my e-mail I was surprised to see Adam still online. It must have been, what, gone 3am back home? I initiated the video call, half expecting him to have gone to bed leaving the computer on.

It connected.

"Hey you," I called out.

"Hi gorgeous. Good of you to call."

His voice was tinny and hollow through the ageing laptop speakers. Stifling a yawn, he grinned. His smile always lit me up, even transcending the stop-motion animation portions of the juddery feed. I smiled back.

"Free wi-fi. Might as well take advantage. What are you still doing up?"

He ran a hand through his short, brown hair. "Rebuilding the PC." The lip sync of the connection was off by a few beats but I tried not to let it annoy me.

"Exciting."

"Riveting, but long overdue. Was about to hit the sack actually."

I paused and tilted my head to one side, listening keenly.

"What's that in the background?"

He grinned, a little sheepishly this time. "Uhhh. Mmm. Porn."

"Ha ha. Miss me much?"

"Every minute."

"Show me."

He raised his eyebrows and reached for the webcam, twisting it down towards himself. The image stabilised on his crotch and as he held the lens steady I could clearly see the tent in his trousers.

I laughed. "Not that! The film."

Off-camera I heard him. "Oh, right."

The picture broke up again as Adam spun the tiny camera to face the flat screen on the opposite wall. It focused on a pair of well endowed women interlocked in a drab hotel room, as one rode the face of the other. Cries of, probably fake, passion emanated from the brunette grinding her pussy into the face and nose of her girlfriend. The vision threw me back to my own hotel encounter with Jess a couple of months prior; the difference being that my cries of passion had been very real as her tongue probed my soft, wet insides and snaked over my hard, sensitive clit, urgently yet tenderly driving me towards a tremendous orgasm that flooded my senses and her pretty, freckled cheeks with my release.

I warmed at the recollection and for an instant longed to be inside her again. Our affair had been intense yet all too brief and, though we'd occasionally swapped steamy e-mails -- steamails I called them -- and vowed to meet up one day, the distance between our countries and the pressures of daily life meant a reunion was unlikely anytime soon.

The dark irony was that part of me didn't want to see her again in case it tarnished the magic of our short time together. But another part of me craved to taste her once more; to feel her soft, golden pubic hair tickle my face; to feel her come; to hear her cry into the room and tell me in her wonderfully sexy North Carolina drawl that I made her complete. Even if only for that moment.

"B? ... Belle?"

I shook my head and focused on the screen. The hardcore had been replaced with an upside down image of Adam.

"Sorry, miles away." The image righted. "Listen, if you're off to bed I won't stop you. Just wanted to say hi. We can chat properly in the morning... my morning?"

"Cool."

"I miss you." I waved my hand, dismissing him. "Now go and continue missing me."

He grinned again and saluted. "Aye aye, cap'n. See you in a few days."

"Yeah. Night."

I cut the connection and logged off, lightly shaking my head. Boys, huh? I knew he missed me, but it still bothered me a little that he felt the need to resort to hardcore when I wasn't around. Was the image of me in his mind not strong enough that he had to rely on other visual stimuli? I sighed. Why couldn't boys sometimes behave more like girls?

More like Jess and I.

Certainly, the sight of her naked body had flicked levers inside me and yes she'd made me wet without so much as a touch. But that was after I'd taken in everything else about her. The way she talked; the shape of her mouth; her light floral scent tinted with vanilla; the silky smoothness of her hair that reflected chestnut, auburn or ginger depending on the light; her confident manner, poise, style, integrity; her long fingers and delicate red nails; and those emerald eyes I could sense were full of loaded questions and honest, passionate responses. All that I had absorbed from a fleeting encounter in close quarters at a trade fair: female intuition at maximum effectiveness. She had intrigued me from the outset; drawn me in; somehow made me want her. Yet, aside from our conversations over dinner, I still had little clue what had driven her into my arms; what had sparked her lust.

Unlike me, she was married with kids. We both worked in fairly high pressure, male-dominated environments and were used to having to fight to be heard against typical male arrogance. But I'd never pegged her as bi-curious after our initial meeting. She appeared fairly straight-laced at first glance. Mind you, I thought I was straight until I met her -- thought I was as content with Adam as she was with, umm, Matthew.

Involuntarily I shook my head: of course I was happy. Absurd to think otherwise. Adam's amazing: he seems to understand my thoughts and anticipate my desires better than anyone I've ever known. And yet within an hour of my first dinner date with Jess I felt like I'd known her forever. We just clicked and, with my shields down thanks to my slightly inebriated state, my subconscious began telling me I had to find a way to fuck her.

Perhaps she'd come to the same conclusion, and our similarities cultivated thousands of miles apart were the link between us. Had she seen echoes of herself in me: a strong woman, her course set, playing out her days with the surety that came from knowing we'd made exactly the right choices in life? Yet vulnerable in that knowledge because, after all, who knows for sure, right? And what better way to find out than by testing the limits of commitment to our chosen partners; exploring beyond the self-imposed boundaries of monogamy in a few nights of unbridled, unrestrained, and thoroughly unexpected passion.

Although I don't think she mentioned our affair to her husband -- at least she hadn't let on as I admired the radiance of her skin bathed in the soft blue-white glow from her phone as she sat naked on my pillow -- I'd told Adam of my stirrings towards Jess because that's my nature. He must have thought all his birthdays had arrived at once: I could practically sense him salivating into the phone. Though I doubted his intentions were entirely altruistic, he reassured me that it was perfectly ok for me to cross the line and had thus cemented my path to Jess' arms and velvety insides. It had probably fed his overactive visual cortex ever since, as he imagined us sliding hands over damp, delicate skin, igniting our senses using lips and tongues and teeth to dive into each other's hot bodies, panting and groaning into the otherwise quiet hotel space as our orgasms owned us. If he only knew the half of it!

No other woman had gotten to me like Jess. In fact I hadn't even known I'd wanted anyone to do some of the things we'd done those nights, let alone another woman. And yet here I was, two months on, still thinking about her; longing for one more touch of her soft kiss on my quivering pussy, and one further shiver of excitement from her slender fingers gliding in and out of my wet tunnel.

But I would be lying to say I wasn't also at ease with my days at work and my nights with Adam; the job was great, the sex was fantastic, the routine of it all a comfort. A steady beat defining my life's course. So why was I so conflicted?

A sharp rap on the door jolted me from my reverie and I padded across the room barefoot to answer it. Room service. That brought back a brief flash of a memory, which I pushed aside as I acknowledged the waiter in the plush corridor. Though I knew my boss would have preferred I accept the invitation from our US partner organisation, I hadn't fancied dinner with a bunch of brash Americans and cited jetlag as my excuse, promising to take them up on the offer the following day.

I stepped aside and the guy wheeled in the trolley. It smelled good and I suddenly became aware of how hungry I was. He parked the trolley near the table and began to reel off its contents in accented English as I nodded politely. Ramone, his name tag revealed. Yet another ticked box in The Vegas Handbook: Section 3.2: employ migrant workers of perceived lower social stature to run errands so clients feel important and tip well. This city was despicable. Ramone probably only made minimum wage and I wasn't entirely convinced any of my five bucks tip would reach his pocket. But I gave it to him anyway and signed for the food, trying to let him know through my expression that I wasn't like all the other fat cats in the hotel; that I understood and empathised with being the little hamster in the mighty industrial cog machine. Maybe it worked; maybe it didn't. He thanked me, I thanked him and he left.

No time to dwell on the morality: I was ravenous, my internal clock jumbled thanks to the time difference. I stuck my iPod into the dock, hit shuffle, and sat down to eat, as Aerosmith's 'Love in an Elevator' thumped through the room. Ha! Even the music was conspiring to remind me of her.

Half an hour later I wheeled the trolley outside and scanned both ways up the corridor, listening intently for any telltale sounds of action from neighbouring rooms. A little bit of audio therapy might help me relax, especially since the last few hotels I'd stayed had not fuelled my vice of listening into the nocturnal unions of man and woman. The corridor was deathly quiet, probably due to most people still being suckered into parting with their cash downstairs.

Mildly disappointed, I hooked the Do Not Disturb on the doorknob -- despite not really expecting anyone to drop by -- and headed back inside, allowing the door to slam behind me, the thick carpet outside deadening the echo.

It was the turn of Black Stone Cherry's 'Lonely Train' to flow through the room. Passing the bathroom I paused at the mirror and critiqued, as usual, green eyes searching for my flaws. I was still in reasonable shape and gave a half smile, turning left and right, sucking in my slightly unflattering belly amid a self-conscious pout. It'd be much better without the few extra pounds there. But the remainder of my trim, sinuous figure kind of made up for it, and I didn't feel too far out of proportion. I was curvy where my hips gave way to my sides and up to the swell of my proud 36Cs, leading to thin arms sprouting from slight shoulders. My hands smoothed the skirt against my lithe legs and my full bottom jutted above, inviting and womanly. To size-obsessed Americans I'd be overweight. To fellow Brits I was on the thin end of average; a size 12-14 depending on the fit, mainly because of the size of my boobs, belly and butt. I'd certainly seen worse. Far worse. I pouted again and combed my fingers through my long hair. It felt grimy, slightly gritty. Probably all that crap in the city air. One way to fix that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Steam ballooned from beyond the shower screen as I stripped in front of the bathroom mirror and selected some shampoo and body wash from the toiletries on offer. Might as well use all the free stuff. With less bass than in the main room, AC/DC's 'Hells Bells' vied for the space not yet filled by steam. I danced a little and sung into the hairbrush like a teenager at a sleepover; the wine from dinner beginning to soften the edges of my perception. By rights I should have been tired, but I was wide awake and in no hurry. Supporting my full and weighty breasts with my hands, I swayed in time to the beat as the mirror began to fog and my reflection was slowly devoured by the condensation. With a final playful squeeze of my chest I hopped in the shower, the threads of water that bounced, sprayed and flowed over me from head to toe, figuratively and physically cleansing me of the city's stench.

