Desert Dreams, Hotel Secrets

The combination of the desolate highway, the length of the drive, and the release of her orgasm had lulled her to sleep in the passenger seat beside him for the remainder of the drive into Santa Fe. Only when he pulled the Volvo under the hotel’s portico did his wife rouse from her slumber. The plush velvet of the hotel lobby felt strangely cold beneath her bare feet, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of his body pressed against her. She quickly pulled her panties back up, tucking them into the waistband of her jeans, and decided it was too much trouble to maneuver the lacy bra back on under her sweater. Luckily, the thick cotton material was bulky enough to make it less than obvious that her breasts swayed unencumbered underneath. The friction of the fabric on her nipples made them stiffen, a silent invitation she knew he wouldn’t ignore.

Despite assurances against it, a young, dark-haired bellhop insisted on following him back to the car to help with the bags. As the youth went to the vehicle’s rear, he opened the passenger door so his wife could exit and stretch her legs. As she stood before him and turned around, he started to tell her about the wet spot still on the back of her skirt from their earlier playtime, but kept it to himself. It was getting dark enough outside that no one would notice. The bellhop, a wiry young man with intense eyes and a hesitant smile, expertly secured their luggage to the roof rack, his movements efficient and slightly awkward. As he closed the lift gate of the Volvo and grabbed two large suitcases, as well as the special antique train case, he made a move to take the train case, knowing what was inside, but the bellhop insisted. He couldn’t help but snicker at the prospect of the worn latches on the old case giving way and its contents spilling forth on the ground right inside the hotel lobby. Who would rush to pick up what first? Would anyone make a move at all or just turn and walk away? The thought alone sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

She chuckled once they were in the room with the door firmly closed and locked. “Do you suppose he had any idea?” Her voice was low, laced with a playful challenge.

“About what,” he asked her, his eyes gleaming with amusement, “the fact that he was carrying a case full of sex toys, that your skirt was still wet with cum, or that you were soon to be taunted and fucked like someone half your age would expect to be?”

“All of the above,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

“I hope so,” he replied, pulling her close and kissing her neck, “We all need something to look forward to as we grow older, and he’s no different. Do what you need to in the bathroom. Take your panties back off and leave them on the counter when you’re done. We have dinner reservations in fifteen minutes.” The urgency in his voice, combined with the lingering scent of his arousal, sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She quickly moved to the bathroom, eager to shed the remnants of their shared pleasure and prepare herself for the night ahead.

Being given instructions and knowing what lay ahead, besides realizing five days of unbridled passion stretched before them, made her pussy swell and moisten again as she headed into the bathroom. As she attended to business, he put away their things and prepared the room for her return. He rummaged through their luggage, pulling out a bottle of aged tequila and two shot glasses, then set up a small table near the fireplace. He lit a few candles, casting flickering shadows across the walls, and placed a plush throw blanket over the arm of the king-sized bed. The room felt intimate, sensual, and perfectly set for the indulgence to come.

He was standing beside the bed when his wife emerged from the bathroom, fresh, dried, and ready to be used for their mutual pleasure. As she reached for her purse, he grabbed her and turned her around towards the bed, pushing her down so that her upper half was on top of the mattress, but her feet remained firmly planted on the floor. Then he hiked her skirt up with one hand and slapped the right cheek of her ass with the other. The smacking sound and the sting of the impact made her pussy swell even more. Three more followed so that each cheek had been spanked twice. He waited just a moment for the red handprints to appear, then parted the freshly spanked ass cheeks and ran his fingers up and down the wet slit between her thighs. “Did you just need to mark me before we went out,” she asked, breathless, “or were you making sure I left my panties off?”

“There was no doubt in my mind about the panties,” he grinned, “You always follow instructions. And that was just the first of many ways you’ll be marked tonight.” They made their way out of the room, through the lobby, and into the night for the short walk to the restaurant. Once outside, the brisk mountain air slapped at her wet pussy lips the way his hand had slapped her ass cheeks moments earlier. The effect on her nipples was one that even the bulky sweater couldn’t hide. Her hand reached down to stroke the obvious erection in his jeans, confirming what they both already knew: dinner would be short so their real hunger could be satisfied. At the restaurant, they ate quickly and asked for the check. The large tip he left their unsuspecting waitress on top of the table was nowhere near as big as the one his wife was rubbing underneath.

