hollywoodsmusings

[hollywoodsmusings]

What started as a relaxing afternoon at our luxury hotel’s rooftop pool and bar got interesting when the three built jocks arrived and took lounge chairs next to us. I figured they were athletes of some sort. They were young, and full of themselves. But not so full that they didn’t immediately take notice of the taut, shapely redhead between me and them.

Their whispers and giggles were under their breath — until the alcohol began flowing. And it seemed obvious to me that their comments were egging you on. Your stroll to the restroom was choreographed to pass directly in front of them, despite the fact that it was the long way to the restroom. And your next pass, to the bar, was without your sheer white cover-up. They never took their eyes off you, a fact you noticed when glancing nonchalantly over your shoulder, as if to to make sure they were paying adequate attention.

The afternoon wore on. As they drank and leered, it became increasingly obvious that they had more than undressed you in their minds eyes. To your credit, you did occasionally reach over to me, touch my arm or thigh, and kiss me. But this deterred them not in the least. They seemed to see that as a challenge.

The tipping point came when your eyes met those of the boldest of the three. He was the alpha of the group — the ring leader. I could tell your eyes locked, and he didn’t blink. Instead, his hand slid down to his raging hard and he squeezed it through his stretched trunks. He mouthed words to you that It was probably good I couldn’t quite make out.

Your smile back to him signaled it was time for us to go.

As the elevator door closed, I pressed you against the wall and in one deft movement slid my hand down across your flat, oiled tummy and under the front triangle of your bikini. As I suspected — slick and wet. Those coarse bastards turned you on.

The elevator door opened and you followed me to our room, without a word spoken. As the door closed behind us, our pool gear hit the floor and l forcefully pushed you onto the bed. In a split second, one of my hands was around your neck, and the other had returned to your smooth folds. First two fingers slid inside, and then three. My grip on your neck was firm. My fingers massaged your g-spot while my palm pressed against your clit. The sexual tension that had built at the pool was rushing to the surface. From your moans and quivering legs, I could tell you were about to erupt.

I paused.

“Do you want to fuck those guys, baby? DO YOU?!” Releasing just a shade of tension from you neck allowed a response. “No baby. I want you. I was just playing with them.” My stern tone melted into a sly smile. I know your game. And I know you are being honest with me. A somewhat softer tone follows. “Whose pussy is this baby?” “Yours” you reply. “Whose???” “YOURS!” you urge frantically. “That’s my girl.”

In a devilish frenzy, my trunks come off. So do your bottoms. For the next 30, 40, 50 minutes — who knows how long — our bodies are locked in a frantic dance…rolling over…me on top owning you…you on top grinding and using me feverishly…over to the desk…bent over the chair…against the sliding glass door to the balcony. Until we collapse — spent, sweaty, and glowing in the aftermath of repeated ecstasy.

Lazily, as if intoxicated, I lift myself from the bed and drift around the room, gathering my trunks and your bikini. I toss the bikini your way, and slip on my trunks.

“Put your suit back on baby. We are going back to the pool.” Your mind spins as you assess your tousled mess of auburn hair and the bright red handprints on your ass. “I want your young admirers to see what ‘freshly fucked’ looks like.”

[hollywoodsmusings]

We met the usual way -- a sleazy website for cheaters. Blurred pictures. Coded messages. And, eventually, a dialog that transitioned from rationales for being there to schedules, preferences, and desires...desires unmet in our current situations.

Truthfully, I nearly took a pass when I saw her pictures, reminding myself of the adage about things too good to be true. A fitness fanatic with long blonde hair, if she was real, she was almost *too* much for me. But we met for a drink, and judging from the happy hour crowd of businessmen who could not take their eyes off of her, I was in the presence of something unusual.

Though an executive in a national corporation, her profile hinted at a desire to cede control. In a relationship. And in the bedroom. I treaded that terrain delicately, feeling it might have been a trap for those men who felt compelled to demonstrate their alpha by describing the things they had seen on Tumblr, or worse. But my words must have drawn her in, because she gradually, articulately, explained that she had needs that would be viewed as taboo by many. And probably illegal by some. I made note, assumed exaggeration on her part, and enjoyed the easy vibe between us.