I lathered, soaped, massaged, and scrubbed every inch, ultimately running my hands down and over my central mound; it was mildly stubbly and could use a little tidying. Grabbing my razor, I put my foot on the edge of the bath and began the practised strokes that would result in silky smooth lips, using the index finger of my hand to protect the tender parts; the remaining fingers spreading my folds and stretching the skin taut for a close finish.

By the time I was done, my whole area was once again baby soft, save for the runway strip of neatly trimmed hair that I allowed to grow from just below my tummy to above my clit. I washed and rinsed again for good measure, running a hand down between my legs to check my handiwork, cupping my sex. Perfect. I loved the thrill of being shaved. It felt naughty and just a little bit anti-establishment, like I was rebelling against society despite knowing it was a far from uncommon practice and that very few would ever find out my preference.

A little rub; a gentle squeeze. Mmmmm. Just how I liked it. Just how Jess had liked it; the contrast between my bare mons and her patch of golden fur eliciting a sexy squeal when she'd first laid eyes on my nakedness. My fingers pressed against the outside of my core and I moved them apart a little, splaying my puffy lips and feeling rivulets of water redirected over them. The exposed inner surface of my labia thanked me for including it in the proceedings and I shuddered.

Water cascaded from the large shower head and ran over my curvy body on its relentless journey to the plughole. With one leg still perched on the bath's edge I steadied myself with one hand and moved the other between my legs, stroking my private area with long, slow motions, occasionally pressing my palm up against the covered hood that housed my awakening clitoris. I periodically spread my lips revealing my pink insides to the running hot water and closed my eyes as nerve endings signalled their contentment.

Touching myself was one of my favourite pleasures. It just felt so natural, so right to slide my fingers over and around the soft, sensitive folds of my pussy. Vegas could go shove its titillating shows in any of the dumpsters that lined the murky backstreets; there was simply no contest for the excitement I could conjure from memories and fantasies created out of my own headspace.

Rubbing harder I dared to slip first one then two fingers into myself on the down stroke. I glided inside the entrance to my sex and hummed at the touch, withdrawing slightly sticky fingers which I trailed up to circle my clit before running them back down to my horny opening. Back and forth I went, diving into my channel, becoming bolder and going deeper with each passing stroke as I grew accustomed to the intrusion and my petals began to open of their own volition.

As my lips widened and the soft pink insides were revealed to the incessant shower water raining down my smooth body, the tiny pink jewel nestled at the top of my slit started to peek from its shield, eager to join the party. I caught the tip with the edge of my finger and opened my mouth involuntarily, then flicked tenderly and sighed. Sliding my palm down, I chiselled two fingers under my body and up into my moistness, lingering just long enough to coat my digits with nectar. Drawing them slowly back out, widening my lips, I then traced a path north and grazed my little nub, running a pair of fingers either side, squeezing ever so gently. God that felt good. I tensed a little and my leg quivered on the side of the bath, then I relaxed and let a deep breath exit my body.

Down my hand went again, palm lightly scuffing the very tip of my clit, following the furrow of my pussy between my legs and snaking two fingers inside, pushing deep into my oozing channel amid a gasp of pleasure. I wiggled my fingers inside myself tapping the front wall to seek out my G-spot. Wrong angle; maybe soon. I withdrew, flattened my hand and circled it over my splayed lips, each complete three-sixty working ever so slightly northward until my actions ended at my little clit. Circling my fingers over the sensitive pearl I opened my mouth further and tipped my head back. That touch brought back strong memories of Jess as her fingers had done the same, shortly followed by her soft pink tongue, circling lazily yet persistently across and around my proud bud.


A New Aspect



I gushed at the remembrance as my fingers continued to tease myself towards orgasm; I was back in the room with her, back under her spell, powerless beneath her glorious tongue and ginger caresses. The way she looked up at me from between my legs, eyes brimming with lust as her tongue zigzagged over and inside my dripping sex, torturing my slick, shaved lips with nibbles, sucks, and tempestuous hot breaths. And when she mapped out my valley, marching and sweeping her tongue in broad strokes up, up, up over my buttery folds, seeking sanctuary in the softness of my clitoral hood, outlining the inverted vee with the tip of her tongue and teasing ever so gently around my pleasure centre with fluttering, wet brushes, I remembered thrashing wildly on the bed as my body tightened, spasmed and I flooded her face with creamy come. I may even have screamed with pleasure, I honestly couldn't say.

Water bounced off my upturned cheeks as the images played through my mind and my fingers continued to roam the surface of my wetness. I opened my eyes and looked up into the shower head dispensing hot streams of water over my energized body. The head had a flow adjuster. I stopped for a moment and reached up to rotate the dial. Immediately the flow switched from long thin beads of water to heavy, fat pulses that battered my face. I recoiled at the unexpected force, but then a sly grin crept across my features. Maybe I could use the water to my advantage.

Moving out of the direct line of sight of the shower head I repositioned my leg on the side of the bath, angling my pussy forward to try and catch the jets. It was awkward and didn't quite reach the spot so I changed approach and laid down in the bath. Scooching along so my midriff could receive the full effect of the pulsing water I raised both legs, spreading myself for the jets and placing my feet up on opposite edges of the bath. Oh my... that was it!

Reaching down I dug my hands into my soft folds and spread my lips eagerly, gasping as the full vigour of the water rained onto my sensitive area. Each pulse was like a small electric shock, arcing across my clit and shooting outward; down my legs, up over my tummy, connecting with my breasts and engorging my pale pink nipples circled with large mocha areola. From there the electricity flowed around my body and delivered shivers up my spinal column that rapidly crisscrossed back down to concentrate at my central hub before further sparks ignited in my pussy and followed a similar course.

I slid one of my hands over my slick mound and drove a couple of fingers inside myself, clamping my pussy with my hand. Hot, sticky wetness greeted me -- the hallmark of the horny -- and I had temporary respite from the torrent of water before I withdrew my fingers and resumed holding my lips apart to benefit from the power of the jets, occasionally flicking a juicy finger over my delighted nub. I could feel rivulets of my sweet sap oozing down my hot channel and forming at my splayed entrance before being washed away by the barrage of water. The same pearly droplets of come that Jess had enjoyed so decadently as she lay between my legs, idly gliding her tongue over my sticky nether lips as I gradually descended from another one of the many orgasmic highs of our last evening together, cooing with happiness every time she sampled a thick drop of my lustrous secretions. She sighed contentedly.

To say I had expected to fall for Jess in such a big way would be untrue. I couldn't blame alcohol, especially as I was more than wary of its effects after the embarrassing fool I had made of myself the first night we'd met. I could perhaps blame circumstance, or the London air, or Adam for putting me in the frame of mind to become open to the idea of a torrid, wild love affair with another woman. But ultimately I had to admit I was in control of my actions and she had simply swept me off my feet; knocked my guard down with her sheer innocent, uncompromised beauty, her self-assurance, and that gorgeous voice of hers that had triggered all manner of sexual signals inside me.

As my focus had returned and I looked down into her eyes to see her unadulterated joy at eating me, I almost came again on the spot. I beamed down at her and eased myself up onto my elbows, sliding across the mattress from her and eventually making it up onto my knees. She did the same and we embraced, our tongues duelling languidly between us as the heat of our love and the fires still raging inside me kept us warm in the air-conditioned hotel room. I tasted myself on her lips and shuddered. It felt so damn naughty to be turned on in this manner and my stomach briefly fluttered upwards like I'd just passed that point of no return at the apex of the first clattering hill on a rollercoaster and had begun hurtling down the other side. The same rush; the same exhilaration as we lost all track of our surroundings amid our steamy, wet kiss.

My hands found her pert bottom and played over the smooth alabaster surface, gently squeezing and pulling her towards me, our mons connecting and making me shiver as her light patch of pubic hair nuzzled against my nakedness. She traced her manicured, red nails across my shoulder blades and down my back, eliciting a gentle moan of appreciation from my throat. The pads of her fingers ran over the small of my back and the downy hairs stood to attention as she continued to run her fingertips along and over my curvaceous hips, then round and down to cup my bottom with her soft palms. Our kiss stepped up a gear as she squeezed, becoming wilder, lips crushing together in a passionate exchange. I was totally enrapt by this woman: there was nothing I could do but reciprocate, breathe in her floral scent and share the warmth of her lithe body. I wanted to stay here in her arms, with no cares in the world other than which part of her body I could tantalise next. I could only assume she was thinking the same.

Our breasts pressed together, nipples hard and sensitive against one another. I could feel myself flushing as the blood raced around my body, lighting up erogenous zone after erogenous zone. She'd been gradually becoming bolder over the two days and I wondered exactly what I'd created. From my lead the previous night she had now somehow been liberated and had taken over: she'd practically raped me with her tongue in the toilet cubicle earlier and now, tonight, she was pulling out all the stops, exploring the boundaries of my willing participation in our shared journey.

Hers was not the only over-active imagination: racy thoughts of chasing her round the hotel room, catching her, slamming her forward against the wall and sinking to my knees behind her, diving headlong into her bottom as she begged me for release flashed through my mind. Hearing her passionate cries while she pushed her tight rear against my tongue; listening to her groaning in ecstasy after I span round to press my back against the wall, reaching up and pulling her hips down to my face, devouring her soft pussy and being rewarded with her sweet, delicate nectar dribbling over my chin. She made me insatiable. She made me...

We froze at the knock on the door, having forgotten about the room service order. Our lips parted with a gentle wetness, a stray string of saliva stretching between us, glistening in the low light and snapping as we moved apart. Our eyes met and then we both simultaneously lurched into action, scrabbling about, trying to get off the bed. I somehow managed to snag my foot in the sheets and landed with a thud in a pile of bedclothes on the floor. I stood quickly, rubbing my wrist and Jess started giggling. At first I thought she was laughing at my misfortune until I followed her gaze and looked at the state of the hotel room.

