“Who’s there?” Jill replied.
“Room service,” came the reply, almost automatic, muted slightly by the weight of the closed door.
Jill rose from the bed and stood, curling her toes for a moment in the thick weave of the carpet and casually walked over to the door. She opened it with a smile, and enjoyed a look of shock and embarrassment registered on the porter’s face.
She stood lithe and small attired in nothing but black fishnet stockings, suspenders, black lace panties, peephole bra but adorned with a long pearl necklace wrapped twice around her neck shrouded by her lovely blond hair – nothing else. The porter’s eyes panicked, trying to absorb and record copious quantities of the imagery on show as possible fully aware, it was – for him – cruelly snatched away as he tried to appear professional maintaining his composure.
Tom arrived and politely 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 their exit as dignified as possible on its way out. Jill turned and flicked the door closed before Tom had the chance to dazzle her with his smooth and confident wit, knowing full well that he would probably replay the encounter for years, each time adding a new twist – a new angle in his head that would end with the two of them reliving their experiences again in their fantasy moments. Already the porter had imagined – totally wrongly – that there was already someone else, another guy – in the bed, and had the porter managed to pry his stunned eyes away from a semi-naked Jill in the doorway, glanced over her shoulder a few more seconds, he would have noticed the “other man” was, in fact, a pile of strategically-positioned pillows.
Jill, now lying naked on the huge circular bed in the middle of this expensive hotel room expertly restrained [by Tom] – both wrists clipped to the iron bedhead and blindfolded, her naked body glowing and defined in the moonlight from the open floor-to-ceiling curtains and presumably blushing with embarrassment at having been seen like this by a stranger – not – she loved doing her hip wiggle and infectious fun-loving tease to any man lucky enough to be in eye-shot.
She listened to Tom’s approach [with the tray] and tried to imagine what he might be holding – hearing the scrape of metal on metal as he approached.
On the tray was an ice bucket, chilling a bottle of champagne – Jill didn’t know that much of the champagne was not for drinking.
Tom approached Jill, set the tray down, popped an ice cube from the champagne bucket into his mouth and lent over her, pressing his lips against hers. Jill buckled and contorted at the sudden blend of sensations: the warmth of his mouth, the then cold of the ice, she was somewhat surprised by its complexity – her face hardened for a moment and then softened to a smile as Tom drew away leaving the ice cube to melt on her tongue.
Still leaning over her, Tom then watched her face closely, as he fished another ice cube from the bucket – he held it in his hand, the melting water already beginning to roll over his fingers. He then placed the cube in the centre of his tits, and, pressing firmer he slid it down to Jill’s tummy – Jill struggled against it, but as he began its journey south, Jill groaned and opened her legs as it slide it down her torso. Jill begged for relief, still smiling – Tom smiled back as Jill lifted/arched her back anticipating and relishing her sensations she was experiencing – he slid it down further and further, brushing his hand against her very moist clit – Jill moaning contentedly as the remaining ice was slid over her thigh before it melted away on the thick carpet.
He stroked her up and down – her breathing very deep now – Jill recovering from the sensations and wondering what was next, her body taut and close to orgasm – Jill sometimes enjoys being in control – gathered the champagne bottle from the bucket, and purposely allowed the freezing water to drip over Tom, she took a swig, filled her mouth before spilling it over his bulging cock and, as she did – the bubbles crackled on his sensitive skin before fading away. She took playfully grabbed more ice cubes – in each hand – and smother his cock with extra gusto while wrapping them around and without warning, 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 contrast of conflicting sensations was more than Tom could take, her passion, the ice and that Jill-Magic worked him faster until a primeval groan emanating from his toes, really? – crept up his legs and rolled up his body to his throat and voice-box. Tom lifted his head and directed the groan at the hotel room’s ceiling as his orgasm overwhelmed – the warmth of his climax melting the champagne in Jill’s mouth.
Somewhere downstairs, the porter leaned against the hotel wall and smiled dreamily to himself thinking what a lovely time they’d enjoyed together?