Such Great Heights: Julie and Blake Chapter 1
Hotels. Luxury hotels. What do I love about them? God, I know it isn’t phallic, their sleek shapes, rising into the sky. I’m not that immature. Am I?
It isn’t uncommon for me to go to a nice hotel, either here in the city with one of my fellows, or in a faraway city when I’m traveling with my husband. And a big den of luxury and depravity in the sky was my destination on this night.
I’m Julie, 29 years old and what you might call a slut wife. Travis, my lesser half (just kidding), is a marketing director for a clothing company, and that has him on the road all the time. I confess, on one of his trips a couple of years ago, I strayed from our marriage, and the man was in our bed when Travis got back early.
It wasn’t the easiest marital conflict, but eventually, after many discussions and very dramatic apologies from yours truly, we agreed to an open marriage—for both of us. How fun would it be for Travis to get little side pieces all over the country (in luxury hotels) and for me to say yes to propositions I always got around NYC, where we lived? Our agreement was that the men couldn’t enter our home; hence, the expensive, shiny house of lodging whose parking garage I was currently entering.
Alas, I do get hit on all the time. I’m a brunette with a girlish, rounded face and pouty lips. I’m not quite five-four, which gives my big, teardrop breasts a bit more prominence. I am curvy enough, with a fairly pronounced ass, one I treat well with four-times-weekly workouts.
Usually, I encouraged flirting with some reciprocity, a cute smile, maybe a touch on the shoulder. When I decide to give a new man my number, I instruct him to text only. If he does, I text back and explain Travis’s and my arrangement, and maybe send him a link to my online slut-wife profile.
That’s how Blake, the man I was meeting tonight, had found me. He’d seen a pic of me in a clingy black dress, and one in a bustier. As for me, had I seen his cock already? Guilty, friends. He was packing something that moistened my mouth when I saw the pic, and he’d suggested this hotel. I really appreciated a guy with the funds and inclination to pay for a night in a nice place even though he lived in the city himself. I figured the question would be how much of the night we’d use. That was always exciting, meeting a man for the first time, not really knowing—even having seen his equipment—what it was like to have him inside me, his hands squeezing my ass, his hot breath on my neck.
With that in mind, my panties were a bit moist as I walked into the lobby. It wasn’t exactly busy, but with a healthy activity. There were businessmen bounding down for a night in the city, and tourists discussing their big plastic maps of attractions, nearly bumping heads as they hunched over them.
A barrel-chested black man gave me the key card to the room where I’d find my bullseyes. I walked past some happy tourists, a small fountain, and leather hotel furniture and hit the elevator button. On the way up, I pictured my quarry. I recreated his photos in my mind, most of them in black and white. He was handsome, slightly rugged, with an irresistible five o’clock shadow. If I wanted to, I thought as I walked down the tenth floor hallway, I could be ripping off his clothes in thirty seconds.
There was a curve ball, though. When I got to the door, panties a bit wetter from the anticipation, I found my date had left a note on the door. He told me to go to the lounge on the eighth floor, where I’d find a door to a patio outside.
I’m not one for a wild goose chase, and I was a bit suspicious of something, role playing, possibly something dangerous. But I didn’t want to be paranoid or worry about nothing. He probably just wanted to have a couple drinks out in the open air. While it was a bit nippy, it really was a gorgeous New York night.
It did feel nice, as I opened the door, to feel the evening air. I didn’t have time to think about that before hearing a shy voice calling “Excuse me, miss.”
I turned, expecting a waiter. But it was him. My bullseye, Blake. He didn’t just look like his picture, but even better. In person, I could really see the character in his face as he stood up to greet me. He was more wily-looking than in his pictures, more of a bad boy in full, living color. The pics hadn’t done justice to his sexy eyes, which, in the faint lighting, looked a somber and thoughtful gray. I guessed they were blue, but they were devastating.
I sat in the lounge chair next to him, which had a gently-reclined back and required a gal to sit with her legs out in front of her. I’m not tall enough to be leggy, so that wasn’t ideal, but it wouldn’t be long until he’d have my sleeveless white top on the floor and he’d see how my demi-bra framed my big tits, and he’d be mine.
