A business trip to America

Sophie packed her overnight bag for the conference with little enthusiasm. Earlier in her career she had found these meetings exciting , an opportunity to meet new people, network, and have a break at the company's expense. Now however, she'd had her fill of them, most of the people being rather dull, and she resented being away from home and her children.

She put the last few items in, smiling to herself at her emergency stash of condoms. Ever responsible, and cautious, she never forgot them although she'd never had cause to use them. She was fiercely faithful and loyal to her husband and had never strayed, despite the odd hiccup in their marriage. The sex was still good although, like most marriages, it had become rather routine at times, but she loved him just as much as when they'd first met. Her eyes misted up a little at that thought.

Pulling herself back from her reverie, she picked up the bag and went out to the car. It seemed no time at all when she pulled up at the hotel.

Thankfully, check-in was swift and she was soon in her room. Neat enough, a nice aspect, but quite small: company cutbacks starting to bite, she smiled. There wasn't much time before the welcome meeting, but she hastily had a shower to freshen up, and slipped into something casual but smart, wanting to give the correct impression . As usual, she paid special attention to her underwear; firstly, she had a weakness for expensive lingerie, it being one of her few indulgences; secondly, it always made her feel good, and that feeling gave her confidence; finally, and again she smiled, there was the 'just in case' factor, in the unlikely event that she should stray.

She felt her spirits drop slightly when she entered the welcome meeting, seeing a lot of the usual faces. The men she met here were unexciting, boors, with little in the way of interesting conversation on the rare occasions that they could drag their attention away from her boobs or amateur attempts to get into her panties. Nevertheless, she made the usual small talk and edged around the room thinking she would do the bare minimum and maybe get an early night.

But then, pushing through a small group of people, her attention was caught by a man that seemed apart from the others. He sat alone at a bar and just as she was about to look away, he glanced up and their eyes met. It was strange, such a small glance, but their eyes locked and a friendly smile formed on his lips.

It wasn't like her at all, but she returned the smile and felt strangely compelled to walk across to him.

As she neared him, he stood and introduced himself . "Hi, I'm James", he said, pushing away the plate he had been eating from (lots of fresh fruit she noticed), extending a handshake , "and you are?"

Sophie didn't respond at first, being taken in by this tall dark stranger with a soft American accent. She gauged he was 6' tall or so, slim, with short dark hair, grey at the temples.

"I'm Sophie ", she finally responded, accepting his offer to sit next to him, and so the evening started to turn for the better, sliding onto the proffered bar stool, taking care not to show too much thigh beneath her short skirt.

The conversation flowed easily, as did the drinks, as she thoroughly warmed to this charming man with an easy manner, a quick wit, and who genuinely seemed to take an interest in her. On more than one occasion she felt a blush across her cheeks as he passed a compliment, admired her insights and made her feel somewhat special.

He drank moderately and she joined in, getting that pleasant relaxing glow without stooping to the depths of the others around them. Accordingly, it was quite natural that she accepted his offer to continue their conversation elsewhere, away from the noisy crowd that so bored her.

As they moved away from the bar, his hand rested on the small of her back, and she realised she didn't mind at all. He ushered her back through the room towards the main bar but, getting there, realised that the quiet areas were all occupied. He turned to her, his hand still resting on her casually, "I know this sounds forward , but would room service be ok with you?". His eyes searched hers, looking for clues , but Sophie blurted "sure", almost without thinking. His smile told her everything and she took stock of him once more as he reached across and ordered drinks for the room (champagne, she noted ), confidently taking control of the bar steward, much to the annoyance of some of the other men that were waiting to be served.

In the elevator, he pressed the top button. 'The penthouse' , she mused, and scant seconds later the doors opened straight into his suite.

'Wow!', she couldn't help herself exclaiming at the luxurious apartment and the fabulous view over the city through the panoramic window that went all down one side of the suite.

"Make yourself at home", he gestured.

