Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
(This could fall into several categories including D/s, interracial, group sex, mature, erotic encounters… Anyway enjoy. This is a work of fiction. All rights reserved by the author ©2019. Please vote if you like it.)
*****
I was well known in my profession and often invited to speak at conferences. I had just completed my speech as the lunch time keynote speaker at a conference being held in Maastricht, Netherlands. Maastricht is in the southeast of Holland, and is a small town, especially in comparison to Amsterdam. Because of airline connections, I was spending the night in Maastricht before heading home. I could have trained to Amsterdam, but having spent numerous nights in both cities, I had decided to relax in the small town. The conference was only tangentially related to my normal business, so I knew very few people there. Not that it mattered, as I normally kept to myself when travelling. That didn’t mean I holed up in my hotel room. I enjoyed seeing the sights of the world, both day and night. I just preferred to do them alone. And anyone who has been to the Netherlands knows the many sights of nighttime in Holland towns and cities.
I was sitting in the hotel bar enjoying a beer before dinner, watching this corner of the world go by. The lobby bar had only a few chairs around a couple of tables. The only chair left open was next to mine, but that didn’t last long as a lady, who appeared to be in her early forties sat down in it. She was wearing a tailored business suit that clearly highlighted her long legs, slim waist, and moderately sized breasts. I gave her a full look as I always enjoy observing the women around me, especially attractive ones. She had long dark hair, a patrician nose and green eyes. She wore just the right amount of make up, and clearly took care of herself. I noticed her wedding ring with a good-sized solitaire diamond. I sipped my beer as she ordered a glass of wine. As soon as the waitress took her order and left, she looked over at me.
“Hi, Peter,” she said. “I’m Monica, and I was one of the attendees at the conference where you just spoke. I definitely enjoyed your talk, finding it quite informative. And humorous. Thanks a lot.” She was most definitely an American, displaying a thick Southern drawl.
She already knew my name because of my speaking role, so I just said “Hello” back.
We fell into silence for several minutes before her wine arrived. Her wine arrived and she had a few sips before engaging me in conversation again.
“I guess you must travel a great deal, both for your business and as a speaker?”
“Yeah, I guess I do. I probably average about 130 days a year on the road.”
“Wow,” she said. “This is only my third business trip, and my first one out of the US. I’ve never been out of the country before, except for a week in Canada, years ago.”
I nodded, and she proceeded to tell me that she had recently been promoted onto her current position, married, with two children, a son, who was nearly 22, and a daughter who was 18. Her husband had been seriously injured in the first Gulf War and was on total disability from the Army. I listened, sharing some minor trivia about myself, telling her I was 47, divorced with two boys in their teens, who lived with their mom, except for two months in the summer, and regular weekends with me. After that, we fell back into silence. She finished her wine, and ordering another one, asked if she could buy me one. I accepted, but only if she allowed me to buy the next round.
When she was about halfway through her second glass, she turned back to me.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure?”
“You’ve been to Amsterdam, right?”
“Hmmm, yes. Why do you ask?”
“Is it anything like all of the stories imply?”
I figured I knew what she was talking about but recognizing that I was dealing with a likely naïve traveler, I responded carefully. “Ummm, which stories are you referring to. There are quite a few.”
“Well, you know, the ones about marijuana coffeshops, and prostitutes, and live sex shows. Those stories.”
“Well, yeah they are pretty much true.”
She sipped more on her wine, clearly trying to digest my information. “Damn,” she said. “I guess I should have arranged some extra time to go there, then.”
Any response I gave to that would be dangerous, so I just let it slip by.
After a few second, she continued, “My son spent six weeks in Europe last summer, and he described it, but, honestly, I just couldn’t believe it. Then when I got to go on this trip, I found myself wanting to see it for myself, but my travel was already set, before I could get the guts to add a side trip to Amsterdam on to my trip, and since I am on a cheap ticket, I have to go home from Dusseldorf tomorrow. And clearly, there is nothing like that in this town.”
Little did she know. I had been to Maastricht before, and knew that anything she had mentioned could be found in Maastricht, if one knew where to look. I considered carefully before I made any comment. Finally, figuring I had nothing at risk, I shared, “Well, in fact, Batıkent Escort I can assure you that everything you mentioned exists in Maastricht as well. And in most every medium sized town in Holland.”
