Mature The Book Signing

For better context regarding this story I'd like to recommend to you, "The Writing Convention," by Literotica writer Brittni4u. Her work should fill in some blanks for you regarding questions you might have. I would also like to warn everyone ahead of time - this story includes some fetish play, (to include watersports). Lastly I would like to take a moment to recognize three very talented writers who will appear in this series; Brittni4u, Brooklyn Lamb, and wendy53. This work is dedicated to you and thanks you three, for being an inspiration and for giving me words of encouragement on this project. Thank you for letting me pick your brains and for putting up with my questions.
​

*****​

I don't know where it all started, when things began to fall apart. I guess being a big dumb male I didn't see signs. My bad. They were probably swirling around me like dry leaves in a windy alley-way but I just didn't see, or care. I was too dazzled by the success.

I'd retired early at forty-seven; looked at all the years I had left, and decided I'd better find something. The guys down at the local VFW were good fellahs but they were all too old, (they seemed ancient and I didn't want to get old like that too quickly).

I simply had no intention of simply sitting over a beer at a bar and telling stories about all I never did to guys who all needed to turn up their hearing aids until I needed one myself. Instead, I went out and found a day job ten days after retirement and started writing at night. You've read my stuff, (or you are reading it now so you know what I write).

Anyhow, when things went wrong I was at a bit of a zenith for myself. As a writer I'd had a shit ton of failures; everybody does when they are making their bones. No shame in that, but finally I'd put something out to be truly proud of. It was an erotic historical novel and it made up for all the mistakes and the setbacks. Things took off.

I quit the day job. Money was actually coming in faster than I'd anticipated from the book and didn't need to "clock in." I definitely had no appetite for calling anyone boss save myself. We'd moved from one home to a bigger one we didn't need. We were recent empty nesters but it didn't matter; if I had cash coming in like that, I wanted everyone to know about it. It took a while but Karma kicked me in the sweet spot.

I came home early from a medical appointment that had to be rescheduled. It was then I'd walked in on my wife Linda in bed with her dance choreographer, (well not really in bed as much as 'on it'; with her ass high, her head low and him plunging down into her like a drill rig.

Didn't see it coming. For that matter I was not only surprised to see this from her, but also I surprised that the little leaping leotard loving lothario, Vince (who was balls deep inside my wife) fancied women. So much for my gaydar, so much for my alleged grasp of human nature.

"You understand, I want a divorce Bill," was all she could say, then she looked up over her shoulder and bid Vince to 'just keep going.'

She'd staged this. It was brazen, even for her. I have to give the girl credit. Truth was, she was eight years younger than me, far too attractive (I'd married up by all accounts), and I'd been less than stellar in providing her attention lately. It was either my job, the new house, or work... and no time for her. So along came Vince and he knew an unhappy attractive woman when he saw her.

I turned around, headed out to the bar by the pool, and poured myself a drink. They were gone in her car to who knows where in about thirty minutes. There would be papers, there would be lawyers, there would be mounds of accusations and bickering; I could see this all ahead in the months to come, but at the moment I did what any man of my character would - finding a pit of gin soaked self-pity and crawling into it.

Several hours later as the sun was coming up and I woke up on one of the pool lounges. My phone was between several empty bottles and it was buzzing for about the fourth time. I had a reminder. There was a book signing coming up in a few days and I didn't want to bother; especially not given the circumstances of how my head felt but then through the hangover fog I had an epiphany. I was free as fuck to do as I pleased and conscience be damned!

Ok... this was not so much of me being merely set free as much as a nervous breakdown. I really don't know why it happened to me, and I don't know why it chose then and now. The moment it arrived for me it manifested itself in the oddest of ways... I simply didn't care.

I'd always cared. I'd always been the responsible type who gives a fucking shit; putting in the long hours, volunteering for the crap jobs nobody wanted but needed to be done. I'd gone off to Iraq and Afghanistan on tours when both conflicts were anything but ideal, taken shit assignments when I happened to back in the states, and I'd generally not complained. It's the sort of thing responsible people with a self-important weed up their ass do.

After the Army, I'd done the sensible thing and started work... gotten the last of my children off to college and set us up with a lovely house and a nice mortgage that I could easily pay off. I told myself that my writing was my chance to be frivolous and to prove a point to myself I wrote about erotica and turned my back on anything of substance. For my sins I was successful and... now none of it really mattered.

So it was ironic then that I found myself a few days later on a flight up to Phoenix and then with a short connection to San Diego. My publisher had said it would be the right thing for me to hit this book signing, a lot of big names were hocking their pulp there and it would look good for me to have mine out alongside theirs... but that really wasn't why I was doing this.

