A New Aspect

"Doesn't she smell truly delicious?"

She let go of his arm and David hesitated then brought the cash to his nose and sniffed. A wide grin spread across his features.

"Yeah."

Jess leaned in closer still and said in a loud, raspy whisper, "She tastes better from the source."

She spun and before I knew what was happening she was on her knees, her tongue slithering up my parted pussy lips, pressing its way inside my aching slit. I moaned involuntarily as she took me. My eyes met David's as I was washed away by the moment and instinctively reached to pull Jess' face to my pulsing centre, guiding her expert tongue to crush against my throbbing clit, parking her upper lip on my mons and feeling her warm, heady breaths caress me. David was clearly enjoying the show, his trousers straining to contain his growing erection.

Jess wiggled her tongue and intense spasms arced between my legs. I panted hard and gripped her head. Then, unexpectedly, she wrestled herself from my grasp and stood looking down at me, her auburn hair a mess, her mouth apart and glistening with my come, her expression one of rabid lust. She whirled on David.

"You should leave, this woman needs me. Thank you very much for the food."

Slightly taken aback, and I'm sure with a fleeting look of disappointment, the waiter regarded first me, then Jess, then back to me. He looked down at the roll of cash in his hand and grinned. God only knows what he was thinking but I was past caring. I just wanted Jess to continue where she left off.

He stepped back. "If you ladies think of anything else you need, I'm on all night."

"Thank you, David," Jess sing-songed with finality.

He turned to leave, looking back over his shoulder a couple of times on his way to the door as Jess resumed her kneeling position between my sticky thighs and giggled, then ate me. The door sprung shut amid my escalating cries of passion and I had no idea how long he stayed outside the room listening to my orgasmic screams.

In the Vegas bathtub, the echoes of my repeated groans were dulled by the steam; my fingers a blur as I recalled the events of that night and the way Jess played me like her own sexual instrument. Hot, fat water pulses hammered my clit and naked pussy as my toes scrunched up and I arched upward towards the source of the jets, trying to increase the pressure on my pulsing sex. Every part of my body tensed, my heels dug painfully into the sides of the bath but I hardly noticed; the waves of energy flooding my senses.

Staying rigid with the water pounding my mons was a fantastic way to ride the orgasm as it jumped from limb to limb, rapidly connecting and disconnecting nerve and pleasure centres, flushing my erogenous zones, soaking my channel which pulsed rhythmically to the beat of my body's release. Despite the myriad flags vying for my attention, above all I could sense the entrance to my womanhood fluttering open and closed, drawing in tiny pockets of water then expelling them, as images and latent sensations of Jess' inventive pussy eating flashed through my mind.

My mouth was open, eyes squeezed shut and I was gasping hard at the thoughts my ministrations had triggered. I could feel the fire in my belly spreading rapidly to my extremities, neural receptors unable to cope with the barrage of signals presented to them. Hormones washed through me, then other elements of my body jumped to the fore, delivering their explosive packages in sequence: a spine tingling warmth; muscles locking in my legs; abdomen twitching; breasts heaving; mind spinning. My cries of release were magnified by the tub acting as a crude speaker. If anyone had been next door there would have been no mistaking what was going on; one woman alone with her dirty thoughts and fingers as company.

I dug three digits deeply past my winking petals into my channel -- more for respite from the water as my clit's sensitivity peaked. I felt the last few contractions of my pussy grip and release my fingers, then exhaled deeply and gradually lowered my bottom back to the porcelain surface of the bath.

Panting heavily I basked in the glow of aftercome as energy continued to rapidly circuit my body. My legs slid and squeaked from the bath edges, coming to rest fully within its confines, knees bent. I flopped my free arm up to my face, covering my eyes and just lay there, feeling sticky wetness coat the fingers buried inside me as my inner network continued to dance.

