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I had talked myself into a job I was in no way qualified for, and, as the first order of business, I got sent halfway across the country and landed in a hotel in downtown Chicago. I looked around my room, a room that teetered on the border between blandness and overwrought luxury, and decided that I should stop watching Sportscenter, and go find some dinner. I slid my spreadsheets into my bag, knowing I would never look at them – I’d allowed them to torture me enough on the plane – and also shoved in the cheap fantasy novel I was immersed in. I let the door fall shut behind me, and found the elevator.
I asked the concierge for a recommendation, and was directed to a Korean place a short walk away. I sat myself in a table in the corner, ordered, pulled out my book, left the spreadsheets where they were, tucked deep in my bag. My food arrived, and I picked at it, listlessly turning the pages, dreading my meeting the next morning, and wondering what the hell I was doing in Chicago, easily one of my least favorite cities in the United States.
“William?” I couldn’t understand why someone would be calling my name. I looked around, blinking, as if I had just been woken from deep sleep.
“William?” A girl said straight to me. Strike that, not a girl: A beautiful woman.
“Monica?” I said, totally confused, last I’d heard, she lived in Rygate, a posh suburb outside of London, working in a hospital.
“I can’t believe it’s you, that you’re here in Chicago” she said, and she looked honestly delighted to see me. It’s an exciting thing to see a woman, beautiful, copper skinned, lushly lipped, clad in tight clothes, who seems genuinely excited to see you.
“Yes, it’s really me, here in Chicago,” I stumbled out, still confused, still exhilarated at the attention from this beautiful young woman.
“You don’t remember me at all, do you?”
“Uh, sure I do,” I said, bluffing, for no real reason. And then suddenly I could remember, it all came back in a rush of sharp memories. Monica.
Freshman year I meet Victoria, a lovely Indian girl who becomes my running buddy, my Camus reading, clove cigarette smoking pretentious friend. We’d discuss Proust in cafes late at night; we were total fops, but we did it together. We were best friends. We nearly kissed, once, but backed off, both not wanting to ruin our easy friendship.
As the years of college flew by, we gave up our berets and existentialists, but stayed close. We lived on the same street, walked to class together, and comforted each other through the horrors of college dating. We agreed to stay at the same university to attend grad school – Victoria had an offer some place more prestigious, but elected to stay close, because I was there.
And because of Monica.
Victoria loved her family, and missed them dearly, living all the across the country, and now her kid sister wanted to go to the same school as us. It was an easy decision: we all stayed; Victoria and I kept our apartments just off campus; Monica moved into the dorms.
I have to admit I didn’t think much about her. She was pretty, of course – that ran in the family, clearly. And she was enthusiastic, open to the world, and wickedly smart. She held her own amongst our friends, the grad students, some of whom could have been her TAs. Some, I’m sure were TAs, and she held her own, as a college freshman. She tried to hang with us whenever she could, but, of course, we would go to bars she couldn’t go to, and, of course, grad school was fucking hard work! We didn’t always have time to hang out with a freshman, who was bored and too smart to need to study for her intro classes. She could be bratty, and petulant when we didn’t hang out.
Later, on a night where we’d ditched Monica to hang out alone together, me with Victoria, drunk:
-You know Monica has a crush on you.
-Really. She’s had a crush on you for years, really since before she met you. I told her about you, you know, when I went home, told her about my bestie, William.
-What did you say?
-That my best friend was handsome, funny as hell, gentle, giving. And hung.
-No, seriously, we were skinny dipping at Lake Squillicum, and I saw it. It was cold, but-
-Stop it Vicki.
-I told her. That’s part of it, I’m sure. She wouldn’t mind going skinny dipping with you.
-So drunk. But it’s the truth. She had a dream about you once, you know.
-What sort of dream?
-You’ll have to ask her that.
I never asked Monica about her dream. Victoria and I graduated, moved away, kept in touch, of course. Email, calls, she’d come to visit. We met in Argentina once, hiked into Chile. I didn’t see Monica again until…
“Of course, Monica, how’ve you been? What are you doing in Chicago?” We caught up, made small talk. She sat down at my table, next to me, not across from me, and we bantered delightfully. We told our witty stories, our anecdotes that encapsulated the canlı bahis last seven years, our clever jokes and self-deprecating stories. Two of her friends came over, we were introduced, and they said they were leaving, hinting heavily that Monica should go with them, not just stay with this stranger, who was clearly a terrific letch.