The first couple dates were electric. I marveled at her physique. She marveled at my ravenous hunger. And as our plans for a next date were thwarted by a business trip to Seattle she could not skip, I recalled an early conversation that had been prompted by the single word "travel" in her profile. Despite the fact that it was my birthday (necessitating some extra explaining), I asked if she might like company in Seattle. She beamed, checked me for seriousness, and the plan was underway. I would manufacture a business reason to fly 3000 miles. And she would manufacture a reason to not stay at the hotel she was expected at, where her business colleagues might spot her.

Our play, to that point, had grown increasingly rough. Not uncommon were requests for manhandling...or taking charge...or playing rough. But as we escalated, her desire for more -- harder, faster, and more nasty -- only increased. And when she noted my little black suitcase of items I brought to our dates, and discovered chains, cuffs, flogger, spreader bar, and much more, she pestered me incessantly. I vowed to myself that Seattle would be all she had requested, and more.

Her flight preceded mine by a couple hours, on purpose. Her instructions were clear. I would let her know when I arrived, by a text from the downstairs bar, where I would be sampling the finest bourbon in the house. She would don the outfit I had shipped to her, and be waiting for me. On the bed. Firm ass facing the door.

The Angel's Envy burned the back of my throat and the "ping" of my phone told me she was ready, as instructed. I felt a primal growl well up from within. I settled the tab and made my way to the room.

I had selected this particular room after scouring every luxury hotel in the Seattle area. This made the cut because of its unique room furnishings, including a rigid metal shelving unit near a counter on which an old-school phonograph (and records) were sitting. I thought that might come in handy -- the metal shelf, that is.

I entered to silence, as instructed. I spotted the cocktail on the table, as instructed. And on the bed, I stopped to gaze at a beautifully firm derriere - facing me, a black thong panty, and cascading blonde hair falling over her shoulders. I sipped. And exhaled. She squirmed, still silent. The metal shelving, which up close more closely resembled a S&M rack, was firmly secured at both floor and ceiling, just as I had hoped.

On the bed, my first touch was a finger under her thong to pull it aside for inspection. As I suspected, she glistened with anticipation. A soft kiss and a slow lick later, I gently pulled her upright by her mane.

The cuffs went on easily. The blindfold was not objected to. And then I walked her to the metal rack. Retrieving chains and carabiners from my bag, her hands were quickly affixed, slightly above her head. Peeling her panties off and attaching the spreader bar between her legs, her backside was completely vulnerable to me. I took another sip of my drink.

A long squirt of coconut oil down her backside startled her, but her angst was soothed as my strong, eager hands caressed her curves...squeezing her breasts...tracing the contours of her back...feeling the musculature in her strong, defined legs...and then slowly sliding my finger into her wetness. Her moan was visceral.

The begging to fuck her began almost immediately. I chuckled to myself. All her talk about wanting to be punished, whipped, and abused would come to roost tonight. And only when I was finished with her, would she receive me.

Her body vibrated with blind anticipation as she heard me rifle through my checked luggage. But she could not see the flogger, its leather tentacles draping downward, and its grip firmly in my hand. I gave her a first playful swat across her backside. She moaned audibly. MORE!

The next 10 minutes, or possibly 15, were surreal. I have heard pain can be pleasure, but had never seen that manifest, at least not to this extent. My whips became more intense -- across the backs of her legs...her firm ass...her muscular back. And as I reached the point of literally not being able to whip her any harder, she gripped the metal rack, expelled a guttural roar, and shook uncontrollably as her juices flowed down the insides of her thighs. I stood back, in awe. Two, or possibly three or four aftershocks followed. I released her hands and she crumbled to the floor, gasping for air. And still trembling. I wrapped my arms around her, kissed her gently, and then lifted her to her feet. Guiding her to the bed, she was only slowly regaining her composure. As she was, my hard was growing. And whether she was ready or not, it was now MY turn to claim MY long-awaited release.

Happy Birthday indeed.

[hollywoodsmusings]

What was mine for many years was now off limits. But that did not, in any way, diminish my excitement as she walked into the restaurant for a friendly, belated birthday celebration. Her statuesque frame, auburn locks, and graceful strides fogged my head. And that smile...the familiar hug...and the scent that I knew so well immediately intoxicated me. We sat at the corner table and navigated the uneasy few seconds surprisingly easily.

