Paris Diaries: Redefining "Room Service"*
WARNING THIS POST CONTAINS THE EXPLICIT SEXUAL MATERIAL YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.----------------
Now playing: The Herbaliser - The Sensual Woman
I was surprised that he kissed me there in the foyer. There was a window behind him; any passerby could have seen us-not to mention that in any American hotel the entire foyer would have been monitored by several video cameras. The forbidden nature of it, the fear, intoxicated me as much wrapping my legs around his slight body. He delicately fingered the base of spine as he kissed me, and I gasped arching further into him. I knew from the way he kissed, how quickly his hands found those secret pleasure axes on my body, the smell of his skin that I could inscribe 33 books of epic poetry into his flesh with my nails and my tongue. I could make all of his senses sing with desire like the Muse who inspired the Odyssey. I could take him the way Alexander conquered the Persians, showing generosity if welcomed, and no mercy if resisted.
And how I hoped he would resist.
He pulled me off the barstool, whispering into my ear before kissing my neck "There are cameras here, but there is a conference room." He gestured with his head. "You first." The conference room was, indeed, right off the foyer. I opened the door- and the lights from streaming in from the foyer revealed notebooks out on the table as were half drunk bottles of water and scattered pencils. He waited for a moment before he followed me in closing the door behind him. For a moment, he took in the room in the shadowy darkness and shook his head. "I'm going to have to clean this later." All I could think was that I wouldd like to help him wax something other than the mahogany table. But it was just a moment hesitation, as suddenly he was pushing me up against the conference table.He was short, well matched for me, so I could feel him hard against the arch in my spine, his breathe on the back of my neck as he pulled off my sweater. Now his hands were fumbling with the buckle on my belt-I hit them away-not yet. I wanted to take my time with him-see how long I could draw it out, part of the pleasure being the torture of delaying gratification. I turned towards him and pushed him into a chair-unbuttoning his shirt as he pulled me into kiss him. One of his hands slid under my bra strap, pulling down, his hand and then his mouth on my bare breast, sucking and then tickling the erect nipple with his tongue.
And then one of the lights in the room went on, and he froze like a possum in headlights-eyes wide, body tensed.
My thought was that the room had been rigged with motion detecting lights, but he seemed genuinely panicked by it rebuttoning quickly as I pulled on my bra and sweater. "I'll meet you in the foyer." I was not sure who he thought he was fooling by following a minute behind me. WE WERE THE ONLY TWO PEOPLE AROUND-I mean if Rainman watched these videos, he would have cottoned onto what we were doing in the conference room especially since we had been openingly kissing at the bar. Nervously, he investigated the table to make sure nothing was out of place and joined me. "What do you think happened?" he asked as he stepped behind the bar so as to make his pantomime of innocence complete. "Motion activated lights. Our movement tricked them." He looked at me like a dog contemplating an elaborate card trick, "You think so?" I smiled at him-he had a lot to lose, and I could afford to be confident. His willingness to risk his job to fool around with me made him even more attractive and made me more determined to reward him. He tried to chat behind the bar as if nothing had happened, but now he had a taste of my skin in his mouth, the smell of my sweat, the promise of the pleasure whispering in his ear, overriding his reason, his concerns and within five minutes he was kissing me again-his hands on my breasts.
"Want to check the room?" I asked, but I was off the barstool walking towards the room unasked. He followed me, and the lights were off. And as quickly as I found the lights were off so was my sweater immediately followed by my bra as his hands fondled my breasts- him kissing the sensitive grove of my spine. I arched in pleasure against him until, again, his hands tried to explore the increasingly moist space between my legs. I pushed him into a chair, he pulled me onto him. I regretted wearing jeans. If I had been in a skirt, I could have been riding him already. There was no more concern about drawing this out-now I wanted satisfaction. He kissed my breasts, his hands sliding down the back of my jeans as I leaned back enough to undo his pants so my hand searching for the hard taught skin of his erection. Even though I knew it was big, as my fingers explored his shaft, I marveled again at how big. "This thing should be a national monument" I thought, "This motherfucker IS La Tour Eiffel." He moaned in pleasure as I ran my hand up and down his his cock. I stood up so that I could taste his desire, and yet again the lights went on-again Nikolae panicked. He only partially redressed-"I know where to go" he said as he grabbed my hand.
