#Hotel

I'm a 23-year-old college student living in Seattle, standing a bit over six feet with a buzz cut, a lean but toned physique from hitting the gym, and a smile that seems to work on most people. I'm no heartthrob, but I do alright, especially when I'm out at the bars and music venues around town, where I've had my share of fun with women my age. My mom owns a small alterations shop in our neighborhood, stitching up hems and fixing jackets for locals. She's always buried in work, so I often play delivery guy to help her out. One rainy afternoon, I was lounging at home, scrolling through social media to kill time after finishing a paper for school, when Mom asked me to drop off a tailored jacket to one of her clients. Older women have always been my weakness - their confidence, their curves, the way they carry themselves. I've met plenty of them through Mom's business: the barista at the coffee shop, the woman who runs the bookstore, and a few vendors at the weekend market. They've fueled countless fantasies, and a few have turned those fantasies into reality. Mom handed me a garment bag with the jacket and told me to collect $30 from Marissa, who owns a flower stall at the market. The job was intricate, hence the price. Marissa's place was a five-minute walk from our house, so I threw on a hoodie and headed out. When she answered the door, I was hit with why she'd been on my mind for years. Marissa's in her late 50s but looks a decade younger - long auburn hair with a few silver strands, sharp green eyes behind chic glasses, and a figure that's all curves. She's widowed, has a bit of money, and the neighborhood whispers about her flirty reputation since her husband passed when I was a teenager. I've always found her magnetic. Hey, you're looking good, kid, - she said with a teasing grin, leaning against the doorframe. Thanks, Marissa. Got the jacket Mom fixed for you. How's it going? - I replied, trying not to stare too hard. Just wrapping up some orders. Come in, get out of the rain, - she said, waving me inside. I asked about her son, Jake, who's my age but kind of a loner. I don't know much about him, and frankly, I don't care. I told Marissa she looked amazing, which wasn't a lie - she was in a fitted sweater and jeans that showed off her figure, and my pulse was already racing. She offered me a iced tea, and I accepted, happy to linger. As we chatted, she mentioned she was about to shower and head out for the evening. Feeling a spark, I suggested we grab dinner and catch a live music show at a local venue. Her eyes widened, but a smile crept across her face. She's known me since I was a kid, but I could tell she saw me differently now - a grown man, not the boy from years ago. Dinner and a show? With you? - she said, her tone playful. - What'll the neighbors say? They'll wish they were you, - I shot back, winking. She agreed, and I waited while she got ready. The bathroom door was cracked open, and I couldn't resist a glance. Through the steam, I saw her under the shower, water cascading over her smooth skin. Her breasts were full, defying her age, and she ran a loofah slowly across them, then down her stomach, lingering between her thighs. Her movements were deliberate, almost like she knew I was watching, and I felt a surge of heat. I started to touch myself but stopped, not wanting to ruin the moment. It left me aching for the rest of the night. Marissa emerged in a sleek black dress that hugged her hips, her hair swept up elegantly. We drove in her convertible to a trendy jazz club downtown, grabbing a table in the back. The music was smooth, and the dim lighting gave us cover. Over drinks - a martini for her, a craft beer for me - I leaned in, telling her how stunning she was, how she made every woman in the room look ordinary. Oh, please, - she laughed, sipping her drink. - I'm old enough to be your mom. You're sexier than anyone my age, Marissa, - I said, my voice low. - You're killing me here. The music shifted to a slow, sultry number, and we hit the dance floor. The club was packed with couples like us - older women with younger guys - so we didn't stand out. As we swayed, I let my hand rest on her lower back, then daringly slid it lower, brushing the curve of her backside. She pressed closer, her hips grazing mine, and I could feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her dress. My body responded instantly, and when she tilted her hips slightly, I knew she felt it too. We left the club, both a little tipsy from the drinks and the chemistry. In her car, parked in a quiet lot, I couldn't hold back. I slid my hand up her thigh, feeling the heat of her skin through her stockings, and leaned in to kiss her neck, tasting the faint salt of her skin. Take me somewhere, - I murmured. - I need you. Her son was probably home, so her place was out. She suggested a boutique hotel she knew in Capitol Hill. We checked in, and the room was plush - soft lighting, a king-sized bed, and a view of the city. I ordered a shot of bourbon to steady my nerves, and then we were on each other. Our kisses were hungry, urgent. Marissa slipped off her dress, revealing a black lace lingerie set that made my breath catch. Her breasts were perfect, full and soft, with dark, taut nipples that begged to be touched. I trailed my lips from her collarbone to her chest, teasing one nipple with my tongue, circling it slowly until she gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair. I sucked gently, then harder, feeling her arch against me. Her skin was warm, her scent a mix of jasmine and desire. I peeled off her stockings, kissing my way down her thighs. When I reached her center, she was already wet, her folds glistening. I parted them with my fingers, exploring every inch with slow, deliberate licks, savoring her taste - sweet and musky. Her hips bucked as I flicked my tongue over her clit, alternating between soft swirls and firm pressure. She moaned my name, her voice raw, and I felt her thighs tremble as I slipped a finger inside, curling it to find that sensitive spot. Her gasps turned to cries, and I kept going until she shuddered, her orgasm washing over her in waves. We shifted into a 69, her lips wrapping around me as I continued to taste her. Her mouth was warm, her tongue teasing the tip before taking me deeper, her hands guiding my rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, her heat and the slickness of her mouth driving me to the edge. I couldn't hold back, finishing across her chest with a groan. But I was hard again in moments, her touch reigniting me. Please, - she whispered, her eyes dark with need. - I want you inside me. I positioned myself above her, guiding myself into her slowly, savoring the tight, wet heat that enveloped me. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and we found a rhythm - slow at first, then faster, our bodies slapping together as the bed creaked beneath us. Her nails dug into my back, and I kissed her hard, swallowing her moans. We switched positions, her on top, riding me with a confidence that made my head spin. Her breasts bounced with each movement, and I gripped her hips, guiding her as she ground against me, her breath hitching as another climax built. We went again, this time with her bent over the edge of the bed, my hands gripping her hips as I thrust into her from behind. The angle let me hit deeper, and she pushed back against me, urging me on. I reached around to stroke her clit, and she came again, her cries muffled in the pillows. I followed soon after, collapsing beside her, both of us slick with sweat. We didn't stop there. Hours later, after a quick break, I explored her again, this time slower, more deliberate, kissing every inch of her body before focusing on her core once more. She returned the favor, her mouth working magic until I was begging for release. We went three more rounds, each one a blur of heat and pleasure, until we were both utterly spent. I dragged myself home at 7 a.m., still buzzing but empty-handed - the $30 was gone, spent on drinks and the club's cover charge. Mom wasn't happy, and I mumbled some excuse about losing track of time. Totally worth it, though.

