My call


About 9:30 Tuesday night, I was stumbling in the hotel hallway with a glass of wine in one hand and my heels in the other, trying to find the patio so I could smoke (drunk=smoking). One of the hotel staff pointed me in the right direction. During the course of the evening (a reception, banquet and after party wrapping up a two-day convention), I consumed at least one bottle of Cabernet and ate very little. The casino-themed after party was quite entertaining, even though I absolutely suck at Black Jack. It took all of 15 minutes for me to lose everything.

When the dealer swept up my losing cards and last blue chips, I decided it was time to call it a night. On the way out the door, I tapped MYC on the shoulder and told him I was leaving (did I forget to mention he was there?). “Where are you going?” he asked. “My room,” I said. A few steps from the elevator, the urge to smoke hit me and I headed in the general direction of the patio (based on my recent visit to this hotel in May).

Thankfully, no one else was there. I grabbed one of the free-standing outdoor ash receptacles and dragged it over to a chair, where I collapsed and lit my smoke. MYC texted me that he was already in his room and invited me to come see him. “I have to smoke my last two cigarettes NOW,” I responded. Damn, it was close to impossible to type with one hand and smoke with the other, while seriously intoxicated. Half way into cigarette number one, however, I got the hang of it.

As soon as I took the last drag on cigarette number two, I told him I was headed his way and confirmed his room number. When I stepped off the elevator, I had no idea which way to go and I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I couldn’t see worth a shit! Suddenly, a door opened a few feet away. I walked and stood in the doorway, but no one was there. “Come in,” a familiar voice said, from behind the door.

We sat on the sofa and chatted a little. I was so drunk, that when he asked me questions, I had to sit and think a long time before I could answer with any certainty. And I am sure I was slurring my words. I was a hot mess.

After a few minutes, I reached over and lightly ran my fingertips across the top of his shorts, where I could see his cock beginning to bulge. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck, Kinky,” he groaned. “Let’s go to the back,” he said and walked toward the bedroom. I gladly followed. He pulled back the duvet and quickly took off his clothes. “Be naked with me,” he appealed. I was so fucking drunk I didn’t think twice about slipping out of my short black dress, bra and panties and joining him on the bed.

“It has been a while since we had a hotel bed,” he noted. Yep. The last time was about four or five years ago, also during a conference. Funny how I can remember that encounter like it was yesterday, but I am kinda fuzzy about this one.

My long necklace fell across his stomach as I lowered my mouth onto his swollen cock. I tried to take all of it, but couldn’t…so I kept trying. Can’t get enough of that cock. True story. Even after seven years, it drives me wild. Seriously mad.

He determined it was his turn to play with me and promptly had his head between my legs, delighting me with his talented tongue and fingers, producing the genesis of much-needed relief. I wanted to taste my pussy with his tongue in my mouth and savor his cock inside of me when I climaxed.

“I know you want me to kiss you,” he said, rather authoritatively and almost teasingly, as he raised above me. “Rub that clit for me,” he demanded and kissed and entered me deeply when I complied. Grabbing the backs of my knees and pushing my legs further apart, he pounded and I stroked…completing our release.

In the hours that followed, we talked, stroked, fooled around a little, touched and even slept. Being in bed with him was beyond serene and he said leaving or staying was “my call.” A little before 1 a.m., I decided it was time for me to take the “walk of shame” back to my room on the other side of the hotel. No contentment was worth being seen by any number of people we both know leaving his room the next morning in the atrium-style building.

I leaned over, kissed his shoulder and said I was leaving. He roused and hugged me goodbye. Collecting my heels from the TV table, I wandered into the atrium, hit the down button on the elevator and somehow made it back to my room.

My dress, legs and heels…hours before the walk of shame.


After an unsuccessful night of trying to sleep, I went downstairs for the “gourmet breakfast buffet” and forced down a little yogurt and granola and half a cup of coffee. Probably still a little drunk, I went back to my room, tried to make myself somewhat presentable and finished packing. Without speaking a word to anyone, I checked out and departed.

The reason I attended the conference was to receive a work-related award, so I decided to take Wednesday as a reward and enjoy myself before driving three hours home. This included visiting an extraordinary art museum and meeting a college friend for lunch. Both helped get my head and feet back on the ground before transitioning back to reality.

As soon as I hit the road after lunch, the phone rang. It was the Hot Attorney. “Hey, I’m at the law school,” he said, with what sounded like a big grin. “Well, I’m three hours away,” I said, sincerely disappointed. Since he “discovered” the adjunct faculty office, he has called me every day (except Tuesday, when he knew I was traveling)! Someone can’t get enough. He was leaving Thursday morning with his family for a mini-vacation and really wanted to see me. We chatted for a while and I promised I would see him when he returned and that it would be worth the wait. That seemed to satisfy him. When the time comes, I am sure he will be satisfied.

When I arrived home, things were tense and stressful with The Husband. He has been in a terrible funk over a job-related situation. It has been difficult for all of us. Often, fucking is one of his coping mechanisms, but that hasn’t been the case this time. Today was shaping up to be another one of distance and disgruntledness. We attended a retirement reception in the afternoon, which, thankfully, brightened his mood. When we got home, I sent the kids to the neighborhood pool. While changing clothes, I periodically walked through the living room, where he was sitting, wearing only my heels. After the last trip, he followed me to the bedroom. I located one of our spanking toys and began tapping his cock through his pants. Before long, I was on the bed, ass high in the air, getting a much-deserved swatting. He was quite dominant and informed me that he had watched spanking porn while I was gone on a girls’ trip last weekend. We took turns turning each others asses nice and pink before he had to fuck me. “Slap my ass,” I groaned. “Call me a ‘fucking whore.'” He obliged and exploded.

I grabbed Juan and went to work on myself. Things weren’t going well, so my mind went through what seemed like a hundred real and imagined images before landing on something that did the trick…a fabricated vision of sharing MYC’s cock with a mutual friend. Success.


6 thoughts on “My call

  1. Anthony

    No beats hotel sex. I’m planning on that tomorrow as I leave work early. Hope it will be kinky and wild.

    1. kinkydesoto Post author

      Thank you, Dearest Hy! I don’t know how I do it, either. My plate is full and my cup runneth over. I think I am going to simplify my life after my kids go back to school and do something totally nutty and selfish, like train for a half marathon. I hope all is well with you. I need to get caught up in my blog reading. Hugs!!!

  2. Pingback: Drugstore Cowgirl | Kinky DeSoto

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