A New Aspect

But in my current state of arousal, I knew pressing on would mean everything would be over within minutes. Through Adam's feedback on our nights together I had learned the art of seduction was to take time over things; to torment, to heighten desire; to be in control at first and slowly turn up the heat, then bring events to the boil with unexpected touches, loaded looks and overt actions; prolonging the dizzy sensations of lust, anticipation and hormone release. Was I pleasing my audience or myself? Both, in truth: after all, very few acts are ever selfless.

With that awareness I paused then stepped back into the room, away from my onlookers, and padded to the wardrobe on ginger feet, barely noticing the carpet massaging my soles. Upon my return I was clutching a pair of semi-transparent hold-ups and my sheer black lace panties. The city was in for a treat.

Dragging the desk chair to the window, I sat in it facing the world and regarded the items in my hand. I love dressing up and always take at least one sexy outfit with me, even if it's just a pair of beautiful undies to wear beneath something more conservative. Doing so serves two main purposes: firstly, the material against my skin and the sheer extravagance of wearing something of high quality -- even if nobody else discovers I'm wearing it -- makes me feel powerful and womanly. Guys don't get that privilege because they can only choose between boxers, jockeys or boring pants. They don't have trim, bows, frills, sequins, high leg, low leg, boy shorts, thongs, tangas, French knickers, lace, cotton, sheer, crotchless, and everything in between, so I figure it's my duty to take advantage of the available range.

The second, more practical, reason is preparedness. Sometimes it just pays to have a slinky dress, short skirt, tailored suit, expensive heels or high class lingerie to hand, because unexpected situations arise and demand something special. Being invited to a last minute posh dinner by a client requires suitable apparel, especially if making a first impression. I could not have predicted my Jess encounter and was glad of the lingerie I had taken to London with which I'd teased her. And time and again when out with Adam I've changed into a spare pair of knickers to either rev him up or to replace a pair that have been used to wipe up come or are drenched with my juices. Tonight I was going to use underwear to turn someone on; perhaps many strangers at once. I shivered with anticipation and licked my lips.

With my face covered I chose one of the hold-ups, slid my hands slowly down one thigh, over my knee to the calf then brought my leg up and placed my sole against the window. My pussy lips parted with a gentle smack and in my mind I heard the shutter release of cameras in rooms across the courtyard as horny men captured the moment for their future entertainment.

Sliding my hands to my feet I wiggled the hold-up onto my toes and ever so slowly pulled it down over my heel, calf, knee, then up my slender thigh, snapping the garment shut about a foot from my midsection. The cold band gripped my leg and goose bumps formed on the surface of my skin as I imagined what I must look like from another room. I stole a glance up to where my mystery lurker stood. I hoped I pleased him; hoped that the faint glimmer of movement I saw from the darkness was him rubbing his thick shaft in response to my body. Maybe he had a thing for feet and would have willingly spent the night worshipping my toes as he ran his tongue over and between them, sucking them into his hot mouth, licking my insteps, massaging my ankles, driving me towards a deep, shaking orgasm. Or maybe he imagined me using my feet to jack him off, the nylon hold-ups rubbing his hot, rigid tool faster and faster until he erupted, squirting his sticky seed up and over the glittery material as we breathlessly watched it slither and drip to the floor.

I licked the tips of each index finger then cupped my tits again and lifted them in his direction, smiling. Circling my nipples with the wet digits I moaned gently as the crinkled ends stood proud from their coffee coloured nest.

Raising my other foot to the window I repeated the reverse striptease with the remaining hold-up, then sat back with both stockinged feet against the glass. My legs glimmered, shiny and smooth in the low light from the bedside lamp and I ran my hands gently up and down my thighs, sending shivers racing along my spine. At the apex of one such motion I drifted the fingers of one hand tantalisingly across to my bare slit. Fiery wetness met my touch and I flicked the tip of my clitoris, tilting my head back over the edge of the chair amid a groan of ecstasy.

