It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m single. Again.Who will be My Valentine? But instead of hiding out at home like all the other sad singles on V-Day, I’m on a business trip. If you can call following my best friend, who’s a very distinguished fiction writer, to book signings a business trip. We’re staying in this fancy hotel in New York City. We have a shared room, but I opted out of going to the bar with her and the publicity team. Instead, I’m sitting on the bed in our suite, watching old reruns and moping.
Suddenly, I grab the remote, switch off the TV, and stand up. Fuck sitting here on this bed. Maybe I should have followed my friend to the bar. I slip into my shortest black mini and black lacy camisole and the stilettos I haven’t had the chance to wear yet. No red for me. I’m protesting.
I walk out the door of my hotel room and into the rest of my life. At least, that’s what I tell myself as my heels clack on the linoleum of the hallway on the way to the elevators. But I stop when I hear a noise. It sounds like a moan. And not a moan of pain, either. A feral moan of animalistic sexual pleasure. And I know you’re going to hate me, but I can’t resist. My voyeuristic tendency forces me to follow the noise.
It’s coming from the room nearest to mine on the left, where they must have forgotten to shut the door all the way in their passion. So, yes, I slide up as quietly as I can, holding my stilettos in my hands, and peek in through the crack. They’re beautiful. The woman is thick and curvy and ivory-skinned, and the man has shoulder-length black hair and a body that’s pure muscle. And this isn’t the muscle you get from going to the gym. This is a more natural kind of muscle, the kind you get from real labor.
He’s holding her hands down on the mattress, kissing her neck and running his hands over her many curves. Her fiery red curls fan out across the pillows, her pale skin flushed with passion as she arches up into him, spreading her legs in invitation. I can see from where I’m standing that she’s wet, and I long to run my tongue over her clit and taste her juices. But the man on the bed gets there first.
He pins her, says something to her in a deep, gravelly voice that I can only imagine is a warning not to move, and dives between her legs to taste that juicy pussy for himself. She moans, spreading her legs farther apart, her head thrashing from side to side. I can’t see what he’s doing, but she seems to be thoroughly enjoying it. Her moans are musical and gentle, but they reverberate throughout the room.
“Oh, Olaf—oh, yes—!”
I can feel my own pussy getting damp, and I slip my hands between my legs, glad that I wore a skirt tonight and my silkiest thong. Not that I’m expecting anyone to see the underwear, but the feeling against my pussy is a huge turn-on to me.
As the man on the bed, presumably Olaf, continues to eat the redhead’s pussy, I rub my clit frantically, gritting my teeth to refrain from moaning in pleasure. The woman comes frantically, arching up and pushing the her pussy into the face of her lover, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just continues lapping at her until she pushes him away.
“Please, Sir, fuck me.” she says, in a soft, British-accented voice.
He stands up, and I can see his sizable erection from where I’m standing, and it makes my mouth water as much as the redhead’s pussy does. He walks toward the door, an intent expression on his face. I suddenly notice my danger, but before I can move away, he opens the door and looks down at me.
He dwarfs me by about a foot, and he’s intimidating and a little scary, but the kind of scary that makes my thong cling to my pussy from the moisture.
“Spying, are we?” he asks, in his deep, deep voice.
That voice has my knees weakening, and I grasp the wall with my stilettos-free hand to stay on my feet.
“Sharon, my love, we have a voyeur. Shall we invite her in?”
The redhead, Sharon, lifts her head, a smile across her flushed face.
“Of course!” she says, standing.
I look at Sharon, then at Olaf, who is smiling down at me.
“Just say yes,” he says, calmly reaching for my hand.
I know I should run away, go back to my room and use my Bullet vibrator, but there are two perfectly real people offering me the night of my life, and I’m running out of batteries. So I take his hand.
As soon as I step into the room, I realize this must be a couple on a Valentine’s Day date. The room is lacy and satiny and red all over. The bed is a California king, and there’s a mirror on the ceiling.