He’d ordered a rum and coke for me, and a handsome Latin server arrived with it right after I’d sat down.
“Shame on you,” Blake said. “Doesn’t a worldly lady know she should make me wait much longer?”
“I can get my car out and drive around the block a few times,” I said with a wink. He chuckled.
I liked him.
“So, you’re a restaurant manager,” he said. His eyes were so intent, focused. Earnestness against the heartbreaker effect of his stubble and chiseled cheekbones.
“I am. Worked up to it from hostess.”
I liked the way he undressed me with his eyes as we chatted.
“So you can manage with credibility,” he said with a little smile. I liked his intelligence, his way of truly listening.
“I don’t think I’ve ever worked my way up to anything,” he said.
“Yeah, you’re a poker player, right? Professional.”
“I make my living with games,” he said.
I was halfway through my cocktail. Blake was about to kill his—I guessed I’d left him waiting a while.
“So,” I said, “do you meet some shady characters in your line of work?”
“Mmm, I don’t know. Maybe I am the shady character.”
The end of his sentence was stepped on by the noise of about a half-dozen college-aged kids, half guys, half girls, dressed up, but in clothes more businesslike than something they’d wear to a dance or a swank function. Who knew? But they were loud as they made their way to the balcony not so far from us.
“I mean, is it dangerous?” I asked.
He smiled. His eyes flashed as he did.
“I usually play in one or two card rooms. Sometimes the casino here, sometimes Atlantic City. Those places are pretty safe. I s’pose it would be dangerous to get in debt to, you know, some of the wrong people. But I have to admit, I don’t have that problem.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I lose very little money making sure everything’s cooked right.”
“When you finish your drink,” he said, “Why don’t we go look over the city?”
“Absolutely. Let me ask you this.”
“Ask me that.”
“Say you woke up one morning and found you suddenly had the ability to fly. How would you feel about it?”
He looked into his glass, unsmiling. It was as if he’d somehow been waiting for this obscure question.
“Well.” Damn, those college kids were loud, recounting something from earlier in their night, making fun of something. Blake put a hand on his face. “I don’t think you’ll like my answer.”
“OK, now I’m curious,” I said. I looked into the ice in my glass, then back up at my date.
“Should we get another drink?”
A bar was set up against the hotel wall. I went with a gin and tonic this time, Blake a whiskey neat. We strode to the short end of the patio, diagonally from the annoying collegians. I smelled my date’s rich cologne, the kind with a scent that develops as you take it in, an exotic tang upfront and woodier tones following. First, you get turned on, then reassured you’re right to be turned on.
From the short wall, the view was all glass and steel, and you could see straight down the city’s arrow-straight avenues. The city blinked and preened.
“The ability to fly,” Drake summed. “You’ve asked me, not what I’d do, but how I’d feel. I guess I’d ask you, why did you frame it that way? Why is the question how I’d feel?”
I took a sip of my cocktail, not wanting to get very tipsy.
“Well, I was thinking about it after I dropped my husband off at the airport this morning. Flying from skyscraper to skyscraper. Or just blasting off. I mean, you could just go on this, like a vacation, and stop in flight and sit, like, on a cloud--for months. Total escape.”
He smiled again. God! His shiny, alive eyes. They were always in flux.
Everything was silent.
I felt his gaze on my face—he’d forgotten about our thought experiment, it seemed, because the look was very admiring.
Turning, I raised a hand to his cheek and we met for our first kiss.
God, that cologne! The taste of whiskey on his soft lips. He put a hand on my waist as our tongues found one another. It was a kiss of two people who’ve given many passionate kisses, many dirty kisses. We’d given kisses had that paved the way for the wild coupling to come, and also that had happened in the midst of a naked tryst. We wanted to impress one another.
And we each did that. This man could kiss. It made me hungry and I took my hand off his cheek and clutched at his hair. My tits pressed into his slender, hard bod as our tongues picked up speed. It wasn’t about performance now. It was melting together, melding together. We were now trusting each other and showing pure affection, an affection that was as innocent as it was worldly and lustful.