Her underwear was flung in the corner. My bra, hold-ups and knickers were strewn around the bed. Her trouser suit lay discarded in the entrance hallway. My vibrator was perched on the bedside table, still glimmering faintly with Jess' sticky come. The air reeked of raw sex and we were naked. There was no way in hell we were going to cover this up. I looked across at her and burst out laughing as well, barely able to yell out "Just a minute" to the waiter. Talk about caught red handed.

Still grinning as our laughter subsided, I looked around for a towel to at least save a little modesty when I saw a twinkle form in Jess' eye. No! She was supposed to be the shy one. Surely not...? She raised her eyebrows, seeking approval. I looked for an obvious way out but nothing presented itself. Even if we tidied everything away and dressed or wrapped up there was no disguising the miasma of two horny women that hung in the room, so what was the point of pretending otherwise? Trapped; alert; still tingling from my orgasm; what could I do? Hide in the bathroom? Dive behind the bed? Any act seemed somehow superfluous, given the evidence in the room. Our eyes met for a few moments before I shrugged and Jess nodded decisively.

"Follow my lead," she whispered and padded to the door.

I stood rooted to the spot, stark naked and suddenly very aware of the fact. My hand crept across to cover myself but the butterflies inside me belied my true feelings. It kind of shamed me to admit to myself that it was actually very exciting to consider what was about to happen. To expose myself to a stranger. To have that person judge me without any formal introduction; take me at face (and body!) value and make a decision about me, my character, my way of life, all in an instant. Suddenly I panicked.

"Wait!"

Jess paused, her hand on the doorknob, and turned back to me. I didn't have anything more to say, just stared into her eyes -- those beautiful emerald eyes full of goodness, mischief, and joie de vivre -- almost imploring her not to do it and yet, at the same time, subconsciously daring her. Was I ready? Would I make it through the next couple of minutes without turning a bright shade of red? Was it normal to feel this way? Nervous, yet strangely excited. In my favour was the fact I'd spent a large portion of the last two days making love to a woman I'd just met, so how hard could this next step be? Just another stranger whom I'd never see again setting eyes on my naked body.

Perhaps I could totally do this.

I started to calm once more and gazed at my lover down the short corridor, finally resigned to my fate. It was going to be fine. I trusted her.

I breathed deeply and Jess opened the door.

The most striking thing about the waiter's reaction was not so much the look of surprise that quickly gave way to a wide grin and a glance back over his shoulder, but the fact he stayed outside until Jess invited him in. I don't know if he was being chivalrous or lecherous or if this was an everyday occurrence in his world but I felt myself colouring all the same as he wheeled the trolley into the room. He was dressed in a crisp, lightly creased white shirt below the hotel waistcoat, which was buttoned fully. His smartly pressed trousers gave way to shiny black shoes.

The door swung shut. Nobody spoke for a few moments. It was like a scene from that film "Room in Rome" and the whole situation seemed so surreal to me that it wouldn't have surprised me if someone had yelled "Cut! Fabulous, you two," from the sidelines.

The waiter broke the silence in a Mockney London accent, which kind of destroyed his elegant appearance. "So you ordered champagne and a sandwich platter to share, yeah?" His abuse of the glottal stop made "platter" come out as "pla'uh" and he made a show of checking the paperwork as if to reinforce his point.

Jess answered in a drawl which I knew was even more extreme than her usual manner. Really laid it on, thick and deliberate. "Sure we did. We like to share everything, don't we?"

I just nodded, fast; mute with the adrenaline still coursing through me.

"I see that." Another pause. "So who's gonna sign for it?"

I cleared my throat and squeaked, "That'd be me."

Jess was indignant. "No I'll get this."

"No. It's my room. And you got lunch."

"So how about I give the tip?"

The waiter was clearly amused by our back and forth. "No need to tip ladies, this is a better tip than I'd normally get." He appraised me and if I wasn't already naked he'd have been undressing me with his eyes.

Jess continued. "No no, I insist..." she stepped in to look at his name tag and leaned forward playfully, as if to wrestle his attention from me. "David." She spun to face me wielding his clipboard and pen. I signed and handed them back to her to relay to David before she turned back to me again. "Where's my purse, baby?"

I turned to look, somewhat grateful to be out of David's eye line, but could now feel him searing my backside with his gaze. Before I had a chance to respond, Jess called out "I see it," and bounded across the room to her handbag. It was on the floor by the desk but instead of crouching to rummage through its contents, she leaned forward, bent at the waist, legs straight, giving David an eyeful of her luscious butt. This was an unexpected twist: a couple of days ago I thought she was prim. Yesterday I found her to be verging on saucy. Today she was just wild! God, what had I done to her in a few short days? Could I corrupt absolutely anyone? I watched her flaunting her behind and all of a sudden it turned me on. The thoughts from earlier about diving into her bottom, tongue first, welled up inside me. I heard an appreciative noise from behind me and I'm quite sure from his expression that David would dearly love to do the same. I could see his trousers stirring as he took in her show.

"Belle? Get your purse. Do you have any change?"

In an instant I knew what she was doing and it both frightened me and excited me in equal measure. Shaking, I strode across the room as calmly as I could, fully aware of David's gaze following me as the carpet tickled the soles of my feet. I grabbed my bag then took it back to Jess, dropping it next to hers. My mouth was dry; I'd even have paid the exorbitant hotel prices for a drink at that moment. I was going to expose myself to a stranger. It was so dirty. So not me. But somehow Jess' brazen act had almost shocked me into playing along; as if anything she did made me strong enough to follow. My heart was still thumping and trying to leap into my throat but I realised the balance had shifted and it was now more excitement than fear. I actually wanted this.

I turned my back on David and slowly -- ever so slowly -- bent forward. My breasts swung forward and hung above my bag as I reached down and rifled through its contents, lowering inch by inch and showing off my shapely derriere. As I felt my cheeks part a rush of energy surged through my body that nearly toppled me. It felt divine and I basked in its warmth.

Poor David wouldn't know where to look with two of us bent double, wiggling our bottoms in his direction. My tunnel moistened at the thought; some kind of primeval response perhaps, wanting this man -- this stranger -- to step up behind me and ram his cock deep inside; to feel him spread me; fuck me, coat his steely length with my juices then feel him slide out and move across to Jess, guiding his prick home amid a cry of pleasure. Then back to me, sliding in effortlessly, lubricated by my own juices and those delicious come strings of my female lover glistening on his shaft. I gasped at the thought and pushed my arse further outward as if to draw him to me with my despicable yet intensely erotic act, but Jess broke the fantasy.

"Got it."

She stood and faced David; I followed suit, chest heaving with my laboured breaths as she counted out some notes and folded them a few times. Without warning she whirled in front of me and kissed me passionately. I responded, melting into her arms, the memory of David fading but still prickling at the corner of my senses as our tongues snaked and duelled wetly. I was so hot for her. My petals opened of their own accord, ready and more than willing to accept her tongue once more. Were we really going to make love in front of this man? The butterflies had clearly found jetpacks as they beat against my stomach wall, and Jess' fingers traced their way down my sides and over my hips. They crept round to my front, easily finding my bare mons and rotating, pointing downwards, following the contour of my naked pussy, gliding between my legs, finding my wanton, sticky folds open and inviting. I accepted her digits into my wetness, gasping with pleasure as she thrust her fingers inside me, curling upward, her nails scratchier than I remembered but oh so delightful, pressing towards the front wall of my aching cunt.

Almost as quickly as she had entered she withdrew. The physical memory of her intrusion played tricks on my scrambled brain and I didn't feel completely empty. It took a few moments to figure what she had done. Surely not the...? She grabbed my hand and walked me to the bed, the cash -- casually rolled and peeking from my naked slit -- scraping me lightly inside. I was in a daze as she pushed me onto the bed and nudged me onto my back, legs dangling over the edge. She turned on David.

"You want your tip? There it is. You ever play Operation?"

"What?"

My eyes widened. _Yeah... like, what?_

"Operation. Where you have to get something out of that guy's body with tweezers without touching the sides or it's BZZZZZ."

He thought for a moment. "Uh, yeah."

"Same rules. Grab the cash without touching her or you get nothing. Touch her and I kick you in the balls: she's all mine."

Jesus, she meant it. I could see David was hesitant, given that his manhood was on the line. Perhaps it was just his male pride that made him eventually step towards me: the challenge. Or maybe it was the roll of sticky cash. Either way I was charged yet uneasy. Totally unable to comprehend that I was even me, or that within five short minutes Jess had managed to coerce me into lying naked in front of an approaching stranger.

With momentary panic my eyes sought hers and had it not been for the look of sheer excitement in Jess' eyes I might have bottled it. She was enjoying this turn of events and the sparkle in her expression told me that whatever gratification I received from this act, I was going to be treated to at least double when David left. She really was an animal; and I'd created her! I relaxed a little and focused on David's looming presence, willing myself to calm and just let the scene play out. Jess would look out for me, and I trusted her.

As David reached for me -- or rather reached for my hairless snatch -- with his greedy hand I stared at him. Our eyes met and the inevitability of it all just took over; an inner quiet soothed me. I gently parted my legs to ease his task, felt the sticky wetness of my insides separate, spreading myself for this man I'd never met, and felt unexpected moisture seeping into my channel to coat the edges of the money roll. Was I really getting wet from exhibiting myself in front of this stranger? It certainly seemed that way. My mind was speeding at the unforeseen turn of events, whirling through scenarios, actions, consequences, and of what it meant for me to be sailing this course. Would I ever be the same again? Would this mark yet another sexual turning point? Would I end up flashing people in bars to receive future sexual fulfilment? To satisfy an escalating and never ending need inside me? Damn Adam for starting me on this path. It was all his fault.

