The following short erotic story involves intense temperature play and bondage at the hands of a dominant woman.
“ Who’s there?” she called.
“Room service”, came the reply, almost automatic, muted slightly by the weight of the closed door.
Laurie rose from the bed and stood, curling her toes for a moment in the thick weave of the carpet, and walked over to the door. She opened it with a smile, and enjoyed a look of shock and embarrassment register on the porter’s face.
She stood lithe and tall in nothing but black fishnet stockings and suspenders, black lace panties, a peephole bra, a long pearl necklace wrapped twice around her neck shrouded in dirty blond hair, and nothing else. The porter’s eyes panicked, trying to drink in and record as much of this image as possible before it was snatched away while trying to appear to maintain his composure.
Laurie took the tray from the porter and winked knowingly at him, his mouth open and twitching slightly as though a thousand words had become log-jammed in his larynx and each was fighting to be the one that made it out. She turned and flicked the door closed before he had the chance to dazzle her with his smooth and confident wit, knowing he would probably replay the encounter for years, each time trying a new combination in his head that would end with the two of them in an illicit tryst.
But there was already someone in the bed, and had the porter managed to pry his stunned eyes away from the semi-naked woman in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder, he would have seen the man was already engaged in an illicit tryst.
Lying naked on the huge circular bed in the middle of the expensive hotel room was Paul, restrained by wrists to the iron bedhead and blindfolded, his naked body glowing and defined in the moonlight from the open floor-to-ceiling curtains and blushing with embarrassment at having been seen like this by a stranger.
He listened to Laurie approach with the tray and tried to imagine what she might be holding. He heard the scrape of metal on metal as she approached.
On the tray was an ice bucket, chilling a bottle of champagne. But Paul didn’t know that any more than he knew the champagne was not for drinking.
Laurie approached him, set the tray down, popped an ice cube from the champagne bucket into her mouth and leant over him, pressing her lips against his. He buckled and contorted at the sudden blend of sensations: the warmth of her mouth, the cold of the ice, the surprise of the complexity. His face hardened for a moment and then softened to a smile as she drew away, leaving the ice cube to melt on his tongue.
Still leant over him, watching his face closely, she fished another ice cube from the bucket and held it in her hand, the melting water already beginning to roll over her fingers. She placed it on the center of his chest, pressing firmer as he struggled against it, and began to slide it down his torso. He begged for relief, she smiled.
She slid it down, further and further, brushing her hand against his erection, enjoying how rigid and tense his body became as she trailed it over his thigh, before throwing it away onto the thick carpet and taking a fresh one.
She paused and waited for his anxiety to build before wrapping her hand, still holding the ice in her palm, around his cock. The intensity forced an agonized groan from between Paul’s gritted teeth and his back arched up. She took another cube in her other hand and wrapped that around his length too, making him buck even more against her.
She stroked them up and down until his heat had melted them into a glistening puddle all over him. He was breathing deeply now, recovering from the sensations and preparing for the next, his body taut and close to orgasm – and Laurie could tell.
Now she took the champagne bottle from the bucket, allowing the freezing water to drip all over him, and took a swig, filling her mouth, spilling it over his erection as she did so. The bubbles crackled against his sensitive skin before fading away.
She took an ice cube in each hand and wrapped them around his erection again; he bucked less this time, desensitized to the cold. And then, without warning, she lowered her champagne-filled mouth down and wrapped it around his cock, stroking him with both her freezing hands and lapping the liquid around his length with her warm tongue.
The blend of conflicting feelings was more than he could take, the fire and ice, and she worked him faster until a primeval groan that seems to start in his legs and roll up his body was given voice by his mouth. He lifted his head and directed the groan at the hotel room’s ceiling as the orgasm overwhelmed him, and the warmth of his climax melted into the champagne in her mouth.
And somewhere downstairs, a porter leant against a wall and smiled dreamily to himself.