My index finger circled, barely touching myself, each slight contact a mini earthquake inside me, the seismic, concentric ripples spreading to the periphery of my body. As my touches strengthened, my body convulsed, feet pushing against the glass causing the front legs of the chair to lift from the carpet. Thoughts of men trying to hold video cameras steady while furiously wanking to the sight of my electric body spasms spurred me on. I tapped my clit rhythmically and cried into the room as Chris Isaak chugged.

-- Baby did a bad, bad thing

Oh I was bad alright. Bad to the bone and couldn't resist snaking a finger between my slick folds, pressing firmly against my jumping clitoris, tickling my labia with the tiniest fingertip wiggle. Hot dribbles of moisture sought a path from my body to the chair and it took every ounce of self control I had to stop myself thrusting three fingers inside. Heck, I was so wet I could probably fit my whole, petite fist in.

Easy girl, I told myself. Your audience want a proper show. Calm down. Calm down.

I slid the finger from my drooling slit and trailed the excess up my tummy then lowered the chair legs back to the floor. My body screamed for attention but I exerted my mind's authority.

Tousling my hair back to cover my face I sat up, staring through the strands at the dark window across, containing what I hoped was the mystery man. There was definite motion there; repetitive motion. I felt proud to have caused it, especially given I had hardly started. There was no telling what state he was going to be in by the time I was finished.

After taking a deep pull of the wine I reached for the panties. While concealment was the aim of the tease, the underwear didn't leave much to the imagination. As I pulled each foot in turn from the window and slid the tiny web of material slowly over my instep and up my calves I felt the power well up inside me. Lingerie power. That indefinable sexiness that made me hot, reckless and bold; like I'd swallowed a PacMan invincibility pill.

The feeling grew stronger as my panties inched up over my knees onto my thighs, then past the wide bands of the hold-ups. I stood, legs slightly apart and tugged the panties home. The material felt cool against my naked pussy and hugged my shapely rear. I twirled, catching sight of my reflection in the window. Sexy.

Turning my voluptuous bottom to the window I lifted a leg and placed it on the edge of the chair, kicking it backwards so it toppled away from the window and skidded into the room. Then I stepped back against the cold glass and writhed in time to the music, occasionally bending at the waist to let my hair touch the floor, flicking it back up to splat against the glass and tumble to my bare shoulders.

As Chris Isaak gave way to the Beastie Boys I smiled, bent to take another slug of wine and picked up the beat, ruffling my hair in front of my face. I crossed my arms to cover my chest, bear-hugging myself, and spun to face the world, legs apart. As the Beastie's rapped, I unwrapped; one arm at a time, placing each forearm in turn against the glass and swinging my breasts to the music. Pushing away from the glass a step I could feel the crotch of my panties dampening as I portrayed my assets like a cheap whore to a slavering businessman. I didn't have to fight for the right to party; I _was_ the damn party!

Pressing palms against the glass once more I wiggled a little then slithered my hands down the window, staring keenly through my hair into the distance outside, bending my knees, lowering my body, spreading my legs wide as I reached the low point of my crouch. Keeping one hand on the glass for support I dug the other inside my sleek underwear, gliding two fingers deep between the folds of my raging slit, pulling them out coated in my sticky honey.

I stole a glance up at the curtainless window. There was still movement there and I felt a rush of pride as I lifted my hand to my face, first sniffing my glorious arousal and then lewdly sucking the cream from my fingers. I was on autopilot; fucking unstoppable; riding the prickly thrill of exposure, basking in the power I had over the men in their hotel suites who were undoubtedly jerking furiously to my lurid show.

Back went my hand, snaking into my expensive panties and coming out glistening. I had a wicked thought and drew a large, theatrical heart shape on the window in my juices then bent to kiss its centre, my breath condensing momentarily before clearing.

All thoughts of prolonging the show vanished. Raking my hair forward again as it threatened to reveal my identity, I returned my hand once more to my crotch, openly masturbating this time, unable to control myself. Sliding up the hand in contact with the glass, I pressed the top part of my body forward into the window while my fingers danced beneath the sheer material, zeroing in on my central button. With my forehead resting against the glass, my breath formed mist circles that grew then faded repeatedly on its cold surface as I panted.