David swallowed and his hand neared. I could feel its heat reflected off the bareness of my mons. Jess watched intently and it seemed she was holding her breath. I realised I was too. The whole scene appeared to play out in slow motion as David gently grasped the tiny end of protruding cash from my quivering pussy and gradually extracted the roll. I felt every millimetre of the money glide down my chute, moistening it further as it descended until it eventually exited, glistening wet between his fingers. He smiled triumphantly and Jess strode towards him. She grabbed his wrist and brought the money to her nose, inhaling deeply.




A New Aspect



"Doesn't she smell truly delicious?"

She let go of his arm and David hesitated then brought the cash to his nose and sniffed. A wide grin spread across his features.

"Yeah."

Jess leaned in closer still and said in a loud, raspy whisper, "She tastes better from the source."

She spun and before I knew what was happening she was on her knees, her tongue slithering up my parted pussy lips, pressing its way inside my aching slit. I moaned involuntarily as she took me. My eyes met David's as I was washed away by the moment and instinctively reached to pull Jess' face to my pulsing centre, guiding her expert tongue to crush against my throbbing clit, parking her upper lip on my mons and feeling her warm, heady breaths caress me. David was clearly enjoying the show, his trousers straining to contain his growing erection.

Jess wiggled her tongue and intense spasms arced between my legs. I panted hard and gripped her head. Then, unexpectedly, she wrestled herself from my grasp and stood looking down at me, her auburn hair a mess, her mouth apart and glistening with my come, her expression one of rabid lust. She whirled on David.

"You should leave, this woman needs me. Thank you very much for the food."

Slightly taken aback, and I'm sure with a fleeting look of disappointment, the waiter regarded first me, then Jess, then back to me. He looked down at the roll of cash in his hand and grinned. God only knows what he was thinking but I was past caring. I just wanted Jess to continue where she left off.

He stepped back. "If you ladies think of anything else you need, I'm on all night."

"Thank you, David," Jess sing-songed with finality.

He turned to leave, looking back over his shoulder a couple of times on his way to the door as Jess resumed her kneeling position between my sticky thighs and giggled, then ate me. The door sprung shut amid my escalating cries of passion and I had no idea how long he stayed outside the room listening to my orgasmic screams.

In the Vegas bathtub, the echoes of my repeated groans were dulled by the steam; my fingers a blur as I recalled the events of that night and the way Jess played me like her own sexual instrument. Hot, fat water pulses hammered my clit and naked pussy as my toes scrunched up and I arched upward towards the source of the jets, trying to increase the pressure on my pulsing sex. Every part of my body tensed, my heels dug painfully into the sides of the bath but I hardly noticed; the waves of energy flooding my senses.

Staying rigid with the water pounding my mons was a fantastic way to ride the orgasm as it jumped from limb to limb, rapidly connecting and disconnecting nerve and pleasure centres, flushing my erogenous zones, soaking my channel which pulsed rhythmically to the beat of my body's release. Despite the myriad flags vying for my attention, above all I could sense the entrance to my womanhood fluttering open and closed, drawing in tiny pockets of water then expelling them, as images and latent sensations of Jess' inventive pussy eating flashed through my mind.

My mouth was open, eyes squeezed shut and I was gasping hard at the thoughts my ministrations had triggered. I could feel the fire in my belly spreading rapidly to my extremities, neural receptors unable to cope with the barrage of signals presented to them. Hormones washed through me, then other elements of my body jumped to the fore, delivering their explosive packages in sequence: a spine tingling warmth; muscles locking in my legs; abdomen twitching; breasts heaving; mind spinning. My cries of release were magnified by the tub acting as a crude speaker. If anyone had been next door there would have been no mistaking what was going on; one woman alone with her dirty thoughts and fingers as company.

I dug three digits deeply past my winking petals into my channel -- more for respite from the water as my clit's sensitivity peaked. I felt the last few contractions of my pussy grip and release my fingers, then exhaled deeply and gradually lowered my bottom back to the porcelain surface of the bath.

Panting heavily I basked in the glow of aftercome as energy continued to rapidly circuit my body. My legs slid and squeaked from the bath edges, coming to rest fully within its confines, knees bent. I flopped my free arm up to my face, covering my eyes and just lay there, feeling sticky wetness coat the fingers buried inside me as my inner network continued to dance.

Only when the feelings began to fade did I slide out of reach of the water jets and pluck my glistening fingers from my soaked box. Shakily I stood, rinsed and shut off the shower.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bath robe felt snug as I stepped into the cool bedroom area. With my hair wrapped in a towel I poured myself some more red and perched on the edge of the king-size mattress to stare out of the huge window. The city sprawled seemingly endlessly into the approaching darkness; a jagged concrete blanket of high rise rectangles arranged haphazardly in the middle distance, lights speckling their surface, the yellow glows becoming softer and more sporadic on the lower dwellings towards the outskirts. Each light was a place for people: home-owners, businessmen and women, vacationing families. And beneath the concrete under everyone's feet was once desert. Humans really did know how to destroy nature and take over a place.

I took a long pull of the wine. My fingers reeked of sex and I paused to breathe myself in before allowing the tannin to cling to my cheeks and roll down my throat. That felt good; strong and warming. I had that fuzzy feeling -- partway between sober and tipsy where things were ever so slightly slower than normal. And I was still horny, my pussy lips tingling beneath the fluffy cotton dressing gown from my recollection of Jess and the invigorating jets of water.

The bedside clock nestled amid the phone cord indicated it was probably too early for any squeaky bedsprings from the adjacent rooms. Shame: I was very much in the mood for listening in. I wandered across the room anyway, swapping my wine glass for a tumbler en route. Inverting it and pressing it to the wall I positioned myself so my ear fit comfortably against its base and began tuning into the sounds that filtered through the walls to my makeshift amplifier. Laughter, running water, chatter, TV shows, and not much else.

I wiggled my head to try and improve the signal, then shifted to find a better spot on the wall -- sometimes just a few millimetres opens up a whole new room. My mind played tricks on me as usual; when listening intently for rhythmical patterns of activity from a jumble of sound, concentrating too hard means every faint regular sound, including that of the blood pumping past my ear, sounds like some woman sighing gently as she pleasures herself in a nearby room. I kept adjusting and checking my own breathing pattern to ensure I wasn't hearing a reflection of myself in the upturned glass.

A phone rang a few rooms away and was promptly answered, the muffled one-sided conversation indiscernible. Once or twice I thought I heard some bed springs groaning but nothing erotic presented itself. I gave it about twenty minutes in case a couple came back happy from the casino after a big win and wanted to celebrate with sex, then gave up.

Mildly disappointed I retrieved my wine glass and approached the gigantic window overlooking the city. As I sipped I wondered what tomorrow would bring. Was that wishing my life away? How did that Fleetwood Mac song go?

-- Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow

Don't stop, it'll soon be here

It'll be, better than before

Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone

I realised then that my iPod had stopped so I sashayed over to it and picked a playlist I'd simply called 'Nice'. It started with '1000 miles' by Vanessa Carlton so I skipped it as I didn't want to be reminded I was five times that distance from Adam. Next was LeAnn Rimes. Bleurgh: wrong mood for today. I backed out of the menu and selected my Oldies list instead which chose 'Play that Funky Music' by Wild Cherry first. Much better.

I turned it up, nodded my head to the beat, drained my glass, refilled it and then boogied back over to the window. The cityscape appeared friendlier all of a sudden. Amazing how a simple piece of music could supply a new outlook on the same view. Of course, the wine was probably helping. I put it down and vigorously dried my long hair, shaking it out of the towel and letting it tumble over the dressing gown; long, wet, twisted strands against the crisp whiteness of the soft, bleached robe.

As I towelled I became aware of the gown's belt loosening slightly and instinctively reached to tighten it. Then stopped. I don't think I'll ever fully know what caused me to do what I did next, but I felt a sudden rush of euphoria surge through my body, bubbling rapidly from my core to dance on my skin, leaving my centre quivering in the vacuum. Perhaps it was that spirit with the remote control, deviantly rotating the dial towards 'naughty'. Or my guardian angel wearing suspenders, crotchless panties and a crop top, whispering decadent thoughts into my ear. Maybe I was just wired wrongly. Whatever the trigger, my heart stepped up a gear -- head gaining instant clarity from the increased oxygen -- my mouth dried and I returned to towelling my hair, leaving the belt loose.

I looked out of the window again as I rubbed. Once more, within the space of a minute, the view was the same but the aspect had changed. I was now intensely aware of my body jiggling beneath the robe, the surface of my skin gently prickling as each fibre of the gown caressed me; my breathing becoming slightly heavier. I gyrated a little to the beat, wondering if anyone could see me from one of the small rectangles of light in front of me. What would they think? Were they too far away to see anything? Would they close the curtains in disgust or would they stay and watch for the possibilities -- the same way I waited with my glass against the wall in case developments took a turn for the better? Would I be the object of someone's fantasy tonight? Was someone already prepared with a zoom lens, binoculars or video camera, hoping for someone like me to appear? To capture me for their private collection.

That put a whole new spin on things. The thought of being watched suddenly gripped me and it felt part scary, part thrilling. I recalled "Francesca" from the Italian hotel room: how free and downright elated she had looked being fucked in full view of any passers by. And how excited it had made me to watch her breath condensing rhythmically on the glass from her wide open lips, eyes closed, breasts deforming against the window with each hard thrust. How would I feel if that was me? How would I feel if my actions ended up on the Internet? What if a future boss or a family member stumbled across the video and found out what I did in my private time? The ramifications didn't bear thinking about.

But I'd been watched at close quarters by Jess and thoroughly enjoyed it. A waiter had seen me naked and I'd loved it. Dancing in a window towards a faceless city with my robe gradually falling away seemed easy in comparison -- certainly debauch enough to satisfy the reckless urge I felt. But the risk of exposure tugged at my conscience. Was there a way I could exploit the situation yet retain anonymity? Perhaps.

With my hair nearly dry I swung my head and upper body forward to let the dark strands fall over my face, then rubbed the back of my head energetically. The robe gaped a little at the front and my breasts swung beneath the material as I dried. But I felt hidden thanks to my hair.

