A New York Fuck - Sex Stories

A New York Fuck

"Would you like another champagne?"

I had been miles away, and at first didn't understand the request. I was used to coach and to strictly rationed drinks. Indeed legal alcohol was also a pretty new thing.

"Yes please." I figured I could do with something to calm my nerves.

As the woman placed a second glass on my pull-out table -- and it was an actual glass, not the normal plastic -- I reflected that Business Transcontinental was a different world. I'd never have been able to afford it myself. I was scared to even ask him how much the ticket had been. I also had a suspicion that it was all part of the seduction. A way to woo me into saying yes.

Yes to what? Well, meeting a guy that I only knew from on-line, plus a few hurried WhatsApps. Meeting a guy who was twenty years older than me. Meeting? Who was I trying to fool? The site was a hook-up one, I'd used it before. Replace 'meeting' with 'fucking' in both of the above instances and you'd be closer to the truth.

And there was more, I was flying from LA to New York so I could fuck a guy who I knew was married. Who told me that he had every intention of staying married. Who said that he wasn't "that kinda of guy." But who clearly was the kind that wasn't averse to fucking a college senior behind his wife's back.

And, if I was honest with myself -- something that it had been rather a struggle to be in recent weeks -- the thought of screwing a married guy sent tingles running down my spine and juices dripping ...

... down my vaginal canal. I guess I wasthat kind of girl. Plus, if he only wanted a fling, that meant no complications. Just the fucking. I felt my nerve-endings buzzing. A gulp of champagne should help with that.

I looked at the screen next to my seat. Just two and a half more hours to go. But I didn't need to watch a movie, I had my own entertainment. Stories I had on my iPad. Stories I had written and shared with him. Stories about me and him... you guessed it, fucking. I found a blanket, draped it strategically over my legs, and started to read, my hand surreptitiously placed between my thighs. I know it's self-absorbed to be aroused by your own words, so color me narcissistic.

There had been crosswinds and the landing was bumpy, but I'd made it to the terminal. I just had a carry-on case, he'd mentioned not wearing clothes much of the time, so smooth! When I'd replied with false innocence, he'd offered to take me clothes shopping on Fifth Avenue. It was again all part of his technique. He thought himself a player, but it was rather transparent, actually amusing. And I'd have fucked him anyway, without the movie star treatment.

Forty-five minutes in a limo - he'd arranged one of course, complete with more champagne -- and I was in Manhattan. The hotel was on a lovely square with a small park in the center. The building occupied all of one side.

The lobby was subtly lit, dim enough to suggest refined taste, bright enough to not evoke a bar. Monumental artwork hung ...