Was it Her?

Was it Her? Was it Her?

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Tags

Summary

At a chance meeting at an airport, I met a woman who looked like Sandra Bullock, but...?

Tags

Summary

At a chance meeting at an airport, I met a woman who looked like Sandra Bullock, but...?

Content

Submitted: August 09, 2016

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: August 09, 2016

A A A

A A A


Was it Her?

One of the drawbacks of traveling, particularly by air, is the all too frequent delays in getting to your destination. This is one time that the delay was a pleasure, in every sense of the word.

Just as we were about to depart our flight from Tampa in Atlanta, the captain came on the air to announce some unexpected delays due to “equipment failure.” More than one aircraft ended up in maintenance too long and affected flights, so my connection to New York City was cancelled.

Lines quickly formed at alternative airline counters as everybody investigated the available flights for their destinations. The day had been long enough for me and I opted to take the free hotel room offered by the airline and accepted an upgrade on the same flight on the following day.

She must have been up front in the business section, (which then was referred to as “first Class”) because I didn’t see her until she and I were directed to a shuttle bus to the Marriott Hotel. Our bags had been delivered to us for our convenience. She seemed to be struggling, pulling a rather large suitcase on wheels.

Even though it was a cloudy afternoon and we were inside the terminal, she wore a hat, similar to a French beret, sun glasses and a long top coat. Her dark brown hair shrouded most of her face until my strides brought me alongside her. She looked like Sandra Bullock!

Regardless of who she might or might not be, I did as I normally would and offered to pull her suitcase for her; I had a briefcase and a small carry-on bag. She quickly accepted and thanked me. I asked what her ultimate destination was, and when she turned to tell me I was certain who she was. She was also headed for New York City.

I boldly asked “Are you working on a movie, or appearing on a television program?”

We stopped at the curb as the shuttle was approaching and she answered with a question: “What?”

I smiled and tried to be polite. “Aren’t you Sandra Bullock?” I asked, “Because you certainly look like her.”

“No, but I get that a lot,” she said as she boarded the shuttle.

I apologized and took the liberty of sitting across the aisle from her on the shuttle, sliding her bag behind her seat. “Thanks; I appreciate your help,” she said, obviously weary from the travel. We remained silent and soon we arrived and were both checked in at the Marriott. When I discovered that our rooms were next to each other, I continued to pull her suitcase down the hall for her.

At her door, I extended my hand for a friendly handshake. “Benjamin Jameson, but everybody calls me Ben.”

She shook my hand lightly. “Belinda Sanders, and thanks for all your help, Ben.” She said.

“Once you change and rest, would you like to have dinner with me later, downstairs?” I asked.

“No thanks,” she said with a killer smile. “I think I’ll order room service and retire early.”

“Very well, have a great night; maybe I’ll see you at breakfast,” I said and entered my room as she entered hers.

I ordered a sandwich from room service and after I gulped it down I took a hot shower. I was sitting in my boxers watching some tennis on the television when my room phone rang. I nearly fell out of my chair when I answered it. It was her!

“I’m thinking I was a little rude to you, considering how much you helped me this afternoon,” she said, “Would you like to come over and have a glass of wine with me?”

“Yes, I’d love to” I answered, trying not to sound too eager. When she hung up I slipped on my pants and a shirt, which I buttoned hurriedly and only partially by the time she opened her door. She looked down at my bare feet then at my shirt; I had buttoned it crookedly; buttons in the wrong holes.

She laughed out loud and asked, “Were we in a bit of a hurry to get here?” and I laughed at how silly I looked.

“Come on in,” she said, and as she closed the door behind me she said, “Have a glass of wine; it’s not bad for house wine.”

I noticed that the bottle was more than half empty. I sat in the only chair in the room and Belinda sat on the end of the bed in front of me. She was wearing the white terry cloth robe that the hotel provides, and the gap between her legs as she plopped onto the edge of the bed showed a set of beautiful legs.

She asked all about me; my marital status (divorced), where I lived (Tampa), what I did for a living, etc. and sipped a lot of the wine as she listened to my answers. Then I asked her to tell me the same about herself. She said she lived in L. A. but had been visiting a sister in Tampa. She claimed to be a secretary, and she was going to New York City for a job interview with a newspaper.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she spoke. If she was NOT Sandra Bullock, she was a dead ringer. She didn’t just look like her, she talked like her. I had barely touched my wine but she was evidently feeling hers because she leaned forward and whispered sexily to me, “You’re kind of cute; would you like to fool around?”

Would any red blooded guy turn down a chance to make love with a woman who looks like Sandra Bullock? Not this one. I smiled warmly and said, “I’d love to.”

She got up and went to her suitcase and turned around to face me, with some scarves in her hands. “Two rules:” she said slowly. “One: you’re a stranger and I value my safety so you have to let me tie you up; is that okay?”

“I certainly don’t have a problem with that,” I said, almost too eagerly.

“And two: I get to do what I want and if I feel sleepy because of this wine, I’ll untie you and you have to promise to leave no matter how far we go.”