I just wanted to go... no other reason. I was like a drop out; drifting along and seeing what fate had in store... the difference between me and the average disenchanted dropout; I had a rather liquid cash flow. It was probably a good thing shit hadn't gone down the tubes with me and Linda when I was a twenty-something without a crust of bread and two nickels to rub together.

So I checked in at the hotel after a short trip from the airport. I dropped my things off at my room and then went downstairs and met up in the hotel conference room with the people making arrangements for the book signing. As it turns out, things were already underway. The conference room was jam-packed full of people.

I hated those things. Hated the whole idea. I hated the crappy hotel conference room carpeting and the crap coffee that invariably would be in one corner next to carafe's of ice water and tea. Hated people walking around wearing stupid nametags that said, "Hi, My Name is ... fill in the blank." I hated even more that I had to fucking wear one.

So I am waiting for table space because its a damnably crowded room. More than one author had their choked line of fans queuing up to a rickety foldup table. Finally, I had a table and a box of books and somebody put a pen in my hand while slapping a poster up on the wall behind me. That's the embarrassing part of it; looking behind you and seeing yourself -looking all serious holding your own book or with your book superimposed in the background.

The line that formed up in front of me was what I expected; the frumpy housewife types all looking for a bit of excitement in their lives; all having found instead a paper-back escape in the pages of my book while they waited for the laundry to finish rinse cycle. I could see a few of them hiding my book after each "me time" session, just in case one of their kids should discover it or their mother happened by. My work is not something you want grandma to find on your coffee table; not unless grandma is a total cum addicted sex freak. Anyhow, this was my muffin-top bread and butter, and it stretched across the room and out into the lobby.

I was about two hours into this activity of greet, write something, and smile for a selfie; when I received a punch in the arm. I turned and there she was.

"Hi stranger!"

It was Brittni, staring back at me. She had her hands on her hips and was displaying a bit of mock pissi-ness. I knew the admonishment was coming and I suppose I'd deserved it.

"So," she scolded, "you just show up to a book signing... one where you know I'll be at, and you don't even so much as let me know ahead of time you'll be in town? What the actual FUCK, Bill!"

"It's a long story hon," I started to say but she interrupted me with,

"It's a long stay here in town for you and you've got a king-sized bed up in 219!"

"Wait, how in the hell did you...?"

"You saw the Indian or Pakistani or whatever he is guy who checked you in at the front desk?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"Well," she explained, leaning close to whisper in my ear like the brat she could sometimes be,

"let's just say there isn't nearly as much curry-sauce inside his ball sack as there was this morning when he came into work!"

I turned my head to her ear and whispered, "You keep sucking off hotel employees like this and I'm going to put on a bellhop uniform to lug your bags upstairs."

"They are already upstairs dork," she snapped back at me with another sassy little whipser, "in room 219. I am waaay ahead of you, (I emptied the bellhop's balls and put a permanent smile on his face right after I swallowed the desk clerk's nut-chutney)!"

I realized she'd just made this trip a whole lot more bearable for me.

The next three hours dragged like an eternity. I did sneak a quite a few peeks over towards Brittni sitting at her table, just reminiscing while pretending to pay attention to every housewife in my line. I was distracted and for good reason. She and I had "history," and damned recent too.

For those of you who don't know anything about Britt, look her up on Literotica under the author name, Brittni4U. No matter what your taste in erotica happens to be, her writing will scratch your itches one way or another, (she has written about damned near everything and is a true talent). She'd also as luck would have it... put out a book about the same time I'd written mine and wouldn't you know it; it was even more successful than I could ever have hoped mine to be. Oh well, it's not a race -its writing.

Anyhow, back before my book was even close to getting finished (and long before any publisher would touch me with a ten-foot pole), I met Brittni at a writing convention in Phoenix. For a little bit better picture, give her story The Writing Convention on Literotica a look, (it should fill in all the blanks for you).

It was a fun time and by my count if I remember correctly; my balls were emptied by that lovely little minx for no less than three times, plus my wife Linda also took care of emptying me, (but hey who's keeping score, right)? Regardless, when Britt hinted about another convention in San Diego not far from her home, I hopped a flight and showed up by myself.

That was the start of what I would call "The Lost Weekend," which would be another story for another time, all in itself. I didn't keep track of how many times she emptied my nuts or made me howl like I'd stubbed my toe that weekend; let's just say the whole event was a blur and at one point, I threw some clothes of mine in a dumpster rather than take them home, (they were that far gone). It was one of those weekends where you get back on a plane to come home; trying to hydrate and just happy you didn't have an awkward neck or facial tattoo to explain to your wife Linda.

Oh, and speaking of Linda... out of some twisted bullshit rationalizing "code of honor" that perhaps went back to my fraternity days - I never took Brittni's pussy. On both trips I only nutted in her mouth, hands, or asshole, (and if I remember right on both occasions her mud-button was filled to the rim with my special sauce when I departed).