Sophie removed her shoes and curled her legs up on the couch, once again aware of the expanse of thigh but strangely not so bothered now.

James put some music on as the champagne arrived and the waiter rather messily popped the cork, much to their shared amusement and almost a shared knowing look.

He sat opposite, relaxed and assured and engaged her in easy conversation. She felt the champagne kicking in , her laugh girlish now at his jokes and observations. She could see his eyes appraising her and she didn't mind one bit, in fact, as she listened she started to gauge him as a sexual partner. She found him very attractive: his easy going, relaxed, yet controlled manner and she found herself imagining what he was like in bed, suspecting a dominant streak in him that she would submit to.

She moved her legs, pleased as a brief glance from him followed her movements, suspecting he could see up her thigh now and, not caring, she leaned back slightly, secretly hoping he would glimpse her underwear.

When he moved to sit next to her, she was not perturbed, in fact she soon found herself relaxing against him as the conversation and the wine flowed. She don't know what happened but one moment they were talking, there was eye contact, and the next his lips were joined to hers. She returned his kiss, moving into his arms and enjoying the way his hand swept up under her skirt. His kisses were like the rest of him, warm, welcoming, but also forceful: and she minded not one bit, opening her mouth to his probing tongue, sending a clear signal. She loved kissing but here, clearly, she had found a man that felt similarly, even as she felt her short skirt swept up to her waist.

There was a half smile on her face as she returned his kisses, knowing how fabulous her underwear was and proud of herself by dressing so appropriately.

She felt cool air as her blouse was parted and felt exhilarated at being undressed by this gorgeous man, once again thrilled that her small breasts were being shown at their best in her fabulous new underwear.

Her hands fumbled at his clothing, wanting to reciprocate but he seemed to discourage her, gently. Everything was a whirl with his kisses on her, his hands upon her, her clothes strewn on the floor, cupped in his arms naked but for the sheerest of silk.

She wanted him.

She desired him.

So damn much.

She pulled herself away from him briefly, looking into his eyes, and moved her head down his body. Feeling no resistance, and no shame, she buried her head in his lap, unzipping his fly with ease and fishing out his penis as he lay back slightly. Half erect already, she freed it and moved her mouth to the tip, all caution thrown to the wind, sucking and coaxing him. He was uncircumcised, unusual here in America , and she rolled the foreskin back so she could lick the head more easily. His cock looked good, and felt wonderful in her mouth, the saltiness betraying the precum that she welcomed.

All traces of the demure business woman vanished as she warmed to her task, cupping his balls and moving her head up and down on him, feeding hungrily now . She wanted him.

He stood, and she had to adjust, kneeling before him with the lights from the city lighting them up through the huge window.

She felt a tug and heard a tear and the bra she so loved was discarded . Another tear and her panties followed. She was now naked, kneeling before this stranger still fully dressed in his suit, with his thick cock in her mouth.

And she felt great, bobbing her head up and down, using her hand, wanting this man, this cock, so much.

She felt his hand grab her hair, holding her head, controlling her, and realised she didn't mind this. Not. One. Bit.

He started to move her up and down on him, controlling the pace, controlling the , occasionally pushing too far: she was a demure wife, unused to this, and he made her gag a little but, although she was briefly self conscious, she found herself liking it and in her mind she formed images of her doing this act, observing herself being a whore.

And she liked that.

Even when his grip tightened and she felt him be more forceful. She was a good girl: she tighter her lips into an 'o' ring, letting him use her but she was taken by surprise when he started cumming forcefully in her mouth, jamming her head down on him, making her cough and splutter as she tasted pineapple (the fruit, she realised!) as his semen filled her mouth. She normally spat it out when her husband came but realised this wasn't an option with James since he held her tight.

Sophie glanced up as he held her, her eyes on his, his cock in her mouth, and he watched her swallow .

"Good girl", she heard him say, as the lift doors opened behind her.

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