I was sitting in the pool area sipping on a bottle of water at one of the thousands of hotels in central Florida. I believe this one was a Hilton. The text I was waiting for arrived.
It read, “Light blue shirt, 40ish, thinning blonde hair headed out now, left front pocket.”
I glanced toward the door of the hotel just as a man fitting that description came through. I watched him long enough to pick up which direction he was headed and stood. I made my way around the other end of the pool and chose a new lounge chair to sit in, one that would be directly in my target’s line of sight.
As he sat in a chair a few yards away from me and began getting settled in I raised one of my knees and began to gently and slowly drip suntan oil on my leg. I kept my face straight ahead toward my legs but was watching him intently with my peripheral vision. I’m 26 and take excellent care of my body. I was a cheerleader in high school and college and keep in shape now out of habit. I run and work out practically every morning. I’m blonde and tan and can stand out when I want to. Some women look like me all over Florida, so I can also blend in when I so choose.
I have to blend in a lot. I go to a different hotel almost every day and want to be in the pool area but never actually get a room. Luckily ladies who look like me and are wearing swimsuits and a beach coverup and carrying a beach towel are rarely if ever questioned when heading to the pool. On the few occasions it does come up I come up with a story about meeting some friends. Sometimes I still get let in; other times I’m told I must wait for my buddies. When I’m told I have to hold on, I hang around a bit and then slip out. Once I’ve been noticed like that I believe it’s best to move on. To do what I do successfully, one really shouldn’t be noticed at this point. As I said, it very rarely happens.
Now was the time to stand out though. The coverup has been taken off and I’m on the lounge in a tasteful but revealing bikini. The oil on my legs and now arms has created a sleek, sexy look. And, boom, there it is. He has finally noticed me. I don’t look at him yet. He needs more of a show. I slowly go up and down my arms with the oil again, then my legs. He glanced around a bit when I was on my arms, but he didn’t move while my attention was on my legs.
“Got it,” I think to myself, “a leg man.”
Legs can really be the best tool in a seduction. It can be very difficult to use one’s tits without being obvious, but legs can be pretty much always on display and can be used seductively without being obvious.
He was watching me intently for long enough that I knew I had him. I was clearly out of his league, and he knew it. I was a fantasy for him. Guys like him didn’t get shots at girls who looked like me. He probably wouldn’t even have had a shot a dozen or so years ago when he was in his twenties.
After I finished oiling both legs I flipped suddenly to my side and locked my eyes into his. It happened too quickly for him to look away, and I saw panic about to set in, and his face began to turn red.
I gave a mischievous smile, stood, picked up my Keds, coverup, and towel and walked toward him.
Although the temperature was in the eighties I don’t believe he’d been sweating until now.
I took the lounge next to him, setting my items between our lounges, and said, “Hello there.”
“Uh, hi,” he stammered.
“Are you alone?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered suspiciously. “Why?”
“No reason, sweetie,” I smiled, “I just wonder if your wife would like you to be staring at me like that.”
“I wasn’t staring, and how do you know I’m married.” He replied.
Still smiling, I leaned closer to him and whispered for effect, “You were, honey, and you’re wearing a wedding ring.”
I laughed a sweet little laugh as he looked at his ring as though he was horrified.
I kept talking. “It’s ok; it’ll be our secret.”
He actually looked at me relieved as though he was grateful.
“So where is the little Mrs.?” I inquired.
“She’s at home in Cincinnati; I’m here for an accounting conference,” was his reply.
I leaned back in my lounge and poured a bit of tanning oil on my chest and said, “Too bad for both of you. You should have brought her. She probably would have enjoyed it and you could have watched her do this.”
I was using my fingertips to oil my chest, as he desperately and rather unsuccessfully, tried to maintain eye contact.
“It’s not the same when you’re married,” he muttered.
“What honey?” I asked even though I heard clearly.
“Um, I asked if you were married,” he replied trying to recover quickly.
“I was, I’m celebrating my divorce actually; I’m just down from Atlanta trying to have fun.” I casually answered. All lies of course.
Then I locked his eyes again, “You know, the “no strings attached” kind of fun,” I stated.
He paused as what I said sunk in and cautiously answered, “Sure, I guess.”
I turned onto my stomach and held the tanning oil out toward him, “You can do my back,” I said with a smile as I raised my eyebrows.