Sharon takes my hand and pulls me further into the room. Olaf shuts the door, all the way this time.
I feel a sudden sense of unease, but Sharon smiles at me reassuringly, and it’s gone. Her smile is beautiful, and her voluptuous body in front of me is the most delectable thing I’ve ever seen.
“You can join us,” Olaf says, “but first we’re going to show you what happens to naughty little voyeurs like you.”
Sharon pushes me gently towards the bed. Olaf has no reservations. He picks me up and puts me over his knee.
“Count to ten,” he tells me.
“If you stop counting, the punishment doubles.”
I squirm in his lap, but Sharon is watching from the bed now, and I want her to want me the way I want her. Besides, I’ve always secretly wanted this.
Olaf flips my skirt up, his erection stiffening beneath my belly as he caresses my ass and the forbidden crack where my thong nestles.
“Count to ten,” he reminds me, and then he slaps my ass.
It’s a gentle slap, and I say, “One,” calmly.
But the second slap is harder, and the closer we get to ten, the harder he’s slapping my ass, and both my cheeks are throbbing now. The pain radiates into my pussy, though, making me wetter than I already am and making me moan at the sting of his hand.
Once I moan out the final number, Olaf flips me over. The sheets on the bed are maddeningly soft against my bruised ass.
“Good.” Olaf says.
“Now you will have your reward for behaving so well.”
Sharon comes over, her fingers sticky with her own juices, and touches my lips. I suck her fingers into my mouth greedily, wanting to taste her pussy so badly my mouth waters. She tastes sweet, like lust and woman and passion. I moan, and she smiles at me.
She pushes me back on the bed, and Olaf ties my hands above my head. Before I can think, my legs are tied too, spread wide apart and opening my pussy to maximum pleasure.
Sharon dives between my legs, her red curls tickling my thighs, and runs her tongue up my slit. She moans against my pussy. The vibrations against my clit have me soaking the sheets beneath me.
Olaf puts his cock against my lips. I open obligingly and suck him into my mouth. He tastes musky and masculine and I take him as deep as I can. He moans and squeezes my tits, rubbing my nipples gently as Sharon continues to eat my pussy. She sucks my entire pussy into her mouth and flicks her tongue over my clit, hard and fast. I moan into Olaf’s cock, swallowing it down as I come into Sharon’s waiting mouth. When she stands up, her chin is covered in my juices.
She kisses Olaf while I continue to suck his cock, closing my lips around his thickness and flicking my tongue just below the head of his dick. He moans and shoots into my mouth. I swallow all of his come as he and Sharon kiss above me.
Sharon straps on a huge bright red dildo and stands over me with it.
“I’m going to fuck you now, you filthy slut.” she says, in her gentle, British-accented voice.
My pussy is dripping all over again.
She runs the head of her cock over my pussy lips, dips it gently into my slit, and rubs my clit with it. I moan and arch into her, wanting her inside me. Olaf stands behind her, pressing his cock against Sharon’s ass. Sharon gently slides her cock into my waiting pussy, stretching me wider than I’ve ever been stretched before.
“Oh—was I moan, watching as Jack presses the head of his cock into Sharon’s ass.
Before long, Sharon is pounding me as Olaf pounds her ass, and we all come in a pile of sweaty limbs. We switch positions, and Olaf is below us. I lower my pussy onto him as Sharon sits on his face, and we kiss as we ride him. When we’re done, Olaf is covered in our combined juices.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I roll over and hide my face.
“Don’t be ashamed,” Sharon says, kissing my neck.
“This is my fantasy. My husband and I were looking for a mistress.”
I finally notice the wedding bands on their fingers.
“You would make the perfect mistress,” Sharon continues, cupping my tits gently.
“Don’t you agree, Olaf?”
Olaf looks over at us, his eyes glazed and sleepy.
“Of course, my love.” he says, then closes his eyes.
Sharon giggles and kisses me, and just like that, we start up again.