I'm 47, lean, with a rugged charm and a few silver streaks in my dark hair that women find intriguing. I'm a project director for a renewable energy company, and life's hitting a high note. My career's soaring, and my personal life's just as vibrant. I'm married to a woman 10 years my junior, whose beauty draws attention everywhere. Having learned from past relationships, we've crafted a marriage with enough freedom to keep things fresh. We both embrace our desires openly, which fuels our connection and makes every day feel electric. I want to share a recent romantic escapade that left me buzzing with energy. It unfolded in Miami, where I traveled from Boston for a conference. After a morning of presentations and a lunch with industry partners, I returned to my hotel to unwind. By late afternoon, I set out to explore the city and stopped by a trendy boutique to find a gift for my wife. Inside, a saleswoman was assisting a striking young woman trying on a silk dress and a cropped jacket. Their conversation drifted my way - the saleswoman raved about how the outfit accentuated her elegance, but the young woman hesitated, saying it stretched her budget. I apologized for interrupting and said it'd be a pity for someone so captivating to miss out on an outfit that seemed made for her. I offered to buy it as a gift. She looked startled and declined politely, but I persisted with a warm smile until she relented. My only condition? "I'd love to see how it looks on you." She emerged from the fitting room, and I was floored. The dress clung to her curves, highlighting her graceful hips and long legs. The jacket added a chic edge, framing her slender shoulders. I couldn't hold back my admiration, praising her poise and the way she owned the look. When she returned to the fitting room, she left the door slightly ajar - perhaps intentionally. I caught a glimpse of her slipping out of the dress, revealing a delicate lace bra and matching panties. The saleswoman noticed my gaze and gave me a sly grin. While waiting, I asked the saleswoman to show me some lingerie for my wife, who loves pieces that make her feel irresistible. I chose a deep burgundy set - a bra with intricate embroidery, a thong with satin ties, and a sheer chemise that promised allure. The young woman, now back in her casual clothes, nodded approvingly at my selections. I paid for both our purchases, and we left with our gift bags. I suggested we grab a drink. She chose a passionfruit mojito over coffee. Her name was Ava, a 23-year-old art student living with roommates, unattached. I shared a bit about my life, keeping it open but relaxed, and we quickly built a comfortable trust. I mentioned I'd be free the next morning after 9 and asked if she'd show me around Miami. To my delight, she agreed, and we planned to meet. The next day, Ava arrived in the outfit I'd bought, looking radiant. Passersby couldn't help but stare as we strolled through the city. We visited the vibrant Wynwood Walls, wandered the bustling streets of South Beach, and lingered at a waterfront park. Lunchtime came, and she led me to a lively Cuban café. Over mojitos and empanadas, we laughed, swapped stories, and ventured into more personal territory. When I hinted at the playful, sensual dynamic I share with my wife, Ava's cheeks flushed, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. I let my hand rest on her thigh under the table, and when she leaned closer, I traced the sensitive skin along her inner thigh. Her skin was warm, like silk under my fingertips, and she didn't pull away. Emboldened, I ventured higher, brushing against the fabric of her dress. A gentle press revealed her warmth, and her subtle shift toward me confirmed her interest. I suggested we pay and head to my hotel. We took an Uber to the Fontainebleau and hurried to my suite. The moment the door clicked shut, our lips met in a hungry kiss, the tension from the day igniting. Ava's hands roamed my chest, unbuttoning my shirt with urgency, while I eased the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. Her bra followed, revealing small, perfect breasts with dark, taut nipples begging for attention. I kissed my way down her neck, lingering at her collarbone before taking one nipple into my mouth, teasing it with slow, deliberate swirls of my tongue. She gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair. Her hands fumbled with my belt, and I helped her, stepping out of my pants as she knelt, her breath warm against me. She admitted she'd only been with younger guys who rushed things, so I guided her gently, showing her how to take her time. Her lips were soft, tentative at first, then bolder, drawing a low groan from me as she found her rhythm. "You're doing so good - just like that - keep going, " I murmured, my voice thick with need. Before I lost control, I lifted her to the bed, trailing kisses down her stomach until I reached the delicate lace of her panties. I slid them off, revealing her glistening core, pink and inviting. My tongue traced her slowly, savoring her sweet, musky taste. I circled her clit, alternating between soft licks and gentle suction, feeling her thighs tremble against my shoulders. Her moans grew louder, her hips bucking as I pressed a finger inside, curling it to find the spot that made her gasp. "Oh god - don't stop - please, " she panted, her voice desperate. I didn't, intensifying my rhythm until she shattered, her body arching as she cried out, her release flooding my senses. Still trembling, she pulled me up, her eyes wild with want. I grabbed a condom, rolling it on as I teased her entrance with the tip, rubbing it against her swollen clit until she whimpered. I entered her slowly, her tightness gripping me as I pushed deeper, inch by inch. Her walls pulsed around me, and I groaned at the intensity. "You feel so good - so tight - move with me, " I urged, and she did, meeting my thrusts with a rhythm that drove us both wild. Her nails dug into my back as she moaned, "Harder - please - I need it." I quickened my pace, each thrust deeper, her gasps spurring me on. I felt her clench around me, her second climax building. I angled my hips to hit just right, and she came undone, her cries echoing as her body shook. I flipped her onto me, letting her ride, her hips grinding as she chased another peak. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her face flushed with pleasure. "You're so beautiful - keep going - let go, " I growled, gripping her hips. She did, screaming as she came again, her spasms pushing me over the edge. I thrust up, my release crashing through me, leaving us both breathless. We collapsed, her body curled against mine, my fingers tracing her curves as we caught our breath. I kissed her forehead, savoring the warmth of her skin. She admitted she'd never experienced anything like this - her past encounters were rushed, unsatisfying. "I didn't know it could feel this good - you've ruined me for anyone else, " she teased, her voice soft but sincere. When she slipped into the bathroom to freshen up, I tucked some cash into her purse - enough for a ride home and a small treat to remember our day. I hoped it'd make her smile when she thought of me.

