Getting Naked at the Hilton

by Dee Dawning

  Embracing me, Scott's hands scoured my back and ass.

  All of a sudden, he drenched me, dragging me under the hot running water. Shivers surged through me as his wet, coarse tongue separated my lips to invade my mouth. My excitement soared as his hands wandered over my breasts, fingers twisting, pinching and rubbing my distended nipples. Barely able to catch my breath, I tensed as clever fingers split my nether-lips apart, probing the edges of my needy vagina. My breathing ceased when his wonderful fingers found my clit. God, I want him. I yearn for his cock ... his cock?

  Scott had me in such turmoil that I'd forgotten I held the object of my craving, his rigid cock, in my hand. I massaged it and felt his muscles stiffen. He gasped, sucking in a gulp of air as he broke our kiss and threw his head backward. I took the bar of complimentary soap off the shower ledge and rubbed it over his cock, balls, over his tight ass and into his anus. With my hands and his prick now slick with a soapy film, I stroked him with a lingering sensuality. My other hand on his chest, I could feel him quiver, which I'm sure I did also when he turned up the heat by shoving two fingers in my sopping wet pussy. Remembering the condom I had set on the shower seat, my shaking fingers removed the foil wrapping and rolled the latex down the object of my lust.

  "Put it in,” I begged, breathily, “Please, give it to me. Scott ... I need it!"

  As if answering a wicked prayer, he grabbed my buttocks and hoisted me enough that I inserted his stiff protruding shaft into my warm, slick recess. It felt heavenly when, his cock slid into my inflamed slit, hot water pouring over our faces and down our bodies, while Scott's tongue simultaneously roamed my mouth for a languorous kiss. Words cannot describe how good he felt inside me. I was right. When he first kissed me, I knew he'd be good.

  Still holding me by my ass, as he pounded my pussy, Scott unexpectedly swung me around and banged my back against the cold tile of the wall, temporarily knocking me breathless. All this as his swollen cock banged my cunt hard and his tongue continued to fuck my mouth. Trembling legs wrapped around him and crossed just above his trim buns. This encouraged him to fuck me even harder as if brisk, upward thrusts would defy gravity. My mind was short-circuiting from the bombardment of conflicting senses—hot, cold, wet, dry, hard, soft, smooth, rough, slick, coarse, tender, violent, black, white.

  Every nerve of my body was sensitized, primed for an exquisite climatic finish when, out of the blue, Scott threw open the shower door and with his tongue still roaming my mouth and his cock buried in my pussy, carried me into the bedroom and threw me on the bed. Standing there, his cock jutting out, studying me he said, “I don't care what you are. You are a beautiful, sexy woman whom I am about to ravish."

  I grinned. I liked everything about this handsome man. Scott's slightly disheveled hair, that deep melodic voice, his sultry sexy aroma and of course, that lean lightly-haired wiry body and upright joystick turned me on—big-time. “C'mon. Bury that beautiful fuck-stick in my sex starved booty."

  Scott chortled. “So now we're talking dirty, are we? Rachel, you are too much. What did I ever do without you?” Scott's facial expression turned serious. “What am I going to do when you leave?"

  "I dunno. I guess you'll have to come to LA to fuck me."

  His lips curled into a smile, eyes lighting up. “You live in LA? That's fantastic."

  "Yeah. I don't know how we'll break it to my oversized football player husband that I'm going to be screwing around with a Las Vegas playboy though."

  I had to laugh as his face drooped again.

  He looked green. “You're ... married?"

  I nodded. “With eight kids.” I giggled.

  * * * *

  What am I going to do with this woman, girl actually? “Eight kids, huh? With that perfect body? Rachel. You are so full of shit!"

  I could get seriously hung up on this girl, if I'm not careful.

  And what's wrong with that, Buddy Boy?

  Rev, I thought you weren't coming back, after I told you to fuck off.

  I wasn't, but Rachel is delightful. Maybe you should get serious with her. Are you going to stick it in her booty? She wants it you know, and she really turns me on.

  Rev, I've never seen this side of you.

  Hey, I can get into it. After all, I am part of you and we both know how rakish you can be.

  Rachel interrupted his reverie. “Hey! Scott, my hot, wet tunnel of lust is cooling off. Are you going to come here and fill me up?"

