Added: Brittanee Gruber - Date: 10.10.2021 19:31 - Views: 42769 - Clicks: 2406
Every Friday night she leaves her identity as mother and wife at home with the babysitter and prowls the night city, bringing her fantasies to life. From a lone guy in a car at a drive in movie, to a motorcyslist in leathers, she follows the pangs of lust and chooses her prey, then erotic game stories them, before returning home to her husband. With her newly piqued instatiable sex drive, he certainly has no complaints.
On this particular night, she enters a hotel bar, waiting to see who her lover for the night might be. I step out into the cool evening and take a deep breath of crisp autumn air, wrapping my faux fur coat tighter around me. Closing the front door behind me, and with it my children, safely curled up on the sofa watching a film with a big bowl of popcorn and their favourite babysitter, a smile spre across my face. I feel myself transitioning from mummy to wild woman, the domesticity of my week blowing away in the gentle breeze. A black cat slinks across the path, disappearing into the shadows, ready for a night of roaming, prowling, running free.
Feeling a sense of kinship with the feline creature so driven by her senses and desires, my smile widens. Closing the iron gate behind me, I look around for a moment and take in the night, feeling myself coming alive with the magic in the air.
A violet twilight renders everything silhouettes, from the row of tall townhouses in our street, to the pavement-planted trees, proudly standing sentinel every few metres along the wide road. I can hear her calling to me — the city — I can hear the purr and roar of the traffic, the shouts and laughter.
I can feel the rush, the anonymity her vibrant cloak offers. It draws me towards her with a longing I can only set free once a week, when I play my game. As if on cue, the sound of an engine permeates my thoughts, and my cab draws up in front of me. Tossing my long red curls over my shoulder, I tell him my destination, and with an audible clearing of his throat, he manages to erotic game stories his attention to the road and drive.
My excitement grows as we near town and the streets we travel become busier. Who will I give myself to tonight? I wonder. They flash through my mind in quick succession — a flipbook of images, raw, naked, covert. My body melts with the visions. I bite my bottom lip gently. I could do it right here, right now, with a few simple strokes of my fingers against my ripe and yearning clit. I remember that first time — that first game night — the motorcyclist, the wild ride through the night into the dark stillness of the countryside, the engine of that big machine thrumming between my legs.
The feeling of his leathers against my naked body, the things we did on the back of that bike in the seclusion of the deserted lay-by. Desperate for release. How can I regret something that has bought me so alive? I love him, I really do, and I love making erotic game stories smile. So the games will continue. I imagine straddling him right here in his cab. Paying the driver, my hand brushes his, but I leave the cab without a backwards glance.
Then a group of young men, city types, no doubt playing hard after working hard all week, not even trying to hide their ogling as their tipsy banter falls silent. With my long stocking clad legs looking fucking sexy beneath my coat and dress, just a glimpse of flesh, enough to be enticing but still classy, and with my knee-high stiletto-heeled black erotic game stories boots hugging my calves, I could be a whore straight out of their own fantasy.
Hmm, four men. A vision strikes me, an orgy — me on all fours. One man underneath me, one behind, one in my mouth, and one in my hand. Moaning and groaning, hard bodies and soft flesh. Craving, groping, squeezing, filling. My nipples tingle inside my lacy bra. What would they say if I stopped them now and asked them to take me somewhere, anywhere, to take me, to pleasure me as I pleasure them? Could they resist such an offer? What would they dream of doing to me in their wildest fantasies?
I smile at the portly doorman, fully suited and booted as one would expect from such a grand establishment. He tips his head as I enter through the grand oak doors, and his eyes never wandering lower than my face, his expression registering nothing but polite welcome. Last week was an open-air drive-in cinema, rare in this country but ripe for fun and games. Oh God, last week was fucking amazing. That was when my tights had got ripped, so he could slide inside me and watch the horror on screen at the same time.
So I could grind on his rock hard cock while he slid his hands up my jumper and filled them with my bare breasts. The woman in the car had definitely seen us then — I remember glancing to the side as I started to rotate my hips, and seeing her watching me, open mouthed. Did she reach for her boyfriends cock? Did she demand that he fucked her when they got home, all the time remembering the couple fucking in the car next door?
