Message-ID: <21119asstr$942476780@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: X-Post-Date: Thu, 21 Oct 1999 22:08:58 +0100 From: The first elf Sender: Wm Subject: {ASSM} {Elf-11} Hotel Encounter (MF rom -- and a lot more) MIME-Version: 1.0 X-To: story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us JMDigest-Score: good -14 Date: Sat, 13 Nov 1999 02:06:20 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin 21 Oct 1999 This is a re-submission of a story previously sent on Sunday last. If, for some reason, it is not appropriate to ASSM please let me know. --- This is a story about consensual sex between a man and a woman. It is graphic in detail and includes acts that some people may consider perverted. Do not read this if you are not allowed to do so. If you are unsure if you are allowed to read stories such as this delete it now. I wrote this; the story is mine; so please do not place this on a web- site, re-post it to a newsgroup, bulletin-board, etc. or otherwise copy it without prior permission from me. I have no objection to the archiving of this article as any other Usenet posting might be (e.g. Deja or any other news group archive) and you are welcome to keep a copy for your own enjoyment - or even for the enjoyment of yourself and a friend or partner :) I specifically forbid any use of this story for anyone's profit (yes, I mean money) except my own. To make that clear: if you expect to make money from this story that money belongs to me and you should arrange to send it to me before using this story. Comments, whether they be positive or negative, are welcomed. I live in the UK so comments about non-US spelling, terminology, etc. are not appropriate: I speak English -- you speak American (that should cover most comments :) Most, but not all, of this tale is true - which bits are which are left to the reader's imagination. BTW: Henry Green is real -- you may want to read what he wrote, look for him in your local library rather than a newsgroup; I have certainly enjoyed what he has written. Now that is all done -- on with the story. ==== I arrived at the hotel at about 6 PM and signed in leaving my bill open for food and drink. In spite of feeling jaded from a busy day and a long drive I couldn't help but notice how attractive the hotel receptionist was. She had very short (almost cropped) hair, large breasts and a lace pattern bra clearly visible through her standard issue white blouse. The lacy bra seemed slightly at odds with the rest of her appearance which was almost butch. She was not my "type" (if I have one) as large breasts are not really my thing and I usually rely on the "more than a handful is a waste" theory. However there was something about her that caught my attention even if I couldn't put my finger on it at the time. I dumped my bags and grabbed a bite to eat at the hotel's restaurant (more for refuelling than enjoyment as the food wasn't particularly good and way over-priced). I also drank a couple of glasses of wine to ease down from my day before returning to my room with a second bottle of wine for comfort. Another lonely evening at yet another hotel seemed in store. Is this appearing cliched to you? Well it ought to because cliches are based on truth's just as old sayings are based on truth's. Many thousands (hundreds of thousands?) of people live this way, one hotel after another; night after night ... it is exhausting and dispiriting, I'd rather be at home with my girlfriend but making my living means that I have to travel -- I hate it. Some of my colleagues like the travelling, the men who are on the verge of divorce and the men who like to have "a girl in every port". I'm not one of them and have been (or had been) faithful to my girlfriend for seven years. I had just started running a bath when I noticed a piece of paper (my meal bill) being slipped under the door. In a moment of spontaneous bravery, probably as a result of the few glasses of wine I'd drunk, I opened the door and said to the receptionist's back, "Would you like to come in for a glass of wine when you've finished delivering those?" She stopped, turned slowly around and cocked her head to one side. Then she smiled and said, "I'll think about it, it depends how busy it is downstairs." "Oh, OK", I said, suddenly feeling foolish. Some minutes later there was a knock on the door. "Hello, you came after all", I said. "Yup", she replied. She walked in past me and looked about the room as though she'd not seen a hotel room before. She looked at my portable computer on the desk (the same one I'm writing this on), at the bottle of wine and ashtray next to it and at the breathy action of the tacky soft porn film showing on the television. Then she looked at me. Fuck, shit, fuck, I thought, why didn't I turn off the television or change the channel before opening the door? If I were more experienced at this sort of thing I'd have chosen a comedy program or at least a news channel -- I guess I'm just not very good at this sort of thing. "Nothing happening downstairs then?" I asked, desperate for something to say. She continued to look at me, almost staring, but after a moment her face relaxed a bit and she said, "I've got a bleeper and the night porter will page me if he needs to. By the way, the door's still open" "Yes, yes, so it is" I said, closing it, "would you like a glass of wine?" "I'm not allowed to drink while I'm on call but I wouldn't mind a cigarette" She was between the desk and me and I'd have had to push past her to get to them. "Err, help yourself", I said waving my hand towards the cigarettes. She walked over to the desk and having lit a cigarette peered at the computer's screen, "alt.sex.stories" she