  I wanted to fuck her bad but ... I wanted to please her more. What is happening to me? I'm not one to place my partner's pleasure ahead of my own. To my surprise, I said, “I will, but first I want to taste your Fillet de Puss."

  She laughed. “Fillet de Puss? Welcome to Rachel's meat market,” she said as I lay on the bed, between her legs.

  Relishing the things I was going to do to Rachel, my gaze fell upon her smooth, delightfully sexy mound. With a lighter bikini tan line across her lower extremity, she'd obviously been sunning. A titillating aroma of sex assaulted my olfactory nerves as I spread her lovely legs. My eyes savored her delicate pussy, adding to my already expanding libido.

  She giggled nervously, almost like a little girl. “You may be laughing now,” I said half joking, “but soon enough, you'll be screaming.” Her giggles turned into sighs as soon as my fingers spread her moist folds, and my lips suckled her clit. Slowly moving her head from side to side, her breathing seemed to abandon her when my tongue teased the tender tip of her silky bud, she arched her back and pulled at my hair. Gasping as my eager tongue circled the rim of her deep recess, she stiffened and pushed, offering her sex further into my mouth. Her juices flowing freely, my tongue noisily lapped up the crème that formed, bringing forth a series of throaty whimpers from my gorgeous partner.

  "Ooh, Scott, You make me feel so good.” When her whimpers became a steady moan, her movements became uncontrollably wild. My eyes took in the length of her sleek feminine form. Moving my arms around her hips, I rested my fingers on her excited nipples in an effort to slow down her chaotic motion. Her hands reached down to my face, her fingers feeling around my mouth and her pussy. Vaginal juices, seeping in abundance from her opening permeated my mouth and her inquisitive fingers. She raised her hand to her mouth sucking on two fingers. After which, her hands went back of my head, grasping fistfuls of my hair, pulling my mouth ever more firmly into her tasty pussy.

  "Oh, yeah! That's it Scott, Oh, yeah. Oh, God. I think I'm coming. Uh, Ahhh. This is it!"

  Her thighs clamped down tight along my ears and her legs crossed on my back pulling me in even harder. Literally screaming, she rocked back and forth so hard, it's a wonder I didn't get whiplash.

  * * * *

  Scott appeared to be deep in thought, so I asked him if he was going to do me or not. Instead, I was shocked when he spread my legs and began a heavenly tongue fuck. Only a dozen or so times had a man dined on me and it had always felt more like an appetizer—a prelude to the main course, but with Scott, it was the main course. What Scott did to me was so sensational that I wondered if it wasn't better than being fucked. It was not only the first orgasm I had from a man eating my pussy, it was the greatest sexual experience of my life, that is—until later when he fucked me royally.

  I'd kind of stretched things a little with Scott. I wasn't quite as experienced as I let on. So when that hunk spread my legs, his eyes devouring my privates ... well, I got tingly all over. And when he got this obvious smile of appreciation plastered on his mug, I was liquid fire.

  As a warm up, he kissed and laved the insides of my upper legs, occasionally nibbling on thigh flesh. He set the top of his head at the nexus of my sex, moving his head slowly back and forth, so his soft spiked hair brushed against my clit, teasing me almost to crying. The hunger for his soft lips upon my clit was killing me. He could have probably made me cum from that alone, but then he gobbled my hot, sensitive bud into his warm hungry mouth, swabbing and slurping as if it was the best thing he ever tasted. My head flu
ng back in reaction to the wild sensations that were coursing through me. I basked in the blissful feeling of his luscious pink lips suddenly surrounding, sucking on my swollen nub.

  His delectable mouth was the best thing that had ever been around my nub. I scrunched my body, arched my back and grabbed a fistful of his hair. When he slipped his slippery tongue in my dripping pussy, followed by slow wet tongue laps up and down my clit, he had me so friggen hot, I thought I might burst into flame. Then when he took my nipples in his fingers, a new layer of excitement spread through me. I was primed, nothing but putty in his sensational mouth and hands.