The bottom-line if (I can put it simply), was despite stretching Britt's beautiful bottom, I didn't cum in her pussy. It felt too much like I was serving up Linda a slap in the face. It was hypocritical I know, but I didn't know "the rest of the story" as Paul Harvey would say. Linda most likely wouldn't have so much as batted an eyelash at what I'd done (given what I know now), but hey let's not skip too far ahead.

Anyhow here I was, back in San Diego and making sideways glances at her; sometimes getting away scot-free... sometimes getting caught looking. She'd just smile back and give me a big dimply grin with a wink. A couple of times she deliberately dropped shit on the floor, just to make my eyes follow her movements. She played games; always had, and always will... it's in her nature.

For the life of me; I simply couldn't help myself (despite the annoyed looks I received from a few of the hefty heifers in my line of signature hopefuls), and if you were a healthy male you'd agree. I knew precisely what lay under that short dress and long corporate jacket all perched above her slender legs and red high heels. The thing was; it was all too obvious to all present, (not that either of us cared).

If you've ever met Brittni, you're immediately struck by her form. Sleek and slender doesn't begin to cover it. Imagine instead Tinkerbell crossed with a little toy cannon perhaps; just made for loud banging hard sex). When I was in my twenties, we'd call hard body-pixie girls like that "spinners"; because you could lift them up light as a feather, set them on your cock, and spin them around like a giggling ceiling fan.

Despite her twenty-two years of age, she's kept her heart-shaped tushy from her high school gymnastics days, (courtesy of a strict regime of Zumba and weight training). She sports perky 34C breasts capped with lovely little gumdrop nipples and flat little tummy that's frankly... hard as a bagful of hammers, (oh... and with a little dangly belly-button icicle jewel to boot)! Above that ever-smiling face with her catlike angular cheekbones, small nose, and captivating hazel eyes; she sports this wavy mane of dishwater blonde hair, very much in harmony with her Southern California setting. She looks the part.

There is another side to her and remember, appearances deceive. She may look like the screaming front row of boy band concert ...but that's where it ends. She's intelligent, with a wisdom well beyond her years... and oh so classy!

I guess you'd have to call it the "classy slut" ethos that she lives by. She won't write her phone number on her underwear and slip it to some bartender just because she's had a few. She'll never be caught dead doing a stupid duck-face selfie and put it out on social media - telling everyone how she feels fat and lonely, (so that hundreds of random mooks will traffic-jam her inbox). She won't put composite photos of her face and ass out over the internet so that some nasty creep can hang them on some crappy Eastern European payporn website next to a "New Members Here" window; she's far too savvy and level-headed for that garbage.

She understands there's life after school, after twenty-two, after thirty-two even... and that reputation is all. That being said; she loves pleasure and recognizes (like a lot of intelligent people), we only go around once and nobody leaves this world alive ...we should not deny ourselves the sensual pleasures of this world. Consequently, she walks a Yin Yang line of respectability and standards to one side; all perfectly balanced with hedonistic itches to be scratched and appetites to be fed upon the other. I may have oversimplified the "classy slut ethos" perhaps, but you can still get the picture.

Well anyhow, eventually those last three hours were finished and the very last one of the ladies in my line did a "grip, grin, kissie-selfie & sign, combination" with me. I sent the sweet little old GILF on her way so she could catch an early-bird plate special someplace, (or perhaps just go home to feed her cat, I don't know). I shot a glance over Brittni's way.

She had just signed and sent the last of her readers home with an autograph and a sweet hug too. She raised her hand and made a "drinkie drinkie," gesture. I nodded and huffed out my lungs in agreement, realizing such things were long overdue.

Sitting in a high-backed booth tucked away in the hotel bar a few minutes later we had a chance to unwind together and catch up. We sat away from the bar. We wanted privacy and there were a few barflies that kept looking her way from the moment we stepped through the entrance, (despite the fact she ignored them like so much ogling furniture). She wanted privacy and the booth with its darkness and wrap-around art-deco overdone highness gave us just that.

The drinks came to the booth and the waitress headed back to behind the bar. I had Martini. Brittni joked that like myself; my drink was cool, bitter and a bit dry, (the difference being it had the benefit of three olives which I did not). What can I say, be it gin or scotch, or straight tequila... I like drinks that make younger people do the sour face. I know what I'm about.

Brittni had one of her usual tall fruity Walt Disney-colored whatchamacallits that betrays a certain age despite the fact she was rocking the grown-up corporate look with the clothes. It's the one thing that tips a girl's hand as to how old she is... the booze she drinks and how she orders it. I don't judge, I just notice.