The sun was sinking into the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, when I first noticed Lily. I was lounging on a weathered wooden chair outside a seaside café, the salty air mingling with the aroma of my coffee. The boardwalk buzzed with evening strollers, and the ocean lapped lazily at the shore. A few tables away, a woman sat alone, sipping a glass of white wine. She was probably in her mid-thirties, like me, with chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders. Her sundress, a soft coral hue, hugged her curves, accentuating a figure that turned heads, though she seemed oblivious to the attention. I didn't dwell on her at first. Just another stranger in a coastal town. But then, as I fumbled with my lighter to light a candle on my table, she glanced over and smiled. "Need a hand? " she asked, rising and crossing the short distance between us. I'd come to this quiet seaside town solo, desperate for a reprieve from my relentless office job. No colleagues, no family - just me, the sea, and the chance to breathe. I chuckled, admitting I wasn't much of a smoker but kept a lighter for emergencies like moody café candles. The breeze off the water kept snuffing out the flame, and we both laughed as I tried again and again. "This is ridiculous, " I said, grinning. Lily leaned closer, cupping her hands around mine to shield the lighter. Her perfume, something floral and warm, hit me as the wick finally caught. That small moment sparked a conversation, and soon we were trading stories over the flicker of the candle. She'd slipped on a light cardigan, but it did little to conceal her silhouette. She had a magnetic presence - confident, radiant, impossible to ignore. "What's your name? " I asked. "Lily, " she replied, her eyes catching the light. "I'm Nathan, " I said, and we clinked glasses - her wine, my coffee - in a playful toast to chance encounters. "Here alone? " I ventured. "Yup, " I said. "My job's a pressure cooker. Every few months, I need to disappear somewhere quiet, where no one knows me. This town's perfect. You? " "Same, " she said, her voice softening. "Well, sort of. I'm married, two kids. But sometimes I need a break from being 'mom' or 'wife.' I come here for a weekend, soak up the freedom, and go back ready for life again." We talked as the sky deepened to indigo, the boardwalk lights twinkling on. When we left the café, we strolled along the shore, the sand cool underfoot. She mentioned staying at a rented beach cottage, a cozy spot she booked for her rare escapes. I was at a small inn nearby. As we neared the point where our paths would diverge, I took a chance. "How about a drink later? Or dinner, if you're free? " Lily paused, then nodded, pulling out her phone. We exchanged numbers, her fingers brushing mine as she handed my phone back. Back at my inn, I sprawled on the bed, my mind buzzing. Lily was captivating, but her marriage loomed like a warning sign. Still, she'd agreed to meet - that spark wasn't just in my head. After a quick shower, I dressed sharper than my earlier beach-casual look, hoping to match her energy. I arrived at the bar we'd chosen, a dimly lit spot with jazz drifting through the air. Lily walked in moments later, and my breath caught. She wore a deep emerald dress, its neckline plunging, her legs sleek and endless. A pair of delicate glasses perched on her nose, giving her a sultry, bookish charm. We hugged, her warmth lingering, and she ordered a martini. We toasted again, laughing about our earlier lighter fiasco. Eager to impress, I suggested a seafood restaurant overlooking the harbor, its windows glowing against the night. I wanted every second of her company, and the thrill of her being spoken for only sharpened my focus. Dinner flowed into a nearby dance lounge, the kind with low lights and a pulsing beat. A few cocktails loosened us up, and Lily moved with a fluid grace, her hips swaying as she laughed. I couldn't look away. Her hands grazed my arms, my neck. Mine found her waist, occasionally brushing higher, testing boundaries. At the bar for another round, I stepped close behind her, my hands on her hips. She turned, and our lips met - tentative at first, then hungry. Our kisses deepened, bodies pressed tight, the world fading to just us. We sank onto a plush booth in a shadowy corner, the music a distant thrum. Our kisses grew urgent, my fingers tracing her curves, hers digging into my shoulders. I slid a hand to her chest, feeling her warmth through the thin fabric. A group of twenty-somethings nearby started hooting. "Take it somewhere private, you two! Save it for the bedroom! " Lily and I dissolved into laughter, catching our breath. They had a point - we weren't teenagers sneaking around. "Your place or mine? " I asked, half-joking. We laughed again. "My inn's closer, " I said. "Better option, right? " The drinks, the heat, had us giddy, stumbling along the boardwalk, arms looped, pausing to kiss under streetlights. In a dark alley off the main path, we pressed against a wall, hands roaming. I slid my fingers under her dress, confirming the lacy edge of her underwear, her breath hitching at my touch. At the inn, I grabbed the key for room 204. In the elevator, we were a tangle of limbs, my hand slipping under her dress again, finding her already responsive, her sighs fueling me. The door was a struggle - too many drinks, her hands teasing me through my jeans. We laughed as I finally got it open, tumbling inside. Our mouths collided, tongues dancing with reckless need. We hit the bed in a heap, my body over hers, hands greedy for her curves. Her breasts were full, straining against her dress, and I couldn't get enough. Clothes vanished in a blur - her dress, my shirt, until we were down to the essentials. Her bra was black lace, barely containing her. I unhooked it, marveling at her, each breast heavy and perfect, her nipples dark and taut. I grabbed the coconut oil from my suitcase, a beach essential, and drizzled it over her chest. She gasped at the coolness, then moaned as I worked it in, my hands gliding over her slick skin, thumbs circling her nipples. They hardened further, and I lowered my mouth, tasting the faint sweetness of the oil mixed with her. I alternated between them, sucking gently, then firmer, her back arching as she whispered my name. Lily tugged at my boxers, freeing me. Her grip was confident, her lips closing around me with a skill that sent my head spinning. She moved with purpose, tongue teasing, taking me deep. The intensity was almost too much, and I eased her back, not ready to lose control. I peeled off her panties, a scrap of lace that hid nothing. She was bare, her arousal evident. My fingers explored, parting her, finding her most sensitive spot. She trembled, her breaths shallow. I kissed my way down - collarbone, stomach, hips - until my mouth found her center. My tongue traced her folds, slow at first, savoring her taste, then faster, focusing on her clit. Her hips bucked, hands fisting the sheets, and within moments, she shattered, her cries sharp and raw. I gave her a moment, but I was far from done. I positioned myself, entering her slowly, letting her adjust. Her warmth enveloped me, and soon she was moving with me, her moans building again. I kept a steady rhythm, her nails digging into my back. As I neared my peak, she stopped me, her eyes glinting. "Not yet, " she murmured. She pushed me onto my back, her mouth reclaiming me. Her lips and tongue worked in perfect sync, one hand stroking, the other cupping me. When I couldn't hold back, I warned her, but she didn't pull away, taking every pulse, her eyes locked on mine as she swallowed, a faint smirk playing on her lips. We collapsed, breathless, tangled in the sheets. Morning brought more, slower and softer, before we parted ways. But that's another chapter.