We ended it quickly. Each of us seemed to realize we’d end up with me bent over the Island of Manhattan if we kept this up. We were here to enjoy some drinks first—it wasn’t like he had to get back to work at the end of his lunch hour.
We dislodged and smiled at each other, then matched each other’s laugh at how intense it was.
“Sitting on a cloud,” he said.
“Ahem, yes,” I said. “Conversation. Building up. I don’t know, I just, people talk about super powers, what if they could do this cool thing, but the fact is, I’d feel guilty. Like, why me?”
He tilted his head.
“You can’t be serious,” he said.
“I am. Why not?”
We were now turned back as we’d been, side-by-side, looking at the street. I put my arm around his waist. He didn’t reciprocate—a bit odd, but probably his style. He seemed the kind of guy to just do whatever.
“Well, you asked me how I’d feel. I wouldn’t feel anything. I mean, do you think about all of your good qualities, your conversation skills, your good looks, whatever other talents you have, and feel guilty?”
I considered this.
“No, but I think it would be different if you just sprouted the ability to fly.”
“Sure. But the point is what you do with it. Because even if everyone had that power, a lot of people would do dumb things with it. No need to feel guilty about making more of your skills.”
I took another drink. I slipped my arm off of him, since he wasn’t snuggling up against me. It was risky, because I didn’t want him to think I was put off.
“Well, what would you do?” I asked.
“I’d witness everything.”
“I’d fly all over, seventy, eighty feet off the ground, with a camera, and I’d record all these transactions. Crimes, interactions, fights, whatever people do. And edit it down into a series of films that show how people really are.”
“Jesus. Where did that come from?”
“Well, you asked what—”
“So, how you’d feel would be that the world needs to see your movie, right?”
“I mean, look down there. At that guy in the pleather jacket, talking to the Indian woman. What do you think is going on?”
The pair was almost directly below us. The woman was probably in her thirties or forties, wearing a black sweater with no jacket, the man several years older, barely taller than her. He was holding one hand out stiffly to her.
“It looks like he’s lecturing her,” I said. “It looks like he’s saying something condescending.”
“I think it’s a lover’s quarrel,” he said. “His posture seems sad.”
“So does hers.”
“How many of these are going on tonight?” Blake asked. “How many relationships are ending? How many are beginning? These various transactions take on their meaning by playing off of one another.”
“Those people down there,” I said. “They’re being spied on by a married woman and a poker player who’ve met here to have sex.”
“Yes!” he said, turning to face me. I turned to face him. I was relieved when he took my free hand in his.
“Whatever we think is going on, it’s only the tip of the iceberg,” Blake said. “I mean, there’s a building taller than ours,” he said, pointing behind me. “There’s another one back there. Without a doubt someone’s watching us.”
“And someone’s watching them,” I said.
“Right. But they might not really care. They could be looking at us and not giving us a thought. They are doing that. Someone is looking at us out their window right now, and all we are is little blobs to them. They’re not even thinking about what we’re doing, because they’re boring people. That’s what I mean by different people doing different things with their power. The buildings in this town are so high, it’s like people in them are flying.”
“I have a feeling where this is going,” I said.
“We don’t have to be watched,” he said. “We could go get a real drink, some appetizers. Are you hungry enough for dinner?”
“I’ve had dinner,” I said.
Was he talking about leaving the hotel altogether? Apparently, my question about flying had really taken him on a trip. I was horny as hell, from the kiss--and from this conversation. He was a smart guy, and that had my juicing flowing.
“I feel like going down into the heart of it,” he said. “Down from our perch. Sitting in a crowd.”
I wasn’t sure if I’d said something he hadn’t liked. Was I a bad kisser? Was my perfume noxious to him?
“So,” I said. “I agree with you. But it’s a sin to not finish perfectly good drinks. Those kids are kind of annoying. Let’s go down this way a bit.”
We walked farther from the kids, where there was no one. The patio ended here rather than wrapping all the way around the building. It had a little false wall, made of dainty spruce trees a few feet in front of the concrete.
I got Blake’s eye.
“I think that kiss deserves another.”
We each put our drinks on the edge of the wall and embraced again.
This kiss was as passionate as before, probing, deep, even a bit sloppy, which was intoxicating in the moment. I ran my hand through his hair, wanting to slide my other one down to his ass. He clutched me hard as we explored each other.