She gasped. “Oh, my God! Really?”
“Really.”
I observed her closely, and, even in the dim light of the lobby bar, I could see her blushing, as she consciously dealt with the fact that her wicked desires were within walking distance of her hotel. The fact also silenced her as she finished her wine. I was now intrigued to see what this woman would do with the information she had just been given, so I ordered another round of beer and wine. She claimed she shouldn’t, but willingly accepted the third glass when the waitress brought it.
Finally, she asked her next question, “So, there are coffee shops here, where you can buy and smoke marijuana?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“And there are whorehouses, where the women are in the windows, selling themselves?”
“Well, there are whorehouses, yes, but they aren’t as blatant in their displays as in Amsterdam.”
“Oh,” she said, appearing to be slightly disappointed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, usually the girls are in bars or clubs?”
“Oh, then one can’t see them?”
“Not unless you go into the club.”
“But, only men can go in the clubs, right?”
“No, women go in all the time.”
That elicited another, “Oh.”
“And the live sex shows?”
She had me there. I had seen several sexy strip shows, but hadn’t found a live sex show in Maastricht. “Well, not really live sex, but there are certainly some strip tease shows that are definitely out there.”
She sipped some more of her wine, before asking her next question, “And do women go to those shows as well.”
The last time I had gone, I remembered there being more couples than single men at the show. “Yep. Regularly.”
By now, I could tell that the wine was affecting her a bit, and she was fidgeting in her seat. With a pensive look on her face, she asked, “I hate to be presumptuous and pushy, but since it is my last night here, and I have no idea when I’ll get back, could you tell me where to find these places? I think I’d like to go see them before I go home.”
I had pretty much figured out that this was where her mind was headed, but I wasn’t too sure how far she was willing to go. Since it didn’t really matter to me one way or the other, I had already considered the idea, and gave her my response. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll do you one better. I’ll buy you dinner, and then show you the places.”
“Really? Will you? That would make me feel so much safer. It’s a deal.”
“Okay, then. Let’s finish our drinks, get more casual, assuming you have some casual clothes, have some Italian food, and enjoy the evening in Maastricht.”
“Sounds good. What do you mean by casual? I have a pair of jeans or a skirt. And I have a sweatshirt or a casual blouse. Which would be best?”
I wanted to tell her to wear her skirt and blouse without underwear, but that was probably too much. But, I did suggest the skirt and blouse, hoping I would get to see more skin. We finished our drinks and headed to our room to change. After she left and before I went to my room to change, I asked the bartender about possible live sex shows in Maastricht. I wasn’t completely surprised to hear about a private club in town. With a phone call by him, I received an invite for the evening.
Thirty minutes later, I saw that my lusty desire had come true. Her outfit was considerably sexier than I had expected. When I told her how nice she looked, she explained that she had actually borrowed it from her sister who was fifteen years her junior. The skirt barely came down to mid thigh. She was not wearing stockings or pantyhose, and her skin was supple and well-tanned. Her white blouse was sheer enough to see through, and a sexy black bra was visible underneath. I guessed her breasts to be about a 34B, perhaps a C cup. She had one button too many buttoned in my opinion, but given the outfit, I was willing to forgive that minor detail. She asked me if the outfit was appropriate and I assured her that it most definitely was quite fine for the evening.
We headed out into the summer evening, and I guided her the couple of blocks to the closest coffee house I knew. We walked in and became instantly aware of the powerful aroma of marijuana. She gasped, recognizing the smell, as the reality hit her of what we were about to do. She had admitted to smoking weed in college but hadn’t done anything like it for many years. The place was crowded, but we found two seats next to a young couple around a small table. I fetched us both something to drink and made the requisite purchase of a couple of grams of marijuana. When I returned to the table, I discovered that she had already taken a toke off the joint being shared by the couple. I didn’t regularly roll joints, so I handed my purchase to the young man and he rolled a couple of very nice joints with some of it. We finished the couple’s joint, and then lit up one Batıkent Escort Bayan of mine. Over the next fifteen minutes, we smoked our way through four joints among the four of us, so I knew we would have one hell of a buzz on shortly. By the time we finished our drinks, Monica was clearly feeling the effects, as she had lain back in her chair, and slouched forward, with her legs parted slightly. She appeared to be completely unaware of the fact that she was no longer sitting in the most appropriate way for a woman wearing a short skirt. It had ridden well up her thighs, and I was regularly stealing peeks at the bare skin of her inner thigh. I felt no guilt about leering at her; I didn’t even feel guilty about intending to fuck her before the evening was done. My cock was stirring, indicating its support of my illicit thoughts.
