Room 504


The receptionist looked up and smiled as Anne’s heels clacked across the terracotta flooring of the quiet hotel lobby. “Good evening, Miss Oakley, hope you are well.” “Yes, thank you Georgina, I’m fine,” said the blonde, stooping to place her briefcase on the floor and then hitching the long strap of her overnight travel bag firmly into place on her left shoulder. Georgina, still smiling, swiped a room key card and offered it to the guest. “Room 504 as usual,” she said. “Everything is ready. You will want room service, I take it?” “Hmm, yes please. My usual chicken sandwich and a bottle of Muscadet, if you will. And, remember, no white bread.” “Of course not.” Georgina’s smile became even broader. “Have a nice night.” Anne nodded, picked up her briefcase and headed for the bank of elevators. As a partner in an interior design business, it had become Anne’s routine to stop in the hotel every Thursday night, forgoing the commute on the train in order to be more refreshed and prepared for the following morning’s partners and projects meetings. Inside room 504, Anne put her briefcase on the table under the window, lowered the travel bag to the floor and shrugged off her linen suit jacket and hung it up in the spacious wardrobe, taking time to study her reflection in the door-length mirror. “Hmmm,” she murmured, gaziantep escort fluffing up her hair and appraising the pearls at her throat, the white satin blouse that focused attention on the swell of her bosom and the black tight skirt which clung to the generous curve of her hips. She kicked off her heels and, after taking her vanity case from the travel bag, walked in black stockinged-feet to the bathroom, where she cleaned her teeth and generally freshened up, concluding with a fresh coating of pink lip gloss. Anne returned to the bedroom as a knock on the door heralded the welcome cry of, “Room service.” A quick check through the peephole and Anne opened the door, standing to one side as a young, bald black man wheeled a trolley over the threshold. “Good evening, madam,” he said in a rich baritone voice and Anne firmly closed the door. She walked behind him, admiring how his broad shoulders and back filled out his white shirt. He tapered to a slim waist and his buttocks were two firm peaches, stretching the material of his uniform pants. He pushed the trolley to the table and Anne, arriving at his side and peering at the name tag on his chest, said, “Would you open the wine, please, Darren?” Darren uncorked the bottle and raised an eyebrow in Anne’s direction. “Just a small one for now,” she said and watched as he poured, stopping with the wine halfway up the glass. She sipped the cool liquid and sighed. “Mmm, that’s good,” she said, took a second sip and then placed the glass on the table. Darren stood attentively, apparently awaiting the customary room-service gratuity. But his eyes widened when Anne faced him and began to unbutton her blouse slowly, casually, her blue eyes scanning Darren’s features without blinking. Her lips parted in a sensuous smile, the tip of her tongue peeping through white, even teeth. Now, the blouse gaped, partially revealing a lacy white half-cupped bra and a gently undulating chest. Anne began to unbutton her blouse cuffs and said, “Don’t just stand there, Darren get your kit off.” Darren’s eyes opened even wider, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead but, after gulping, he unclipped his bow-tie, unfastened three buttons on his shirt and drew it up and over his head. Anne let her blouse slip off her shoulders and down her arms before tossing it on to a nearby chair. She swiftly removed her bra and her proud breasts quivered as she also lobbed that garment on to the chair. Darren, his gaze firmly on Anne’s chest, unbuckled his belt as she stepped towards him and laid both hands on his broad chest. Her pink-painted nails, drew patterns around his nipples, down over his ribs and round to his stomach and navel. His pants slithered down his legs to pool at his ankles. Anne took a pace backwards and looked at Darren’s pale blue boxers and the bulge on the left side. “Right, Darren,” she said softly. “Take everything off except those shorts. Leave them for me.” Darren managed to find his voice. “Yes, madam,” he said and stooped to remove his shoes, socks and trousers. Anne sat on the edge of the bed, watched and waited, her fingers toying with her aroused nipples. She knew her pussy was already moist but resisted feeling beneath her skirt as Darren took three steps and stood in front of her. She leaned forward and placed wet kisses on his stomach, her right hand sliding up the leg of his boxers. She breathed in sharply as her fingers met the hot, firm, pulsating growth. “Nice,” she muttered and stroked the shaft within two fingers and thumb. Darren sighed, his erection twitching and thickening. “Think I need to see this monster,” said Anne, withdrawing her hand and grasping his waistband. “Oh yes, wow. Oh my, that’s a beauty,” she said as she unveiled Darren’s black baton. He lifted one foot at a time out of the fallen boxers, motions which sent his tube swaying and swinging against his thick thighs. Anne used her right hand to lift up his impressive meat and exhaled a long, desirous sigh as the weight and heat nestled in her palm and along her inner wrist.

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