When I'd finished I threw the towel and stood fully. The robe shifted again, the belt barely tied now; I was still covered, but only just. From the corner of my eye through the tangled curtain of hair I noticed a light go out and looked up. A couple of floors above me in an adjacent part of the building that jutted out, I saw a shadow move in front of a window then disappear. Moments later the light from the lamp in the depths of that room also went out and the space was totally dark. But the curtains remained open.

I stared hard. There was just enough ambient light still to make out shapes and I swear I saw the figure move back to the window, but couldn't be sure. Maybe it was a trick of the dark; I thought I saw movement again and squinted to see.

Was he watching me? Was he waiting for me to do something and didn't want to seem a blatant voyeur? What would he do if I put on a show? Had he seen my face? Would he just stand and watch or would I be able to make out his hand rapidly stroking his big cock? How would I feel if I saw him unleash a sticky torrent of sperm against the hotel window and know I'd caused the explosion?

As if to offer an answer, my insides somersaulted. Parts of me switched on. The robe caught on my nipples as the pink tips rose. I felt my ears redden and another rush of adrenaline surge through me. I paused, breathed deeply then let the belt fall away, exposing my virtually hairless pussy to whoever dared to look.

The feeling was truly delicious; terrifying enough to push the surface of my skin to high alert, yet erotic enough to swamp any misgivings. It was how I imagined freefall; stomach churning weightlessness with the constant force of air resistance keeping it real. I let it wash over me for a while, basking in the naughtiness of it all, then picked up the beat and began to sway. The robe swished with me, each successive bar of music revealing slightly more of my body.

With my face masked by long hair my confidence grew, even though I knew myself to be blushing. Placing my palms up to the window I leaned forward a little, allowing my breasts to swing free of the robe. From a few floors above, the man would have an eye full of cleavage and glimpses of my hard nipples. I looked up to see if I could catch sight of my watcher. The curtains were still open, the room in darkness but I imagined he was there, observing, critiquing, anticipating my next move, taking in each of my curves as his temperature rose and the urge to touch himself welled.

Shaking my hair forward to ensure I was still unidentifiable I slid my hands down the glass to shoulder level and shucked the gown ever so slowly off my shoulders. A little at a time I squeaked my hands down the glass, using the angle of my arms to control the robe's descent, each passing moment revealing more of the creamy surface of my ample breasts. By the time the gentle slope to my nipples was exposed my laboured breathing had turned almost to panting and I opened my mouth to try and cool down.

With my next move the robe tumbled from my breasts and bunched around my middle and I held that position, mouth agape, eyes closed as I drank in the sensation of the cool hotel air battling to fan the flames radiating from my pale skin.

In time to the dying beats of the track I swayed, waiting for the iPod to choose the next track but also extremely aware I would be teasing anyone who cared to watch my little show. Way behind me in the hotel corridor a group of excited voices passed my door, oblivious to the scene within, and I smiled to myself as the next piece of music began. If ever anyone doubted cosmic forces and the fundamental interconnectedness of small things, the fact 'Baby Did A Bad Bad Thing' by Chris Isaak came next was all the proof necessary. I picked up the guitar riff with my hips and held my breath as I let my hands fall to my sides. The robe fell with them, pooling around my ankles.

An electric current raced around my body as the word 'naked' spun in my mind. I was naked; totally exposed to the city. Goosebumps formed quickly and I shivered in a combination of pleasure and uncertainty at the path I was treading, breathing out noisily. One flash of reminiscence over how I felt watching Francesca and how the sight of my shapely body must be igniting the imagination of the mystery lurker in the nearby room kept me steady. Short of a fire alarm, almost nothing could derail this train now. 

Recalling the video to the Isaak song of the woman playing to a camera in the hotel room, I covered my breasts with my hands and squeezed, then wrapped my arms across my front and lifted my tits towards the glass. It seemed strangely appropriate under the circumstances.

Gyrating sexily and turning to press my bottom against the window I shuddered as the cool glass deformed my rear. With my face shielded from view I took the bold step of bending forward at the waist to touch the floor then snapped up again quickly, pressing my whole body back against the glass, gasping at its coldness.

Though there was maybe half an inch of transparent material separating me from the darkening outside world, inside I was burning up. Wicked thoughts of toned men in their hotel rooms standing, big dicks in hand, masturbating frantically to the silhouette of my body fuelled my brashness. Some would be dying to catch sight of my face; to see what sort of woman would expose herself in this manner. Others would prefer I turn so they might ogle my chest; to imagine themselves feeling the weight of my ample tits, squeezing, lifting them to their mouths, sucking and biting my hard, pink nipples as I cried for more. Perhaps these same men would want to sink to their knees in front of my freshly shaved pussy, spread my lips with their fingers and drive their tongues inside me, drawing my juices onto slick chins, flicking at my engorged clit while they gazed up into my bright green eyes to see the lids fluttering with desire. Some would of course prefer me to stay facing away from them, praying I would bend at the waist again to show off my shapely derriere; no doubt they dreamed of taking me from behind or shoving their fat cocks up my hot, tight bottom and listening to me begging for it harder, faster, deeper. Perhaps I'd let them.

All these scenarios careened through my head with one, predictable result: my pussy began to quickly moisten again. Wetness formed at my lips and I dared to fleetingly touch myself. My body shook with excitement and had it not been for the glass holding me up I might have fallen over.

Maintaining the tension for my unseen audience I slowly turned back round, making sure to fluff my hair into my face as I swayed in time to the music. I then stepped to the glass and pressed my breasts against it, quickly cupping them, squeezing them and forming a cone with each, flicking the tips against the window. My nipples grazed the glass and I sighed into the room, then rolled each hard nub between thumb and forefinger and let out a loud moan. I'm sure anyone watching could tell I was enjoying myself even though they couldn't see my half closed eyes and open mouth.

Biting my lip I slowly trailed one hand from breast down over taut tummy, leaving a path of heightened arousal in its wake. I held my hand there for a moment, feeling the excitement mount further, waiting, teasing, electrifying my already charged body.

-- Baby did a bad, bad thing

Baby did a bad, bad thing

My hand ventured further and the touch to my pussy lit my insides like a firecracker. I slid a digit between my slick folds and pressed eagerly inside, feeling every millimetre in slow motion amid my involuntary gasp. Withdrawing the finger, sticky and shiny, I trailed it back to my breast leaving a glistening path on its journey. I circled my nipple with the wetness then brought my finger to my mouth and lewdly sucked the juice from it. That felt so wicked and I tasted fabulous. I immediately wanted to return one, two, three fingers to my hot box and bring myself to climax right there in the window; give myself an orgasm to remember the city by, and for the occupants of the city to remember the night when the stranger came.




A New Aspect



But in my current state of arousal, I knew pressing on would mean everything would be over within minutes. Through Adam's feedback on our nights together I had learned the art of seduction was to take time over things; to torment, to heighten desire; to be in control at first and slowly turn up the heat, then bring events to the boil with unexpected touches, loaded looks and overt actions; prolonging the dizzy sensations of lust, anticipation and hormone release. Was I pleasing my audience or myself? Both, in truth: after all, very few acts are ever selfless.

With that awareness I paused then stepped back into the room, away from my onlookers, and padded to the wardrobe on ginger feet, barely noticing the carpet massaging my soles. Upon my return I was clutching a pair of semi-transparent hold-ups and my sheer black lace panties. The city was in for a treat.

Dragging the desk chair to the window, I sat in it facing the world and regarded the items in my hand. I love dressing up and always take at least one sexy outfit with me, even if it's just a pair of beautiful undies to wear beneath something more conservative. Doing so serves two main purposes: firstly, the material against my skin and the sheer extravagance of wearing something of high quality -- even if nobody else discovers I'm wearing it -- makes me feel powerful and womanly. Guys don't get that privilege because they can only choose between boxers, jockeys or boring pants. They don't have trim, bows, frills, sequins, high leg, low leg, boy shorts, thongs, tangas, French knickers, lace, cotton, sheer, crotchless, and everything in between, so I figure it's my duty to take advantage of the available range.

The second, more practical, reason is preparedness. Sometimes it just pays to have a slinky dress, short skirt, tailored suit, expensive heels or high class lingerie to hand, because unexpected situations arise and demand something special. Being invited to a last minute posh dinner by a client requires suitable apparel, especially if making a first impression. I could not have predicted my Jess encounter and was glad of the lingerie I had taken to London with which I'd teased her. And time and again when out with Adam I've changed into a spare pair of knickers to either rev him up or to replace a pair that have been used to wipe up come or are drenched with my juices. Tonight I was going to use underwear to turn someone on; perhaps many strangers at once. I shivered with anticipation and licked my lips.

With my face covered I chose one of the hold-ups, slid my hands slowly down one thigh, over my knee to the calf then brought my leg up and placed my sole against the window. My pussy lips parted with a gentle smack and in my mind I heard the shutter release of cameras in rooms across the courtyard as horny men captured the moment for their future entertainment.

Sliding my hands to my feet I wiggled the hold-up onto my toes and ever so slowly pulled it down over my heel, calf, knee, then up my slender thigh, snapping the garment shut about a foot from my midsection. The cold band gripped my leg and goose bumps formed on the surface of my skin as I imagined what I must look like from another room. I stole a glance up to where my mystery lurker stood. I hoped I pleased him; hoped that the faint glimmer of movement I saw from the darkness was him rubbing his thick shaft in response to my body. Maybe he had a thing for feet and would have willingly spent the night worshipping my toes as he ran his tongue over and between them, sucking them into his hot mouth, licking my insteps, massaging my ankles, driving me towards a deep, shaking orgasm. Or maybe he imagined me using my feet to jack him off, the nylon hold-ups rubbing his hot, rigid tool faster and faster until he erupted, squirting his sticky seed up and over the glittery material as we breathlessly watched it slither and drip to the floor.

