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The Conference Circuit

Chloe Amour

The Conference CircuitIt’s a game Helen plays when she gets sent away to attend mind-numbing conferences in sterile hotels. Well you have to do something to relieve the boredom. At the beginning she did what everyone else does. Had a drink in the bar the night before, then dinner in her room and a soulless, unfulfilling hour or two attempting to flick herself off to one of the TV’s porn movies. That just left her feeling angry and out of sorts. Then she went through a phase of hanging out in the hotel bar in the hope that someone would hit on her. Quite a few did, but they were invariably other attendees of the same conference with the same displaced look in their eyes as she did. The sex was half hearted and not worth the awkwardness that arose from bumping into them at the convention the next day. So, she thought harder and found a solution. Last night when she arrived she ate well, had a couple of glasses of wine and slept soundly. This morning she got the call from the concierge. Now she has stripped naked, tidied all identifying possessions into the wardrobe, and unlatched her hotel room door. She shivers, excited about what’s about to happen. She can’t resist cupping her boobs in her palms, squeezing her fat nipples between thumb-base and fingers.The call means that the concierge has found a participant in marsbahis güvenilirmi the game. It doesn’t always come – more often than not it doesn’t – and on those occasions she dresses and goes down to the conference feeling frustrated and horny from the anticipation. But the days that the call does come make it all worthwhile. Today it came late. She climbs on the bed and kneels there, arse pointing towards the door; her cunt – already tender and moist, opening like a fleshy, pink flower – will be the first thing they see when they come in. Distantly, she hears the lift ping. Footsteps in the hall. She pulls on the hood, lowers her head. Her nipples graze the covers, make her utter a soft sigh.The footsteps stop at her door. A tentative knock. Not a housekeeper’s rattle, it’s still too early for that; this is a guest unsure about entering. Helen stiffens, waits. Then at last hears the door swing open.”Hello?” English, home counties, educated. She wishes he hadn’t spoken. The instructions were not to speak. The concierge should have made that clear. She hears his breath catch. He’s seen her. Another pause, as if weighing up the situation, coming to a decision, then the door snicking shut and a second or so later a hand on her arse cheek. The fingers are broad, strong. The skin warm and smooth. marsbahis yeni giriş They sweep down, around to the inside of her thigh and then back up to touch her with her surprising gentleness on her cunt. They brush her clit, then slip right inside because now she is so wet, so wet.When the hand disengages she feels momentarily bereft, but then is rewarded by the sound of a zipper, the soft shuff of material sliding down legs. And where his fingers had been moments before is now the insistent nudge of the head of a hard cock. Instinctively she pushes back against it, mashes her wetness against his hardness to indicate her urgency. He gets the message and guides himself into her, and her moan expels moistly inside the mask. His cock is not huge, but it’s more than adequate for the job. Helen’s cunt feels so good. She grunts, and is answered by the man’s own grunt and a quickening of his rhythm.There’s no telling who is fucking her. No way to recognise him. She gave the concierge no more detailed instruction than to send a man to her room before breakfast. It could even be the concierge himself. Once or twice, playing this game, she’s almost been sure it was. This time, she’s certain it’s a guest. And the beauty of it is that if she meets him during the conference neither will be able marsbahis giriş to recognise the other.He’s banging hard into her now. She can feel the swing of his balls. When he leans over her, pushes her down into the bed she feels shirt tails against her arse, the graze of an open suit jacket brushing her hips, a tickle of silk tie licking like a tongue along her spine. He reaches around and under, finds her clit with those strong fingers and wastes no time in frigging her. When she cums it’s with a half-strangled squeal of release that makes her light-headed inside the stuffy hood. She’s only beginning to come back to her senses when she feels him quiver and start to withdraw. She slams her arse back at him, breaks the rule about talking to say, “No, come inside me.” And, as if delivering on command he does exactly that. He fills her up, then slowly withdraws.Helen says in her position on the bed while he gathers himself and then, given no encouragement for discourse, leaves.#They gather in the lobby for the first session. Queuing amiably for coffee and biscuits, chatting with old colleagues, introducing new ones. They all wear suits and shirts and ties. There’s no way to tell which of these men is the owner of the semen that right now is soaking through her panties, has begun to dribble down the inside of her leg. Helen reaches the coffee table at the same time as a youngish man who, rather than taking part in the chatter, seems to be lost in his own thoughts. The fingers which hold the cup he’s filling from the urn are broad, strong-looking. It’s possible, but she’ll never know for sure.

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