“No thanks, I’ll stay and catch up with my old friend.” She waved her friends away, and I saw them eye Monica indulgently, and leave. I saw the restaurant proprietress roll her eyes, waiting for us to leave.
“Shall we find someplace else? There must be a decent bar around here.”
“I don’t know a bar, but we should be able to find one.” We slipped out, shouting goodbye to the restaurant, and plunged into a dark, cold Chicago night. We headed towards lights, towards commercial ventures, looking for one to strike us as agreeable, but enjoying each other too much to settle for any old place, looking only for perfection.
I noticed that we were near my hotel, and asked Monica, “Do you mind if we stop by my hotel real quick? I feel silly carrying this bag around – I don’t think I am getting any more work done tonight!”
“No problem,” she says, and I take her arm in the crook of mine, and steer her into the Palmer House.
We stride proudly, arm in arm, towards the elevators and I press the button. Monica reads the plaque next to the elevator aloud:
“‘Palmer House: Home of the world’s first ‘vertical train,’ later renamed escalator.'”
“Don’t worry, it’s safe, I’ve ridden it twice now,” I said, winking, and the doors opened in a clumsy clatter of metal. I pulled us inside and hit 12.
The elevator lurched upwards, and Monica and I found ourselves staring at each other saying nothing. I had opened my mouth, just about to say something inane, when the elevator jerked to a stop. The doors did not open.
“I think it’s stuck,” Monica said, stating the obvious, a thrill of fear flashing in her eyes.
“It appears so,” I said, fiddling with some buttons. They had a phone which I picked up and a voice immediately told me that maintenance was on the way, and it shouldn’t be too long. “Guess we’re stuck here for a bit,” I said, flopping on the floor, letting my legs spread out in front of me. Monica took a seat, but more demurely, her skirt pooling over her thighs, but not before giving me a glimpse at the luscious expanse of skin.
“Do you remember meeting me? The first time?” She asked.
“Sure. I helped you move in.”
“No, we met before that, the night before, at that party. You were only there for a minute.”
“”Was it at CJ’s place?”|
“I don’t know, I was never there again – Vicki took me.”
“We met there? I don’t remember.”
“Hey, it was a million years ago, and I’m sure there were other things going on.”
“Whatever. Clearly you don’t care a whit for me.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” I said, putting a hand on her bare knee. We both stared at my hand for a long moment, before I withdrew it.
“I know.” She said, and then stared at the wall. I stared away too, too embarrassed to speak. The pause stretched out, unending, unyielding.
I said the first thing that came to mind. “Victoria said you had a dream about me, once.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Monica said, but too quickly; I knew she remembered.
“Yes you do,” I said, grinning.
“No, I don’t have a clue, when did you say that?” I put on a wicked grin, knowing she was lying.
“Fine, have it your way.” Pretending to be nonchalant.
“I really don’t remember,” she insisted, and pushed on my arm. I grabbed her wrist and stared directly into here rich, chocolate eyes.
“Yes you do. Tell me.”
“I… I don’t-” I finally kissed her, roughly, fiercely, capturing her lips between mine and tugging at them. She pressed back, with equal ardor. I leaned over, the fullness of my weight nearly on top of her, pressing her back against the elevator wall.
“Tell me about the dream.” Her eyes flashed.
“Never,” she said, and she almost smirked, when she said it. I kissed her again, this time pulling her to the floor, my body on top of hers. My mouth found hers again, kissing her hungrily, devouring her, my body pressing her down into the thin carpet. I kissed down her jawbone, to her neck, nibbling my way up towards her ear.
“Tell me,” I breathed into her ear.
“No,” she gasped out. I nipped at her earlobe and my hands started wandering under the hem of her shirt, stroking her taut belly. My hands roved over her, finding a lacy bra, and firm breasts, and friendly nipples that perked up under my palms. I pushed her back down on the floor, my hands on her body, my weight on top of her as I kissed and nibbled on her neckline again.
“Never.” I bent down and kissed her, a crushing kiss to push her head back into the floor, pressing down on her body like I was trying to push her down the long elevator shaft. One of my hands cupped her face, holding her chin bahis siteleri roughly in place, while my other hand slunk down her body, across her belly, into the band of her pencil skirt, and quickly into her panties, my fingers easily sliding across her bare mound. I let my fingers stop there, on her mound, just shy of her clit. I could already smell her sweet, rich scent of arousal. I tickled her mound, and held her face tight with my other hand.