When a girl makes the transition to a certain age, she hangs up a lot of things. One of them is a fear of drinks that taste like hair-spray. Suddenly, that icky stuff Nana used to suck out of strange geometric-shaped glasses tastes less like Final Net and more like sweet nectar... the fruity-sweet, rum-tinged drinks with the cute names conversely go by the wayside, (along with cute cars, and all the Hello Kitty paraphernalia). Its ok... I like Britt, a hell of a lot. She can drink what she wants in my book.

As always, she was good company. Most of our talk was about writing; hers, mine, our competition, who had put out what lately for work, and who was grinding away on a new project. Our work is a fun least common denominator. It's easy for us to get lost in the discussion and we did. Could you blame us? We write about fucking and the pleasurable adventures and we are always bouncing ideas and concepts off one another as to how to make those adventures even more appealing.

Soon one martini led to another and one froo-froo Hello Kitty Watchamathingy with an umbrella led to another. Once there were four empty glasses in front of us, what was to stop us from making it a fifth and sixth? Hey it was going to be Happy Hour anyhow in thirty minutes... a head start is always a good thing. It's like stretching before a workout... so important.

The only concern was this was how "the lost weekend" began the last time I'd been in town, and I was cautious of a repeat performance. Oh well... I could sober up on the plane home in a few days, (and didn't give a rat's ass what condition I looked like when I arrived at my door this time).

As she spoke she always kept one hand either on my arm knee or hand. It's what makes her dear to everybody she meets. Every now and again between flips of her hair, she'd pick a teensy weensy indescribable piece of fluffy nothing from my sleeve or my collar or my pants, or wherever; then go right back to speaking, listening, and nodding. It wasn't sexual in the purest sense. She's a "toucher," and quite sensual in that regard, (and what's more - it's contagious). My hand found itself on hers and her knee and to her wrist.

The duet began. We kept up the discussion about writing but from the get go; we sat closer than casual conversationalists. She kept preening herself and straightening things on me as my fingertips traced the edge of her hand absentmindedly when I spoke to make a point.

I smelled her and she did the same with me. That fragrance... I knew that scent all too well and her touches now became like a soothing tickle. This all now mingled with her breath in my face (which for me is always just like honey and lilac to my nose on any occasion).

I noticed the aroma of her dishwater blonde locks (or kept noticing it) It distracted me. Her hair ... I don't even know how to describe it other than to say it sent my senses reeling every time she flipped her mane back and forth; giving me the scantest whiff of its a fragrance all hers. Her chemistry was working me. My cock swelled. We kept up the conversation as more drinks came, and our mood became happier and lighter.

The conversation turned to sex... well, it was already about sex, (we are erotica writers if I haven't mentioned that for the forty-third time). What I mean is the mood and the booze and the darkness mixed with history and familiarity we'd already laid down. She asked me.

"So you going to just drink me under the table all night or are you going be rude to my rear? I didn't move my bags to your room for nothing. It's a shame my pussy only gets acquainted with your nose and tongue?"

"You want it to get acquainted with something else?" I laughed back over my drink, " Because, to tell the truth, I am in ... a mood."

"A mood? What about Linda?"

"This," I said setting my drink down and pushing her hand away for a moment, "is that part of the movie, where I'm supposed to say, It's complicated,"

She listened. She listened taking everything in; arms crossed and not touching her drink as I ignored mine and just ...shared. I hate that word. Who the hell ever came up with the word "share" to describe what I was doing? Somebody overly-sensitive chronically unemployable, I think.

A better word is "dumped because that was what it felt like, (news that acts like a weight on the other person and only creates a heaviness for both people). I hate "sharers" and avoid them whenever I can. I figure you deal with your problem privately and move on with things. It's probably why Linda was leaving and why she was most likely riding her dance instructor at that very moment - all while I "shared" what I was going through with Britt in this booth at the bar. It wasn't fair what I was doing, and I was being a downer.

Britt listened and listened some more. She waited until my booze fueled catharsis ran out of energy, and then in her wisdom she chose the moment to speak. She put a hand on my wrist as I stared into my drink saying,

"You feel better?"

I nodded saying,

"I do,"

I really did... I felt like a great toxic greasy funk had left me. It was all out. I'd said it and vented and bitched. It was my fault and I'd owned up to it and made my peace with whatever was coming back home and...

"You know," she said interrupting my moment of tranquility shimmering in the top of my martini," you have a golden opportunity now."

"What's that?"

"You're cut loose... you are already bad, you even just said it over the last five minutes. Why the hell not be as bad as you want? She can't divorce you twice."

I nodded again, considering what she said as she picked up my drink and handed it to me. She continued with,

"I think we have two problems here,"

"Yeah? What are they?"

"You need to catch up with your life," she said tracing the top of my hand with her fingertips ever so lightly, "and I need to have you absolutely wreck my meow meow upstairs in room 219. It's not like we have any place to go. C'mon, you can be dead inside after your death but you are very much alive at the moment ..."