The walk back to the hotel was brisk. She could feel the cream from her swollen, bare slit leak and run partway down her thigh, and his wool sportscoat only partially concealed the long, thick bulge in his jeans. Once back in the room, he told her to get naked, sit atop the marble vanity in the bathroom, and spread her legs. Of course, she complied. He took a moment to gaze at and appreciate the sight before him. Completely smooth of any hair, her outer lips were swollen and smooth. Her inner lips were the color of a ripe plum and covered in a frosting of milky anticipation that he couldn’t help but lick. She threw her head back and hoped he would finish what he’d started right then and there, but that was never the plan. “Shower and wash the day off of you,” he commanded her. “But don’t wash away the nectar on your pussy. And make sure you don’t aim the shower head at it for too long.” The first command would be easy; the second one, not as much.

While his wife showered, he busied himself making a fire in the fireplace and stacking extra wood beside it for later. He positioned the stuffed brown leather chair in front of the fire and placed the antique train case next to it, then poured an ice-cold beverage and sat it on a coaster on the nearby desk. He then got naked and stroked his cock a few times, causing another bead of pre-cum to form on the tip. The anticipation was building, thick and heavy in the air. It felt like an eternity before she stepped out of the shower, dripping wet and radiating heat. The scent of sandalwood soap clung to her skin, mingling with the lingering aroma of arousal.

Exiting the bathroom, his wife came and stood before him, fresh, dried, and ready to be used for their mutual pleasure. He guided her to the chair and had her sit, facing the roaring flames. Then he spread her legs as wide as they would go and watched the light of the fire dance on her wet opening. His cock grew harder at the sight of her. Opening the train case, he removed the cuffs and clips and tied each ankle and wrist, significantly limiting her movement. A blindfold was placed over her eyes and adjusted to be sure it was secure. Then he removed the nipple clamps that hung from either end of a silver chain and closed the lid to the case. After sucking each nipple to bring it to full erectness and lubricate it, he applied the clamps. The pressure made her squirm.

He stood before her for a moment, the mushroom-shaped dark head of his member just an inch from her lips. She thought she could detect the scent of it but wasn’t sure. He slowly stroked it till another bead of clear pre-cum oozed out, then brushed it across her lips. She instinctively opened her mouth to be fed. “Wait here. Don’t move—not that you could,” he told her.

She heard footsteps walking away and the shower turn on. While his husband lathered himself up, she let her mind wander as to what exactly he had in mind. The heat from the fire felt good as it warmed the puddle leaking out of her. The bindings made her feel helpless, and she loved it. The build-up of anticipation, while he finished in the shower and dried himself, was almost more than she could stand. Soon, she heard the faint sound of muffled footsteps from behind and detected the scent of sandalwood, the soap he’d used in the shower. The aroma grew stronger until it was right in front of her face, as was the heat from his cock. She instinctively stuck out her tongue, and he rubbed the wet knob of his dick all over it. The taste, smell, and sensation made her hips squirm on the leather chair.

He reached down and unclamped her right nipple. The combination of pain and pleasure always made her jump. He immediately reached down and sucked it to decrease the former and increase the latter. When she had calmed down, he freed the left nipple and repeated the process. She whimpered, “The nerves of my nipples must connect directly to my clit.”

“Shhh,” he whispered.

And then she felt his tongue trail down from her tits to her pussy and circle the opening the way an advancing army encircles its adversary before going in for the kill. The flicks of his tongue were so light that she begged him to lick her swollen slit each time he circled it. The more she begged, the longer he took. The longer he took, the more she ached. Occasionally, he reached back up to suck each nipple—lightly at first. But soon, the sucks became bites, and the whimpers she uttered became cries for relief.

Once he had concluded she’d had all she could stand and the swelling of his balls seemed almost uncomfortable, he plunged his tongue into her wet cunt and licked and sucked every surface he could reach. Her hips bucked to match the thrusts of his face into her pussy until she exploded in an orgasm that made her whole body shake and his face look like a glazed donut.

He let his wife ride the wave, but not for long. Before she could open her eyes, he was above her, releasing the cuffs from her wrists, having the ones around her ankles already free. He pulled her up from the chair and threw her onto the bed just feet away, face down, ass up. Then he grabbed both hips and pulled her up like a rag doll. Once he had her ass exactly where he wanted it, he rubbed his cock on her sopping slit and thrust the full length of it into her like a spear.

He’d just given her the orgasm she craved; the fucking he gave her would provide her with the one she needed. His intent was not to dawdle at this point but to fuck them both to a wet, frenzied climax as quickly as possible. With each violent thrust deep into her, she uttered a single word: “Fuck. Me. Please. Make. Me. Yours.”

And he did. She could feel the eruptions from his dick as though each was hitting the bottom of her heart as he slammed into her with his final thrusts. They’d soaked the sheets. The fire still flickered, making shadows dance erotically on the walls. The level of satisfaction each felt could only be realized by two people still in love after decades of familiarity within the bonds of marriage. It was going to be a good holiday.

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