Only when the feelings began to fade did I slide out of reach of the water jets and pluck my glistening fingers from my soaked box. Shakily I stood, rinsed and shut off the shower.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bath robe felt snug as I stepped into the cool bedroom area. With my hair wrapped in a towel I poured myself some more red and perched on the edge of the king-size mattress to stare out of the huge window. The city sprawled seemingly endlessly into the approaching darkness; a jagged concrete blanket of high rise rectangles arranged haphazardly in the middle distance, lights speckling their surface, the yellow glows becoming softer and more sporadic on the lower dwellings towards the outskirts. Each light was a place for people: home-owners, businessmen and women, vacationing families. And beneath the concrete under everyone's feet was once desert. Humans really did know how to destroy nature and take over a place.

I took a long pull of the wine. My fingers reeked of sex and I paused to breathe myself in before allowing the tannin to cling to my cheeks and roll down my throat. That felt good; strong and warming. I had that fuzzy feeling -- partway between sober and tipsy where things were ever so slightly slower than normal. And I was still horny, my pussy lips tingling beneath the fluffy cotton dressing gown from my recollection of Jess and the invigorating jets of water.

The bedside clock nestled amid the phone cord indicated it was probably too early for any squeaky bedsprings from the adjacent rooms. Shame: I was very much in the mood for listening in. I wandered across the room anyway, swapping my wine glass for a tumbler en route. Inverting it and pressing it to the wall I positioned myself so my ear fit comfortably against its base and began tuning into the sounds that filtered through the walls to my makeshift amplifier. Laughter, running water, chatter, TV shows, and not much else.

I wiggled my head to try and improve the signal, then shifted to find a better spot on the wall -- sometimes just a few millimetres opens up a whole new room. My mind played tricks on me as usual; when listening intently for rhythmical patterns of activity from a jumble of sound, concentrating too hard means every faint regular sound, including that of the blood pumping past my ear, sounds like some woman sighing gently as she pleasures herself in a nearby room. I kept adjusting and checking my own breathing pattern to ensure I wasn't hearing a reflection of myself in the upturned glass.

A phone rang a few rooms away and was promptly answered, the muffled one-sided conversation indiscernible. Once or twice I thought I heard some bed springs groaning but nothing erotic presented itself. I gave it about twenty minutes in case a couple came back happy from the casino after a big win and wanted to celebrate with sex, then gave up.

Mildly disappointed I retrieved my wine glass and approached the gigantic window overlooking the city. As I sipped I wondered what tomorrow would bring. Was that wishing my life away? How did that Fleetwood Mac song go?

-- Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow

Don't stop, it'll soon be here

It'll be, better than before

Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone

I realised then that my iPod had stopped so I sashayed over to it and picked a playlist I'd simply called 'Nice'. It started with '1000 miles' by Vanessa Carlton so I skipped it as I didn't want to be reminded I was five times that distance from Adam. Next was LeAnn Rimes. Bleurgh: wrong mood for today. I backed out of the menu and selected my Oldies list instead which chose 'Play that Funky Music' by Wild Cherry first. Much better.

I turned it up, nodded my head to the beat, drained my glass, refilled it and then boogied back over to the window. The cityscape appeared friendlier all of a sudden. Amazing how a simple piece of music could supply a new outlook on the same view. Of course, the wine was probably helping. I put it down and vigorously dried my long hair, shaking it out of the towel and letting it tumble over the dressing gown; long, wet, twisted strands against the crisp whiteness of the soft, bleached robe.

As I towelled I became aware of the gown's belt loosening slightly and instinctively reached to tighten it. Then stopped. I don't think I'll ever fully know what caused me to do what I did next, but I felt a sudden rush of euphoria surge through my body, bubbling rapidly from my core to dance on my skin, leaving my centre quivering in the vacuum. Perhaps it was that spirit with the remote control, deviantly rotating the dial towards 'naughty'. Or my guardian angel wearing suspenders, crotchless panties and a crop top, whispering decadent thoughts into my ear. Maybe I was just wired wrongly. Whatever the trigger, my heart stepped up a gear -- head gaining instant clarity from the increased oxygen -- my mouth dried and I returned to towelling my hair, leaving the belt loose.