Two glasses clinked together in agreement; a toast sealing what was about to happen (and what I didn't know would be a new beginning of sorts). There was the accounting of things at the bar to put the bill on room 219 and then there was the tipsy giggling ride in the elevator (during which we decided if we became hungry we were going to blow up room service like we'd done during the lost weekend).

Inside the room upstairs (and after we got the door open), we left a trail of clothes that looked a bit like a plane crash debris field all the way to the bathroom. I needed to piss and so did she.

I got there first and flipped up the seat, pointing my junk at the commode. Oh I know ladies first, and all that but it's how it worked out and you'll understand in a moment... it worked out well. Just as I was about to let go and empty Happy Hour into its final destination, Britt's hands reached around my bare ass to hold my cock while cupping my nuttsack.

"Let it rip Hon!" she chuckled chewing on my shoulder through my shirt, making it clear that she wished to "steer."

Well I obliged. I cut loose with a clear booze laden ammonia-stream into the bowl; pissing strong and hard like a racehorse. I really had to go and it felt so fucking good. To have the lovely delicate hands of this twenty-two-year-old nymph doing the driving, well that was the bonus!

It was a good long piss for me and to her credit; Britt had impeccable aim for somebody more intent on biting my back and fiddling my balls than checking to see where she was hitting. There is something innately sexy about a woman who wants to hold your junk while you perform the intimate act of relieving yourself. Linda had done this a few times when she was feeling playful or when we were both drunk but Britt was turning the very act of peeing into foreplay, the way she kissed my shoulders and stroked my balls as I hosed down the inside of the commode.

When my sparkly jet of pee began to arc down ever so slightly, she did the unexpected. She pinched off my urine stream between her thumb and forefinger, spun around to my front while dropping the toilet seat, and simply sat her bare ass down. Now she was holding my cock in a viselike grip, blocking my flow with my glans just inches from her kisser.

"When I pop you into my mouth hon," she told me, "I want you to cut loose again. Just do it; I want to taste this. It's my thing, ok? When I pinch off your cock it will be because I need to control the stream so just let me continue to drive and you make yourself empty!"

I nodded and with that she kissed the tip of my prick before popping it in her mouth. She released her squeeze on my urethra and I began to flow, straight into the back of her throat and down her gullet.

I couldn't believe what I saw or felt. I ran an appreciative hand through the sassy brat's dirty blonde hair! You could have knocked me down with a feather; I was shock no other way to describe it. I mean, here I was; using a gorgeous twenty-two-year-old pixie for a urinal... and at her very invitation! She kept gulping and breathing through her nose, stopping my flow every few seconds and then resuming "her feeding," until I finally ran dry after a minute had passed.

I started to pull away but she shook her head in an emphatic NO with my pisser still between her lips. It was then she began to work her mouth on me. Wrinkling her nose slightly, she began to suck me to an erection, (as it became her turn to take a hot steaming piss of her own).

I now could hear the "whiz" of her stream adding to level of the bowl beneath that marvelous ass of hers. It was a good strong piss she was cutting loose with; hard and forceful... she REALLY must have been full and had to go! Her ammonia fog rose up from behind her and danced in my nose as I glanced down; her sizzling splatter ringing out against the porcelain in a surreal contrast to the sloshy "suck, suck, suckety-suck," of those lovely lips on my cock. It all only added to my excitement; the perverse combination of oral sex mixing with basic bodily functions, serving to remind me that we humans have a wonderful capacity for passionate kink and spontaneity. It's good to be a human with all our pleasures, passions, quirks and twisted itches!

She'd planned this of course; giving me head before we went to the bed to fuck. Always somebody who enjoys bodily fluids (and who loves cum in particular), she later told me she'd wanted to chug my first orgasm of the night straight into her tummy; not wishing to waste that load in her ass or pussy. She also wanted me to nut much later when we hit the bed. She knew that if she sucked me off early on, I'd then be able to wreck her rectum and make her kitty-cat yowl for a good long hammering time. She'd considered everything and it showed!

She really bore down too; sucking me as though she were trying to strip a ham-bone, rather than just merely deep-throating me. I could feel the tip of my cock banging into the back of her throat as down below I could still hear her pissing, and pissing, and pissing. Just like me, she'd had a full tank to deal with apparently, but after a minute or so I heard her tinkle stream come to a dribbly stop. I guessed even she had run dry. It was just as well, her blowjob had put me to the very edge and now I really needed to cum.

I sawed my hips against her mouth; snarling as my fingers tangled in her hair. Down below it was if she'd redoubled her efforts to suck my cock right off my body and swallow it whole. A little more mouth grinding slurp, slurp, slurp, with a light rake of her teeth and I lost it. I roared and blubbered in a choking "happy little death" of an orgasm, filling her mouth with big spouts of sticky warmth. I was all chokes and heaves as she took my baby batter like a true champ; gulping down every last salty drop until she'd emptied me.