I learned this a while ago. Asking a guy to do this, particularly a married one, occasionally will be met with an objection or at least a question or two. By using the assumptive statement, especially with a little flirting, as though he’s getting away with something, I have never had any problems.
He poured some oil on my back and began to timidly rub. I reached my hand around and unhooked my top, letting it fall to the side. I could feel his hands pause, but I didn’t say anything, and soon enough they were back in motion.
An often overlooked step in the art of seduction is knowing when to stay quiet and still and simply let nature take its course.
He kept his hands on the middle of my back, as they all do, so I encouraged him along a little. “Please don’t miss the sides, sweetie, and my lower back.”
“But,” he began.
I cut him off, “It’s fine, I promise; you’re not doing anything I haven’t felt before.”
He began making bigger circles and added more oil.
“Mmmmm,” I uttered, “You’re making this feel soooo good.”
He looked at my face and I playfully bit my lip as though I was really turned on.
He didn’t say anything, but the pause in his movements told me he’d lost concentration.
“Go lower, please,” I encouraged.
As his hands made it to the small of my back I reached and pushed my suit down, exposing an inch or two of my ass.
“Don’t miss here,” I instructed.
This time there was no pause; he was fully compliant.
I guided him up and down my legs, back over my ass, with a return to my back. I had taken a few peeks along the way and knew that he was rock hard.
I learned the timing of his rubs and rolled over “accidentally” during one. Before he could react his hand had slid straight across one of my 34C tits.
He pulled back, terrified, and froze.
This was perfect. It completely assured me that he wouldn’t be thinking clearly.
“Now, I’ll do you,” I stated, completely ignoring that he had just gotten a handful of my tits.
He paused for a millisecond but predictably chose to go face down on his lounge rather than continue the awkward moment, and I began my gentle rub. My rubbing was more gentle, more sexual, and as I expected, he loved it.
After briefly doing his back, I did his neck and shoulders then gently massaged his ears.
I moved to his legs and started on his feet, then moved slowly up on a calf, pausing a bit on the area below the knee. That is a very sensitive area.
Now I needed him to talk a little.
“I love this pool area, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“My room is 330; I look out over it and each morning can’t wait to come down, what about you?” I continued.
I continued rubbing but was now on the back of his thighs. I was even going up into his shorts somewhat, not that he’d dare to complain.
“My room overlooks the golf course, not the pool,” he finally answered.
“Oh nice,” I replied.
This was it.
I moved my hands to his inner thighs and began gently teasing, just as close to his privates as I could get without touching. He literally let out a small moan, lol.
“I think the presidential suite overlooks the course. Room 800, I think. Is that yours?” I asked as the back of my hand brushed along his cock as lightly as a feather.
“Oh no, I’m in 412. Nothing special there.” He answered between gasps as he felt my hands.
“Let me help you get your whole back,” I said as I began a gentle tug on his swimsuit.
He raised up as his pants stuck, and I reached around and into his shorts. He was paralyzed as he thought I was reaching for his cock. But I stopped just short of it and pulled the drawstring untying his swimsuit so that I had better access.
“Let me get my towel, it’s pretty secluded here but I want a little more privacy,” I explained as I pulled my towel over his back and eased his shorts down.
I guided him as I turned him over so that he was now on his back with my towel over him.
I rolled his shirt up and placed it over his eyes. “That’ll keep the sun out of your eyes,” I explained. But I didn’t need to. He wasn’t going to move, and I knew it.
Under the towel I pulled his shorts down enough so that his cock popped free.
I poured some oil into my palm and wrapped it around his cock.
He was smiling as I began fingering around it.
With my right hand I began slowly stroking. I was very deliberate and very slow; I didn’t expect that he could last too long.
My left hand reached into the left pocket of the now loose suit and removed his hotel key card.
I placed the card inside one of my shoes which was on the ground right next to me.
Then I went back to stroking. “So big, honey, so hard,” I cooed as I sped up slightly.
“You’re amazing, does your wife do this for you?” I asked.
He paused, “No, she doesn’t,” he answered after a few seconds as I sped up the strokes.
Asking a guy about his wife in the middle like that usually is a good way to slow the event down as he loses focus for a few seconds.
Now that he was back focused I paid attention to him, “Too bad, honey. You deserve this. I’ll bet you work hard every day, don’t you. She should take care of you.”