We bid our new friends goodbye and headed for supper. The concierge had recommended an intimate Italian restaurant within walking distance, and we made our way there. Upon entering the restaurant, using my minimal German, I requested a private intimate table if they had one. The maître d’ led us to a small table that clearly qualified as it was in a small foyer off the main part. We ordered some more wine and selected our dishes.
As we waited, she finally shared her reaction to the smoke. “I am so stoned,” she said. “I can’t remember ever feeling like this, even with the stuff I had in college.”
I explained how powerful the stuff had become over the past 10 to 15 years, and how the different varieties had been developed, with their different effects. When she asked what the particular properties of this particular type were, I explained that is supposedly enhanced one’s sensory perceptions. I watched her to see if the implications popped into her brain. It didn’t take long.
“So, you mean that any feelings, tastes, or smells that I may experience will be enhanced by the weed?”
“Exactly,” I answered. “It’s a little too late to change your mind, but I hope that is okay with you.”
She looked at me and smiled. “It’ll be perfect. I want to experience this evening to the fullest. And I am not naïve. I fully realized that I am about to explore the world of illicit sex, at least by American standards. And, I fully expect that at some time during the evening, each of us is going to become sexually aroused. I’m just so glad to be out with you, as I can feel safe with you.”
I laughed, “How do you know I’m not going to take advantage of you?”
She laughed, “Let’s be clear about one thing. As I was getting dressed, I decided that I most definitely wanted you to take advantage of me. That is, if you find me sexy after you watch all of the young women that we are likely to see. And, just so you know, my pussy is already soaking wet. Does that clear things up for us for the evening. I want you to take me on a wild adventure this evening. Just please keep me safe.”
“Wow! Okay! This should be an enjoyable evening then.”
With that exchange, she excuse herself and headed for the powder room. When she returned and sat down, she handed me two things; her panties and her bra. Her blouse was still buttoned a bit too high for my taste though. “This should definitely prove my intent. I want you to consider me your date for the evening. Or toy. Or slut. Whatever you want me to be. Will you do that?”
She had no clue that my tendency is to want to be in total control when it comes to sex, so it was really easy to answer in the affirmative. I followed that up with, “You said you were already wet, right?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Ok, then. I want you to reach between your legs, put your fingers deep into your pussy, get them nice and wet, and then lick them clean.”
“Oh my god,” she said as an instant blush spread across her cheeks. But she obediently did as I had instructed her. She kept her eyes glued on mine as I watched her reach under her skirt, moan, and then bring her fingers up to her mouth. She was into it, as she ever so slowly sucked her fingers into her mouth, making sure that I saw her lick them clean, one by one.
“Good,” I said. “Now, do it again, only this time, I want to taste your pussy juices.” She responded immediately, only this time her fingers dallied a bit longer between her legs, and I heard several moans. When I finally tasted her juices, my cock was already hardening. As soon as I finished cleaning her fingers, I gave her one more instruction. “As we enjoy our evening, you are not to touch your pussy or tits unless I specifically tell you to, and you are not to cum, unless I give you permission. And you are to address me as Sir for the rest of the evening.”
Her response was instantaneous. “Yes, sir.”
I then got up to go the restroom myself, but before I left the table, I walked around to her side and stood behind her chair. I dropped my arms around her head and undid two more buttons of her blouse. I then slid my hands inside, and tweaked her nipples firmly, finding them to already be hard and erect. She moaned as I twisted her nipples firmly. I Escort Batıkent then made my visit to the restroom. When I returned our food had arrived and we enjoyed our dinner.