I bent forward and kissed her hard, running my hand up and down her body. We were all happy feverish giggles and steamy breaths, (and it was only going to get steamier). I looked into her eyes and gasped,

"My turn!"

I then dropped down between her legs and raised her knees up, right there on the toilet with her heels resting on my back. My head went right between her thighs and my lips found her pussy, still wet with the funkiness of her recent piss. I didn't care... I was thirsty in more ways than one!

She let out a little-girl with a bellyache whimper; wiggling her hips from side to side as my tongue got to work down there. I was like a starving mutt with his head down in a bowl of chow, mashing my face down into her cunt and simply devouring her.

When I think of it now, who could blame me for wolfing her cunt like so much kibble? She had a gorgeous pussy that hadn't a hair anywhere to be found; with delicate pink labial lips like those you'd normally see on an eighteen-year-old runaway pornstar. Everything about that lovely little beaver said EAT ME, so I dove in!

I mean I was all up and down that lovely shaved lady blossom of hers; sucking that teensy weensy clit and pressing my lips and snout down into her cunthole. With every lick, gobble, and suck I could taste and smell the remnants of that hot piss she'd just taken and simply taking in all that acrid aroma and taste. It's funny, her pee traces and the lovely notes of that young nubile pussy combined into something quite intoxicating. When you added the sound of my slurps combined with her feverish sighs, moans and giggles... well the whole situation was now overwhelmingly decadent hot and horny!

I had to get the rest of my clothes off. I just wanted to be naked now and so did she. I kept munching her twat truffel as I sent my socks flipping over my shoulder; adding to the trail of clothing at the door. My pants, and shirt followed soon after; landing smack in the doorway and not once did I lift my head from her puss blossom. She wasn't the only one who could hit a target without looking.

She sent her blouse flying through the air along with her brassiere; which landed as luck would have on the doorknob behind us, (cool points for that aim of hers again). Now without a stitch of clothing on either of our asses we could REALLY get down to business. It was then she made an urgent request.

"Bill," came a squeaky little gasp from her lungs, "don't ask questions just wrap your lips around my pee-hole, baby!"

Her hand's grabbed the back of my head frantically. My mind was all question marks about this but I complied. A second later, I had my answer as to just what the fuck it was she was up to...

She let fly in my mouth with a little girly squirt of tinkle; just a squirt mind you, but most definitely pee. Apparently she'd been holding it all in and still had a rather full bladder.

Well that naughty little minx! I gave her a thumbs up and made eye contact; all while keeping my lips pushed into her cunt fountain.

Her lip quivered as if she were trying to focus. She stared off into space and pissed again; just a short jet straight into my mouth, but longer in duration. I swallowed, not spilling a drop of her pee-spritz.

We began a coordinated activity of me pressing my face into her crotch and nodding; while she would give me a squirt of urine into my mouth until I'd raise my hand, then she'd stop and allow me to gulp down what I had. We kept going like this; squirt stop... squirt stop... squirt stop, until at last she exhaled and smiled. She was empty... and I was full. We'd cross leveled each other's fuel tanks in a delightfully perverse way, that would have earned us roaring applause in any Dutch or German sex show! I raised myself up and gave her another deep tonguing French kiss, then I dove back down and buried my face in her twat.

"Ooooh shit baby," she cried out, "yeah that's it. Eat the fuck out of me!"

She was squishing and mashing her cunt up into my face now and pulling the back of my head down into her crotch with the strength of three women! I began poking a finger up into her cunt-hole as I sucked and licked at the swollen nub of her clit. Over the next few minutes I eased first one finger, then a second; stroking at her G-spot while abusing her clitoris with my lips, teeth, and tongue. I could feel her little juice button up inside her swell. I knew it were not going to be long now... I also knew it was going to be wet as fuck.

Brittni closed her eyes and tangled her fingers in my hair. Her mouth became an insane stream of profanity and whimpers. Somewhere along the line, my lips, my tongue, and my fingers got the best of her. She bucked on the toilet, one leg kicked slightly as her eyes suddenly opened and she hollered,

AAAHHHH AAAGGGHHH! EEEYAGGHHH! OH SHIT BAYBEEE!

I dropped my mouth down and sucked in the flesh around her pee-hole, just in time to take squirt after squirt... after hot juicy squirt of her girly-gasm. I swallowed, savoring the taste as she hollered and shook, still swearing like she'd stepped on a Lego.

I wiped my chin; considering those two lovely tastes that had jetted from the same hole... first pee, then her girly cum. It was so hot and perverted and wonderful... and to be honest, so were the two of us. What's more... so was my cock, (which had recovered from exploding against her tonsils and was now ABSOLUTELY RAGING)! I so had to fuck her... every which way and then just start over!