guffawed. Oh shit, I thought, this is not going well. "It helps to pass the time when, you know, you're away from home", I mumbled. "That's OK, I glance at news groups myself sometimes when, you know, I'm at home", she mimicked me, "do you mind if I use your bathroom?" "Go ahead" She went into the bathroom and closed the door and then I heard the bath water stop running. I switched off the television and shut down the computer before, after a moment's hesitation, I chose to sit in the chair rather than on the couch. A few minutes later she reappeared. There had been no flush of the toilet. "Your bath was about to overflow. You know you're meant to use the overhead light so that the fan runs? Otherwise the condensation causes untold troubles." "Yeah? Well if they made the damn things run quietly I wouldn't mind" She sat down on the couch opposite me and slipped off her shoes. "Dreadful things" she said, "part of the uniform." I noticed that she was no longer wearing a bra. Her small dark nipples were clearly visible through the thin material of her white shirt. "Does that go for the shirt too?" She glanced down at it, surely she could see that her nipples were showing through it too? "Yep, basically everything you can see is official issue", she paused, "except the stockings." As she said this she lifted the hem of her longish skirt up to just above her knees. I ducked my head a little from where I was sitting slouched in the chair opposite her to see if I could see further up her thighs but she raised her eyebrows and flipped the skirt back down again. "Stockings? Hmmmn. I had you down as a tights girl myself" She pulled a face, "Unhygienic things, tights, make you all sweaty, especially when you have to sit on a sticky plastic chair all day, like I have to" After a little more desultory chat, I went into the bathroom myself to pee. The toilet had not been used so presumably she'd just taken off her bra. More interestingly, where was the bra? She had no pockets in her uniform skirt that might accommodate it. When I came out I could not restrain myself from asking, "Umm, do you mind if I ask a question about something that's puzzling me?" "Go ahead" "Its sort of personal though .." She grinned, "I might not answer but feel free to ask" "What have you done with your bra?" I blurted out. She burst out laughing, "I took it off. I hate wearing a bra but these work shirts are so see through that I have to. And the one I was wearing was quite an itchy lace one." "I know you took it off, I can see that!" I replied, "I was wondering what you'd done with it. It's not in the bathroom that I can see and you haven't got a bag or any pockets in your skirt." "Wouldn't you like to know where it is?" she teased. "Of course," I said a little testily, "I wouldn't have asked otherwise, would I?" It seemed as though she was going to turn out to be a silly tease. Conversation I could have enjoyed with her, companionable watching of television wouldn't have been bad, but being at the receiving end of pointless teasing wasn't my idea of fun. I said so. "My, my" she said, "we are in a mood." We sat in silence for a few minutes pretending to watch the television. I was about to tell her I had some work to do when she laughed and said, "look". I looked at her, she was pointing at her chest, "that talk has interested my nipples." She spoke of her nipples as though they belonged to a third party. It was true that her nipples were erect. As I looked she raised a hand and touched one of her nipples, she seemed absorbed in what she was doing leaving me free to gaze on unabashed. After a moment or two she raised her head and said, "Would you like to touch them too? I think they'd like that." I moved from the chair I was sitting in across to the couch and sat down next to her. I touched her nipples in turn. Feeling more confidant now I said, "I'd like to kiss your nipples too, but it would make your shirt damp." "You could always unbutton it first." She stood up, walked the few steps across to the bed and lay down in the middle of it on her back. I followed and sat down next to her. One by one I undid the buttons of her shirt down to where it was tucked into her skirt but did not move apart the two pieces of fabric. She was smiling at me as I then peeled aside first one panel of cloth and then the other exposing her breasts. I bent my head and kissed her nipples, lightly at first and then more firmly, pressing and rolling the erect flesh with my lips and tongue. "Mmmmm", she sighed, "that's nice. But your shirt is still buttoned. Fair's fair." She sat up and pushed me so that I was lying on my back and unbuttoned my shirt. She then kissed my nipples and ran her tongue down the centre of my chest and abdomen, pausing at my navel. "I'd never have guessed you were so slim with your shirt on", she said. "Am I too skinny for you?" I asked. When I was at school I was a swimmer and gymnast rather than a rugby player. I am slim and tall (too tall to have been a good gymnast) and always wondered why the bigger and beefier boys got the girls at the time. Not many years later those boys turned into fat lards. I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now. My girlfriends have liked my body and that used to be enough for me ... I got (if "getting" is an OK word) the skinny girls -- but I liked that and liked them, somehow the skinny girls were brighter than those "with tits". I'm afraid to say that "with tits" was a way of distinguishing between one "Angela" and another ... an "Angela" in turn being a girl on the make with no brains and inevitably matched up with a soon-to-be-fat boy -- I wish them all well. I mean that! I suppose I should feel guilty about cheating