I won't go into how my husband learned about Noah. It was my own carelessness, swept away as I was by him, completely consumed, and maybe, deep down, wanting to confess what I'm confessing now. I won't linger on how painful it was to move past it, or how hard it was for him to forgive me. He'll never know I was the one who chased Noah, the one desperate to feel him inside me. He'll never know it was what kept our marriage alive. He'll never know I spent almost a year faithful to him alone, nor that I've realized I need more - others - but I'll be cautious, discreet, always. The truth is, the second I saw Julian, I was gone, utterly lost. I was in his city for work, hammering out a contract with a coastal state's education board. What matters is that after the first day's meetings, he showed up to take us out: three colleagues hitting the town, one of them, married, begging us to let her invite him. While she primped, I, quick with my routine, found myself talking to him in the hotel's softly lit lounge. He spoke of his city, its pulse and charm; he spoke of his work, curating events for local galleries... and I couldn't stop staring. His dark eyes caught the light like polished stone, and he seemed to carry a quiet fire. I pictured his full lips tracing my collarbone, his long fingers threading through my hair. I watched him watching me. How long does a glass of wine last? That one stretched long enough to convince me his gaze held something just for me. I didn't fully get it then - my head needed weeks to catch up - but my body knew. Knew because a spark flared between us, electric and undeniable. And I kept watching. My colleague, his lover, joined us, then the third friend, and we headed to a rooftop bar. I sat beside him, my colleague on his other side, and watched him glow. I burned with jealousy when he kissed her, when he leaned in to murmur against her cheek, when his hand brushed her thigh, her curves hugged by leather pants that seemed made for her alone. But the universe has a way, and my colleague doesn't dance. I'm no expert, I'll admit, but I can move. Julian, though - he dances like he was born for it, guiding me with a confidence that left me breathless, my silk blouse clinging to my skin as I pressed closer. I knew I shouldn't, knew every reason it was wrong, but I was falling. His frame, lithe yet strong, moved like a predator's, and I melted against his chest, firm as oak. We danced maybe four songs. I didn't want to lose myself entirely. I didn't want to, but the heart doesn't listen. Four songs, too many moments of our bodies grazing, of his warm, bare forearms brushing mine, of measuring the taper of his waist. Every inch of my skin hummed, alive to his rhythm. "He's with me, don't cross that line, " my colleague said when we sat, her smile tight but playful. And I remembered: that night, he wasn't mine, couldn't be. Sleep didn't come that night. I didn't care that Julian was with her in the next room - what kept me awake were the countless reasons he could never be mine. Bare beneath the crisp hotel sheets, I teased myself with the small vibrator I sometimes pack, pushing myself to the edge but finding no release. I returned to the city for a day, then flew to the Northeast. Julian filled my thoughts, only Julian, and work suffered. I was distracted, fumbling through tasks for the same project, the same team. By the third day, with an unexpected free evening, I turned to Instagram (damn that app, bless that app) and found Owen, an old grad school friend I'd stayed in touch with. I liked him - his sharp jaw, his New England accent, his wiry build. After a night of seafood and a hockey game, we ended up tangled in my hotel bed. As I kissed him, as my hands roamed his lean, cyclist's thighs, my mind was elsewhere - on other lips, other thighs, the ones belonging to the coastal man who'd bewitched me. When Owen slid inside me, his breath hot against my ear, it was Julian I saw, Julian I felt. That man I'd barely touched, known only through a fleeting dance, with his searing eyes and broad shoulders, his quiet strength and magnetic pull; that man who made me doubt everything I thought I knew. I went back to my routine in the city. I found reasons to DM Julian, excuses for him to reply. Thank God for Instagram... until my husband started asking questions, and I had to lock my account. Eleven months dragged by. Call it dramatic, but Julian haunted me. And sometimes, Owen crept into my thoughts too. If I'm honest, Owen's on my mind more these days, but that's a different tale. Eleven months of fevered daydreams, the last eleven months I tried, really tried, to stay true to my husband. Then work sent me back to Julian's city. Alone, for one day and one night. I had just enough time to invite him to dinner, whispering hopes to the stars, lighting mental candles to any deity listening. "Let him say yes, let him meet me." Just dinner, I told myself. And I texted him. He agreed, and I dodged my work hosts with a flimsy excuse: "I'm wiped, not hungry." By eight, I was back at the hotel. I freshened my makeup, traded my pencil skirt for a deep green dress that hugged my curves, slipped on lace underwear that made me feel dangerous, added a cropped blazer and ankle boots, and by eight-thirty, I was at the bistro we'd picked. I ordered a chilled rosé and tried to quiet the heat building inside me, the fantasies I swore I'd suppress. "Just dinner, " I told myself, knowing it was a lie. Four hours later, well past midnight, in a dimly lit jazz lounge, after hours of staring at him, craving him, aching to feel him, and seeing he wasn't making a move, I leaned in and whispered, "Can I kiss you? " And we didn't stop - lips locked, hands wandering - until we stumbled into my hotel room two hours later, my body humming, my panties soaked, my heart racing. I'd already traced the hard line of him through his chinos, his fingers had grazed the bare skin above my stockings, my lips had found the hollow of his throat, and I was ready, trembling, as he stood before me, thick and perfect. The door clicked shut, and I was on my knees in an instant, tugging down his pants, no hesitation, no preamble. I took him into my mouth, savoring the weight of him, the smooth, warm skin against my tongue. My lips slid over him, slow at first, then hungry, tasting every inch as I worked him deeper, my hands gripping his hips. Julian groaned, a low, ragged sound that sent a jolt through me, and I moved faster, swirling my tongue, teasing the sensitive tip before taking him fully again. I peeled off his shoes, socks, pants, never breaking my rhythm, my fingers digging into his firm, sculpted ass. I kissed the soft skin of his inner thighs, grazed his balls with my lips, then returned to him, relentless, until he pulled me up with a growl. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, carried me to the bed, and stripped me with urgent hands - my dress yanked over my head, my bra discarded, my lace panties ripped aside. He paused, eyes dark with want, and then he was on me, his mouth claiming mine as he nudged my thighs apart. He entered me slowly, inch by agonizing inch, stretching me, filling me until I gasped, my nails raking his back. He paused, letting me adjust, then thrust deep, each movement deliberate, building a rhythm that had me arching beneath him. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and he drove harder, faster, his breath hot against my neck as I moaned, lost in the heat of him, the pressure, the way he hit every spot that made me unravel. Our bodies slick with sweat, we moved together, chasing release, until it crashed over us both - my vision blurring, my body shuddering as he groaned, spilling into me, our climaxes colliding in a perfect, trembling moment. But he wasn't done. Still hard, still pulsing, he looked at me with a hunger that made my core clench. I pushed him onto his back, straddling him, and took him in my hand, stroking slowly before guiding him back inside me. I rode him, hips rolling, feeling every inch of him as I set the pace, my hands braced on his chest, his fingers digging into my thighs. I leaned down, kissing him deeply, my breasts brushing his skin as I moved faster, chasing another peak. He gripped my hips, thrusting up to meet me, and I came again, harder this time, a cry escaping me as waves of pleasure tore through me. He followed moments later, his hands tightening, his body tensing as he let go, filling me again. That night stretched on, a blur of tangled limbs and whispered desires, and it marked the start of four months of love, pure and consuming: yes, I loved Julian, love him still, as fiercely as I love my husband. Yes, it can be both.