I rose to my feet and as I did, scooped her up from the toilet with her knees hooked over my elbows and biceps. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply. It was such an easy move, (she weighs as much as a thimble and her gymnastic ability lets her climb up onto nearly anything with ease). My hands cupped underneath her ass and I spun around with her. We were heading for that bed!

It was all done without ceremony or fanfare. It wasn't like either of us needed any more foreplay. It was more like moving around with a hot pan in the kitchen that you needed to return to the stove for a moment... no thinking about it, just doing it.

It's ironic because it was a bit of a milestone for the two of us. I'd had Britt's ass before; she sucked me dry as well, but her cunt was something rather important. It was that last bit of intimacy and I'd made certain I would never nut in that hot little pussy out of respect for Linda. Well, that had been before and now Linda was for all I knew; back home somewhere banging away like a screen door on God knows who or how many... awwww SHIT! GAME ON!

I remember that first push into her pussy on the bed. It still makes my cock twitch now. Britt was on her back with her legs up like the cutest little crab; hooking her knees back with her arms and giving me the brattiest of bratty pouty-pouts. She knew what she was doing. My cock was all reloaded and rushed with blood; a real throbber too.

Now understand, I'm no pornstar. I won't lie to you either. I'm Joe-Average six-inches down there; take it or leave it. Well between Britt's ankles being up where her earrings were, her fingers strumming her pink lima-bean clit, and her nostrils flaring twin blasts of air in my face; it was pretty fucking clear this gorgeous little pixie was set to take it, (average cock or not).

I can still remember putting the mushroom bell-head of my cock to the mouth of her pussy and slowly allowing my weight to do the rest. I sank in straight up to my base as Britt huffed out a great baby-doll sigh, half gasp... half squeaky toy really. My cock felt a delicious squeeze from every direction, just VERY snug. Had I penetrated the wrong end? Nope... her pussy was tight as they cum, and oh so lovely. I was balls deep in quality quim and she was giving me then nicest nastiest anaconda squeeze with it!

I began to fuck. She let go of her legs and allowed my weight to pin them back; wrapping her arms around my neck and shoulders. Again I noticed that oh so happy tightness of her passage; that lovely warmth and that velvety slickness; such a sweet sweet cunt.

Our mouths found each other's and we began to suck face and bang our junk together. Bang, bang, bang, we went against that mattress! At some point our lips separated; her mouth found my neck... she began to suck.

"Wait! Nooo..." I gasped, thinking too much and trying to wriggle away from her choppers.

"It's ok baby," she hissed, like a steamy radiator, "you are forgetting, you are now single as all fuck. Who you going to have to explain a mark on your neck to?"

I'd forgotten that part. I was still thinking like a married guy... a married guy with a guilty conscience perhaps... but this whole business was new. I'd not completely rationalized up until now all the other stuff Britt and I had done... instead I'd just put it out of my head as soon as it had happened, but now... it didn't matter. Who did I have to answer to? I began to jack-hammer fuck that tight little twat-hole like I intended to completely wreck her girly-junk; BANG BANG BANG! Beneath me Britt sighed and yelped and sucked at my neck, when she wasn't crying "OH OH OH!"

It was fortunate I'd cum before this in her mouth. I was able to edge myself with little effort, focusing more on just how hard I could beat up her meow-meow and simply do everything I'd ever fantasized about doing to it when it was just me back home with my right hand and some lube. We humped and screwed HARD in the missionary position at first... then backed off on the pace and did a coo-ing little kissy fuck; then sped up again. We then repositioned after a minute or two into the doggy position with her ass up and her head and shoulders arched low into the mattress. BANG BANG BANG!

No matter how I flipped her, this little sex-kitten seemed to love being twisted and hammered. I let her climb atop me so that she could slam up and down on my cock and grind her clit against the base of my shaft, SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! ...GRIND GRIND GRIND! I flipped her around so that she could watch herself in the suite's large vanity mirror; fucking reverse-cowgirl-style as I fiddled her asshole with my thumbs and fingers. We kept mixing it up and I kept edging.

At one point I lifted her and she wrapped her lovely athletic around my middle; her knees hooked over my elbows in a sort of standing WHAM WHAM WHAM-ITY WHAM thing. She happily caught upon my prong as if she were a hat hung on a coat-hook. It turns out; she later told me she loved the feeling of being suspended and impaled like that; absolutely LOVED IT! She shrieked 'n hollered as if she were on a scary ride at an amusement park.

I finally set her on the ground and spun her about; having her spread her legs wide and bend forward at the waist until she could reach forward and touch the floor with her hands far apart. She now resembled a rickety leaning table with one end higher than the other. I took up position behind her and commenced again to slam, slam, slam her pussy as if I were mad as Hell at it. The whole time she laughed and giggled when she wasn't all gasps and shrieks.