We finally had to come up for air.
He leaned down and gave me two tender kisses on my neck. It was heaven. I had goosebumps up and down my arms. I was hot from the kiss and cooled by the night breeze at the same time, and I had to restrain myself for working his fly right then and there and dropping to my knees.
“Anticipation is my…my thing,” he said.
“So that’s why you want to go to a bar?”
Anticipation was one of my things too, but we’d built up more than enough of it, and there was no way he was going to keep me hanging with wet panties for much longer.
“Come here,” I said. I took us to the edge of the balcony, and with Blake’s help, pulled aside one of the small potted trees to carve a little space for us.
I scooted into the little trysting space I’d made and gently tugged on Blake’s hand. He seemed a bit reluctant, but stood between me and the spindly piece of décor. We were blocked from everyone on the patio, so we weren’t in danger of getting thrown out of the place.
“The only people who can see us are the ones up there,” I said, rolling my eyes upward.
Blake looked mildly surprised as I got to my knees on the cement, several stories up in this hotel. He relaxed, though, as I unbuckled his belt, and unsnapped his faded blue jeans. He was wearing black briefs, and after delicately pulling his pants down enough, I pulled them down too.
He was most of the way erect from our kissing and probably from his prized anticipation. Taking him into my hand, I took in what was starting to stand before me.
His head was long, just barely tapered, and not too big. The shaft was like a building’s column, straight, strong. It was that delightful rich brown color I always loved to come across.
Dragging my hand slowly from the bottom of the shaft up just a bit, I gave his darling head my first swirl with my tongue. I kissed the tip. I rolled my hand around the middle of his member. It was time to take him into my mouth, which I did slowly. It’s so lovely to take a long head into one’s mouth—more to savor. I swirled my lips around it, drooling more onto his shaft, and then slid his manhood all the way in my mouth. I love having a cock pressing on the roof of my mouth. I admit, I do sometimes gag, but I can recover by sliding it only halfway out. This time, though, my reflex was stifled, and I just enjoyed him tickling the back of my throat, and the groan I elicited from him.
I bobbed back and forth, now using my hand to stroke his balls. I salivated more. He moaned more. At one backstroke, I popped him all the way off and jumped up.
“All right!” I said, “let’s go mingle with people down below.”
Blake’s eyes were wide. I brushed past him, leaving him to struggle with his cock and pants and belt.
“Ah, I see you’ve done this before,” he said.
“Oh, I could say the same for you, mister anticipation.”
“Hey, don’t worry, we’re going upstairs right now,” he said, catching up to me. I felt bad for stopping like that, making him walk through the hallways and onto the elevator with a big boner, but it wouldn’t take long before I’d be able to finish him.
We reached to our floor and Blake grabbed my hand—my heart leapt and my body swooned as he did, it was as if he was afraid I’d run off, a horny little prankster. I also loved that a part of him wanted to be in a hot, crowded bar, contemplating his movie about human behavior. I didn’t know why I’d asked him about flying, but I’d have to use my questions as a personality test from now on. If a guy had a lame answer, he’d be bad at eating pussy.
We entered the grand gambler’s accommodations.
I had a moment to notice it was, as expected, perfectly nice, with lots of well-polished oak and brass lamps, but who cared about that?
I shoved Blake onto the bed and jumped on him.
I would finish my blowjob, but first I went for his mouth. I opened it with my tongue and assaulted him with a ravenous kiss that told him he’d better be ready to keep up with me. It also told me that his cock, long and true, with its tapered head, had captured my pussy’s heart.
And now, for the rest of him. Breaking the kiss, I went to his neck with my lips while petting his hard chest with my hand. I first played with his nipple and then felt the sparse hair in the middle. But I have a practiced hand, and I know how to explore a man’s pecs, probing them, making my clit twitch in the process, making him hotter.
I inhaled his classy cologne as I smothered him with affection. As I sucked his other nipple, my hand started to stray toward his cock, but I held back and gently caressed his abs instead. They were more developed than his pecs, the muscles ridged and rippled and so well defined. They demanded attention, and I gave it by kissing my way down to his stomach and then giving him kisses all around his midsection.