I looked out of the window again as I rubbed. Once more, within the space of a minute, the view was the same but the aspect had changed. I was now intensely aware of my body jiggling beneath the robe, the surface of my skin gently prickling as each fibre of the gown caressed me; my breathing becoming slightly heavier. I gyrated a little to the beat, wondering if anyone could see me from one of the small rectangles of light in front of me. What would they think? Were they too far away to see anything? Would they close the curtains in disgust or would they stay and watch for the possibilities -- the same way I waited with my glass against the wall in case developments took a turn for the better? Would I be the object of someone's fantasy tonight? Was someone already prepared with a zoom lens, binoculars or video camera, hoping for someone like me to appear? To capture me for their private collection.

That put a whole new spin on things. The thought of being watched suddenly gripped me and it felt part scary, part thrilling. I recalled "Francesca" from the Italian hotel room: how free and downright elated she had looked being fucked in full view of any passers by. And how excited it had made me to watch her breath condensing rhythmically on the glass from her wide open lips, eyes closed, breasts deforming against the window with each hard thrust. How would I feel if that was me? How would I feel if my actions ended up on the Internet? What if a future boss or a family member stumbled across the video and found out what I did in my private time? The ramifications didn't bear thinking about.

But I'd been watched at close quarters by Jess and thoroughly enjoyed it. A waiter had seen me naked and I'd loved it. Dancing in a window towards a faceless city with my robe gradually falling away seemed easy in comparison -- certainly debauch enough to satisfy the reckless urge I felt. But the risk of exposure tugged at my conscience. Was there a way I could exploit the situation yet retain anonymity? Perhaps.

With my hair nearly dry I swung my head and upper body forward to let the dark strands fall over my face, then rubbed the back of my head energetically. The robe gaped a little at the front and my breasts swung beneath the material as I dried. But I felt hidden thanks to my hair.

When I'd finished I threw the towel and stood fully. The robe shifted again, the belt barely tied now; I was still covered, but only just. From the corner of my eye through the tangled curtain of hair I noticed a light go out and looked up. A couple of floors above me in an adjacent part of the building that jutted out, I saw a shadow move in front of a window then disappear. Moments later the light from the lamp in the depths of that room also went out and the space was totally dark. But the curtains remained open.

I stared hard. There was just enough ambient light still to make out shapes and I swear I saw the figure move back to the window, but couldn't be sure. Maybe it was a trick of the dark; I thought I saw movement again and squinted to see.

Was he watching me? Was he waiting for me to do something and didn't want to seem a blatant voyeur? What would he do if I put on a show? Had he seen my face? Would he just stand and watch or would I be able to make out his hand rapidly stroking his big cock? How would I feel if I saw him unleash a sticky torrent of sperm against the hotel window and know I'd caused the explosion?

As if to offer an answer, my insides somersaulted. Parts of me switched on. The robe caught on my nipples as the pink tips rose. I felt my ears redden and another rush of adrenaline surge through me. I paused, breathed deeply then let the belt fall away, exposing my virtually hairless pussy to whoever dared to look.

The feeling was truly delicious; terrifying enough to push the surface of my skin to high alert, yet erotic enough to swamp any misgivings. It was how I imagined freefall; stomach churning weightlessness with the constant force of air resistance keeping it real. I let it wash over me for a while, basking in the naughtiness of it all, then picked up the beat and began to sway. The robe swished with me, each successive bar of music revealing slightly more of my body.

With my face masked by long hair my confidence grew, even though I knew myself to be blushing. Placing my palms up to the window I leaned forward a little, allowing my breasts to swing free of the robe. From a few floors above, the man would have an eye full of cleavage and glimpses of my hard nipples. I looked up to see if I could catch sight of my watcher. The curtains were still open, the room in darkness but I imagined he was there, observing, critiquing, anticipating my next move, taking in each of my curves as his temperature rose and the urge to touch himself welled.

Shaking my hair forward to ensure I was still unidentifiable I slid my hands down the glass to shoulder level and shucked the gown ever so slowly off my shoulders. A little at a time I squeaked my hands down the glass, using the angle of my arms to control the robe's descent, each passing moment revealing more of the creamy surface of my ample breasts. By the time the gentle slope to my nipples was exposed my laboured breathing had turned almost to panting and I opened my mouth to try and cool down.

With my next move the robe tumbled from my breasts and bunched around my middle and I held that position, mouth agape, eyes closed as I drank in the sensation of the cool hotel air battling to fan the flames radiating from my pale skin.