For six years, the painter who'd dreamed of having me was finally in my embrace, showing me the wait wasn't for nothing, that the longing wasn't overstated... Last night, Caleb surrendered to me. He's mine, and I'm unraveling with it. Even strolling beside him, my arm looped through his, feeling the lean curve of his hips, the solid warmth of his torso where my cheek rested - he's got to be nearly a foot taller than me - was enough to set me ablaze. Those hazel eyes, shimmering with devotion, those kisses that turned my knees to liquid. We reached the hotel, and he began to undress me with deliberate care. My gauzy sundress slipped to the floor, followed by my cream linen shorts (yes, at thirty-nine, I can still pull off shorts, my legs sculpted and skin silken from Pilates, oils, and meticulous care - you know nothing's effortless). I, in turn, tugged his Henley over his head, revealing the taut lines of his frame, and unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers (he left this morning, and the ache for him is already clawing at me). In the bathroom, we stood before the fogged-up mirror, kissing fiercely, his head bowed so I could capture his soft, urgent lips. I guided him to the bed and took him in my mouth, savoring every shudder. There's something electric about it - feeling him unravel beneath me, his breath hitching, his body pliant and wholly mine. His length grew harder against my tongue, my own desire pooling as one hand traced the ridges of his abdomen, the other circling my own sensitive spots. The air hummed with anticipation, the certainty of what would follow making every touch more intense. I knew, after six years of stolen glances, this brilliant artist was finally mine. That pulsing hardness I teased with my lips would soon be buried deep inside me, whenever I chose to claim it. And I couldn't wait any longer. With him stretched out at the bed's edge, I straddled him, lowering myself slowly, inch by searing inch, until he filled me completely. Our eyes locked, my hands braced against his chest as I moved, each roll of my hips drawing gasps from us both. I rode him, clinging to him, my lips grazing his jaw, his throat, tasting the salt of his skin. I rode him, aware that love isn't singular, that the heart can hold space for more than one. That with him, I'd weave a life. My rhythm quickened, chasing the crest of my pleasure, until he moved with sudden grace, lifting me without breaking our connection. He turned us, laying me beneath him, his weight a delicious anchor. His thrusts were slow at first, tender, each one stoking the fire between us. His hands roamed - cupping my breasts, grazing my thighs - while his mouth found the hollow of my collarbone, drawing soft moans from me. The intensity built, his pace growing urgent, until he shattered inside me, our cries mingling in the dim room. Still flushed, we didn't bother cleaning up before heading out to eat. I chose lightly - a pear and arugula salad, a sliver of focaccia - knowing we'd return soon. Over the meal, we traced the six years of yearning, the near-misses, the reasons - saved for another chapter of this tale - why we'd held back. The conversation three weeks ago that changed everything. His quiet resolve to finally give in. Back at the hotel, he called for a bottle of Dom Pérignon, paired with figs and dark chocolate (at thirty-four, he's a celebrated muralist... and I recalled, just a week prior, footing the bill for another). As we waited, I sprawled naked across the sheets, watching the steam rise from the filling jacuzzi. When he joined me, he shut off the tap and knelt between my thighs, his lips tracing a slow path from my navel to the sensitive peaks of my breasts, asking in a low murmur what I craved. His fingers followed, teasing, exploring, until I was arching beneath him, begging for more. He entered me again, this time with a reverence that made my chest ache, each thrust measured, deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. We moved together, bodies slick, until the wave crashed over me, pulling him along in its wake. We sank into the jacuzzi, sipping champagne, the bubbles tingling against our skin. Later, we made love again, slower, languid, before collapsing into each other's arms. He slipped away at dawn, but not for long - he'll be back in my embrace, another day...

