A girls Xmas night out!

The girls at the office organise a Xmas party, every year, for the second week of December. I’d been every year for the past 10. But my new lover M had asked if he could book us a room for the same evening. It was no contest of course. It’s been difficult enough to arrange convenient times to meet, and as my wonderful husband J said “it’s the perfect excuse to explain to the kids why you won’t be coming home that evening. Too late to get the train back home!”


I put on the pretence of dismay all day at the office, telling the girls how disappointed I was that something had come up and I just couldn’t make it to the “annual bash”, hoping no-one would notice the overnight bag in my cupboard. I’d told M I couldn’t leave until all the others had left around 6.30. We agreed to meet at our previous bar “rendezvous” at 7 p.m.
Around six though I received a text “change of plan, running late, cab will pick you up from reception at 7.15. Not usual bar”.


I waited nervously after the girls had left, trying to work but unable to concentrate. It was to be only our third meeting.
Security called just after 7 “Cab downstairs for you Edi”.


Last minute hair and make-up checks in the lift on the way downstairs, giggling goodnights to our ageless Security Man, and outside to be greeted by the open-door of a black cab. I waited until the driver settled back into his own seat, before trying to tell him I’d have to make a quick call to find out where we were going. “The Strand Love, I’ve got the details. You’re to wait in the bar.” 15 minutes later and we were pulling into one of the biggest hotels in the West End. I couldn’t believe this was “the room for the evening”.


I stood in the foyer amazed to even be through the front door of such a place. B appeared and with a kiss on my cheek whispered “hurry, I’ve a table booked in the restaurant”. I felt a twinge of disappointment, but oh well, even to eat in such a place was something I’d never done.
The meal was wonderful, even if my appetite was not at it’s best. I always get “butterflies” and I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious of the (small for me) overnight bag I’d tried to slide discreetly beneath the table. Still, the wine and our chatter, eased my confidence to the end of the meal.


Then as he led me back out to the foyer I asked the question I’d been longing to ask at the table, “where exactly are we going?” He laughed at my obvious look of disbelief as he ushered me towards the lifts and said “just upstairs”.


It was just wonderful. Champagne in the mini-bar . . . I poured into long-stemmed thin glasses whilst he ran a bath. Those small ceiling lights in the huge bathroom dimmed down low, and just the gentle hum of classical music from the bedroom where I’d seen a huge bed.


He has a nice body, not spectacular, not too different from my husband, but . . . Well, just . . . different. We bathed together, he pulling me into him so that he could massage my back and shoulders . . . then sliding his hands round to play with my nipples and down to my clit. He fingered me slowly and nicely and tried to lift me onto him. It was nice, and it was erotic, but I wanted that bed. We stumbled across the floor, half towelling each other dry, half embracing, he sucking at my nipples, me stroking and teasing his cock.


We fell onto the bed, with him sliding down between my legs. I was in heaven. He was gentle, and he was hard. We were slow and we were fast. He had me lifting my knees up to my shoulders, pounding into me and sliding me over on my side. I knew I was good and I tried to make sure he knew it as well. I could roll round on top of him and I enjoyed sliding myself up and down his chest, teasing him and letting him flick out at me with his tongue, before pulling away and sliding down to his cock again. Then writhing and twisting before pulling away and sliding up to his mouth again, teasing and pulling away, before finally giving him what he was begging for and smothering his face.


It was lovely, just lovely . . . he rolled me onto my back again, pounding into me with deep thrusting strokes. I could hear him gasping with delight and knew he must be close so I pulled him out of me. I don’t often come with just penetration, and besides I love the “power” of making men come. I grabbed his bum cheeks pulling him further up my chest “come all over me” . . . he exploded, splashing all the way up to my cheek and hair.


We recovered with embraces and gentle stroking, talking for over an hour. Sipping champagne, giggling and caressing, before starting all over again. This time it was my turn. I pushed him down between my thighs where he licked and fingered, kissed and nibbled to my ever increasing pulsing instructions. I came with huge spasms rolling over onto my side and burying my head amongst the deep white pillows.


I semi-dozed as I often do afterwards, until his gentle stroking and caressing of my neck and back eventually brought me back to movement, conversation and then the return of his responses. He was erect again and I slid down on him this time, wanting to taste myself on him, and wanting to enjoy the fullness of him in my mouth. He came again and once again we snuggled up to each other, pressing myself against him and enjoying the warmth and smoothness of his body.


Then, suddenly it was morning . . . we’d fallen into a deep sleep and hadn’t moved from our last position, until I felt his erect cock sliding against my thigh again. I thought that perhaps we had just been dozing for a few minutes, until we both seemed to realise at the same time that the dimmed lights of the evening before had been replaced by a warmer, slightly sharper light of morning.


My husband often awakes with his erection trying to coax me into passion in the morning. Normally, work or motherly duties puts me off and I politely decline “let’s get to bed early tonight, when we’ll have more time”. But this was different . . . here I was in an amazing, plush, West End hotel, lying next to my “new” lover. It was daring, it was naughty, it was exciting, it was passionate . . . it was lovely. We both triumphed again, me first this time, I was quick and I could hear myself almost screaming with pleasure. (Sometimes, for me, the spark to good sex can almost be emotional, rather than physical stimulation). I recovered as quickly as I’d come and gave him the most memorable “morning glory” he said he’d ever had.


We had the room service breakfast I’d always dreamed of, showered and checked out. I wanted to see the bill (it must have been enormous), but M told me he’d had an "enormous" time and I knew I was worth it. I’d been good, very good (well very bad actually).


We kissed passionately before he hailed taxis (separate directions) and he teased “it’s up to you to arrange the next meet”. Well, how could I top that!!


I texted J excitedly from the cab. Brief details, and “get the kids in bed early tonight, so MUCH to tell you”
The girls were full of gossip, “she got so drunk, she was all over the waiter”. Normal Xmas girls-night-out stuff !! I had to say I was so disappointed I’d missed out on joining them.
But oh what a night . . . and oh, what a night at home last night with J. !!!!