J, called from Montreal late Monday evening, 'I'm coming to London tomorrow, I'm staying at a hotel on Park Lane (£350 on the Monopoly Board) and would love to see you about noon if that's OK?'

J also called about this time last month with the same request, oh and the month before that too...I've a sneaking suspicion J may simply like the sound of my voice, because I've yet to meet him.

M called from The Corinthian hotel (ESPA toiletries) for an evening appointment, we’d met at the same hotel a year before, I could place his broad NYC accent, but not the face. We’d arranged for 11.30pm, but due to road closures it was midnight before I arrived. I hate being late but there was little I could do about it, so I keep him updated by text, it wasn’t a problem.
The lobby was quiet as I walked across the marble floor; a man was sat beside the huge revolving door with his tool-kit laid out, doing the repairs that can only be carried out once everyone is tucked up safely in their beds. This is a five-star hotel after all, so no shabbiness here at these prices.
I arrived at room X…ah yes, I remember now, the last time we met he’d asked me several times if I thought he’d, ‘A fit body.’ At forty-something it's true to say yes, he was was in very good shape, thus I agreed and assured him.
He requested that I wear all black, bra, knickers, stockings and shoes, dress too if I had one, I do. Whilst he lay on the bed in his boxers, I went off to the bathroom to fetch a flannel and a bottle of body lotion; I thought I’d start the proceedings off with a back-rub.
M asked that I keep my knickers on, as he wanted to feel my cock through my knickers but not see it, each to their own, I was happy to oblige. Nor did he care for kissing, so after a back massage, I went down on his cock and sucked him, which he enjoyed.
Some ten minutes of cock sucking later he said, ‘Frances, I’m going to come soon but I don't want to come on the bed sheets, lets stand over there by the mirror and you can jack me off from behind.’ ‘OK, shall I go fetch a towel,’ ‘Nah, I’ll just come over the carpet,’ Ehhh...righty ho.'
So, I stood behind him pressing my black laced covered cock against his bare bottom, reaching my hand around to wank him off, within a minute he’d spurted his load over the beige carpet. I went and fetched a towel to clean up the spillage and freshen myself up.
No sooner had he climaxed, M was on his phone checking his text/mail, there was little or no conversation. Some people are like this, perhaps finding it difficult or awkward to communicate after their passion is all spent, shyness, guilt, a lack of etiquette?

Suffice to say, I must have been there a total of half an hour, M was satisfied and I was happy to be heading off to my own bed; plucking a satsuma from the fruit bowl I was homeward bound.

What I'm reading in bed...

A Rose For Winter: Laurie Lee.

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