  The wild movements I made seemed to make it hard on Scott, so I reached down and touched his cheeks. Like a blind person, I traced his handsome pussy eating face with my fingers. I could feel his tongue laving my sensitive bud and my fingers, joining in the pleasure of Scott's oral ministrations, became wet with my free flowing juices. Feeling an urge to taste what he'd tasted, I sucked on my wet fingers. Needing him closer to me, I reached down and grabbing the back of his head, pulled him into my deep, dripping, wet gash. Scott had me slow cooking at medium temperature and he mercilessly kept turning up the heat until I was ready to boil over, and blow the lid off, I did. A smo-o-o-th wave of tingly pleasure came over me, languorously spreading over my entire body and then BAM! I went ballistic, thrashing everywhere out of control, scratching his shoulders while squeezing his head in a pussy lock with my thighs.

  My composure restored, I reached for Scott to tug him up beside me. That's when I realized I'd hurt my hand. It must have banged against the headboard. Seeing me rubbing it, he took it to his mouth and began kissing it.

  I laughed. “What are you doing?"

  He flashed a warm smile. “Nothing, I noticed a scrape on your hand so I'm applying medicinal kisses to it. Feel better?"

  When I shook my head, he continued, “Not yet? I'm sure it will soon."

  My stomach growled. “Right now, I'm starving,"

  "So am I."

  Taking a sip of the coffee I'd brought in earlier, I scrunched my face. It was cold. “There's a pot of coffee in the kitchen, you want some?"

  "Sure. Don't forget you still owe me some answers."

  "Yes, and I also owe you an orgasm.” Scooting down so my mouth was inches from his cock, I looked up and asked, “How about I get you off?” I licked his shaft. “And when I finish we visit the coffee shop and have a late lunch/early dinner and answer your questions."

  "Mmm, that feels good. After the coffee shop we could come back and snuggle."

  "That sounds great. It really does, but before we do that, there's something I need to do after the coffee shop."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Three

  Pokey's

  "Anyone who says he can see through a woman is missing a lot."—Groucho Marx

  When we left her room, Rachel grasped my hand and dragged me toward the elevator bank. After pushing the down button, we hugged and as if by magic, the elevator doors opened. We stepped in, arm in arm, and the elevator zipped us to the ground floor so quickly that I almost lost the coffee I'd drank.

  On the ground floor, holding my hand, she led me to the Paradise Café.

  Rachel ordered two coffees while we perused the menu. We were in the coffee shop but my mind remained in her suite, where she had given me the blowjob of my life. I couldn't help reliving the unbelievable ecstasy of her luscious warm lips surrounding my steel-hard cock, after she'd removed the condom, how she stroked my swollen phallus, while her tongue licked my scrotum, taking my testes in her mouth, sucking on each ball, leaving them damp in the cool air-conditioned room. Then, as she swallowed my whole member, stroking and sucking, she grabbed my ass with her free hand pulling me into her, while I spent my load in the only place I could—her mouth. It was fucking amazing.

  "Scott? We're waiting. Are you going to order?"

  "What? Oh!” Rachel was looking at me, a flash of annoyance registering on her pretty face. I turned my head and saw the waitress, pad in hand. “French Dip, no fries with a side of fruit. And a refill on our coffees."

  We were in a circular booth, our knees touching. “What were you doing? You were like—zoned out!"

  "It's your fault, baby.” I smiled. “I keep flashing back to the fabulous blowjob you gave me."

  "Shoosh!” She put her finger to my lips and red faced, but half smiling, glanced around to see if anyone was looking our way. I took her finger and sucked on it. “Not so loud” she said softly. “Are you trying to embarrass me? What I did to you is nobody else's business.” She giggled. “What are you doing?"

  Taking her finger out of my mouth and holding her hand against my face. “Isn't it obvious? I'm sucking on your finger. May I ask you a question?” I put her finger back in my mouth.

  Half-smiling, she tilted her head. “Of course. That's part of what we came here for.” “Why are you sucking on my finger?"

  "Because I can't do what I really want to, here."

  Blushing again, she removed her finger. “All right smarty. Question?"

  "Okay.” I lowered my hand on top of hers. “Here goes. You told me about your mother. Tell me about your father."

  "My father's name was Michael Cooke. A dockworker, he died in an industrial accident when I was thirteen. Until then, we lived in a white, mostly Irish, neighborhood in San Francisco. There were good-sized insurance and legal settlements that left mother well off and assured college for us kids. Nevertheless, my mother was uncomfortable in the mostly white district, so we moved into a home she bought in Oakland, near her parents.

