Tampon shredded into billion pieces in the sky. Hundreds of people cumming together, their deafening roar overcame the presence of the many waterfalls around the pool. I walked into and out of the sauna, which didn't helped. It was like meditation, but with one purpose only - sex.
Lovely teenagers in bikinis. There is nothing to see after a few seconds. There are perfect breasts, perfect bottoms, and perfect legs. But you get bored in a minute. Perhaps we are not looking for a perfect sculpture. Perhaps we are looking for a perfect oil painting.
A woman took a very short stroll down the pool, as if just to tell her husband that it's time for lunch. She had the perfect caramel tan, where you could see the brush strokes of the creator, rather than the uniformity of a machine. She had all the right shapes, and you want to look into her bikini top and bikini bottom to see if there are any sagging or flaws. She looked good from head to toe. She could have spent a lot for her above shoulder hair, but it looked housewifie and sexy when wet. She had a very simple slipper on, but perhaps just as mine, they are sexy and not cheap. You want to know what it feels like to make love to this woman. Not so much for Victoria's Secret models, as they don't look that real.
Alone, up in a sky razor, with the only company of the other odd sky razors, you feel lonelier than in any other convention centers. After depriving myself for the whole day, I did what I am familiar with.
I called an escort. And I wasn't having sex with furniture, but on them.
For middle class anti-prostitution activists, they cannot ban what they are most threatened by. Ask any front desk personnel. From time to time, young girls would bring in clients to business, 4 star, hotels, sign up a room using their own names. These clients are so afraid of being caught that they may not even tell the girls their real name. If you pay enough, that's the privileged of not being screened in the usual way. You cannot tell that the girls are escorts, if not for the fact that they bring in different "partners" every time. And some college aged girls looked too young that their IDs are checked for their age, to see if they are eligible to pay for a room.
And of course the numerous dancers in the telephone book. In a decent US city, you can have what you wanted, down to exact eye color and height, being brought to your room in under 30 minutes, for a hundred dollars or less. But sex is not cheap, and only offered as a favor to you. The asking price is always a grand, but highly negotiable. It's not at all expensive, considering that if they charge the TER price, there will be a long line and even longer reviews.
This escort wasn't one of those no-touch dancers. I'm off those a long time ago. That's what after you found your ATF (and then lost). She was down to earth attractive, able to blend in with the vacationers - and that's a big compliment. She has a face they you would want to look a bit more in the supermarket. And she looked good in a simple dress, without showing too much of her nice legs. She got through my door defense as if it was tofu.
"Do you mind mirrors?", I asked when she was settling down, sitting on the side of the bed. She's hesitating. It's not so much of the mirror, but what comes with it. It didn't help when I had to point to the bathroom repeatedly.
From sitting at the edge of the bed, she drew her legs onto the bed. She smiled at me, meaning that she was going to stay put, not going anywhere. She was trying to cute her way out.
I got closer. Seeing that she wasn't afraid of me, I carried her whole body up, unexpectedly but slowly. She didn't struggle when I carried her all the way to the bathroom. I put her down right in front of the huge and thick mirror behind the door. She did look good.
The light wasn't on, but there was an electronic switch with a dim LED on, for whatever reasons. I kept it that way, hoping that she would not change her mind. You can always turn on the lights later. Still I could take a good look at her, and very romantic, and very naughty like kids playing in the dark.
I held the lower edge of her dress with both hands, and lifted it up in a smooth act. She hesitated but raised her hands up before the dress got trapped at her arms. That's about the best that one would hope for, no stretch marks, no cellulite, no obvious (=bad) enhancements, no tattoos putting you off, no sagging and no junk in the trunk.
And before she could think, I held her tiny pantie at her waist with both my thumbs and index fingers. Then I kneel down smoothly. There went her pantie and she was naked in front of the huge highly reflective polished mirror, except for her tiny bra, which I decided not worth the time and effort to dismount it, in case she changed her mind about staying put.
All I wanted to do was to kiss her every inch from toes up in front of the mirror. But unlike some girls, she wasn't at ease. Instead of standing there calm like a statue on a pedestal, she would twist her ankles, her knees and her waists a little, in reaction to being kissed. Her biggest sin of all, when I turned her around as if she was on a porcelain making tool that rotates, she refused to let me get right behind her kneeling down. It's a pity that she had a firm round ass. What is she afraid of?