One interesting thing about my profession is that every five years you have to retrain and prove your qualifications. This time the training was in winter, in our regional center. I stayed in a small rather modest hotel, in a single room with a refrigerator and a shower. However, I am an unassuming person and it was enough for me. The days passed monotonously. I did not make any new acquaintances and in the evenings I either walked or hung out on the Internet. After living in this way for two weeks, I was frankly bored. In one of the evenings, coming back from study, I met my colleague who had also come to study. It promised some socializing. I had no illusions about a romance, rather I didn't even think about it. Emilia was a woman of very strict behavior, to some extent even a man-hater. She raised two daughters on her own. Her husband cheated on her when she was pregnant. Emilia could not forgive the affair and they separated. As it turned out later she continued to love him, but the restoration of relations was out of the question. The woman was very good-looking and many men, knowing her social status, made attempts to hit on her, but were rebuffed. In her thirty-two years Emilia blossomed exactly mature, feminine beauty. Medium height, short-cropped blonde, with green eyes and sensual plump lips. Her chiseled figure was complemented by rather large breasts, which she tried to disguise with shapeless sweaters. I certainly noted these moments for myself, but no more than that. Lana was very pleasant to talk to, unless it was about relationships. This is kind of a preface to the story that happened to us. In order to brighten up a long winter evening I invited Emilia to have dinner in my room. She agreed, warning me not to do anything stupid. The dinner ordered in the room arrived, I set the table and at the agreed time we started dinner. Emilia was as always amazing in her erudition and our communication was interesting and informative. Time passed, and we had already drunk a couple of bottles of delicious pomegranate wine. And it seemed like it was time break it up. I suddenly thought, what if she was counting on sex and I didn't even make an attempt? When we had already gotten up from the table, I stepped towards her and hugged her shoulders. She turned around abruptly and hugged me around the neck. Her eyes were closed and her lips were waiting for a kiss. We kissed long and passionately, my hands roaming over her soft body. After a few minutes, the shapeless sweater was on the chair, and I could see her gorgeous breasts, her nipples erect with excitement. I picked Emilia up in my arms and laid her on the bed, kissing her neck and tits, occasionally sucking and gently tweaking her nipples. She was pushing me away or hugging me, incessantly repeating no and can't, I can't, and so on. The passion that erupted between us burned like wildfire and I couldn't stop, and I didn't want to. Soon Emilia's jeans and panties were tossed aside. I was completely naked by then. Despite all the passion, she didn't give me a chance to insert my dick, constantly wriggling underneath me. I was about to give up when she pushed me away, looking at me with a crazy look, and after a couple of moments she settled on my cock. Emilia began to greedily and intensely thrust herself onto it as far as she could. She moaned loudly and sweetly, giving herself up completely to her feelings and emotions. And all of this, was the unapproachable Lana. When she reached the peak of pleasure, she arched up, digging her nails into my chest and cumming violently. As she continued to shudder, Lana covered her face with her hands and fell back onto the bed, breathing heavily and spreading her thighs wide. I immediately got on top of her and started fucking hard this beautiful, previously unapproachable female, who now belonged to me. Emilia was actively thrusting, keeping up the pace and moaning languidly. After a few sharp, deep thrusts, I cum inside her pussy and collapsed exhaustedly beside her. Breathing out, we merged in a tender, long kiss. Afterward, Emilia took a shower. I stayed on the bed, coming to my senses after what had happened. A few minutes later, my guest came out of the shower wrapped in a large bath towel. Her cheeks were flaming with embarrassment, and she tried not to look at me. I got up from the bed, gently put my arm around her shoulders, and we merged again in a tender kiss. The towel had fallen to the floor, and there was nothing to stop me from caressing her soft, beautiful body. My cock rested against her belly, letting her know that I wanted her again. Suddenly, Emilia knelt down and passionately began giving me a blowjob. It was just magical. She was bringing me almost to orgasm, caressing my cock and balls with her hands, tongue and lips, and then she paused. This sweet torture got me so turned on that I held her head with my hands and literally fucked her mouth, making me cum rather quickly. Emilia swallowed my cum and gently squeezed my balls and began to suck every last drop out.. Then pushed me up on the bed and gently licked my fallen cock and balls. After that, we caressed each other gently until we fell asleep. Early in the morning, Lana, trying not to wake me, got dressed and went to her room.

Pausing my anecdotes, I will tell one that my friend Carlos told me happened to him. Carlos has been my neighbor for as long as I can remember since we were little. Carlos and I have a neighbor named Celia, she is about 42 or 43 years old, she is short, about 1.55 meters tall, light brown skin, green eyes, and she has a good body, a nice ass and round, shapely tits and nice looking legs, she does not exercise, she is a mother of three children and has a husband, for the neighbors Celia is very respectful and dedicated, that is why when my friend told me the story I did not believe her. Carlos used to go out to water the trees around his house and he would see Celia come out to the street and smile at him, he thought she was flirting with him, a typical teenager who thinks that any smile is a flirtation and an insinuation, one day when Carlos was on his way to work he went out to catch the truck when he found Celia in his car. Ce: Good morning Carlos, where are you going so early? Carlos: good morning I'm heading to work I'm going to take the truck because I'm running a little late. Ce: let's go I'll give you a little raite Carlos didn't miss the chance and got in the car Celia was wearing a pajama type robe where her legs were showing, on the way they talked Celia asked him if he had a girlfriend and was going out, to which Carlos answered no, he asked her about her husband. Ce: my husband is traveling, I think he will be here in 15 days. Carlos: and you have been alone for a month. Ce: Yes, I haven't been here for a while and here I am. Carlos: And how do you put up with it for so long? Ce: Well you see, sometimes you have to touch yourself to hold on, hahaha. Carlos: Well that's enough with masturbating, but lack of confidence Celia hahaha. After that comment everything was silent for a few minutes. Ce: Oh Carlos, what are you saying, you are just a young man, and how do you think I'm going to do that? Carlos: Maybe a young man will remind you what good sex is. Ce: You don't really believe that. Celia took a detour and we headed to a motel on the outskirts of town. Ce: I don't know if I'm right, but I'm really looking forward to it, I've already spent some time without anything. Carlos: don't worry, I know you're right and there's nothing wrong with this anymore. We arrived at the room she was a little nervous and tense, I began to massage her back to relax her body, I took off her robe, she was wearing a green thong type panties and a white bra, I began to kiss her slowly, I started kissing her slowly, I took off her bra and her dark brown tits came out with a dark nipple, I started kissing, sucking and sucking it slowly, she only moaned and threw her head back, I started kissing her abdomen, she felt tickled, then I took off her thong and when I was going to give her oral sex she said: Ce: what are you doing what are you going to do. Carlos: relax, I am going to give you oral sex. Ce: My husband has never done that to me, I just climb on top of him or vice versa. Carlos: Relax, you let yourself go. Her vagina was very wet, she was excited, I slowly started to give her oral sex, she moaned and her body arched feeling pleasure, she grabbed my head and told me "don't stop, keep going, keep going". She finished in my mouth, all her fluids ended up inside my mouth, she said: Ce: woao that was great I feel my legs are very weak, I have never felt such pleasure. Carlos: you haven't felt it because you have never been treated like a woman. Ce: I just climb on top of my husband and when he finishes the action is over. Carlos: How boring, now he's going to know what sex is. I put her on all fours and started to penetrate her, at first it was slow and with love, then when I heard her screams and moans my penetrations were hard with so much force that my body collided with her, in such a way that we both finished at the same time. She lay down and told me she couldn't take it anymore, I laughed and told her "now you go upstairs". Ce: Let me rest, I feel that my legs are not responding. Carlos: now you are being treated like a woman. Ce: What rich pleasures. Carlos: what worries me is that I didn't use protection. Ce: Protection? If I'm not sick. Carlos: no it's not that, what if you get pregnant. Ce: hahaha pregnant? I'm 43 years old and I can't get pregnant, besides, my husband and I don't take care of ourselves and we can't even have children. Carlos: Well, that's all there is to it, let's go for revenge. She got on and started to move up and down sometimes to the sides, I squeezed her vagina and that way it felt like it was very tight as if she was almost a virgin, she did not stop she was like a bitch on fire, she finished so she slowed down in rhythm and stayed still moaning and saying "ahhh ahhh" slower and slower, which I did I laid her down and started to penetrate her until I finished inside her. We lay there talking about many things, we had several encounters later on. That was what Carlos told me, the truth was that I didn't believe it because Celia was a very serious and quiet woman, until later I believed everything. When he said to me: Carlos: wey I got Celia pregnant. And: You're crazy, how could that be possible. Carlos: he talked to me in the morning and told me "you are going to do it dad, but I don't want you to say anything, I don't want to ruin my marriage and this is going to be as if my husband had done it to me". The truth is that I didn't believe it, in the end Celia was pregnant with a boy, she had him, he looks like his mother, but he also has Carlos' features. Celia's husband is happy because he never thought he would be a father again. The boy's name is José Carlos, my friend says that they have had other encounters, but this time he is no longer worried because Celia is operated, and Celia after the pregnancy has a better body, now she is the mature woman that everybody wants...

