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NO TIES

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I’d seen him at the pool the day before, when I arrived at the start of my seven-day holiday. He was difficult not to notice: tall, dark, well groomed with plenty of hair, well built and with an attractive bulge in the front of his shorts as he lay on the lounge beside the pool.

He was even reading a book that required thought. This was a bonus.

But I hadn’t given him any further thought after that. Not, at least, until after the hotel check-in process was completed – it always seems to take far too long – and I’d been escorted to my suite. It had a large living room with a dining setting, comfy sofas, a full suite of entertainment equipment, a huge bedroom (and a huge bed) and bathroom, and a generous terrace and little plunge pool (it would fit two). It was quiet and with a nice view of the distant beach below the cliffs. Good, I thought. I won’t be disturbed by revellers here, even if there are any.

I’d really been looking forward to this holiday. I’d been working very hard and I needed a break. We don’t generally take separate holidays, but I knew I could use some down time.

So I’d booked: a small, discreet property on a quieter-than-normal Thai island. It was not cheap, but it was self-contained and offered full service – including a massage spa, my favourite indulgence – and looked well run.

I’d seen him at dinner that night, too. He was eating alone at a table across the room and he left before I got my soup. But he gave me a lovely smile as he left. It left me feeling suddenly warm.

I’m not promiscuous, at least by the normal definition. I’m careful. I avoid situations in which I am not in complete control.

But it’s not just men who get the heavy hots. I’ve fallen in lust a couple of times when I’ve been away from home. Sometimes it’s nice to be ravished. There’s nothing quite as exciting as a hot new cock parting your hair with the purpose and urgency that comes along with a first-time fuck.

He was at breakfast next morning – the hotel offers in-suite breakfasts and I’d normally do that; but today I wanted to check out the landscape – wearing a nice red T-shirt and some tailored grey shorts. He was with a younger woman, probably Thai. They were talking amiably but animatedly.

I gave him a smile. He smiled back. She smiled.

I ate my breakfast, thinking I might make friends with my vibrator later in the morning.

I did. I like to have a shower, put on some perfume and one of my little strings, and then have my vibrator prompt me into delicious thoughts that I am being solidly fucked by a hot man.

Later, I thought I’d go to the pool and read my book. And maybe later check out the spa, where I would certainly be going at some point during my stay.

The pool, hidden behind great banks of bougainvillea and other flowering and fragrant plant life, and just within earshot of the waves running up the beach below, was sunny. There was only one other guest there.

Him.

I was wearing my newest and tiniest bikini and the frankly rather transparent play-sarong that had come along with the bikini.

He looked up and smiled – again. He said: “Hello. The pool doesn’t seem to be terribly popular this afternoon. Just you and me. I’m David.”

I noticed he noticed that my bikini top was very small and my sarong was transparent and that the tiny green string beneath it was very tiny indeed.

I said: “Well, it’s popular with us apparently. I’m Emmeline. People call me Em. Where’s your friend?”

He said: “Aimee? Oh, she runs my life. She’s my PA. She’s gone back to Bangkok. We had to meet some people here yesterday.”

I said: “So now you’re here alone.”

He gave me a long look and said: “And so are you. “

We talked all afternoon. It turned out that we were in the same line of business – well, sort of. I’m in corporate marketing. He runs a corporation.

He had a swim. I had a swim. And then we had a swim. And it was then that he touched me lightly on my arm, smiled (again), and said: “Should we have dinner together tonight?”

Well, I thought, perhaps we should. I looked at him and he looked at me. And I said: “We should. Shall we say drinks in the bar at seven? I have to make a call first.”

He looked at my left hand. “The duty call,” he said. He smiled again. “Me too. Seven it is.”

I went back to my suite feeling a buzz. It might be dinner, I told myself. As in, just dinner. He said he has his duty call to make. Perhaps that was a signal that it really was dinner only; no dessert.

