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It all comes back to me as I wake…

Last night, a trendy bar with amber lighting, fancy crystal glasses containing fancier cocktails laden with herbs, fruit and baubles of ice. I was there with friends celebrating my divorce. He was drinking alone, scotch maybe, or perhaps bourbon. I saw him before he saw me, but as I excused myself to go to the bathroom, I made a point of striding through the place like I owned it… and our eyes met.

All those memories came crashing back, at least for me. George was the first man I loved. The first man to make me come. The first to show me real passion. Alas, it never lasted.

Yet as we caught one another’s eye, even for just a moment, I knew it wasn’t for a lack of passion we went our separate ways. His lips parted and he blinked twice, loosened his tie and mouthed my name. My nipples instantly hardened and even though I hadn’t put on underwear that night, hoping to screw some random bloke mindlessly, I tossed that notion out of the window. Perhaps I would jump headfirst back into something deep and meaningful again.

George followed me into the corridor leading to the bathrooms and I couldn’t breathe for thinking of what it might be like to be together again. Have his hands on me, his tongue, his cock…

“Toni, is it you?” he demanded.

“It’s me, you fool.”

I turned around and wanted to hurt him, but I couldn’t. Not only did he look wounded, but he looked sad, too. We came together for another sort of violence, grasping and clawing at one another, tongues duelling.

Somehow, we found a closet to topple into. Dark, we could hardly see one another let alone what we were contending with. As he bit into my lip and shoved a hand into the top of my electric-blue dress, I almost put my foot in what seemed like a bucket.

“Toni, Toni, Toni…” he repeated.

I slid down the side zip on my dress and he devoured my breasts, his ruthless sucking and licking making me so wet I began to coat the insides of my thighs. We crashed around the room, my hands on the front of his trousers, his digging under my skirt to find I didn’t have on knickers, either. The dark really was dark but eventually we discerned a counter which he lifted me onto.

In that sanitary-smelling room, in near pitch-black, he took to his knees and lifted my dress, drinking from my pussy with the thirst of a man who’d been crossing the desert for three days without a drop. I had to slap two very determined hands across my mouth to muffle my screams as I came, rapidly, one after another after another, his tongue unrelenting… inside me, then lashing my clit, back inside me… licking the length of me. His thick fingers joined in now and again.

I lost myself as he reminded me what passion was, and when he finally had drunk enough of my nectar, he speared me open with the power of a machine until I needed his hands over my mouth too, or else I’d have surely drawn the attention of staff or other revellers… wondering if I was okay.

Sweaty, streaming with cum and dishevelled, I didn’t return to the bar. We escaped out of the back door, jumped in a cab and came here, to his hotel room. I made some excuse via text to my friends, none of whom know anything about George – nor will they ever know anything. I’m not sharing this man. This will be my hotel sex story.