For Antonio, the return home represented the worst part of his day. After long hours of exhausting work, destiny forced him to face a bus full of passengers. Traveling on his feet had become an unavoidable routine for him. Fatigue settled into his body, and the mass of crowded people seemed to drag him along in a constant stream of strangers. The return trip stretched on for about an hour. And after forty minutes of travel, a good number of passengers had already disembarked. Nevertheless, all the seats were still occupied, although Antonio was at least grateful that he no longer had to endure the cramped ride. From time to time, he closed his eyes to give his eyes a brief rest, although his feet still found no relaxation. There was a fleeting instant when he let himself drift off into a split-second dream, but fortunately, he woke up before rushing to the ground. He decided then to keep his eyes wide open, making sure to avoid any possible accidents. His gaze began to scan the interior of the bus. He observed people sleeping with their mouths open, couples engaged in passionate kisses and friends sharing lively conversations. However, his attention was immediately arrested when he came across the most impressive buttocks he had ever had the pleasure of beholding. The owner of such an attribute was standing less than a meter away, dressed in sportswear: a polo shirt, shorts and sneakers. It was evident that he had just finished a soccer match, as indicated by the dried sweat on his face and the dirtiness of his attire. Antonio stared too long at that ass, which made the owner of such a magnificent attribute take notice. He stared at Antonio, who, surprised, turned his face away in embarrassment. The transport made a stop at the antepenultimate stop, and an additional group of passengers disembarked, freeing several seats. Antonio quickly settled into one by the window, silently pleading that the owner of those captivating buttocks had also disembarked. The embarrassment he felt was so overwhelming that he opted to pretend to sleep, hoping to avoid any eye contact with that individual, just in case he was still on board the bus. After a while, Antonio noticed someone occupying the seat next to his, and immediately felt the touch of that person on his leg. As he watched out of the corner of his eye with astonishment, he realized that it was the same boy with the amazing buttocks. Among all the seats that were unoccupied, he had chosen to sit right next to him and was rubbing his leg. Antonio thought it was too good to be real. It was clear that this young man was interested in him. Antonio responded to the rubbing with another rub, and instantly, they exchanged complicit glances. The bus stopped at the next-to-last stop, and this time, unlike the previous stop, Antonio fervently hoped that his seatmate would not get off there. The young man remained by his side, and the vehicle continued on its way. Antonio wanted to strike up a conversation, introduce himself, inquire his name and, above all, indulge in the passion he felt, but he was unable to do so. An old woman occupied the seat behind them, so he had to wait until he reached the last stop to engage in conversation on the street. In the meantime, they continued to play suggestively. The rubbing persisted, not only with their legs, but also with their hands, which further stoked her excitement. Finally, they reached the last stop. As they got up, they both made an effort to conceal their erections, although the young man with the magnificent buttocks found it more difficult, given that he was wearing sports shorts. Luckily, the few remaining passengers were more concerned with getting off the bus and returning home, so they paid no attention to the young man's arousal. Antonio and the boy with the noticeable buttocks walked in silence for a short while, side by side, until they were away from the rest of the passengers. Antonio: Hello. Nalgón: Hello. Antonio: What is your name? Nalgón: Pedro. Antonio: Nice to meet you, Pedro. My name is Antonio. Pedro: Likewise. Antonio: How old are you, Pedro? Pedro: I'm 20. And you? Antonio: I'm 27. Have you just come from playing soccer? Pedro: Yes, today I had a championship with my university classmates. Antonio: Really? And what are you studying? Pedro: Pharmacy and Biochemistry. Antonio: Interesting. I studied administration. By the way, do you live near here? Pedro: Actually, my stop is the next-to-last one, but when I saw that you weren't getting off, I decided to continue the trip with you. I wanted to meet you. Antonio: And I wanted to meet you. I was begging you not to get off until the final stop. Pedro: Hehehehe... Well, I didn't, and here I am. Antonio: You know, I thought you were upset when you realized I was looking at your ass. Pedro: Hahaha... No, I was rather flattered when I saw the stupid face you made. Antonio: Hahaha... But you have to admit you have some nice buttocks. And as you say, I was an asshole when I saw them. Pedro: Yes, I know. My friends joke about it in college. And I think one of them has a special interest, but I prefer not to get involved with people from the university to avoid problems. Antonio: That's fine with me. And well, since I like to be direct, and since we seem to like each other, what do you say we go to a quieter place? Pedro: To a hotel? Antonio: I know one near here. Pedro: Let's go then. Once inside the hotel room, Antonio could not contain himself. He put Pedro against the wall to kiss him, ignoring his request to let him go take a shower first. He told him he was turned on by his sweaty scent as he kissed him. Her naughty tongue explored Pedro's mouth with passion, her hands firmly squeezing the buttocks that stood upright above the shorts. Although Antonio's hands were of good size, they seemed not big enough for that imposing ass. Then he knelt down and got Peter to turn on himself, sliding the shorts down to reveal those impressive buttocks. It was, without a doubt, a wonderful ass: round and completely hairless. Antonio spread Pedro's buttocks and buried his nose in desperation. The warm breath on that spot made Pedro moan, and Antonio's undulating tongue made him moan even more. Occasionally, he would stop licking him to nibble on his buttocks. Antonio seemed determined to savor every inch of that ass. Pedro was clearly excited and eager for the next phase. He told Antonio that he wanted to feel him inside him and he didn't have to ask more than once. Antonio put on a condom he had bought at the hotel front desk and penetrated Pedro unceremoniously. This was exactly what Pedro liked, and Antonio was more than willing to satisfy his desires. As he rammed him intensely in doggy style, he pulled his hair with one hand and spanked him hard with the other. After about fifty minutes, with their bodies bathed in sweat and Antonio still inside Pedro, they were both on the verge of climax. Between gasps, Antonio whispered to Pedro, asking him where he wanted his milk. With a leering look, Pedro replied that he wanted it on his face. Antonio hurriedly removed the condom and, with precision, aimed it at Pedro's face, covering it with a thick layer of semen as a choked moan escaped his lips, culminating a dirty, kinky and deliciously pleasurable encounter. After that experience, Antonio and Pedro never rode public transportation together again, but for Antonio, the ride home was no longer the worst part of the day. From then on, finding a companion to make the route to a hotel, as he did with Pedro, became his favorite pastime.