In time to the dying beats of the track I swayed, waiting for the iPod to choose the next track but also extremely aware I would be teasing anyone who cared to watch my little show. Way behind me in the hotel corridor a group of excited voices passed my door, oblivious to the scene within, and I smiled to myself as the next piece of music began. If ever anyone doubted cosmic forces and the fundamental interconnectedness of small things, the fact 'Baby Did A Bad Bad Thing' by Chris Isaak came next was all the proof necessary. I picked up the guitar riff with my hips and held my breath as I let my hands fall to my sides. The robe fell with them, pooling around my ankles.

An electric current raced around my body as the word 'naked' spun in my mind. I was naked; totally exposed to the city. Goosebumps formed quickly and I shivered in a combination of pleasure and uncertainty at the path I was treading, breathing out noisily. One flash of reminiscence over how I felt watching Francesca and how the sight of my shapely body must be igniting the imagination of the mystery lurker in the nearby room kept me steady. Short of a fire alarm, almost nothing could derail this train now.

Recalling the video to the Isaak song of the woman playing to a camera in the hotel room, I covered my breasts with my hands and squeezed, then wrapped my arms across my front and lifted my tits towards the glass. It seemed strangely appropriate under the circumstances.

Gyrating sexily and turning to press my bottom against the window I shuddered as the cool glass deformed my rear. With my face shielded from view I took the bold step of bending forward at the waist to touch the floor then snapped up again quickly, pressing my whole body back against the glass, gasping at its coldness.

Though there was maybe half an inch of transparent material separating me from the darkening outside world, inside I was burning up. Wicked thoughts of toned men in their hotel rooms standing, big dicks in hand, masturbating frantically to the silhouette of my body fuelled my brashness. Some would be dying to catch sight of my face; to see what sort of woman would expose herself in this manner. Others would prefer I turn so they might ogle my chest; to imagine themselves feeling the weight of my ample tits, squeezing, lifting them to their mouths, sucking and biting my hard, pink nipples as I cried for more. Perhaps these same men would want to sink to their knees in front of my freshly shaved pussy, spread my lips with their fingers and drive their tongues inside me, drawing my juices onto slick chins, flicking at my engorged clit while they gazed up into my bright green eyes to see the lids fluttering with desire. Some would of course prefer me to stay facing away from them, praying I would bend at the waist again to show off my shapely derriere; no doubt they dreamed of taking me from behind or shoving their fat cocks up my hot, tight bottom and listening to me begging for it harder, faster, deeper. Perhaps I'd let them.

All these scenarios careened through my head with one, predictable result: my pussy began to quickly moisten again. Wetness formed at my lips and I dared to fleetingly touch myself. My body shook with excitement and had it not been for the glass holding me up I might have fallen over.

Maintaining the tension for my unseen audience I slowly turned back round, making sure to fluff my hair into my face as I swayed in time to the music. I then stepped to the glass and pressed my breasts against it, quickly cupping them, squeezing them and forming a cone with each, flicking the tips against the window. My nipples grazed the glass and I sighed into the room, then rolled each hard nub between thumb and forefinger and let out a loud moan. I'm sure anyone watching could tell I was enjoying myself even though they couldn't see my half closed eyes and open mouth.

Biting my lip I slowly trailed one hand from breast down over taut tummy, leaving a path of heightened arousal in its wake. I held my hand there for a moment, feeling the excitement mount further, waiting, teasing, electrifying my already charged body.

-- Baby did a bad, bad thing

Baby did a bad, bad thing

My hand ventured further and the touch to my pussy lit my insides like a firecracker. I slid a digit between my slick folds and pressed eagerly inside, feeling every millimetre in slow motion amid my involuntary gasp. Withdrawing the finger, sticky and shiny, I trailed it back to my breast leaving a glistening path on its journey. I circled my nipple with the wetness then brought my finger to my mouth and lewdly sucked the juice from it. That felt so wicked and I tasted fabulous. I immediately wanted to return one, two, three fingers to my hot box and bring myself to climax right there in the window; give myself an orgasm to remember the city by, and for the occupants of the city to remember the night when the stranger came.