Jesus, I could cum without even touching myself, the memories erotic game stories so potent. I force myself back to the present and pass the hotel reception desk, and the porters desk, more eyes following me as I enter the bustling hotel bar. The vibe of the room is buzzing, just as I imagined. I plan my games carefully each week, delighting in the visualization of it in the days preceding, imagining the possibilities as I work my way through mountains of ironing, wondering who my conquest will be and in what ways we will pleasure each other as I walk to pick up the kids from school.
How will he be dressed? Who will he be? Will he approach me or I him? Who will make the first move erotic game stories how daring will we be in our fucking?
Yes, this bar was perfect. But London is full of upmarket hotels, so even if tonight is so successful that I decide I want a repeat, I am left with numerous venues to play it again. A couple of tables are occupied by lone suited men with laptops, no doubt in town for work, still conducting business via technology on a Friday evening, even as they sip their expensive whisky or their well deserved beer and soak up the atmosphere of upper class London.
I could easily invite myself to either of those tables, sit down, invent some enticing back story, make conversation, and capture their attention. I could gradually move in a little closer, feel the unspoken conversation between us intensify, the energy sizzling and crackling as we made small talk. I could touch a hand or a thigh, as if innocently, then later — after he suggests we visit his room for a nightcap — not so innocently. I walk past them both, breaking eye contact after a second, leaving them to watch me and wonder what might have been.
Nor do the couples and mixed groups chatting and laughing at other tables around the room, having pre-theatre or pre-dinner drinks, or just enjoying an evening out with friends. That was me, in my other life. When my husband and I would have an occasional night out with friends — all proper and jolly. I pass them all and walk straight to the bar, positioning erotic game stories on one of the empty bar stools.
Those seeking status in particular, those wanting to see and be seen, to have the right relationship, to fill the successful box society had laid out ready for them. I smile at the handsome barman and see him do a double take, swallowing as he moves towards me. He is very attractive, in a Mediterranean kind of way.
Even in the dim lighting I can see that his caramel eyes are enhanced by his deeply tanned skin, his black hair cropped close against his head. His teeth extremely white and perfectly straight, unusual in this country. Maybe a bit too perfect. I reckoned he was probably a few years older than me — early forties maybe. Old enough to have a few lines gently etched into his cleanly shaven face, erotic game stories his clean good looks, adding a bit of character.
I like character. Attentive, romantic. Wild enough for me? Rugged enough? Probably — I imagine most men are, given the chance. Asking, maybe, for a green light. Always cash. Always anonymous. I put my cash away with a smile and a nod of thanks. I prefer my life not to be blurred at the edges.
The truth that I was bored, that I was stagnant. Not any more though. Now I live life with sober clarity and experience everything to its fullest. I appreciate that especially on these nights, when feeling is everything. I want to experience it all, with all of my being, with all of my senses, without anything being dimmed by chemicals.
If only he could see what lustful thoughts had silenced me. That thought is enough for me to discard him as a possibility. He seems nice though. Nice enough to chat to for a few minutes, His obvious attraction erotic game stories me is turning me on even more, stoking my fires. I want to leave myself open and ready for him when he comes.
I spin my bar stool around to face the room, and cross my legs. The girls next to me are now being chatted up by one of the erotic game stories of city workers, giggling and flirting. I bet none of them will fuck tonight. I bet those girls make them pre-nups before they drop their knickers. I wonder what they taste like, but I brush that thought away.
Not my thing. I need a man. The room is still busy but not as busy as before. There are more empty tables, as some of the pre-theatre and pre-dinner drinkers have moved on to their theatre or dinner. The room is different now, I realize. Somebody has lit candles at the tables and dimmed the main lights further. Creating a calmer more sophisticated atmosphere, and perhaps encouraging those who are out to party to move on now to a more suitable venue. I like it like this. I sip my drink and glance around, wondering when he will show up. Wondering who he will be.
My body is crying out for him, whoever he is. I like to build up the tension but I can only take it so far.Erotic game stories
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