We fucked in the vanity chair with me seated and her straddling me. This time I had a full view of everything in the mirror and as she rode up and down on my ding-dong, I bit and chewed at her neck as I finger-fucked her anus and tickled her little pink pucker-hole.

We moved back to the bed. She lay on her back once again, (only this time with her ass pointed up straight to the ceiling and with her shins nearly flat against the mattress. From my vantage point it appeared as if she'd been attempting a summersault and somehow become stuck. The beauty of this position was readily apparent for me; I could jack-hammer fuck straight down on top of her as she squealed and hollered beneath me; my balls smacking her sweaty taint and asshole with each down-stroke.

Finally, I wanted to cum... and I wanted to do it in a way that didn't look like we were shooting a cheap porno. We'd gone through as many positions as we could think of and quite frankly, by now I'd noticed I was really fucking close to nutting! You can only edge so long with a hot little piece of ass like this and I was at my limit.

We adopted a more relaxed position with her still on her back but with her legs only slightly raised and hooked over the backs of my thighs. We slowed down the pace too... kissing and rubbing each other's faces, chewing one another's necks and giving cheap hickeys to one another. It was like a cross between a glorious fuck... and making out on the school bus in high school!

Anyhow it became a nice slow gentle screw. At some point in that big-ass king sized bed we rolled over; all kisses and fuck strokes. She was on top of me once more; mashing that clit against me. I began sucking her nipples and biting at her shoulders. She began to look past me, as if staring into the pillow behind my head for a few a few seconds. She then turned her eyes directly back to mine; her chin quivered as if she were prepared to sneeze... then it hit for her - good and solid.

"EEEEYAAAGGHH OH BABY PLEASE DON'T STOP... I'M GONNA UNNNHH AAGGGHHH," she shuddered. A second later I felt a warm dribble as her Bartholin's glands let loose a lovely warm squirt of twat treacle that ran down my shaft and balls and puddled around my ass. It was all I needed to nut.

I let go with a hot geyser of baby gravy straight up inside her. It was another nice big ropey load for me and I choked and snarled from the sheer pleasure of it; my hips thrusting again and again until it was all jetted from my system and deep up inside hers. Heaven.

She fell on me and we melted into a big sweaty kissy-kiss cuddle puddle. You know what I am talking about... the kind that sappy greeting cards and feminine hygiene commercials are made of? Don't judge, we couldn't stop giggling and kissing. We rubbed faces shoulders and necks as we rolled hips against one another. We'd bonded now; two materials fused in a connection of intimacy. Sure, we'd been brought together by horniness, but also by a desire to finally JUST PLAIN DO THIS with one another... and to make it good. It was good -that block was checked!

There was to be more; so much more.

"Have you ever," I broke the silence finally, "watched the old movie, Casablanca? This reminds me of that famous line at the very end,"

"Who's looking at you, kid?" she asked with one eyebrow cocked; her head on my chest and my slackening penis up inside her snatch.

"No," I mused, "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,"

She giggled. She nodded. She got it, what's more she got... this... and so did I, for that matter.

We weren't going to be lovers. We would be more than pen pals though from here on in. It was the beginning of a sort of friends with benefits sort of thing that I can't really put a finger on... but then again neither of us wanted to label it.

We didn't want to lump this into a box. It was good, (and for two writers of erotica it was compelling). Fuck buddies? MMmm ok sure... but it was more than that. What happened next is a case in point...

I had a call from our publisher. We spoke for five minutes on my cell about how the day went and how we expected tomorrow to go with more of the same "smiles and signings and shit." After the call I tossed the phone on the mattress next to me and just closed my eyes. I went out like a match, not really sure for just how long.

Room service dinner was coming up the elevator... she'd ordered for both of us. She woke me from my little snooze; hitting me in the face with a robe from the bathroom. She'd put on a matching one, emblazoned with the hotel's monogram and her head was wrapped in a towel turban deal around her head, (she'd apparently hit the shower while I was all snores and snoozes).

She'd seen my phone on the edge of the bed where I'd tossed it and she being like any other girl out there... well, she'd now taken the opportunity to snatch it up. It seemed she was in the mood for some light reading. As I came around and was once again back with the living, I saw her on the edge of the bed going through my private business, (bad girl that she was).

"Hey," she said looking up from my phone screen as it lit up her cheekbones, "before you handle food, what do you say you get a shower? You were playing with my asshole when we fucked and those fingers are probably not the cleanest now."

She was right. I hopped up and was at once trotting off to the shower.

She followed me, still going down through my phone. As I turned on the water and stepped in, she sat on the tub's edge asking questions here and there.

"So who is Kris?"

"Another author from Literotica," I answered from the steam behind the shower curtain, "she's up in Canada. Gorgeous woman... delightful free spirit."​