But I couldn’t stay away from his raging member. Yes, I’d tortured him, but truthfully, I needed it in my mouth.
Roughly getting his damn clothes off, I wasted no time. Oh, I wanted the tease routine—teasing myself too—the tongue, a lick of the shaft, but he deserved more, so I just took him inside.
I had no trouble making my mouth very wet, going halfway down, making him slippery. I went up and down a few times, half of him warm in my mouth. I was very wet, my skin getting warmer, tauter. My motions achieved an auto-pilot, wildly bobbing, enthralled and in lust with this long, hard tool. You can’t stop me when I’m in this state—I was frenzied as I flew fast up and down, corkscrewing my head to give the most stimulation possibly. Drake responded with moans and by twisting my hair in his hand. I sucked and slurped and went crazy. I had my legs up in the air behind me, like some teenager listening to music on her bed. But I wasn’t a teenager, and I knew I wanted this to last as long as possible.
So I slowed down, sucking him powerfully and wetly, but not as fast. All the way up, then most of the way down, corkscrewing and flattening my tongue against the underside of his cock. I could still smell the earthy cologne in addition to the musk of his balls and hair and cock. It was a heavenly cocktail. Slowly, I sucked my way up and down, not cheating with my hand.
I sucked for while before feeling that telltale pressure that meant he was going to explode in my mouth. I kept at the same pace, a practice I’d picked up years ago, and before long, was rewarded for my work with a thick rope of cum, which I took in with a couple of swallows.
Licking my lips, I cleaned off his head and gazed up at him.
He wore a look of pure, dizzy bliss. I love that on a man.
“You’re amazing,” he said. “And I’m a tough customer.”
“I have no doubt,” I told him.
I lay on top of him and he rolled us over. Finally, he’d a chance to undress me. The man hadn’t even seen my tits yet.
All that was about to change, as he made short work of my satin blouse. He deftly unhooked my bra and then went for my skirt. I lifted my hips as he pulled it down, revealing my scalloped, ivory panties. Of course, at this point, they were a bit messier than sexy, but that’s probably a matter of perspective.
Drake wasn’t in any mood to play panty inspector, instead peeling them off with impatience and lust. Even though I’d just drained his balls, his libido sure wasn’t low.
We shared a kiss and then he began groping my big breasts. There was something about his hands. They were on the big side, and his fingers were bony, but his palms were soft and he was gentle—gentle enough. He seemed to intuitively know how to touch me. I didn’t need to be treated like porcelain, but like a lot of women, I wasn’t into being pawed or squeezed too aggressively. The pleasure was in the slowness and softness.
He began sucking my nipples and then greeted my excited clit with his fingers. He began to rub me in circles, and it sure got a girl’s attention. I ran my fingers through his hair as he played with me. I loved the way he heated me up for the main event.
With some amusement, I recognized I was a bit hungry. Imagine his expression when I finally asked if it was snack time. Not yet, though.
He kissed down my torso and finally got between my thighs and started giving Miss Clitty some hot licks. It was nice—he wasn’t amazing—but it’s always fun. He put a finger at my entrance and began lapping with more purpose. That increased the tingling and made me throw my arms up over my head. He responded by sliding his finger in halfway and licking a bit faster. This was getting pretty good, but I was getting ready for more cock.
“Are you hard?” I murmured.
“Could use a boost,” he said.
“Trade me places, cowboy.”
We rearranged and I crawled between his legs. I missed this not-so-little guy. I sucked him into my mouth and only too quickly did he reach full hardness. I went up and down a few times and licked around, but my pussy wanted it more.
I sat on his long, ridged bad boy and slowly eased myself onto it. Putting my hands on his chest, I ground hard into him. There’s nothing like a niiice, slooww grind into a man in cowgirl position. And the closest thing to it is raising yourself back up and feeling that friction, that amazing reverse motion where you can really feel the contours of your man. In this case it was his hard, prominent ridge. It felt so good on the way up, and better going down.
I was ridiculously wet, and I could see from his face he appreciated it. I started to get up a rhythm, wiggling my ass when I got down to the base of him, sliding up fast then pushing back down. Moans came from my mouth at the pure pleasure.