As she turned her head to engage the waiter, her profile struck me -- highlighted by the dim light of the restaurant. Her smile...and her green eyes both flickered in the candlelight of our table. How well I remembered those candle-lit smiles.

Conversation was effortless, and I sensed we were both doing our best to demonstrate to ourselves, and to each other, that we had move to a place of long, warm friendship. We were no longer lovers, I kept reminding myself. I wondered if she was telling herself the same thing, or if she was truly in a different place now. She seemed so calm and, though certainly not distant, remarkably comfortable with where we were. Perhaps this was a longer journey for me than for her.

Drinks arrived. A clink of our glasses in a warm toast, and a sip of familiar bourbon. And there she stood before me. I turned her around and placed my hand on her back, bending her over the counter. Taking a knee, I lifted her skirt, revealing my favorite panties. Gently pulling her ass cheeks apart, I slowly licked the contours of her firm derriere, my tongue probing under the thong as she began to moan and press her backside against me.

"So what do you think about that?" Her voice brought me back to the present. Clearly, I had drifted far away. I apologized, and feigned difficulty hearing over the chatter in the restaurant. She smiled, repeated the question, and I regained my wits.

Our conversation darted back and forth increasingly effortlessly. Orders placed, she excused herself to the ladies' room. As she moved from her chair, I studied her every movement. She swung her right leg first, followed by her left, then stood, smiled, and sashayed away -- she way she always did. But it was that brief moment when her legs were separated that caught my eye.

Using the key under the door, I walked in and found her on the bed. Back against the headboard, her negligee pulled up above her hips and her legs separated. Her long fingers, with that aqua polish I love, gently touching her moist lips. So perfectly smooth. At the foot of the bed was a carefully positioned chair. She motioned for me to take a seat. "I would like you to watch me."

The creak of the restaurant chair startled me as she returned and took her seat. "Hello? Hello? I'm back" she laughed as I tried to shake off the images in my mind. "Are you sure you're OK? You seem a little distant?" Warm smiles and I noticed her hand on the table. In a move that seemed to me to be bold, and with the outcome uncertain, I lifted my hand and placed it on hers. Thankfully, she embraced the gesture. But the feel of her skin, and the familiarity of her touch were soon interrupted by the meal.

Our musings and humor and introspection were as delicious as the meal, and reminded me why countless dates, excursions, and conversations with her never got old. In fact, they only got better with time. It was a connection I had never experienced before, and I reveled that it was unaffected by time and distance. At point, as the discussion turned to something slightly personal, she leaned across the table to speak in a more hushed tone. Our eyes locked only inches apart...

On her back, I pulled a pillow under her head. Her taste still on my lips, I needed to complete my connection with her. I moved her legs apart, and leaned over her. Our eyes inches apart, I adjusted my hips to align perfectly. I felt her slippery wetness on my tip, and I am certain she saw the same evidence on my face. Eyes locked in a mutually hungry gaze, I gently pressed. She softly moaned. Reaching the hilt, I pulled her close and savored feeling her arms wrap around my broad back and pull me closer still...

"Oh, no, I'm fine." she responded to the waiter, who was now looking at me. An awkward pause followed he kindly repeated "Dessert, sir?" Embarrassed again, I politely declined.

We walked to the parking lot, and I opened her door. Unsure whether tonight would end with a sister-brother hug, or whether I might be fortunate enough to feel her lips against mine, I now realize my angst must have been obvious. She took my hands, together, and smiled a knowing smile. And as with that first parking lot kiss at the Avalon, this short but brief kiss lifted my feet off the ground. I suppose a cupcake was my dessert, after all.

I heard her engine start as I turned toward my car, and now wish I had the courage to watch her drive away. But not sure I could have maintained my composure.

[hollywoodsmusings]

I appreciate your care and taste in selecting these for me. They are lovely. But you won’t be needing them any longer.

[hollywoodsmusings]

The Detour

The flight was long, made longer because we had not seen each other in weeks. I assumed you were as desperately craving as me, but apparently not. Mid-flight, your text directed me to a restaurant near our hotel. Said you’d meet me there at 8 pm.