on my current girlfriend but I don't. That's hard to explain as I am sure that she has never been unfaithful. OK, so I'm muddling things (1) I don't understand why girls like boys who end up being fat -- can't they see it is going to happen? (2) I know that my girlfriends have (and do) liked my body but why did they choose soon-to-be-fat boys first? Hopefully that explains my appreciation when she said: "No, I like it, its just that with your shirt on you might have had a little belly or a concave chest." She reached down and undid the top button of my jeans. "Hang on," I said, "that's not fair. I don't wear underwear and you've got loads of clothes on still." "Who said I'm wearing underwear?" she teased, "The way I see it things are pari passu, we each have an unbuttoned shirt, you're wearing a pair of jeans, I'm wearing a skirt, you have a pair of socks on and I have a pair of stockings." "Aha," I retorted, "what about the missing bra?" "Well I'm not actually wearing that, so it doesn't count." She reached for the top button of my jeans again and I dove for the button on her skirt, "You first!" she cried pushing my hand away, "I was first to have my shirt unbuttoned!" "Don't care", I replied and we began wrestling with each other till we found ourselves face to face, our hands somehow trapped between and under our bodies. We were both open mouthed and panting a little and giggling. I stuck out my tongue like a child and pushed it into her mouth, she bit it playfully and made a sound that might have been "Yuk" if she hadn't had my tongue in her mouth. We kissed. "I know", she said, "we can take of our clothes together. Come on" She rolled away from me so that her arms were free and grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet and positioned us so that we were both standing in front of the large mirror that covered most of the wall near the foot of the bed (I think hotels provide such mirrors in order to make their rooms seem bigger). "Ready? Undo your buttons so that you can drop your trousers on the count of three", she instructed as she unzipped her skirt. We stood looking at each other's reflections in the mirror, our hands at the waistbands of our respective garments. "One," she counted, "two, three!" we said together and bent at the waist pushing our clothing down to our ankles while looking up into the reflected image of the other. We paused there for a moment, the hanging cloth of our shirts and our bent torsos covering our groins. "You didn't say anything about standing up afterwards", I noted. "Chicken", she said and started counting again, "one, two, three!" We both stood up and I let out a shout of laughter, for tucked into the tops of her hold-up stockings was her bra, the cups dangling incongruously between her thighs, she started laughing too. When I regained my breath I asked, "Where on earth did you learn that trick?" "I just invented it as far as I know", she replied. We turned to face each other and embraced and kissed, my erection trapped between our bodies. She leant back in my arms and looked at our reflection in the mirror. "Have you heard of Henry Green?" she asked. "Eh?" "Henry Green, he was an author earlier this century." "So?" "Well there's this scene in one of his books where a woman tells her boyfriend he doesn't love her and he is disgusting because he looks at their reflection when he kisses her ear or something. Never mind the fact that she noticed him doing it because she was looking in the mirror too!" I pulled her towards me again and kissed her, looking sideways at our reflected kissing. "She was right", I said, "it is disgusting, but I like it" I felt her tilt her hips upwards and the lips of her vagina grasp at the shaft of my cock. We looked down between our bodies where the head of my penis peeped out above her short trimmed pubic hair. She was almost as tall as I am (I am almost exactly 6ft tall) but her legs were longer than mine so that when she stood up on her toes and I dipped my knees a little my cock slipped down between her legs and with another tilt of her hips and a shove from me I slipped out behind her. She tried to turn us so that her back was towards the mirror and we almost fell over in the tangle of clothing about our ankles, careful not to dislodge me from between her legs we stepped out of them and kicked them aside. With her back now facing the mirror and looking over her shoulder to where my dick was visible between the top of her thighs she bent forwards at the waist and relaxed her buttocks so that it slipped up between them. Thus trapped we began to move together until I suddenly thought about condoms, would this be as far as we got without them? "Ahem," I said, "I don't have any condoms" She stopped moving against me and lent back to look into my eyes. "Neither do I", she said and resumed her movements, smiling at me. "But ... what about ... you know ..." I began. "I'm on the pill" she said and licked her lips in an exaggerated way. "But what about diseases and stuff" I blurted. "Have you got AIDS or something?" she asked. "No" "Well neither have I" She kissed the end of my nose as if to say, "well that settles that then", and tried playfully to insert her tongue into one of my nostrils. I twisted backwards laughing in an attempt to get out of reach and we tumbled, seemingly in slow motion onto the bed. She fell on top of where I lay with my feet still on the ground, half on and half off the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows and with a serious look on her face said, "You're nice." "Now what have I done?", I asked, unsure. -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. 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