I licked the tips of each index finger then cupped my tits again and lifted them in his direction, smiling. Circling my nipples with the wet digits I moaned gently as the crinkled ends stood proud from their coffee coloured nest.

Raising my other foot to the window I repeated the reverse striptease with the remaining hold-up, then sat back with both stockinged feet against the glass. My legs glimmered, shiny and smooth in the low light from the bedside lamp and I ran my hands gently up and down my thighs, sending shivers racing along my spine. At the apex of one such motion I drifted the fingers of one hand tantalisingly across to my bare slit. Fiery wetness met my touch and I flicked the tip of my clitoris, tilting my head back over the edge of the chair amid a groan of ecstasy.

My index finger circled, barely touching myself, each slight contact a mini earthquake inside me, the seismic, concentric ripples spreading to the periphery of my body. As my touches strengthened, my body convulsed, feet pushing against the glass causing the front legs of the chair to lift from the carpet. Thoughts of men trying to hold video cameras steady while furiously wanking to the sight of my electric body spasms spurred me on. I tapped my clit rhythmically and cried into the room as Chris Isaak chugged.

-- Baby did a bad, bad thing

Oh I was bad alright. Bad to the bone and couldn't resist snaking a finger between my slick folds, pressing firmly against my jumping clitoris, tickling my labia with the tiniest fingertip wiggle. Hot dribbles of moisture sought a path from my body to the chair and it took every ounce of self control I had to stop myself thrusting three fingers inside. Heck, I was so wet I could probably fit my whole, petite fist in.

Easy girl, I told myself. Your audience want a proper show. Calm down. Calm down.

I slid the finger from my drooling slit and trailed the excess up my tummy then lowered the chair legs back to the floor. My body screamed for attention but I exerted my mind's authority.

Tousling my hair back to cover my face I sat up, staring through the strands at the dark window across, containing what I hoped was the mystery man. There was definite motion there; repetitive motion. I felt proud to have caused it, especially given I had hardly started. There was no telling what state he was going to be in by the time I was finished.

After taking a deep pull of the wine I reached for the panties. While concealment was the aim of the tease, the underwear didn't leave much to the imagination. As I pulled each foot in turn from the window and slid the tiny web of material slowly over my instep and up my calves I felt the power well up inside me. Lingerie power. That indefinable sexiness that made me hot, reckless and bold; like I'd swallowed a PacMan invincibility pill.

The feeling grew stronger as my panties inched up over my knees onto my thighs, then past the wide bands of the hold-ups. I stood, legs slightly apart and tugged the panties home. The material felt cool against my naked pussy and hugged my shapely rear. I twirled, catching sight of my reflection in the window. Sexy.

Turning my voluptuous bottom to the window I lifted a leg and placed it on the edge of the chair, kicking it backwards so it toppled away from the window and skidded into the room. Then I stepped back against the cold glass and writhed in time to the music, occasionally bending at the waist to let my hair touch the floor, flicking it back up to splat against the glass and tumble to my bare shoulders.

As Chris Isaak gave way to the Beastie Boys I smiled, bent to take another slug of wine and picked up the beat, ruffling my hair in front of my face. I crossed my arms to cover my chest, bear-hugging myself, and spun to face the world, legs apart. As the Beastie's rapped, I unwrapped; one arm at a time, placing each forearm in turn against the glass and swinging my breasts to the music. Pushing away from the glass a step I could feel the crotch of my panties dampening as I portrayed my assets like a cheap whore to a slavering businessman. I didn't have to fight for the right to party; I _was_ the damn party!

Pressing palms against the glass once more I wiggled a little then slithered my hands down the window, staring keenly through my hair into the distance outside, bending my knees, lowering my body, spreading my legs wide as I reached the low point of my crouch. Keeping one hand on the glass for support I dug the other inside my sleek underwear, gliding two fingers deep between the folds of my raging slit, pulling them out coated in my sticky honey.

I stole a glance up at the curtainless window. There was still movement there and I felt a rush of pride as I lifted my hand to my face, first sniffing my glorious arousal and then lewdly sucking the cream from my fingers. I was on autopilot; fucking unstoppable; riding the prickly thrill of exposure, basking in the power I had over the men in their hotel suites who were undoubtedly jerking furiously to my lurid show.

Back went my hand, snaking into my expensive panties and coming out glistening. I had a wicked thought and drew a large, theatrical heart shape on the window in my juices then bent to kiss its centre, my breath condensing momentarily before clearing.

All thoughts of prolonging the show vanished. Raking my hair forward again as it threatened to reveal my identity, I returned my hand once more to my crotch, openly masturbating this time, unable to control myself. Sliding up the hand in contact with the glass, I pressed the top part of my body forward into the window while my fingers danced beneath the sheer material, zeroing in on my central button. With my forehead resting against the glass, my breath formed mist circles that grew then faded repeatedly on its cold surface as I panted.

Was I really going to come here in front of the city? It seemed so surreal all of a sudden. Did I know myself at all or was this just another chapter in my sexual awakening; an insight into myself I had denied for so long that repression had become normal? Certainly the feelings I had couldn't be denied; heat; exhilaration; power. But was I out of control? Did it matter I was becoming addicted to my sexuality? As I alternated between ploughing my fingers inside my ravenous opening and satisfying my engorged clit with hard circles, the questions faded and I let my body supply the answers.

I stole a glance to the window above. I definitely wasn't imagining things. A silvery silhouette cast by the moonlight was visible against the glass, rocking. I was immediately greeted with a sense of pride above all else; like my actions had been validated somehow because I had incited someone else to explore their own fantasies with me in the spotlight. I was desirable. I was anonymous. I was suddenly flying. A gush of elation surged through my body and lined further stickiness in the designer panties.

My breasts crushed hard against the window, nipples trying to poke holes in the glass as my body ignited the rocket fuel coursing my veins. The oh-so familiar sensors that preceded my orgasm began to trip as the dirty imagery of myself from the stranger's perspective invaded my thoughts. How many more strangers were out there enjoying me? Wanting me. How many would I cause to erupt from this distance, with just my hands and thoughts driving myself over the edge as I accelerated and careened into freefall?

I sank to splayed knees and could barely feel my cheek forced against the window as my eyes closed, mouth opened and breath fogged. In my head I was far away from the Nevada desert, falling; falling from a cliff face towards the foaming ocean below, the wind whistling in my ears as the sea rapidly approached, filling my vision. Seconds before impact a moment of calm enveloped me as everything collapsed inwards, bracing my body for the inevitable.

And then came the sensation of plunging into the freezing water.

Instinctively I rammed my fingers home to ride the bubbles and jets that tickled the surface of my skin. All at once my mind was everywhere and nowhere: cocooned safely in the weightlessness of the underwater dive; flying over a purple meadow; racing along a bright white corridor, doors all open with faceless human shapes in each doorway egging me on with glee.

I came hard, body tensing. My skin flushed rapidly in sections: abdomen, chest, neck, head, legs, feet, arms, and finally fingers tingling as they pressed inside my quivering pussy. Time stopped mattering and the world outside went into suspended animation as I pictured the contorted faces of men erupting at my brazen display, all of us coming in unison; minds connected across the landscape by my spasming body.

The rapid tightening and relaxing of the muscles in my soaked pussy sought to draw these men to me; attempting to siphon the creamy jets of spunk across the physical divide that separated us. I wanted it all inside me; the white hot lava from countless men sloshing inside my tight, quivering cunt, bursting from me as the orgasmic contractions wracked my walls and thundered outward to grip my dermis, holding me rigid and heating me from the inside out.

I was such a slut for wanting that. Had I the presence of mind to reflect upon my thoughts at that instant I'd have probably disgusted myself, but without any sense of guiding conscience -- with all my instincts magnetically aligned in the single pursuit of carnal bliss -- I had no cause for questioning my raw desires. The inner slut was awake and rampaging.

Juice flowed around the fingers still buried in my winking sex, oozing from my slit and being deposited in the crotch of the already wet underwear. My nostrils, still pressed up against the window beneath closed eyes, caught the scent of my arousal and I briefly pictured myself riding the face of an anonymous stranger, my panties forced against his nose and mouth as I smothered him with the power and intensity that only a woman truly out of control can.

The vision was fleeting yet the effect was deep and delicious; I panted hard against the window and crushed the palm of my hand against my proud button as I imagined the man powerless beneath me, forced to service my dribbling channel, his face smeared with the come seeping through the flimsy fabric, his breathing erratic and gasping as I cut off and reinstated his air supply.

Fat, thumping waves propagated like sonar pings from the knot of nerve endings just above my gaping slit and I rode them fiercely, each one caused by a savage lick from the fictional man trapped beneath my spread thighs. The music long forgotten, drowned by the blood rushing past my ears, I let my mind complete the slutty fantasies that consumed me.

The heat was fantastic. I could have forged steel in my body as I flushed with each massive contraction. The free hand that wasn't deep between my legs was firmly massaging a breast and its extruded puffy nipple, autonomously twisting and pinching the hard red bullet just inches from the window. Electric pulses crackled between my buxom mounds, connecting the erogenous zones with invisible energy that shot downward, colliding with the arcs buzzing from my pink jewel, forming a triangle of concentrated euphoria which spread like a forest fire to envelop my entire body.

I squeezed and ground against my hands like a woman possessed; I bet I was some sight, on my knees framed and writhing against the large window, very obviously masturbating through an incredible orgasm. Without doubt I enjoyed watching erotic scenes like mine unfold, but it was better to be watched; to know an audience were hanging on my every movement; with every touch wishing they were next to me, kissing me, on top of me, inside me.

Those thoughts played out in my mind as the intense heat burning through my veins permeated my skin; each crescendo, while subtly smaller than its predecessor, a stark reminder of what it meant to be alive and human.

Ever so slowly as the waves lessened my real-world senses began to switch back on and I regained awareness of the hotel room and the dryness in my throat. After some long moments waiting for my breathing to return to something approaching normal I shut my mouth and peeled my face from the glass, hair stuck to my cheek in places with perspiration.