Damn. Am I really going to have to sit through a meal before unwrapping your perfect body and taking the relief I need so badly? Deep sigh. I suppose so.

The place looked nice. Walking in, it was way upscale. Even in my tailored sport coat and trim-fit dress shirt, I felt on the edge of being underdressed. But the restaurant was mostly empty, so no foul.

The maitre d smiled warmly. Without asking my name, he beckoned me to follow.

You were alone, at a dark corner table, sipping a Chardonnay. I saw your hair first, and my heart skipped a beat. Cascading over your shapely shoulders and firm arms, the restaurant that felt cool moments ago suddenly felt stuffy.

A bourbon arrived at the table as I did, clearly on your instruction. As the waiter departed, your stunning smile froze me — and your opening words sent me reeling. “Hello baby. I am not wearing panties.” And then that smile — part playful, part mischief, and part come-fuck-me. If I appeared composed, bring me my Oscar.

I have no idea what I ate that night. But I can tell you every word — every look — and I can describe the electricity of every under-the-table stroke of your unshod foot against my bulging crotch.

On the way out, I gazed at your breathtaking silhouette. We were the last to leave the restaurant on that sleepy Thursday night, so I had no concern about others seeing me leer at you.

Our hotel was several blocks away. Sensing that once in our room, there would be no interest in a convenience stop, I tapped your shoulder and asked for a pause, then slid into the mens room. It was as you’d expect in such a place — oak, stately mirrors, and pristine. Washing my hands, I noticed the bulge still in my pants. The hotel, seemed an eternity away. Your looks, and your statements, culminated quickly in my mind. I smiled at myself, forming an impromptu plan, then exited.

Our eyes met, and a quick look around confirmed nobody was watching. Our server was probably rolling silverware. Who knows. Who cares. You turned toward the door, but my grip on your arm arrested your movement. In a purposeful single motion, I pulled you into the mens room with me. You attempted some verbal reservation, but it was half-hearted. You knew it would be futile.

Directing you to the vanity, I stood behind and just to the side of you. Both of your arms were now behind your back, firmly in the grip of my left hand. My right hand swiftly confirmed your “no panties” announcement. You were warm and dripping wet.

Licking my finger, you then saw me deftly unbuckle and unzip, and heard the metal from my belt hit the tile floor. Within seconds, my fury was unleashed — you saw it in my face, and felt it as my engorged hard found your slick slit. The first stroke was to the hilt. You gasped. I pushed you further forward with my gripping hand, then filled my free hand with as much of your gorgeous hair as I could hold. Pulling your head back, I gutturally barked an instruction that seared itself into your brain. “Keep your eyes open. You will watch me fuck you.”

My thrusts were violent. Deep. And they didn’t stop. There would be no holding back. And there wasn’t.

As we exited the rest room, our server walked by — just late enough to not be *completely* sure we were in there together. A polite “goodnight” from him, and a slightly winded reply from me. You offered only a stunned smile, and wondered if he noticed your tousled hair and dress askew.

We left the restaurant hand-in-hand. Silent — as my warm, sticky cum leaked down along the inside of your thigh.

You provoked me. In response, you had been marked. And the night is still young.

[hollywoodsmusings]

Introduction

If this blog piqued your interest, you have a Secret Garden - a place in the recesses of your mind where erotic thoughts take root, grow, and provide you pleasure or temptation…or both…outside the view of others.

It took many years for me to embrace my own Secret Garden. The accepted norms of our puritanical society prevent many of us from erotic exploration. What a shame.

I eventually broke those bonds and came to relish the places my mind took me. I am fortunate to have been able to bring certain blooms from my garden into the light. Others remain in the realm of fantasy.

In this blog, I share both — purposely without distinguishing between fantasies fulfilled and unfulfilled. I hope these vignettes excite you. I hope they challenge you and perhaps even motivate you to further explore your own garden…fertilize it…cultivate it. In time, maybe you will harvest a bloom or two of your own.

Finally, I welcome your comments, suggestions, and inspiration for future creative erotic exploration. And if you re-post, I would be grateful for proper attribution. Enjoy, my friends.

Hollywood