As I spoke I slid my shoes out into the path directly in front of the lounge area where a lovely brunette woman quietly picked them up. She looked at me as she retrieved the key card and, with my free hand, I signaled “4 1 2.” She got the message, quietly set my shoes down and was gone.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Well, I’m here now, baby, I’ll take care of you,” I said.
“Just tell me what you like,” I said as I gave a long full stroke up and down his shaft.
“This,” he said.
“Just this?” I teased as I gave another.
“Yes,” he managed to get out as I let my thumb slide along the lower side of his cock.
“Ok, baby, whatever you wish,” I answered.
I gently teased his cock for a few minutes, keeping him s hard as he could but not giving strokes as quickly as needed for relief.
A few minutes later and I could tell he was on the verge of moving from a state of arousal to a state of frustration.
I added some more oil, and I gave quicker fuller strokes while coaching him along. “That’s it, baby, cum for me, cum, baby, please cum, mmmmmm, yeah.”
He started shooting, “Oh, yes, mmmm, yeah, keep going, more, can’t you give me a little more?” I teased.
When I had completely milked him, I pulled the towel around him and kind of tucked him in. He looked so peaceful and content. I leaned in and gave him the most gentle kiss on his lips but pulled back when he tried to make it become more.
“Shhhh,” I said, “You just stay here and relax. I’m going to run get us a couple of drinks and an appetizer, ok?”
“I’ll go,” he said.
“No, sweetie,” I laughed, then whispered to him, “I kinda have a little mess to clean up on me, too.”
He smiled, knowing it was his mess.
“What would you like?” I asked, “I’m thinking daiquiris.”
“Sounds good,” he said. Although I have a feeling that anything I had said would’ve sounded good.
“Ok, and maybe a shrimp cocktail?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Alright, give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right back, ok?” I asked.
“Sure,” he confirmed.
“And you’ll watch my towel for me? I verified.
“Of course,” he agreed.
The towel is key. By asking him to watch a cheap towel it reinforces in his mind that I’ll be right back. He won’t think to question my return for a while.
“Be right back,” I said as I got up and slipped my shoes and coverup on and walked towards the hotel entrance.
The brunette from the pool area was sitting there waiting with a suitcase as I entered the lobby. We didn’t acknowledge each other, but we each left out the front door of the hotel a few seconds apart. I took a right and began walking down the sidewalk as she crossed the street to a parking lot.
A few minutes later and she had retrieved her car, put the suitcase in the back and driven the block or so down the road I had walked to pick me up.
As I got in she asked, “Are we in a hurry?”
“No, he’ll wait for quite a while. He wasn’t suspicious at all.” I answered.
“Anything good in his room?” I asked.
She grinned, “Better than most, Hiltons really are better, sis. He had a few hundred in cash, two computers, one Apple one even looked brand new, and some brand new jewelry, even had the receipt.”
“Probably bought that for his wife; I’ll take the jewelry.” I replied.
“You earned it,” she said, adding, “It’s a very nice suitcase too.”
“You keep it, I’ve got yesterday’s still.” I told her, and she nodded.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“About 3:00, you up for another?” she asked.
“With you at the pool and me in the lobby bar looking?” I asked for clarification.
“Sure, I can do that,” she agreed.
“Ok, but let’s go a couple of towns over and try a Marriott or Sheraton or something. We’ve been to too many Hiltons recently.” I insisted.
“Whatever you choose, sis, but we’re good; I left the note.” She told me as she kept driving down the highway.
The note she spoke of was a typed note outlining exactly what had been done to him. Namely that he had been burgled while getting a hand job. It instructed him to accept his losses and move on. That any reporting of it to either the hotel or the police would result in his wife receiving a complete account of his activities with another woman, complete with a few pictures. The note was left on his pillow, with his driver’s license that had been removed from his wallet, whether we acquired that at the pool or in the hotel room, it didn’t matter. That showed him that we knew his name and address. As far as we know, no one has ever complained. Turning in the letter would be introducing evidence of his hand job over to the authorities which could enable his wife to see it at some point down the road.
When the guy received this note, he had normally just spent an afternoon in the hot sun waiting for someone to return who hadn’t, then been frustrated by what he thought was losing his hotel key, so he had gone to the desk for another, then finally reached his room. So far these events plus the note had left the men so tired and exhausted that the last thing they wanted to do was explain what had happened to hotel employees, police, their wives, etc. Plus, he had no name and only a description that fit about half the women in the state.