Weekend High 

by dreamcloud

It is mid-afternoon, driving down to the warmth of a pale near-pleasant sun. We arrive late; way past the check-in time. It takes half-an-hour for the man at the reception to provide us a room.

The elevator floor mat is an alarming dusty gray. The room itself has no bath towels, no soaps, no shampoo, no complimentary water bottles. The TV doesn't work. A passing worker revives the remote with a couple of bangs against the wall.It works. We so need the VH1 songs at high volume as cover. It has been a long time. 

This is a hotel rated four out of five starts on the Internet.The passage is dusty, the place is in ruins, with a group of people working in a room opposite, rushing to clean up another room for the long waiting queue of customers at the reception we had encountered minutes ago. Most had seemed to be couples like us, carrying backpacks, here for the mandatory weekend sexual release.Everyone had that impassive understanding expression lined on their faces.We were all here for that one thing.  

Exasperated, we call reception for the essentials. Many minutes later, a diminutive man arrives with two little bars of soap and two shampoo sachets.The bath towels are not available, they will arrive in the evening.The man says it without any embarrassment or politeness. A plain, straight-faced statement. 

We are frustrated, but we are also desperate for flesh. At least the room, bed, pillows, sheets, and the bathroom are very clean.She has brought a bath towel, will do for both of us. We don't bath together. I know if we do, we will end up groping each other under the water. I want to start on the bed, fresh, steady and calm.

I go first, the shower disperses lukewarm water in a heavy volume of a rush.After the horrendous discovery of the pathetic hotel service, it is surprisingly refreshing.She follows, taking her time, which is great.I get relaxed and ready.

We have the packed lunch at the glass table, lined with two comfortable cushioned chairs.The lunch is appropriately heavy.

Today, when she slips up the eye mask over my head and the world goes mischievously dark, I let go.Stifling that tiny crumb of a panic building within me, I surrender. She raises me up by the arms and makes me sit at the edge of the bed. She places my hands together and ties up my wrists together in soft knots. Then softly whispers, "Get back to bed."

I place my head on the pillow, wriggle my palms in a more comfortable criss-cross, let my legs go relaxed and straight. I wait.Nothing happens for some time and I take this time to relax and spread my limbs a bit more, push my head deeper into the soft, squishy pillow.

The first distinct thing I hear is the tearing of something. It is not fabric, I discern it to be plastic.What could it be? Seconds later a liquid trail streams from my chest to the navel. Liquid chocolate.She dips her tongue in hungrily, licking and sucking at the chocolate.When she tongues my navel, I clutch the bed sheet behind me in sheer pleasure. 

Her drippy lips hover over mine before diving in for a prolonged chocolate flavored kiss. My tongue gropes into her mouth like a piston, exchanging saliva and sweet curl of sugary cocoa.She really wants to kiss long, I prefer short, momentary kisses, find them sexier.But this is her game and I am already too aroused by her body licks and sucks to consider protesting. 

She returns to my chest and licks right at the center the remnants of chocolate. Then she lovingly sucks at my left nipple, making me arch my back up and down.She is not risky and rash today.She has thought about having fun in snatches rather than in the usual wild ambushes. A lovely enhancement. 

So when she next turns around and squats on my chest, her buttocks brushing my face, I am tingling with excitement.She kisses my inner thighs and below the navel, but I know she can't resist doing what she likes best - her main prize. My legs almost involuntarily spread out in anticipation.I suck at what I can of her buttocks and lower thighs. She moves back further, that I can tongue the end of her clits. I do the needful. She gasps in surprise. 

In a pleasure frenzy, but in rhythmic expertise, she bends down, grabs my erection in a clasp and goes down mouthing the whole of my cock in short in-out bursts. She is in such a hurry, that she forgets to take off my condom. It is prolonged joy, I lift my back to let my staff go further into the confines of her wet mouth.After some blissful mouthful seconds, I come in a wrapped fountain in my condom.Yippie.She keeps going and I have to nudge her to say that I am done. 

I would have loved her to go on, she had caught a rhythm and it would have outright sent me flying if she had continued. But I need a little break, a quick shower, freshen up and then have a go. She stops, never wanting to stop. She peels the condom off my shaft and takes one last wet mouthful, like having the last of the ice cream in a deep hollow cone, before rising, dismounting.  

I lay there, warm, bound, yet desirously free.