Sitting back on my haunches I gently prised my sticky fingers from my sopping pussy and brought them to my mouth. The delightful taste of myself took my breath away momentarily and I allowed my digits to remain in place as my tongue swirled around them, savouring the sweet cream and earthy base note of my lusty secretions.

Opening my eyes I let them adjust. As the city lights refocused, the realisation of my actions hit me and a smile crept across my face. Along with the satisfaction that always accompanied the endorphin rush of a fantastic orgasm, I felt I'd learned something more about what made me tick. The images that my subconscious flooded me with when I was at my most vulnerable had given me insight I would not normally allow myself to comprehend. It was unclear whether it was a portent of experiences to come or just an expression of latent sexuality I needed myself to see.

Rocking gently I eventually gained enough strength and momentum to stand, using the window to help. Each step towards the centre of the room was a reminder of my orgasm; the damp underwear clinging to my shaved labia; cool air conditioning attempting to restore the temperature of my flushed breasts; the swish of low-denier material as my thighs brushed together.

After shutting off the iPod the silence was at first unnatural. I considered putting it back on but chose to sit on the end of the huge bed instead and gaze out of the window, still only half able to believe what I had just done. Was it even me? If not, who was the debauch woman who had just cavorted in front of plate glass and made herself come at depraved thoughts of strangers fulfilling their equally sordid fantasies?

Voices in the corridor came and went. For a fleeting moment I wondered if there would be a knock at the door: an adoring fan who had watched me, or someone to take me away and lock me up for violating public decency in this crazy country of unreasonable censorship, hypochondriacs and guns. Perhaps a spell under guard would do me good and flush out my demons?

A phone rang in the next room. I was pretty sure it was vacant and it indeed rang out after 10 rings or so. Then I jumped when my phone rang moments later, the shrill, insistent chirp begging to be answered. Could it be Adam? I checked the clock: maybe.

Rising from the bed I approached the bedside table, paused watching the phone-mounted bulb wink in time to the ring, then curiosity won and I reached for the receiver.

"Uhh hello?"

"Second time lucky," came the unconventional response. It was a woman's voice, which immediately threw me. Middle-aged with a hint of an accent; Hispanic maybe, given the way she pronounced it 'locky'.

"Sorry?"

"I must have called next door first. Forgot there's no thirteenth room."

"Oh. And... you are?"

"The woman who watched you just come."

She pronounced it 'comm' and I couldn't tell if she was friendly or about to launch into a tirade of abuse against me, but I shivered all the same and felt myself colour. Rumbled. "I'm, ummm, sorry. I didn't think it through."

She laughed quickly; efficiently. "What is there to regret? I came too."

"Oh. Really? Wow." Relief washed over me and my guard dropped a notch. "Glad to be of service."

"It was quite a show. Wish I had the confidence to do that."

"The wine helped." I winced. Was that an excuse?

She laughed again. "Whatever you drink, I want some."

I blushed again. "So where are you?"

"Up to your right."

"You...?"

"Yes," she breathed. "You knew?"

I paused, choosing my words carefully. "I suspected. But I thought you were a he."




A New Aspect



It was her turn to pause, her shallow breathing the only evidence she was still on the line. "I am a we."

I was stunned. Didn't have time to process it before she spoke again.

"My husband. He likes to watch as well."

"God. Did he like it... me?"

"Very much. He says you have beautiful breasts. I tell him to watch his mouth; mine are still a handful."

I laughed automatically and eased a little inside this bizarre conversation. She continued.

"That is why I am calling. He wants to see you again."

My heart leaped into my throat. I wasn't sure about that at all. "In... in person?" Dammit, why had I answered the phone? What had I led myself into?

"No. In the window. He was not finished. And I want him to finish."

That at least was of some relief. Then it dawned on me what she meant. "You were fu...? You mean the two of you were...?"

"Fucking. Yes."

"Wow." I felt a surge of pride again. Not only had I driven this couple to sex, they had watched me while they were doing so. It took me a few moments to calm myself enough to speak. "And you... you want me to show off again, dressed like this?"

"Yes. But he wants to see everything this time." After a beat she added, "I do too."

I breathed out heavily. I was not comfortable with showing my face and told her so.

"You can keep your anonymity. We prefer it that way. But he wants to see your wet pussy."

The way she said 'poossee' and the realisation that if I complied I would be willingly taking part with a knowing audience caused my heart to skip a beat and my skin to tingle. What a thrill. But what pressure. No screw-ups.

Was that stage fright I suddenly felt? That same nervous energy that plagued me when I was playing clarinet for the school orchestra? Back then I could get over it by tuning out my audience and focusing on the notes, but I doubted I could use the same technique here. I needed a different approach. Some people I talked to said they used to imagine their audience naked.

Then it hit me.

"If I do it, I want to see you as well."

I detected a low, hushed conversation; a passionate exchange; probably weighing the pros and cons. Then she came back on the line. "OK. But only the lamp behind us."

I grinned and let out a quiet, happy sigh. "Perfect."

"And we keep the phone line open."

It was my turn to weigh up the counter offer. It would certainly satisfy my audio craving which had thus far gone untended. And who knows what it might do for the couple, listening as well as watching me finger myself for their pleasure. That didn't even take into account what the sight and sound of them locked together in the throes of passion would drive me to. Wild!

"Deal."

"Excellent."

I took a deep breath and stood rooted to the spot, listening to her subtle change in breathing pattern. Slightly faster now; a sure sign of her elevated desire. Desire for me. Desire for her husband to fill her aching insides with his solid cock and slam her up against the hotel glass. His desire to gaze over her shoulder at me, watching my hands playing across my body, touching myself as he pistoned into her wetness. What a situation.

Slowly I began to move towards the desk, the phone cable trailing behind me. Upending the red wine bottle into my glass I took a large gulp then sauntered as naturally as I could to the window. As I ruffled my hair into my face I reached the edge of the room and looked out, my creamy breasts heaving and exposed. It seemed easier second time, but I still felt the rush; the illicit combination of fear and excitement at breaking a social taboo. It was almost addictive.

A few floors above me to my right, just past where the building changed direction, I saw a faint glow radiate from their window. Shortly after, shadows cut the pool of light into dark, human shapes. I tucked the phone under my chin and spoke.

"I see you."

"We see you. No need for warm-up. We are already very warm."

I smiled beneath my hair. "So am I."

"Do you think you can come again so soon?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I can. Depends on the circumstances."

"I think you can. I think you will. My husband wants you to try."

"Then help me. Talk to me. Tell me how I'm doing. Let me hear you enjoying me."

There was silence for a good few seconds, the pair of silhouettes moved closer then she let out a low groan. It was music to my ears. Animal parts of me kicked into gear immediately. She hardly needed to add "He has his fingers inside me," because I knew it already.

One hand held the phone body while the fingers of my other traced the contour of my waist and hips, sliding effortlessly beneath the soggy fabric of my underwear to catch against the silkiness of my instantly awakened sex. It was my turn to gasp and I almost dropped the phone at the unexpected current that supercharged my skin.

I bent to put the phone on the floor. "I'm going to put you on speaker. I need both hands." Fumbling with the arcane buttons on the console I found the speaker button and engaged it. "You still there?"

She breathed affirmation, perhaps lost in her own world that existed between her wet pussy and the actions of her husband's digits inside.

Standing, I cupped my ample bosoms and showed them off to the couple I could see silhouetted above me. Two nameless people I would never meet yet would share a bond with in this dismal, immoral city. Maybe others, tired of the slots, would glance out of their hotel rooms as they shut the curtains and be mesmerised by a single horny girl and a pair of lovers acting as one into the night.

That thought alone fuelled me to grind my hips as if the music was still playing and I dirtily slid both hands into my panties and squeezed my shaved lips together, then parted them. The sticky residue that still coated my labia smacked into the quiet room; maybe the pair could hear that over the speakerphone.

"Did you hear my wet pussy opening? Do you like watching me play with myself?"

The woman hissed, "Yes, I love it when you use your fingers like that."

I was unsure if she meant me or her husband but drove my fingers into my slick channel and moaned quietly. She moaned back which turned me on faster than I could have imagined. Somehow knowing I was being enjoyed and being able to hear the direct link between action and consequence, yet still not really knowing who the mystery pair were, had me breathless and panting against the window.

Turning seductively and slowly to face into my room I thrust my panty-clad bottom towards my watchers and bent low, holding my calves. I heard the Spanish lady gasp and then rhythmically begin to moan. I writhed in unison hoping to turn them on with my tempting rear and wondered if he preferred my big boobs or curvy butt. She answered for me.

"He adores your ass. Show us more. We have zoom."

Oh God they're filming me? That changed everything, yet strangely changed nothing. My stomach lurched amid a wash of self-consciousness, but the rest of me started sizzling on the sexual grill, limb by limb fizzing beneath the surface. The knowledge of being the focus of attention from an unwavering lens, while initially shocking, quickly became just one more reason to do it right; to give the performance of my lifetime. I charged into my new role with exaggerated movements, gyrating for them and the camera, grinding my bottom against the window. Baby definitely did a bad, bad thing.

"Wonderful," she panted. "Now take them off."

I slowed to a stop and began to do as I was told, hooking my thumbs into the waistband and peeling the sodden garment down over my shapely rear. The panties rolled up and clung to the lower crease where my thighs met my derriere, then snapped free of my damp nether lips. The air conditioning felt cool against my slick, exposed pussy but had a long way to go before it would have an effect on my core temperature. Gliding my underwear down over the shimmering hold-ups to pool at my feet, I stepped out of them and heard her exhale. "Yessss. Show us your tight ass."

With more theatricality than necessary I wiggled in the window, naked except for my hold-ups glinting silver specks as they caught the low light of the lamp. The couple had told me to hurry but I figured it wouldn't hurt to tease a little, especially if they were going to enjoy my performance as a repeat on video, so I danced for them, twirling and thrashing my hair around, giving them plenty of front, rear and profile glimpses of my lithe, curvy body before returning to face away from them, bending at the waist again. She groaned deeply.