Was I really going to come here in front of the city? It seemed so surreal all of a sudden. Did I know myself at all or was this just another chapter in my sexual awakening; an insight into myself I had denied for so long that repression had become normal? Certainly the feelings I had couldn't be denied; heat; exhilaration; power. But was I out of control? Did it matter I was becoming addicted to my sexuality? As I alternated between ploughing my fingers inside my ravenous opening and satisfying my engorged clit with hard circles, the questions faded and I let my body supply the answers.

I stole a glance to the window above. I definitely wasn't imagining things. A silvery silhouette cast by the moonlight was visible against the glass, rocking. I was immediately greeted with a sense of pride above all else; like my actions had been validated somehow because I had incited someone else to explore their own fantasies with me in the spotlight. I was desirable. I was anonymous. I was suddenly flying. A gush of elation surged through my body and lined further stickiness in the designer panties.

My breasts crushed hard against the window, nipples trying to poke holes in the glass as my body ignited the rocket fuel coursing my veins. The oh-so familiar sensors that preceded my orgasm began to trip as the dirty imagery of myself from the stranger's perspective invaded my thoughts. How many more strangers were out there enjoying me? Wanting me. How many would I cause to erupt from this distance, with just my hands and thoughts driving myself over the edge as I accelerated and careened into freefall?

I sank to splayed knees and could barely feel my cheek forced against the window as my eyes closed, mouth opened and breath fogged. In my head I was far away from the Nevada desert, falling; falling from a cliff face towards the foaming ocean below, the wind whistling in my ears as the sea rapidly approached, filling my vision. Seconds before impact a moment of calm enveloped me as everything collapsed inwards, bracing my body for the inevitable.

And then came the sensation of plunging into the freezing water.

Instinctively I rammed my fingers home to ride the bubbles and jets that tickled the surface of my skin. All at once my mind was everywhere and nowhere: cocooned safely in the weightlessness of the underwater dive; flying over a purple meadow; racing along a bright white corridor, doors all open with faceless human shapes in each doorway egging me on with glee.

I came hard, body tensing. My skin flushed rapidly in sections: abdomen, chest, neck, head, legs, feet, arms, and finally fingers tingling as they pressed inside my quivering pussy. Time stopped mattering and the world outside went into suspended animation as I pictured the contorted faces of men erupting at my brazen display, all of us coming in unison; minds connected across the landscape by my spasming body.

The rapid tightening and relaxing of the muscles in my soaked pussy sought to draw these men to me; attempting to siphon the creamy jets of spunk across the physical divide that separated us. I wanted it all inside me; the white hot lava from countless men sloshing inside my tight, quivering cunt, bursting from me as the orgasmic contractions wracked my walls and thundered outward to grip my dermis, holding me rigid and heating me from the inside out.

I was such a slut for wanting that. Had I the presence of mind to reflect upon my thoughts at that instant I'd have probably disgusted myself, but without any sense of guiding conscience -- with all my instincts magnetically aligned in the single pursuit of carnal bliss -- I had no cause for questioning my raw desires. The inner slut was awake and rampaging.

Juice flowed around the fingers still buried in my winking sex, oozing from my slit and being deposited in the crotch of the already wet underwear. My nostrils, still pressed up against the window beneath closed eyes, caught the scent of my arousal and I briefly pictured myself riding the face of an anonymous stranger, my panties forced against his nose and mouth as I smothered him with the power and intensity that only a woman truly out of control can.

The vision was fleeting yet the effect was deep and delicious; I panted hard against the window and crushed the palm of my hand against my proud button as I imagined the man powerless beneath me, forced to service my dribbling channel, his face smeared with the come seeping through the flimsy fabric, his breathing erratic and gasping as I cut off and reinstated his air supply.

Fat, thumping waves propagated like sonar pings from the knot of nerve endings just above my gaping slit and I rode them fiercely, each one caused by a savage lick from the fictional man trapped beneath my spread thighs. The music long forgotten, drowned by the blood rushing past my ears, I let my mind complete the slutty fantasies that consumed me.