“Agreed,” I said. “I’m gentleman enough to adhere to those rules; no problem.”

“Good!” she exclaimed. “Lose the closes and lie down on the bed on your back.”

As I lay on the bed and she was crouching over me, tying my wrist to the bedpost, the robe fell open and I caught a glimpse of a naked breast inside. I followed that gap in the robe as she moved about using the other scarves until I was immobile. She saw my partially aroused penis and she sat down on the bed next to me and ran a finger up and down the shaft.

“You have a nice penis, Ben.” She said softly.

“Thanks; I hope you will get really acquainted with it,” I said jokingly.

“We’ll see,” she said, standing and dropping the robe. My God, her body was flawless. Her breasts, probably a C cup stood out from her rib cage at just the right angle. Her abs were tight and her legs were marvelous. Her mound was covered in hair darker than on her head.

She crawled over me, straddling me on her hands and knees and kissed me for a long time. No tongue action, just soft lips massaging mine. I thought I might get a little heady myself just tasting the wine on her lips. She did not notice nor seem to care that my cock surged to full mast by the time her mouth left mine.

I saw her nipples, taut and dark as she moved up the bed. Little did she know she was about to give me far more pleasure than I could give her. As I anticipated, she moved up over my head and settled down in the floating butterfly position. I was in heaven, just smelling her and feeling her legs settling into place.

She played the game well, teasing me as much as she teased herself, touching her hard little pearl to my lips and pulling free, dipping it between my lips and pulling free. I extended my tongue, hoping to get a taste of her sweetness but she would not have it. She settled down lightly but firmly on my chin, delivering her clit to my lips.

“Lick me really slow for a long time,” she said. I readily complied, looking up at her; her eyes were closed and her head was tilted back slightly. She slipped one hand to her breast and massaged it briefly and then pinched the nipple. I wanted to raise my hands and help myself to the soft skin of her full breasts but the scarves would not permit it.

When she said “for a long time”, she meant it. I would have expected her to come a long time before she did, but obviously she liked the oral attention she was getting. When she finally did come, she leaned back but put both hands behind my head to keep me fastened to her.

Her eyes were looking at mine as she climaxed and her lips parted slightly and her breathing changed to little gasps of breath. Her breasts seemed to grow firmer as she came.

When she lifted up, she got off the bed and went to her suit case again, saying over her shoulder, “Don’t go away; I’ll be right back.” And then she giggled at what she had just said. As I watched her bend over the suitcase I began to hope that whatever she had in mind might involve that sexy ass.

She returned to the bed with a condom package and ripped it open. She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped the condom over my throbbing erection. “You have nice balls; I bet they’re full by now,” she said. I couldn’t argue with her on that.

She stood and got the wine bottle and poured more into her glass. She drank three big gulps of it and then came back to the bed. She climbed over my midsection straddling me on her knees. She reached down and guided the tip of my cock inside her and slowly slid down on it. All the way.

I could feel myself pulsing inside her and I wanted her to DO something. She closed her eyes dreamily and said, “That feels so good in there; does it feel good to you, too?”

“Fuck yeah!” I said, hoping she would take the cue to move on it.

“Let’s not get nasty; I don’t like nasty,” she said, frowning. But she did begin to move, slowly but giving me some pleasure. She rose up and down on my shaft from the tip to the base, nearly losing grip of it as she rose but she made up for it by grinding down on the base. I was in sweet agony.

I don’t know if it was the wine or if she just liked slow sex, but I could not make myself come. She seemed unconcerned about another orgasm; she was satisfied just feeling my cock inside her. And that’s where it ended. She finally got tired and while still sitting on my cock she leaned back to untie the scarf on one ankle and then the other.

She slipped off my cock and leaned up to untie the scarf on one of my wrists. As I untied the other scarf, she stood, put the robe around her again and went to the door. “Gotta get some sleep; maybe we’ll have time to continue tomorrow before we leave,” she said.

I stood up, condom dangling from my cock and slipped my pants on. I grabbed my shirt and left just as I promised. She kissed me on the cheek before I went out the door. “You have a nice tongue, too.” She said.

My “Thanks” bounced against the outside of her door as she shut it. I let myself into my room and went into the bathroom, took off my pants (I had left the boxers on the floor in her room, on purpose.) and took off the condom.

Standing facing the mirror, I spread my legs, fisted my erection and said to myself, “Do you know who you ALMOST got to fuck tonight, Ben?”

(I don’t have to tell you how I put myself to sleep, do I?)

The next morning when I went downstairs for breakfast she was not in the restaurant. When I checked at the desk, the desk clerk told me that Ms. Sanders had checked out early to catch an earlier flight. Then the desk clerk handed me a large brown envelope.

“She said to give this to you when you checked out,” she said with a slight smile.

I opened the envelope and saw my boxers inside. I looked up at the desk clerk, and she smiled even bigger. “I put them in an envelope for you.” Suddenly I was sorry I could not say another day….

 

 

 


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