In a positively dirty, yet alarmingly natural, act I reached around and spread my cheeks, exposing my puckered hole for them and the city to enjoy. My pussy tightened and left a fluttering void in the pit of my stomach that lust quickly filled. I didn't need reminding how depraved I was but it warmed me to be told anyway.

"You're such a dirty girl. I want to taste your asshole."

I stepped forward a pace and spanked my bare behind. The sound echoed off the walls of the hotel room and found its way to the phone on the floor between my legs. He slapped her in return and she cooed with delight. "Yeah, spank me baby."

I had a desperate urge to look so I stood and whirled, almost forgetting to swoosh my hair in front of my face. In the window above me I could see her bent at the waist, hands pressed against the glass and a shape standing behind her. The way her breasts swayed and her breath came in rhythmic grunts told me she was being taken roughly. I saw his hand rise and seconds later the crack rang into my room. My bottom flushed in sympathy as she let out a little scream of joy and a dribble of wetness leaked onto my already clammy lips.

"Is he fucking you hard?"

"Yes."

"Do you like it rough?" I spat.

"Ohhhh, yesss."

"Show me."

I cupped my tits again, pinching my distended nipples as I listened and watched his hand deliver blow after blow to her bare behind. Each sharp crack that met my ears was punctuated by a scream and a sigh, and I could hear his balls slapping against her as he pounded into his woman. The sight was enough to take my breath away, but the sounds of their lovemaking topped off the effect and blew my twisted brain; I had to steady myself against the window, staring slack jawed at the raw sex I had instigated.

Between slaps and spanks, she rasped, "We need... you... to come. Hard."

Although I was turned on and getting wetter by the second I felt I wasn't about to lose control in a delicious orgasm so soon after my last. I had to do something to hurry things along and scanned my room for clues. My gaze landed on a shape beneath the desk. My bag. My vibrator. That would do the trick.

Momentarily leaving the couple fucking noisily into my phone I skipped back into the room, rummaged through my belongings and withdrew my sleek and powerful Silver Shadow. We'd seen some action together in the course of our short time together and the combination of power and smooth, long shaft had made it one of my favourite toys of late.

On my way back to the city view I retrieved the chair I had knocked over earlier and placed it purposefully, very close to the window. With no more pretences about what I was doing and the growing desire to bring myself and the couple to climax -- both now and on subsequent viewings of the tape -- I straddled the chair, leaned back to tip it and swung my feet up against the glass. With my soles pressing against the window I flicked on the vibrator using a practised motion, dipped it inside my honey pot for lubrication and brought its buzzing end in direct contact with my clit.

I convulsed at the touch and backed off, having overestimated my level of arousal, settling for just tickles around the edges of my protruding jewel. Every so often I slid the device down my glistening lips and thrust the entire shaft into my pussy, groaning each time as the loud hum turned to a murmur while it titillated my soft walls.

The Spanish lady rasped, "Fill your cunt." It came over as 'cont'. "Let us see and hear you lose control. Fuck yourself."

I was more than willing to oblige.

As the minutes ticked away in slow motion, the vibrator began to have its desired effect. My body was starting to energise again, despite -- or perhaps because of -- not fully discharging from my previous orgasm. The millions of tiny levers and gears inside my brain began to work as one towards a unified goal, heightening my desire, sharpening all of my senses so I could revel in the impending rush of hormones. My actions became bolder and stronger and my clit begged for stimulation from the buzzing surrogate phallus.

Touching and teasing my jumping button had me gasping into the room. The sounds from upstairs being channelled through the tiny loudspeaker beneath me relayed all I needed to know; that my actions were appreciated. The woman cried into the room as her husband picked up the pace and reamed her pussy, accompanied by staccato cracks of his open palm against what must be her very red bottom. The screams of ecstasy that followed drove me higher; propelled me to ream my juicy folds with the hard vibrating shaft and tease my tender cluster of nerve endings with its unrelenting pulses.

With each stroke inside my creamy box and each spasm of my throbbing clit, I allowed the rich tapestry of my imagination to transport my mind into their room. I could see them bucking against one another, his hips jack-hammering against her body, rippling the flesh of her ample bottom that glowed red from his hand prints. She pushed back into every thrust using the glass as leverage, rhythmically moaning as his hot tool sank home; crying out as he plunged savagely into her depths and drew back soaked only to slam in to the hilt again while she clawed the window.

I wanted to be her. Wanted him to fill me full of his thick cock, jamming it inside me repeatedly as I watched the city lights below swim in and out of focus with each jarring lunge. I wanted to be watched, admired and craved as I was fucked and spanked and abused by this stranger. Badly wanted to come for everyone's delight, feeling the deluge of spunk firing towards me from every peeper's window as if they were all shooting into my voracious tunnel.

Damn I was dirty. I really was an animal. The vibrator pushed me closer to the edge.

Every so often the couple would slow down or stop for a short period. Whether this was to change position or to kiss or to crowd round the camera's tiny screen and watch my orgasm approaching I'll never know. The shapes in the window would move, huddle, and adjust while appreciative coos and single, breathless words of encouragement floated over the phone speaker. Then they would start up again, fucking and panting and moaning and spanking, spurring us all on. We became like a feedback loop, each of us fuelling the other with our depraved acts in front of the night sky.

Stealing glances at the pair of them fucking wildly and hearing them clearly through the phone, had me galloping towards orgasm in record time. One of my hands pinched and squeezed the proud nipple of an ample breast while the other razed my clit with the vibrator and circled it in time to the screams in the other room. The machine buzzed noisily like an angry wasp as it delivered its glorious pulsating payload straight to my core and had me shivering in spite of the heat inside me.

I was horny beyond belief and panted wildly into the room. As if preparing for a gynae exam I shucked my body down into the chair, down, down further, feet still pressed firmly against the glass. I ran the tip of the vibrator around my tight arse hole and shuddered at the tingling rush it gave me, then brought it to my pussy and sank its length fully inside, letting it go. With my fingers I began furiously frigging my humming clitoris, drawing ragged circles with the digits of one hand as my other sprang to my tit as if magnetised. Yet again I pinched and pulled at my red nipple, tweaking and groaning loudly.

Above me the action was equally frenetic. The lady was imploring her husband to fuck her deeper, interspersing it with compliments on how sexy my show made her feel, how she'd love to return the favour one day as I watched her masturbate. Her voice invaded my thoughts and I imagined the two of us performing together in a single window for the city as our slick bodies pressed and slid against one another, perspiration clinging to our glowing skin, faces and tongues seeking out hot, wet slits as our orgasms ripped through our bodies simultaneously and her husband captured it all on film.

My pussy contracted deeply at the vision and the vibrator slithered out, smacking against the window and rolling away on the plush carpet before I had chance to react. I suddenly felt very empty but was so close to coming I rammed my fingers inside my sopping box and drew them against the front wall of my channel, crushing my clit in my palm. Mere moments away from release, my body went into overdrive.

Yanking my fingers from my slit I focused on my tiny pearl as it jumped for joy at being the centre of attention, throbbing with anticipation. Round and round my fingers went in a blur as my clit responded and pulsed. I walked my fingers rapidly either side of my excited button, wetness clicking into the room, and sank further into the chair so my bottom was hanging off the seat. I tipped my head back and slid my knees and feet apart. My bottom pressed against the cold glass and I jumped. Then, in a strange moment of clarity a wicked thought formed.

With a little manoeuvring and some gymnastics I pressed the base of my scorching cunt firmly against the cool window. Splaying my lips with my fingers a little come leaked onto the glass and made a sticky imprint for all to see. I then returned to rubbing my clit as it quivered.

"Can you see that?" I called out to the couple. "You said you wanted to see everything. Is that on your sordid little tape?"

Juices oozed from my splayed lips onto the window and dribbled down the glass as she responded.

"Oh, beautiful... yeeeessss."

The high octane fucking in the other room rose to fever pitch. She moaned and groaned, voice climbing higher with each thrust as I watched the silhouette drill into her depths from behind and saw her breasts crush against the Vegas window. The speaker on the phone tried to reproduce her screams as accurately as it could to my eager ears. "Oh. Ohhh... God... oooooohhhh."

The surge of hormones rose like the great flood inside me and I prepared for the storm, muscles tensing while my fingers skipped over the desperate knot of nerve endings at the top of my shaved, spread cunt lips.

"I'm going to come," I yelled.

The phone rustled as she must have picked up the receiver, and her voice was suddenly sharp and clear in my room. "He's fucking me but thinking of you," she panted.

That sent me over the edge.

A tidal wave of emotion pulled back, momentarily collapsing into my centre before bursting forth and flooding my body. My neurons couldn't keep up, my hearing dulled and through half closed eyes I could see the Spanish woman's mouth forming the Ohs of her own climax. I imagined the man filling her horny, drenched pussy with hot spunk as he erupted inside her, the torrent spilling out and cascading down her legs as he pounded mercilessly to her vocal delight. Except her face was momentarily replaced by mine and he was filling me with his boiling seed. My ravenous snatch gobbled it all up and my pulsing channel gripped his shaft, keeping all his sticky output where it belonged: inside me.

Then the vision was gone and as I closed my eyes I was visited by silhouettes of men and women who had all paid to see me perform. I was lying on a bright red stage, legs up in the air and a queue of people shuffled forward. Each man took up a position between my legs, sank his cock deeply into my pulsating body -- choosing my soaking pussy or tight arse as befit his preference -- and then moved on. The women in the queue would lick or finger me, just once each, then glide up over my body to the stage; some of them even stopping en-route to sit on my face, letting me lick their dripping pussies clean of the delicious juice that my act had produced. Each person wanted a piece of me; wanted to use me; they'd paid to watch and their reward was a sample of the wanton creature they had ogled while she masturbated for their collective pleasure.