1. The End Of The Drought


    Date: 8/24/2015, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: reliefworker69, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    still is. Ha! I’ll have to pull his leg about that. They walked to reception together, polite small talk to the accompaniment of that modern backing track: the rumbling of suitcase wheels. Checking in made her smile. He hadn’t changed: he corrected the pretty receptionist (Lithuanian? Russian?) with a winning smile. No, they didn’t have the same surname. They weren’t Mr and Mrs Anything. The receptionist looked up from under her eyelids and caught his gaze. She understood. She hardly bothered to look at the room when he opened the door; she was busting after all. She apologised and made a bee-line for the en suite bathroom. Closed the door but didn’t lock it. She sat there, the marble floor and walls seeming to calm her down. She’d been freezing only a short while ago but now she was glad of the chance to sit in the peace and cool of the bathroom. She noticed her hands slightly shaking as washed them. She wasn’t fully in control. Did she think she would be? Did she want to be? She had another couple of minutes to herself as he needed a pee. She noticed that he didn’t shut the door completely, leaving it an inch or two ajar. A hint of a greater measure of familiarity or self-confidence, she supposed. She sat on the corner of the bed for a moment and reached out, running her hand over the duvet. Why? She grinned. By the time he’d come back she was hanging up her dress for the night. She’d agonised over the choice. Nothing too formal or over the top but special enough to do ...
    justice to the occasion. She’d almost rejected it for being perhaps a bit too low-cut but she’d tried it on anyway. In the privacy of the changing room, she had leaned towards the mirror and smiled to herself, almost triumphantly. She was still proud of her breasts and she knew they’d work well for her in that dress. He wouldn’t fail to notice those in a hurry. She’d leaned even further forward and she had to admit that her cleavage looked damn good. Almost sheepishly she’d cupped her hanging breasts in both hands and felt their weight, her nipples hardening between her fingers. Oh my! She felt herself moistening; she needed to get a grip. She’d taken off the dress with some urgency, feeling quite shocked by her speedy arousal. Pathetic. She’d even looked both ways as she pulled back the dressing room curtain, as if to see whether anyone had been watching. Shoes had been easy. He was a sucker for plain high-heeled court shoes. She’d tried on a couple of pairs before finding what she was seeking. Her legs looked great in them. Lingerie took the longest, funnily enough. The colour, really. Black always works, but perhaps too predictable. White wouldn’t have worked with her stockings. Red? Tempting but obvious? She’d finally gone for a deep burgundy, almost plum. The bra would make her breasts unmissable and she’d gone for a matching pair of panties, not a thong, with a pretty garter belt. On her way home from the shops she’d hoped that the guys wouldn’t be home yet and she was in ...
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