For some of you that read our stories on a regular basis, you may be a little heart broken with this one. It is just about me and the wife getting together for some hot, hot sex. Give it a read, I thnik that you will still enjoy it!
I travel extensively on business throughout the United States and Canada, and over time I have had the pleasure of visiting many lovely and exquisite hotels. I relish the luxury of a really good hostelry, and when I find one I tend to return to it again and again, whenever I am in the area. The only thing I miss on these long journeys is my beautiful wife of two years, Tracy I usually call her from whatever hotel I’m staying at, to tell her all about it, and often we imagine being there together.
One of my favorite places, one that I’ve often told Tracy about, is the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco. I love the city as well, and Tracy and I have often talked about going there together at some point. But on my last trip west we had not made any particular plans, so you can imagine my surprise and delight when I walked into the hotel and saw her sitting there in the lobby! I’d been on the road for nearly two weeks at that point, and couldn’t have been happier to see her.
“Hi, darling,” she said as she rose to greet me with a warm hug and a sweet kiss. “Bet you didn’t expect to find me here, did you? How would you like a roommate for the night?”
“Absolutely!” I eagerly replied, still in shock at seeing her there. “But what in the world are you doing here?”
“Just had a sudden urge,” she said with a smile and a wink, and flew up this afternoon on one of those last-minute airline deals.”
We hugged again, and I tried to smother myself with her body right there in the lobby of the hotel. Tracy is a beautiful woman. At twenty-two, she’s five feet seven inches tall and one hundred thirty pounds. Her slender body, brown hair and green eyes were a sight for sore eyes that not beheld them for weeks. She was wearing her long black woolen coat with the antique rhinestone brooch on the collar. I wondered what she had on under it. I was hoping nothing.
“Well, come on up to the room,” I said. “Where’s your bag?”
“Oh, this is all I have. I packed light,” she told me, motioning to a small carry-on beside the leather sofa. “I’m flying home first thing tomorrow morning.”
Tracy was quite impressed with the elegance of my accommodations. She pulled off her coat and swept around the spacious suite, admiring the amenities and tasteful decor. Beneath the coat she wore a red sweater that buttoned down the front, a short wraparound skirt, black hose and a pair of stylish western boots, with just enough heel to enhance her slender body and make her seem a bit taller.
“You look great,” I told her, moving to hold her close. I ran my anxious hands down over her butt, trying to detect what she was wearing underneath. Tracy is a beautiful woman, as I’ve said, but she tended to underestimate the power of the right lingerie. She was prone to dress in bras and panties that were more functional than fun. She usually went for cotton jockeys rather than the sheer lacy thongs and frilly undies I always saw her wearing in my fantasies.
“Mmmm, nice,” I cooed as I inhaled her scent and ran my hands up and down her body, stopping to admire her un-proportioned 38DDD breasts. “What’s underneath the fine wrapping?”
I wondered out loud as I pulled her sweater away from her chest just enough to peek inside.
“You’ll see later,” she teased, turning away. “But don’t worry,” she said, as if reading my dirty mind. “I didn’t fly all the way to California to be with you for one night dressed in ordinary cotton underwear.”