But I showered for a very long time and did my hair and manicured myself and put on lots of perfume and lipstick and my tiniest black lace string. Over it I put my little black dress. No bra. And I slipped on my best fuck-me high heels, just in case.

He was at the bar when I arrived, wearing a white cotton shirt with the top three buttons undone – I could see he had a hairy chest – and black slacks with loafers in a dull red, expensive leather.

He stood up, moved towards me, pulled out a chair at the corner table, took my hand, gave me a peck on the cheek, and said: “Sit down. You look lovely. What would you like to drink?”

I said a martini. He was drinking whisky. A waiter appeared when he looked briefly in the direction of the bar.

He said: “The dinner menu’s quite good here. What did you have last night?” I said: “I had the tom yang goong soup. It was all I could manage after the flight.”

He said: “From Australia? Via Bangkok? A drag.”

Then he said: “What did you tell your husband? When you rang him tonight before you came to the bar?”

Perhaps I blushed. If so, he was too much of a gentleman to officially notice.

I said: “I said I was going out to dinner tonight and I might be late so I’d call tomorrow.”

He said. “I’ll get the dinner menus in a moment. Tell me what you’re wearing under that dress.”

This time I know I blushed. He smiled. Then he laughed. And then he said:

“I really want to know.”

I said: “Just a little black lace string.”

He said: “That’s all? God, that’s exciting. You didn’t think this was just dinner then?”

I said: “I hoped it wouldn’t be.”

And he said: “Well, it’s not, then. We should eat our dinner and get to know each other but then I’d be very privileged if you allowed to me to explore at very great length and in complete and extraordinarily intimate detail everything that you’ve got under that lovely little dress.”

I suddenly got very wet.

And I said: “I think that would be a perfect way to round off our evening. And for us to greet the dawn.”

He smiled. I think the bulge in his pants got just a bit bigger.

Dinner was a blur. The food was great. The wine was pleasant. The conversation was wide-ranging. We told each other our corporate histories and some of the personal stuff. But we couldn’t wait for it to be over.

When it was, and he had signed the bill, he took me by the arm and said:

“Do you want me to make you naked in your suite or mine? I have champagne.”

I said: “Champagne sounds fun.”

He kissed me, in the European fashion, on both cheeks, and whispered: “I would love to drink champagne off your nipples.”

I said: “I hope you’re going to fuck me first.”

He said: “Oh I shall. In your string. Very quickly.”

I said: “Oh god. How quickly?”

He said: “As soon as we’re in the door, I’ve removed that little dress, you’ve rolled a condom down my shaft, and you’re against the wall with your lovely legs clamped round me. And then it will be very quick indeed.”

I said: “Have you got a condom?”

He said: “I have some for you to choose from in the suite.”

We walked there very quickly. He brushed my nipples twice as we walked. He said: “You are aroused.”

I said: “I am very aroused.”

He said: “So am I.” He guided my hand to the front of his slacks. He was.

I said: “I’m very loud when I come, you know.”

He said: “Me too. But there is no one next door.”

We got to his suite. He seemed to unlock the door, carry me in, rip off my dress, hand me a selection of condoms and thrust me up against the wall all in one movement.

“Black. Ribbed. Extra thin,” I said.

Suddenly he was naked. His thick long cock was hugely erect. Above it he had an exciting and lush black power square of hair.

I slid the condom onto his cock. His cock pulsed in my hands.

He pulled down the top of my string and looked at the little V of hair I keep above my pussy.

His cock grew even bigger.

He said: “And lower?”

I said: “Furry.”

He said: “Oh god.”

Then he pushed me hard against the wall, spread and lifted my legs and clamped them under his arms, and thrust his full length into me.

Just ten urgent thrusts this first time. Right up to the top. Back down all the way  to my furry little entrance.  And back again. Then he shouted, twice, grew huge and came in a several great hot gushes. I shouted, too. Very loudly.

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About Hector

I blog. Therefore I am.

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