  "Living in Oakland was not a happy time for me. While my father lived and we were in the white area, I merely felt like I didn't quite fit in. Appearing whiter than black helped, but in Oakland that worked against me."

  "Let me tell you. African Americans can be bigoted too. I know what was done to our ancestors was terrible but the worse thing we can do, is dwell on it. Negativity never got anyone anywhere."

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to give a speech."

  Having lost my parents, I felt a closeness to her. “Tell me about your siblings?"

  "Just a brother, but we're not close."

  Being close to my own brother that surprised me. “You don't get along with him? How old is he?"

  She scrunched her face. “Twenty-two, but I'd rather not discuss him right now, if you don't mind."

  "No, you don't. I want to know all about you and that includes your younger brother."

  She raised her eyes upward and sighed. “All right, the short version. As you've observed, I take after my white father. Damen takes after Mother. We got along fine until father died and we moved to Oakland. Our home was in a racially mixed neighborhood and everyone got along fine, but the high school we went to was in an all black neighborhood and Damen fell in with the wrong kids ... punks ... thugs. Soon he rejected our father—said he hated him—and joined a gang. He and his buddies even made trouble for me, calling me ‘the white bitch’ and bullying anyone that would make friends with me.

  "Damen is smart. He could've been a doctor or something. Mom had the money for college, but no, he quit high school. Damen chose coolness over goodness. He presently resides in Lompoc penitentiary, serving five to seven for assault with a weapon. He's lucky it wasn't manslaughter or worse. When he gets out, I'll see if he's changed. Until then, Damen doesn't exist."

  As I shook my head in empathy, she continued, “Now that we have that bit of unpleasantry over, where were we? That's right, you wanted to know where I'm from. As I said, originally Frisco and Oakland, but I moved to LA about three years ago. I have a condo in South Pasadena, a mere five-hour drive from here. If you want, I'll give you my address, but only if you promise to come and see me."

  I pulled a pocket notebook out of my jacket and handed it to her. “I'd love too. Write it here. Phone number too.

  "You are so articulate. Where did you go to college?"

  "I have a BA in Englis
h from San Francisco State and an MS in Sociology from Stanford."

  I whistled.

  Rachel wrote down the information, closed the cover, flashed one of her heart-warming smiles and handed it back to me. “I expect you to be a man of your word."

  I opened to the notepad and read. ‘Rachel Cooke, 7275 Huntington Garden, South Pasadena, CA 91030, 555-644-1855 (My Hilton hump. She's hot. Don't forget her!)'

  Smiling, I said, “I'll be there. Bet on it. How does the weekend after next sound."

  She grinned. “I can hardly wait."

  We finished our lunch and were on our fourth cup of coffee. I felt wired from so much coffee. A glance at my watch told me it was three-forty so I asked, “Feel like going back up to your room?"

  She giggled. “I'm sorry I laughed. It's just that your eyes look so imploring. Of course we'll go back up there, but first I want to go back to the scene of your, or was it my, seduction—Pokey's."

  * * * *

  Scott opened the swinging door for me and I rushed into the dark, leading him behind me. It took a few seconds for our eyes to become accustomed to the dark lounge, after coming from the bright hot Vegas sunshine. When I could see, we went to a booth located in a private corner of Pokey's.

  After sitting down, I asked him, “What would you like? The cocktail waitresses don't come on until five o'clock."

  "How do you know?” he asked.

  "Because I work here. What do you want? Oh, I know, Salty Dog, right?"

  "Close. Greyhound—Salty Dog, sans the salt."

  "I'll be right back."

  "Rachel! Wait!"

  Despite hearing him, I pretended not to. At the bar, I ordered a greyhound and a red wine spritzer. While Tony, the bartender, made the drinks, I tried to anticipate the questions that most likely, would be forthcoming. For the first time since I met Scott, I was scared that something would go wrong. Every time I looked at him, I got a funny, fuzzy feeling in my chest and my stomach would twist and turn. No one had ever affected me like him. This is getting serious and now he's going to have even more questions to bombard me with. Well, isn't that the plan—why I bought him here? To get everything out in the open?