I couldn't imagine where he was taking me-a storage closet, a spare room, the floor behind the desk. I found myself on the landing of a stairwell. "There are no cameras here" he whispered into my neck. There was a part of me that wanted to object, that wanted to say while there's something hot about fucking on a conference table, a stairwell is entirely different. But the pleasure center of my brain was screaming "YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME. YOU CAN NOT DEPRIVE ME OF THIS ON SOME RIDICULOUS MORAL GROUND. YOU'RE FOOLING AROUND WITH A CONCIERGE YOU BARELY JUST MET FOR CHRISSAKES. YOU HAVE
NO MORALS, SO STOP PRETENDING-NOW LET'S SEE HIS COCK."1 I unbuckled his pants, and in the bright light of the stairwell saw what I had been feeling for the last hour.
I didn't have many dates in college. In fact, I almost didn't have any.
So when the cute red headed guy with freckles at the Original Espresso Shop asked me out, I jumped at the chance even though I thought he had a girlfriend. After a few drinks at a slummy bar, he asked me back to his place. Now I was about to graduate college with a degree in a field I didn't want to pursue after spending four years surrounded by gorgeous gay men who I couldn't have. I looked at him and his freckles, and I remembered what my high school geometry teacher used to tell us in class "Every once in a while, you have to look around and say 'What the fuck?'" Afterall, he probably did
have a girlfriend so it wasn't like I was ruining my chance at a meaningful relationship. Much like Nikolae, he was slight and thus I had no idea what I was agreeing to. "Want to take a shower?" he asked as soon as I put my pocketbook down on his couch. "Go on in, and I'll join you." I went into the bathroom, folded my clothes and waited-he came in already naked, and I gasped at the very sight of it. "Think you can handle it?" he asked me, and me, in all my wide eyed honesty said, "I don't know."
I remembered that moment fondly as I pulled Nikolae's erection out of his pants.
I brushed my lips ever so gently against his shaft before running my tongue down the length of his erection. I teased the head of his cock with my naked breasts before he pulled me up to him. He turned me around and stepped down one step, so that when he pulled me to him, his cock was between my legs. I could feel his erection rubbing against my clit through my jeans and gasped involuntarily in surprised pleasure. I braced my arms against the wall as he thrust against me, his hand slipping under my belt, under my panties. Now it was my turn to moan and push up against him, my cheeks flushed, eyes closed, my mouth half open trying to say "Please don't stop," but too far beyond language to actually say it. He was saying "Ouiaasssss, ouiaaasss" into my ear as both his cock and his finger thrust into me until I was unable to hold back anymore. Afterward, he gripped my waist with both hands, pulling me harder and faster along his shaft. I knew he was close, and arched against him until his knuckles went white as he came hard-moaning into the back of my neck. I watched the come drop to the floor between my legs. I half smiled as I thought, "I guess he'll have to clean that up to."
Both of us stood there for a minute, panting and dazed. He quickly began to button and smooth his clothes, while I put on my sweater. I walked out of the stairwell first and went back to the barstool for a moment. Nikolae crossed after me. I could see that his conscious mind was beginning to try and grapple with what just happened. As a Parisian, I thought he should have a more "C'est la vie" attitude, especially where hot forbidden stairwell fondling is concerned. What could be more French than that? But I could see his rising panic and knew it would only kill my buzz, so I picked up my pocketbook, which I left by the bar, and left him standing in the middle of the foyer trying to figure out what to do next. I bid him good night as I smiled at him briefly and distantly as the elevator doors closed.
I stripped off my clothes and slid naked into my big cushy hotel bed. I curled up satisfied and flooded with decadent, adventurous pleasure as the winter breeze cooled my still flushed cheeks. I fell into a deep and satisfied sleep, but not before thinking. "In NY, I get exactly what I want in the least useful form possible. In Paris, I get exactly what I want in a way even better than I imagined."
*A moment of meta-I hope you all appreciate how freakin difficult it is for me to write this-not just to reconstruct the scene in my head, but also the anxiety that goes into writing such a scene-one because I don't want you all thinking "THAT SLUT"-but also I don't want to write a crappy, disgusting, nauseating sex scene.
1 It's a little known fact that I am such a rational human being that even the pleasure center of my brain is capable of reasonable argument.
Labels: paris, sex, single girl's guide to paris
Bad Bunni posted at 8/15/2008 08:31:00 PM