My wanton instinct was to fuck my man faster, but I kept control and made sure the burn was as hot as possible. He groaned as I rode him, and I knew my pussy was creaming on him. Oh, it was lovely. I hunched my back just a bit and fucked him harder as my moans became yelps and I knew I was zooming to another orgasm. Grinding hard onto him each time down, I felt little explosions in my cunny. My mouth was dry in that wonderful lustful way that made the moans husky and raspy and pre-cummy. I was close and closer and I felt that wonderful whooshing in my stomach and the fire in my nipples and I came like a wave on the shore. It swelled and fell and swelled again and I threw my head back. I couldn’t believe how long it lasted and how slowly it calmed down.
Deftly, barely missing a stroke, he repositioned us in the spoon position and began hammering me before I knew what was going on. He’d brought his A game and I clutched his wrist where his arm wrapped my waist, grit my teeth and rode along with him. However he did me, it was so nice.
At some point, he got us into straight doggy, and se spent the next half an hour or so screwing mindlessly in a few different positions. After he came, we cuddled and rolled around a bit. He got up to get a drink of water, and I hit the vending machine in the hall for some Doritos—we’d fucked way beyond the land of tiramisu from room service.
We hung out blissfully nude for a while before my full, perfectly round boobs proved too tempting for him. What started out as playful petting turned into very sexy suckling, and damn it if Miss Pink wasn’t juicing up again.
I kissed him passionately, licked down his torso, and sucked him the short way to hardness. He led me to the little desk along the far well, bent me over and fucked me like a little whore.
“Yeah,” I hissed through my teeth. “Fuck the whore, just like that. Fuck your whore.”
I had no need for orgasm at that point—it was just the pleasure. Just pure fucking, with no sense of time or place. I kept babbling and being dirty as he kept plowing me.
Before long, we were again on the bed and I was on my back. By now, my legs were too tired to do anything but stay down, so I treated my man to a nice missionary bang. It was amazing how hard he consistently kept fucking me. And it paid off—after a long time of mounting pleasure, I came for the fourth or fifth time in one night.
Blake went on, and I felt my boobs bouncing, then suddenly I saw them. I wasn’t looking at them, I saw them, as from above. I imagined someone looking down, as though there were no ceiling. I smiled at the thought, as Blake continued taking my pussy. I threw my arms out to the side to give the voyeurs a better view. I liked the way I’d look to them, my raven hair cascading onto the pillow behind me, tits jiggling, legs splayed in delirious submission.
On and on it went for hours, with all sorts of lazy rests in between. We talked a bit about poker.
At some point I dozed off. The next thing I knew, I was blinking back into consciousness with light streaming through the gaps in the curtains. I lay there for a while, then sat up. Blake was across the room, gloriously nude, his soft cock hanging just a bit as it did.
“Good morning, sleepy,” he said with a grin.
“Good morn. God I’m starving,” I said.
“I’m about to call and order breakfast. How do you like your eggs?”
I sat up straighter and got out of bed. I smiled broadly at the man who’d given me such pleasure.
“I think I should be going,” I said sweetly. I needed to show some reserve, not get too cozy with him. Or more to the point, I didn’t want him getting too cozy with me. I’d definitely hook up with him again, and because of my marriage, I had to keep things…business…if you will.
“If you don’t stay for breakfast, that means you didn’t really stay the night.”
He smiled an waved toward the door, even though I didn’t have anything but my panties on yet. He knew the game, and was in lock step with me as always.
I dressed and slowly strode toward the door. Walking toward the elevator, watching the diligent businessmen tying their ties as they made their way to a quick breakfast, I thought about the night. Yeah, we’d have a repeat, the next time my husband was away.
Out in the hallway, I thought of Travis, our relationship, how what I’d done with Blake, like all the times before, was just fun, meaningless sex. He was fun and lovely and good, but it didn’t mean anything.
In the elevator I had to face the truth, though. It was something the spirits in their penthouses above could see. From up there, watching us all night, watching how we played with and challenged and satisfied each other, they wouldn’t see meaningless sex. Whatever they saw, it wouldn’t be that.