So I concentrated on holding her firm bottom cheeks with both hands, and dined away between her legs from the front. I embraced her legs like I was holding the back of a woman, tightly. And I kissed her pussy like kissing a woman, occasional vacuuming included.
Withing warning, I lifted her whole body up and placed her down sitting next to the bathroom sink, smoothly but quickly. It wasn't planned, but a natural plan B, when I realized that she wouldn't perform well at the mirror, not at her backside anyway. She knew what I was going to do, but she didn't protest. Plan C would be bending down on the sink worktop like a porn star. But I highly doubt if she would do that, with a big mirror in front of the sink.
I asked if she had condom in her tiny purse outside. Of course she had, these purses are best for carrying that. She didn't bring any secrets with her and I was trusted to go over that thing. I told her not to move a muscle, got out to put on the condom and got back right in front of her.
Literally, I tried to put my penis into her pussy with my right hand. It's always a difficult thing to do when there were no furniture millions of years ago. I remembered I gave up immediately when I though of doing it with Jamie of London. What worked for me is that I used my penis like a hand tool. I will get stiffer and she would get wetter as time went on, at least the passage will ease.
This time, to my horror, I discovered that it was a designer bathroom worktop! What it means is that it is taller than ordinary tables and worktops - stupid designers! For normal worktops and tables, my balls are cleared. In no way I'm going to crush my balls on the worktops. This designer thinks that my balls should be right below the edge of the worktop. That one inch of height makes all the difference. It was as important as two warriors in a death match, where minor specifications of their weapons are crucial.
I wasn't going to give up easily with her sitting demurely naked at the sink, leaning on a big mirror behind her, and seeing myself through the huge mirror behind the bathroom door.
I tiptoed. Then I worked my way in for the penetration. My style is to pull out completely from time to time, as if I doubt if I'm doing the right thing, an excuse to stimulate her more. The fun began when I was fully in. She was still very composed, almost smiling, sitting comfortably on the high sink bench, thinking that I couldn't do any harm tiptoeing. But soon she knew she was wrong.
A piece of rock (fake marble) is different from any mattress. I held her waist tight and pounded away. I felt the edge of the worktop at every stroke, between my penis and my balls, but she was my cushion. I penetrated deep, and her expression showed. Also, the worktop was narrower than normal, so she didn't have any space to lean back from. It was close, face to face close.
Soon she had nothing in her mind other than expecting my every stroke. I gave her pause by standing still, fondling her breasts, or pulling out completely to suck them, only to race back in like a rocket.
Other than that I didn't want to disturb the flow of things. The only other thing I could do was to kiss her. She didn't mind when I was starting to be gross on her cheeks. Her mind was totally down there, enjoying it or otherwise thinking of how to duck out of it. There was little resistance when I kissed her lips gently. The vacuum started when her head was backup against the mirror.
My tongue was working its way into her mouth. I was going to insert my whole tongue into her throat, so to speak, or I was going to suck her whole tongue out. But then she felt that it was all too much. She held my neck very tight as if she was getting very excited.
Chanel did the same thing at times. Fuck me silly but don't look at me, shy of her emotions, whatever it is. At this point, she didn't care what I could do to her, as long as I could finish in one minute or ten. I could throw her up in the air and drop her down onto my penis. But I wasn't that strong.
I had two free hands and I wasn't afraid that she would fall from the bench while holding me tight. So I pulled her hips onto me when I was making every stroke. She was a good sex toy, better than anything man made. Bed and furniture are certainly different.
I came. She wouldn't release me from her arms before I was completely done, as if it was safe again to do so after. I gave her a light thank you kiss on her cheek, then pulled out while putting a towel there. I usually do that for girl friends to avoid fluids going dripping everywhere, on the bench and on the floor. For her I think it would be polite, useful. I walked straight into the bathtub, drew the curtains and took a shower. It was my way of leaving her alone to do her cleanup, mentally and physically.
Of course I invited her into the shower out of politeness. I would be worry if she accepted. I wouldn't want to have a sloppy second even if I wanted to pay for it again.
Soon I was out of the bathroom, and she was waiting for me to say goodbye. She did asked me indirectly how much longer I was staying there. Maybe she didn't want to be punished again, but business is business. A few more days is my typical answer on auto pilot. Maybe I was going straight to the airport afterward, but there's no harm to let her know that she did a very good job and may be getting more money from me. And probably she would forget all about my answer and what I did, if she doesn't see me ever again.
