Part 1: Prelude
Waking up, it takes me a moment to remember where I am, what room I am in, what time zone. I stretch out, finding the cool patches of the soft white hotel sheets, running the fabric against my smooth legs. I arc and stretch my body, and find that I am deliciously sore, that full body feeling of being well used that I have only experienced after crazy workouts and amazing sex. I could get used to this, I think to myself as I pull myself out of the giant bed and find my way to the bathroom.
Flipping on the light switch, I am shocked by the flood of light. The huge mirror, sparkling white tile and cold floor are all pristine, polished and dazzling in the light. And there, in the middle of it all, reflected back in full glory, me.
I look as ravaged as I feel, only it feels a lot sexier than it looks. My long hair is a tangle of curls framing my face in a lopsided halo. My neck is speckled with love marks – deep crimson and pale pink impressions of where my lover had bit me the night before. I poke them and feel the subtle soreness radiate down my neck, and with my fingers and eyes I trace the trail of kisses, from one side of my neck, across my collarbone and up the other side to just behind my ear. I then remember how roughly I was flipped over, and how the kisses continued on my shoulders, down my spine. Pivoting, I study my shoulders and back in the mirror, and like a brush losing ink the marks trail off from the neck to shoulders. Those bites felt just as deep and penetrating at the time, but I suppose those parts don’t show marks as easily. My eyes fall to my butt and I gasp out loud. This I hadn’t expected.
The round fleshiness of my ass is a riot of colors, and I can even make out a hand print, the five fingers perfectly imprinted on my flesh. Nervously, I poke at the most intense purple bruise and flinch. I remember well my ass up in the air, feeling my lover’s hands rain down upon my again and again. At the time, it hadn’t hurt very much, it just felt hot and thunderous, strangely relieving and I just kept asking for more, more, more until my head was buried in the pillow, one of my lover’s hand fucking me as the other continued to send waves of pleasure through my entire body with every single spank. There is no way that much pleasure could leave this kind of bruising, and yet here I was, studying my ass like a professional fighter after a brutal round in the ring. But even now, as I pinch and poke the bruises the soreness gives way to pleasure and I find myself yielding to the sensation and craving more.
Even my lips feel bruised and well used, though thankfully my face is unmarked. Changed, but unmarked. I study my features one by one, looking to pinpoint why I feel and look so different. Lips, sore and swollen. Nose, right in place. Cheeks, flushed and beaming. Eyes, staring back at me from the glittering mirror. That is where it is. The tension lines around my eyes are gone – the worry, the stress, the wrinkles that showed my age all too well, gone. I look more relaxed, happier and more vibrant than I have since I was a teenager. Why didn’t I try this years ago, I wondered, thinking about all the money wasted on tiny tubes of cream that promised eternal youth. If the way I felt and looked had anything to say, I think I have just tapped the true fountain of youth.
I brush my teeth while the shower is heating up. The room quickly begins filling with steam, and by the time I am under the hot stream of water the room is hot and steamy, pearls of moisture collecting on the white tile walls. I stand directly under the huge showerhead so water pours from the top of my head, gushing down my face and splashing around my toes. Immersed, I luxuriate in the heat and keep my mind focused on the pleasures of last night instead of worrying what will happen next in the light of day. I have done my time on the road in cheap motels, where I wore sandals in scuzzy showers and was careful not to touch anything. Now that I can afford to stay at the finest hotels, I luxuriate in it. The grand lobbies and huge rooms don’t matter to me. But the amazing sheets and bright clean bathrooms make me swoon every time. I reconfirm my sensual snobbiness as I wrap a huge fluffy white towel around my chest, loving how the thick terry feels on my sore ass and sensitive nipples. Nothing like the scratchy little towels you get at lesser hotels. No wonder they sell these in the gift shop – an invitation to take the luxury of the place home. As I walk out to the bedroom and draw the curtains, eyeing the huge bed and tangled sheets, I wonder about what other pleasures I might be able to take home with me.
The city is bathed in beautiful morning light, and I watch the little cars start and stop up the avenues as the tiny people scurry in and out of buildings. As I lean forward to take in the view, my breasts graze the cold glass and I shudder. Last night, pressed against this very window, everything was so different. The city was dark and anonymous, streaks of headlights and flickering signs looked as far away as the stars. I was pressed into this window, shuddering in fear, ready to call it all off and run for my life. I remember the weight of the body behind me, pinning me to the glass, the warm breath on my neck, the hands gripping my hips.
“Tell me you want this”
“Just say yes”
“All you need to do is let go”
Between each invitation, kisses, hands confidently gripping my hips, resting just so on the edges of my curves, inviting me to sway into the touch. The urgency of my arousal was alarming, and I was so ready to run.
Now, in the light of day, I can see my handprints on the window, where I had placed both palms flat against the glass and pushed as hard as I can. I had made a deal with myself. No turning back, I told myself. Either shatter this glass and jump, and die a curious woman, or close your eyes and do what you came here to do. I pressed into that glass with all my strength and it didn’t budge, so all that was left to do was close my eyes, move my hips in a seductive circle and say a few simple words.
“Yes. Yes I want this.”