We both (Tina, 23, and Lukas, 26) often have a great desire for other people's skin. That's why we also look for that special thrill on vacation trips. We always book a room in these adults-only hotels in Egypt or Turkey. Children are not allowed there, the minimum age is usually 16 years old. These hotels are not only popular with older and tourists who love peace and quiet, but also among swingers. After dark, the party starts on many balconies. It's easy to make very horny acquaintances. In our favorite hotel in Turkey, the partition walls between the balconies and the neighbors are transparent. After we had lots of sex on the balcony on the first evening balcony, there were already invitations from left and right. It was another very horny week with lots of sex with various hotel guests. See and be seen is the motto on such occasions. The temperatures in the evening are only bearable to endure naked. And with such great views as in these hotels, I like to stand on the balustrade of the balcony and look around. To the left, right, above and below and, depending on the location of the hotel, sometimes even opposite you can see other guests, say hello or wave to each other. Then Lukas usually takes notice, gets up from his chair and stands behind me. He quickly grabs my breasts with both hands, massages and kneads them. I push my bottom backwards. It never takes long for his cock to grow and get harder and harder. At the same time, my pussy gets wetter and wetter and Lukas sticks his stick deep inside. The interested neighbors notice what we're up to by our movements or my "noises" at the latest. Their reactions are always very clear. During our last visit, our immediate neighbors were a married couple my parents' age and two male friends. We spent an evening in each of the two neighboring rooms. Unfortunately, our suggestion of a six-way encounter failed because of the husband. He was interested in swapping wives, but didn't want to watch his sweetheart being fucked by three strangers' cocks. What a pityThis vacation last fall, however, we took it even further. We also always enjoy getting a massage at the hotel. Only male masseurs work at our favorite hotel, which Lukas doesn't mind and I certainly don't mind. We had booked a massage for every other day, I always booked full-body massages. How does a woman show up for a full-body massage? In a bikini, in a swimsuit, in underwear? I don't know how others do it. For me, a full-body massage is for the whole body. So I was always completely naked under my bathrobe. My masseur was visibly surprised the first time when he asked me to lie down on the massage table and I took off my bathrobe. He probably hadn't expected a completely naked body, but he was professional enough to take this unfamiliar sight in his stride. It started with the back massage and he also had the courage to include my bottom. Although I spread my legs appropriately, he left the insides of my thighs untouched. Even when I was lying on my back, he didn't touch my breasts. He could have asked, but I guess he didn't have the courage. He had obviously never seen such a "shocking" sight from a customer. When I showed up naked for my next appointment, my masseur became braver. No inch of my body was left out. My breasts were massaged, lying on my back and stomach, the insides of my thighs were vigorously worked up to my labia. I could already feel myself getting wet and the masseur would certainly not have missed it. A few times I could feel how, as he stroked me with his palms, one or other of his fingers landed "purely by chance" between my labia, which were already very swollen. The third time, he told me that his two colleagues were begging him to swap places with him. But he refused. So his massages of my body were already a topic of conversation between the three masseurs. I found that remarkable. When I told my boyfriend, he immediately knew how horny I was. He took the opportunity the next day to talk to the three masseurs on his own. I didn't know the other two yet. He asked her if all five of us would like to meet up outside the hotel and have some fun. At the next massage appointment, my masseur told me that a friend of his has a massage studio where the five of us can go. However, he will probably want to be there if he lets us use his rooms. We didn't really care about one man more or less. If anything, it made it even more appealing to me. So we agreed and arranged a time the following afternoon. The studio was at the end of the street and you couldn't miss it. The three masseurs from our hotel were already waiting at the entrance when Lukas and I arrived. Although I didn't know the other two yet, they were already greeting me with kisses on the left and kisses on the right. The weather was still very warm for mid-October. That's why I was only wearing a loose white T-shirt with nothing underneath. Her bra and panties had been left in the hotel room. One of the masseurs had probably already noticed that. He immediately reached his hand under my shirt and onto my bare bottom while kissing me. Very brave, I thought. But very soon he would have a lot more. The owner of the studio then opened the door for us and immediately pulled my long T-shirt over my head as he greeted us. We weren't even fully inside the building yet. It came as a surprise to me, but it wasn't unpleasant. When the horniness is right, I don't need any time to get going. Just a few seconds later, I was lying on a massage table with my legs spread wide apart and all five guys were naked too. They then spent well over an hour on me, first simultaneously, then alternately. I had their cocks in my mouth, my pussy and my bottom again and again. Lukas doesn't like anal that much, it sometimes hurts him. That's why his cock is always in my pussy during the "double decker", while another one opens my "back door". That afternoon, I still had a third cock in my mouth and two more in my hands. After all five men had squirted their juice into a condom or into my mouth once, each of them needed a short break. So they took turns for the next few minutes. However, I was "busy" without interruption. I like to test my limits and this was another such opportunity. The owner of the studio had a very dominant manner that was almost borderline for my previous experiences. When I was sucking his very large cock, he kept holding my head so tightly and pressing it down on his abdomen that it made me choke again and again. That made him hornier and hornier. Later he also rammed his club into my bottom so hard that I had never experienced it before. He would also have liked to tie me to one of the massage tables, but I didn't want that. But all in all, it was a really great experience for both Lukas and me. We would actually be back in this hotel now, but unfortunately the pandemic has stopped us. Even the swingers' clubs that we like to visit regularly are still closed. We regret that very much. But we have made private contacts and will have a lot of fun at some private parties in Cologne and Amsterdam over the next few weeks. We will be spending the first two weeks of August there.