“Tell me.” And my fingers started their way towards the soft of her. She gasped, and then held her breath, not saying anything, not even a refusal.
” I bet you dreamt about a situation much like this. Of being trapped alone in a room with me, of my hands slipping into your skirt, pulling aside your thong…”
“You wish!” She said, snorting scornfully. “Get your hands off of me.” But her legs widened.
“You want my hands on your body, I can tell”
“Your dirty hands don’t deserve to touch my body,” she spat. I bent in for a kiss, and she pulled her face away from mine. Undeterred, I pressed the flat of my palm against her thong and she spasmed against me. I finally captured her mouth with mine, sucking her lips into my mouth.
“You think you can do this, just because we’re trapped in an elevator together?” She tried to wriggle away, but all of her efforts just ground her sex against my hand.
“I can do this because I know you want it. Because you dreamt about it. Because for years, you’ve been dreaming about what it must be like to be filled with my cock.” She stared at me, a long, terrifying stare. I finally broke it by kissing her again, hard, burying her deeper into the floor, my whole body on top of hers, my own weight pressing my hand against her thong.
At that moment, the elevator shot upwards.
I was caught unawares and collapsed on Monica. She pushed me off of her, and we scrambled to our feet.
The doors slid open in a clatter of metal, and a maintenance worker in overalls was there waiting.
“Hope you guys are alright,” He said cheerfully.
“This asshole wouldn’t shut up about some dream,” Monica shouted, and I led her by the hand towards my room.
“She’s the one who had the dream!” I shouted back down the hallway at the repairman, but the doors had already shut.
We arrived at my door and I pulled the keycard from my pocket. I slid it into the lock, just as Monica stepped in front of me, barring the door. She looked up at me, locking me with your deep eyes.
“I never told Victoria about any dream.”
“I don’t believe you.” The door slid open behind her.
“I didn’t come up here to sleep with you.”
“I don’t believe that either.” I kissed her again, rough and possessing. She twisted away from my hungry mouth.
“What makes you think I am at all interested in you?”
I held her jaw in my head, strong, and stared into her eyes: “Because, right now, I can smell your cunt.”
Monica’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she moaned softly, into my shoulder, “Oh God.”
I smiled and found her mouth again, and again she twisted away, this time pushing me off of her, catching me off balance, and I fell to my knees. We were in front of the open door to a closet; I could see my suitcase on the floor in the corner next to me. I reached out for her, and caught her by her waist, holding her in place. She slapped me on my shoulders, the top of my head, as I held her, pressing my face to her body. I caught her so my arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her stomach, my face pressed against the flesh of her ass. I quickly nudged her skirt over my head and kissed the firm flesh of her ass, creamy skinned and womanly. I began to worship her ass, kissing, licking, nibbling, kneading the cheeks of her ass. She squirmed, trying to get away from my mouth, but just pushing her delectable ass back against my face. She grabbed the closet bar between two hangers. I removed my hands from around her waist, so she could be free to leave, but she stayed there, pressing her body back towards me. I massaged the flesh of her ass with my hands, kneading them, as I kissed her lower back.
“Yesssss,” she hissed. I stared at the strap of her thong, where it disappeared between her legs, and it gave me an idea.
I pulled the strap aside just a little bit, and planted small, licking kisses, just at the point where her thong met her waistband. I started licking, moving downwards, my tongue in one long, slow lick in the place where her thong had so recently covered, down the cleft of her ass, just to the side of her winking rosebud. I spread her ass with my hands, spreading her legs slightly too, she gripped the bar tighter, and my slow tongue continued, past her rosebud, wiggling on her outer lips, past her clit, and finally resting on the bare, shaved skin of her mound. She moaned, and grabbed hold of the closet hanger bar.
“God, again!” Monica commanded. I grinned into the flesh of her lower back, pausing for a long moment, withholding, until I finally held my head parallel to the floor, bahis şirketleri and perpendicular to her cleft. I lapped back and forth, on her lower back, into the slit of her ass, laving back and forth, back and forth, paying particular, playful, worshipful attention to her rosebud, and then parting the lips of her pussy with my tongue, finding her tight, so tight I could barely worm my way inside, parted her lips slightly, and then finally gave her clit the attention it was demanding; it stood straight up, inviting me to suck on it. She tried to hold my head in place, but I refused, backed off. She howled in frustration, and I responded by licking her ass more deeply, worming my tongue around, pressing inside slightly, focusing intently on her rosebud.