Over cappuccino, Monica asked, “May I ask you some questions, sir?”
I smiled, recognizing how willingly she had taken on the role of submissive. “Of course. You have my permission to ask questions throughout the evening. I may choose not to answer, of course.”
“Thank you, sir. Do you often hire the services of a prostitute?”
I pondered, wondering how much she knew about the many facets of sex for hire in the world, whether to give her short and simple answer, or a long one, explaining the nuances of the business. She was clearly an intelligent woman and had embraced the obvious sexual connotations of the evening, so I elected to educate her with my answer.
“If you are talking about the women working the streets, and the ones that we are likely to see tonight, the answer is no. If you are asking whether or not I have paid for sexual pleasure, I’d have to admit the answer is most assuredly yes.”
As I expected, she was confused. “I’m not sure I understand, sir?”
I took a sip of my cappuccino, and started my explanation, by using an old joke. “An older man has taken a young woman out for dinner. Over drinks, he offers to buy her diamond earrings and a diamond bracelet, if she would be his travelling companion on a weekend trip to Las Vegas, with a clear implication that consensual sex would occur. The young lady readily agrees, finding him a handsome man. When the man asks her then, if she would go to bed with him that evening for $200 cash, she becomes indignant, slaps him and declares that she is not a whore. The man responds saying he was only negotiating the price.”
Monica laughed, but clearly recognized the irony in the story, and after several minutes commented, “The implication of that cute story is that if I allow you to pay for my dinner and entertainment tonight, and we eventually have sex, then I could be considered a prostitute. Is that it, sir?”
“Not in my mind. There is a very clear difference. I am taking you out for the evening to enjoy each other’s company and to enjoy the evening. If we have sex, it is because we choose to, and want to. If, on the other hand, our agreement was that I would pay for the evening, and you would provide me with sex, then it falls into the sex trade business.”
“So, tonight you are not paying for sex. But you have in the past. Right, sir?”
“Well, almost. I will likely be paying for some of our entertainment, and it will certainly be sexual, but I am not paying you for sex, correct. As to what I have done in the past, I will explain, as we have a second cappuccino.” I called the waiter, and ordered our second round, and then explained to her that I had occasionally hired a masseuse for a body massage that would conclude often with either a hand job or a blow job. I also explained that I occasionally hired an escort for an evening out, ending with some quite enjoyable sex afterwards. I explained that the regular prostitute on the street focused on getting the man to cum as quickly as she could, while a high-quality escort, provided for the sensual and slow buildup of arousal culminating with an enjoyable orgasm. I then told her that I enjoyed sex with a woman so much more when she was enjoying it as well.
Her eyes were wide open as she stared at me, and I could see her turgid nipples poking at the material of her blouse, indicating that my conversation was having the desired effect on her. “I believe that this evening is going to be even more enjoyable than I had originally imagined, sir. I look forward to whatever you might have in mind.”
With that I paid the bill, and we started our walk to the private club that the bartender had hooked us up with. We took a small detour through a park, where we shared another joint, and towards one of the few streets that represented Maastricht’s red-light district. I slid my arm around her as we walked and caressed her waist. As we approached the street, I dropped my hand to her deliciously curvy ass and squeezed it. She moaned into my ear. As she moaned, she looked up at me, and we enjoyed our first kiss. It was not a chaste kiss as she fitted her body close to mine while our tongues danced between our lips. Her arousal was building as she ground against my already hard cock within my pants.
As it was a Friday evening the street was relatively busy. As with most red-light districts in Europe there were many fully windowed cubicles where women of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities displayed their bodies wearing all varieties of lingerie and fetish wear. Each window was usually lit by two red neon lights, from whence the district name came. Many windows had the curtains closed indicating either that the woman was not working, or that she was entertaining a customer. Monica stayed close by my side as we casually walked down the street. Her eyes were wide open as she did her best to take in the entirety of the scene; the women, the single men trolling for the right service provider, and a number of couples like us enjoying the lascivious ambience of the street. As we walked, she asked me about disease, and I explained that these women were supposed to be licensed and have a regular medical checkup, and that condom usage was compulsory for oral, vaginal, or anal sex.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