The heat was fantastic. I could have forged steel in my body as I flushed with each massive contraction. The free hand that wasn't deep between my legs was firmly massaging a breast and its extruded puffy nipple, autonomously twisting and pinching the hard red bullet just inches from the window. Electric pulses crackled between my buxom mounds, connecting the erogenous zones with invisible energy that shot downward, colliding with the arcs buzzing from my pink jewel, forming a triangle of concentrated euphoria which spread like a forest fire to envelop my entire body.

I squeezed and ground against my hands like a woman possessed; I bet I was some sight, on my knees framed and writhing against the large window, very obviously masturbating through an incredible orgasm. Without doubt I enjoyed watching erotic scenes like mine unfold, but it was better to be watched; to know an audience were hanging on my every movement; with every touch wishing they were next to me, kissing me, on top of me, inside me.

Those thoughts played out in my mind as the intense heat burning through my veins permeated my skin; each crescendo, while subtly smaller than its predecessor, a stark reminder of what it meant to be alive and human.

Ever so slowly as the waves lessened my real-world senses began to switch back on and I regained awareness of the hotel room and the dryness in my throat. After some long moments waiting for my breathing to return to something approaching normal I shut my mouth and peeled my face from the glass, hair stuck to my cheek in places with perspiration.

Sitting back on my haunches I gently prised my sticky fingers from my sopping pussy and brought them to my mouth. The delightful taste of myself took my breath away momentarily and I allowed my digits to remain in place as my tongue swirled around them, savouring the sweet cream and earthy base note of my lusty secretions.

Opening my eyes I let them adjust. As the city lights refocused, the realisation of my actions hit me and a smile crept across my face. Along with the satisfaction that always accompanied the endorphin rush of a fantastic orgasm, I felt I'd learned something more about what made me tick. The images that my subconscious flooded me with when I was at my most vulnerable had given me insight I would not normally allow myself to comprehend. It was unclear whether it was a portent of experiences to come or just an expression of latent sexuality I needed myself to see.

Rocking gently I eventually gained enough strength and momentum to stand, using the window to help. Each step towards the centre of the room was a reminder of my orgasm; the damp underwear clinging to my shaved labia; cool air conditioning attempting to restore the temperature of my flushed breasts; the swish of low-denier material as my thighs brushed together.

After shutting off the iPod the silence was at first unnatural. I considered putting it back on but chose to sit on the end of the huge bed instead and gaze out of the window, still only half able to believe what I had just done. Was it even me? If not, who was the debauch woman who had just cavorted in front of plate glass and made herself come at depraved thoughts of strangers fulfilling their equally sordid fantasies?

Voices in the corridor came and went. For a fleeting moment I wondered if there would be a knock at the door: an adoring fan who had watched me, or someone to take me away and lock me up for violating public decency in this crazy country of unreasonable censorship, hypochondriacs and guns. Perhaps a spell under guard would do me good and flush out my demons?

A phone rang in the next room. I was pretty sure it was vacant and it indeed rang out after 10 rings or so. Then I jumped when my phone rang moments later, the shrill, insistent chirp begging to be answered. Could it be Adam? I checked the clock: maybe.

Rising from the bed I approached the bedside table, paused watching the phone-mounted bulb wink in time to the ring, then curiosity won and I reached for the receiver.

"Uhh hello?"

"Second time lucky," came the unconventional response. It was a woman's voice, which immediately threw me. Middle-aged with a hint of an accent; Hispanic maybe, given the way she pronounced it 'locky'.

"Sorry?"

"I must have called next door first. Forgot there's no thirteenth room."

"Oh. And... you are?"

"The woman who watched you just come."

She pronounced it 'comm' and I couldn't tell if she was friendly or about to launch into a tirade of abuse against me, but I shivered all the same and felt myself colour. Rumbled. "I'm, ummm, sorry. I didn't think it through."

She laughed quickly; efficiently. "What is there to regret? I came too."

"Oh. Really? Wow." Relief washed over me and my guard dropped a notch. "Glad to be of service."

"It was quite a show. Wish I had the confidence to do that."

"The wine helped." I winced. Was that an excuse?

She laughed again. "Whatever you drink, I want some."

I blushed again. "So where are you?"

"Up to your right."

"You...?"

"Yes," she breathed. "You knew?"

I paused, choosing my words carefully. "I suspected. But I thought you were a he."