White Hotel Bathrobe, Unbelted

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The conference had already lasted for hours, and I had long since lost my interest, not least because papers became increasingly sloppy theoretically or unrevealing empirically. A telephone call provided the excuse to leave the conference hall and, while talking on the cell phone to my colleagues at headquarters, I was wandering aimlessly the hotel’s corridors, all painted in yellow, with black-and-white photographs of sites to visit in and around Nice.

While still engulfed in a discussion on comments that I had earlier received on my presentation, some of which were actually pretty good, the door to hotel room 9452 opened just when I was about to walk by, and an elderly lady, who — given her beautifully bronzed skin — must have been for some time on holidays in this southern region of France, stepped out. She put a tray of dirty dishes and empty glasses on the floor in front of her room, wearing (nothing but) the unbelted white hotel bathrobe. When leaning forward, placing the wooden tray on the blue carpets that were covering the floors, she revealed a whole lot more than she might have intended. I smiled and winked at her, in appreciation of the little impromptu show. My first impression was that she was about 60-65, but she has aged well, partly because she seemed to have had the money to take good care of her body. She had grey, curly hair, and the battles of life were clearly visible on her face. I was intrigued, however, by a certain radiance and sensual energy that had been clearly shining through her matronly exterior. More tantalizing still were her green eyes, sparkling brighter than the demetevler escort darkly lit corridor allowed, and she looked at me intensely. For some reasons, she began to make me feel as insecure as I had been during my (early) years in college.

“Come on,” she said, smiling invitingly, “you’ll surely have half an hour.”

Given the options, I certainly did, and I gratefully followed her invitation inside her hotel suite. It overlooked the sea, with the sun starting to show its warm, orange colours, throwing large shadows into the room. There was a terrace, onto which she stepped, throwing off her robe entirely. In the sun light, her body looked incredibly attractive, revealing all the feminine shapes that would have enticed Rubens to take out his canvass, brushes, and oil. There weren’t any tan lines on her body, and it was clear she had done her sunbathing in the nude.

She turned around, opened her arms, tilted her head slightly, and asked, “Well?” She had trimmed her grey pubic hair, and the light colour contrasted wonderfully with her bronzed skin.

“My trousers shrunk,” I responded, and she smirked a little, before forming a warm and welcoming smile.

“Take them off, then,” she said, “take it all off.” My problem with temptation has always been my difficulty in resisting it…

Given that I run regularly, I am in a pretty decent shape, and I do admit that I enjoyed the exhibitionist sensation of presenting my full erection to a woman clearly enjoying the sight. Only then I noticed that, while I had gotten out of my suit, she must have had gotten dikmen escort from somewhere, without my really noticing it, two glasses and a bottle of Bordeaux, a 2004 Château Bourgneuf Vayron, joyfully presenting one of glasses them to me.

“To us,” she said, “to the present of the moment, and the Gods of Love and Pleasure.”

We clinked glasses, tasted the wine, and then our lips touched, our tongues touched, and she made me lie down on the still warm tiles on the balcony. She took her glass, and poured some wine over her stomach, watching it to form a little puddle in her belly button, before the wine found its way between her thighs.

“It has to breathe a little,” she said, “before you can drink and savour it,” she said with a wink in her eyes.

“A la tienne,” I responded, kneeling in front of her open legs, starting to drink the wine from her skin, slowly following the line that the Bordeaux has left on her body.

“You’re very sensuous, my dear” she said, smiling at me, enjoying the increasing sensation of my lips kissing her most tender parts, my tongue caressing her clitoris, periodically venturing in between her legs, so as to prolong the sensations and delay the orgasm. I could sense her getting closer, her hips began to move and jerk, while she was breathing more audibly in between her sighs of lust.

“Oh oui, chéri,” she moaned, “mon Dieux, oui, oui, chéri, continue …, oui, oui, ah ouiiiiiiiii.”

And she quivered, put her hands on my head, put her head on the floor, closed her eyes, sighed, and smiled.

A few moments she just lied on ankara escort the floor, keeping her eyes closed, not saying anything.

“You’re quite something, you know that, don’t you?” she finally said, looking at me gratefully.

“It your turn now,” she added, kneeling over me in a sixty-nine.

“Just relax now, sweetheart,” she said, while lowering her vagina right over my face, “for you, I will swallow.”

She put her warm lips around my re-hardening penis. Her hands touched my balls and my anus, while she head moved in a rhythm of pure joy and lust.

I smelled her sex, and I noticed how much she enjoyed my tasting her sex again, I felt her lusting for my touches. It was difficult to tell whether it was still or again, but I was deliriously caught in the senses of her sex, while enjoying the sensation of her going down on me, way, way down, up again, and down, down, down again.

I could not see it, but she must have taken all of my cock in her mouth and throat. Absolutely unbelievable! I came closer and closer, and she must have sensed it, as she drove her finger, covered in her own spit, right up my arse. With this sensation, uncontrollably, my juices exploded in her mouth. She drank and swallowed all of it. She kept on kissing my penis, keeping it in her mouth while focusing on my kisses, having her own sensation build again. Her hips shivered, and her juices kept on flowing. She let herself just fall and relax on my body.

“Oh, fuck,” she said, “this was incredible.”

She got up a few moments later, took her wine, lit a cigarette, and sat down on one of the terrace chairs. It had fallen dark.

“Do you smoke?” she asked.

“At this very moment,” I answered, “I do, I would love one.”

Naked in the light summer’s breeze, satisfied and happy, with the sound of the waves and seagulls in the background, the conference was light years away.

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