Monica responded by making a noise that wasn’t entirely human, and ripped the hanger rod off of the closet wall and collapsed in a heap, landing on all fours. The rod whizzed by my head, making a whistling noise, but missing me entirely. Her womanly ass, thong astray, was directly in front of me, begging me for more. I spread her cheeks wide and licked her deeply, tasting her skin, pushing into her. She made another ghostly noise, one that came from deep inside of her, and pushed her ass back into my face, so I could lick and suck more, deeper. I ran my fingers over her lips, rubbing her lightly.
She pulled away from me, shook me loose, and sat on the floor, staring at me, her eyes shining.
“I think you’re wearing too much clothing, don’t you?”
She grinned back at me. “I think I’m wearing just the right amount.”
“I disagree,” I said, and knee-walked up to her, and started on the buttons of her blouse. She started on my own shirt; we finished at the same time. She yanked my undershirt over my head, and pulled her in close, kissing her fiercely, her lacy black bra rubbing against my chest.
I picked her up by her waist, stood up, and set her down roughly on the bed. She reached for my belt, undid it, and I yanked my trousers down, taking my socks and underwear with it, leaving me totally naked as I climbed on top of her, her still in her bra, skirt and panties. My weight rested on top of her, my mouth meeting hers again, crushing her head back into the bed. Her mouth was equally fierce, her tongue driving into me, as my hands collapsed around her, finding her luscious skin everywhere. I kissed her neck, her collarbone, licking, nibbling. I traced up her jawline, bringing my cunt-flavored lips to her ear.
“Tell me about the dream,” I whispered.
“I was doing something for you,” She whispered back to me, clutching me to her.
“What was that?”
A long pause.
“I’ll never tell,” she spat, and tried to wriggle away from me again. She bucked me off of her, rolling over, trying to crawl away again. I leapt on top of her, my naked body pressed into her back, one hand across her breasts, the other stroking her belly. Her long hair had fallen down her back, just meeting her bra strap, and I pressed my face into it, soaking up her smell, my cock, already hard, pressed against the flesh of her round ass. I stroked her belly, just above the top of her thong, and then finding it a nuisance, I ripped it off of her.
“Tell me what you did for me, in the dream.”
“No!” I pressed my hand deeper, pushing her ass back against my cock.
“You want to know?”
“I do,” I said, and started to work my way into her thong, across her smooth bald skin, and to her proud clit.
“Touch me,” she moaned, desperate, wanting. I started to stroke her, irregularly, not bringing her towards the orgasm she wanted.
“I’ll tell you, just keep touching me.” I started to rub her clit in regular, clockwise motions.
“Tell me what you were doing for me.”
“Ok,” she said, gasping, humping my hand. “I’ll tell you what I did for you. I… I did your taxes!” I yanked my hand away, off of her clit, and she groaned, and rubbed her pussy into the bed, but couldn’t find enough friction to bring herself off. She bucked against me. I spanked her on the flesh of her ass, the room echoing with the report.
“Fuck!” She screamed. “Just take me.”
“You want my cock?”
“I want it so bad, just fuck me, pound me.”
“Not until you tell me.”
“Who cares about a silly dream, just take me!” I placed my cock just at the entrance to her pussy. Even though she was dripping wet, she was so tight I could hardly pry apart her lips with my cock. I knew I wouldn’t be able to dive into her, to ram her, not at first, she was so tight.
“Just tell me, and I’ll fill your cunt with my thick cock.” I whispered into her ear. She bucked back at me, tried to capture my cock with her pussy, but I backed away.
“Then you can’t have my cock.”
“Don’t you want it? Don’t you want to just sink your cock into my tight, wet cunt?”
“I do, but not until you tell me.”
“Then you’ll never have it.”
I pondered this for a long moment, looking down on her body, at her creamy skin. And then at her winking rosebud, staring back at me. I got a wicked idea. I took my cock in my hand, and placed it just at her rosebud. I could feel the slight slickness of my saliva, from our earlier play.
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