If, like me, your main reason for reading stories on S.H, is masturbation, my last story was too long.  If you waded through it, thank you.  If you gave it a thumbs up, thank you thank you.  According to Google, the average wank lasts eight minutes and the average reading speed is 250 words per minute.  My maths makes that 2000 words.  In future therefore, my stories will be broken down into wank-sized pieces.

I was asked to spend some time at my company's Aberdeen office, instructing on new software.  The request could not have been better timed.  My, soon-to-be-ex-husband and I had finally agreed to end our crumbling marriage, solicitors had been retained and the house was on the market.  We were both still living in it, but leading separate lives.  The atmosphere was unbearable.

So two weeks in a luxury hotel, all expenses paid was just what I needed.  And an opportunity to get myself fucked for the first time in ages.  My name is Claire, just turned forty and childless.  That turned out to be the problem.  We had been married for ten years, it was my first marriage, his second.  He was desperate for an heir, his first marriage had failed to produce.

The idea of motherhood at thirty was daunting, but if I was going to do it, it was now or never.  A fertility test would have saved a lot of angst, but neither of us thought of it.  I too, failed to produce.

Before I married, I had played the field.  I had been on the pill since my teens and had used condoms with all of my lovers except the one or two 'steadies' that I had enjoyed.  All that trouble to prevent what I was incapable of anyway.

At first, married life was good.  Certainly the sex was.  We tried various routes for me to conceive, all to no avail.  With the benefit of hindsight, that was the start of the end.  We both had good jobs and threw ourselves into them, but now it was time to move on.

The hotel was beyond my expectations and there was no shortage of candidates for rekindling my sex life.  But I had a problem.  My presence at the Aberdeen office was not exactly welcomed.  It was at a time when the English were seen as Satan incarnate.  The idea of a sassenach, and a female one at that, teaching hairy-arsed Scots anything, had the skean dhus out and the sporrans bristling.  They watched me like hungry hawks waiting to pounce as soon as I made the smallest mistake.  To turn up in the morning impaired in any way, either by late night drinking or having been vigorously fucked, was unthinkable.  So I rejected all advances and spent my nights alone.

My company had offered to pay my train fare home for the weekend, but I had declined, preferring to stay away from my unhappy home for as long as possible.  So on Friday, with no work the following day, I would break my fast.  I spent hours preparing myself, showering, perfuming and applying more war paint that I ever would at work or at home.  I wore my new sexy underwear,  which of course included stockings and suspenders, then before slipping into my most daring dress, inspected the goods in the full length mirror.

The mirror was positioned on a wall, opposite a matching one on the opposite wall, so I had both front and back views, repeating into infinity.  I liked the result.  Okay, I could probably do with losing some weight, but some men like curvier women, more flesh in the right places.  i.e,  big tits.

"Good tits."

I said to my reflection.

"Good legs.  Good arse.  I would fuck you.  All night long after first licking your cunt."

Language that I only used to myself.  My husband hated it, preferring boobs, bum and pussy.  But I didn't have a cat, I had a cunt.  And a hairy one.  Not forested, but a neatly trimmed bush.  The words turned me on, I was wet already.  I put my dress on, followed by ridiculously high heeled stilettos, and prepared to make my entrance.

My entrance turned a few heads, but the single, or rather solo men, had gone.  Replaced by couples.  Of course, business travellers go home to their wives at weekends.  I had blown it.  I dined alone.

But at least I could enjoy a drink or two in the hotel's lounge bar before retreating to my lonely bed and my fingers.  Sitting the bar was a man, apparently alone.  A tasty one too.  Thirty-something, tall dark and yes please.  There was also another solo female.  I had seen neither in the dining room.  She was seated alone at a table with a glass of white wine in front of her.  She was a good ten years younger than me, slim, blonde and at least to my eyes, more attractive.  If like me, she was on the prowl, I would have no chance.  I sat at the only empty table and was immediately joined by a waiter.  I ordered a glass of prosecco.  When he brought it, I gave him my room number for the bill.

"Paid for by the gentleman at the bar."

He said.   I was surprised and delighted.  I raised my glass to him in acknowledgement.  Green light.  He slid off his stool and walked over.

"Good evening," he said.  "I hope you're not offended, but a beautiful woman should never drink alone."

He had me at 'beautiful'.  I could feel my gusset dampen.  He introduced himself as Angus.  Really?  Aberdeen Angus?  At least, I thought naughtily, the meat should taste good.  His voice was deep and cultured.  He was Scottish, his accent was soft and gentle, unlike the deliberate aggression I was encountering from my 'pupils'.  We chatted.  Small talk.  Was I staying at the hotel?  For business or pleasure?  He was very self assured, too much so, but I wanted cock, not companionship.  He would do.

"Shall we continue this upstairs?" 

He asked.  We headed for the lift, me on wobbly legs.

"Your room or mine?"

He asked as the lift doors hissed closed.  I chose mine, I had no intention of doing the walk of shame back to my room in the early hours, even if it meant sleeping on the wet patch.  We snogged in the lift, his promising erection pressing against my belly.  He half carried me to the room.  Inside, the snog resumed, his fingers found the zip of my dress and I felt it slowly make it's way down.  I stepped away and let the dress pool at my feet, then stepped back out of it.  I wanted him to see my undies, to see what he was getting.  He approved, the kissing resumed, this time with a hand on each nearly nude buttock.

I pulled away and told him to find us something from the mini-bar while I used the bathroom.  It was a delaying ploy really, yes I needed to freshen up, but I didn't want to appear as desperate as I was.  I went back having removed my bra and my sodden knickers, but still wearing the stockings and sussies, guessing, correctly that was what he would like.  He was in bed.  There was a brimming glass of prosecco on each bedside cabinet.  Also on his side was his 'phone and a packet of condoms.

I did a twirl for him, hooked my thumbs into the suspender belt and said;

"On or off?"

"Definitely on," he replied.  He indicated the condoms.  "How about these, on or off?"

"Off would be my choice," I replied.  "As far as I am aware, I'm clean.  How about you?"

"Likewise," he said.  "Besides, I hate the fucking things."

He flipped the duvet back, his cock was not fully erect, but in that heavy, full of promise state.  He had no chest hair and no public hair, I had never had a bald one.  I ran my hand over his hairless chest and leaned over to kiss him as my hand moved down his belly towards my prize.  It had filled up and was now fully erect.

It had not escaped my attention that he was not exactly under endowed, my fingers barely enclosed it.  I leaned back to look at it.  It was a beauty, longer and thicker than my ex's.  It stood proudly, primed and ready for lift off.  I opened my mouth wide and enclosed the swollen tip, he groaned his approval.  With my fingers around the base, I took as much of it as I dared into my throat, gagged slightly then released it so that I could suck it, exploring it with my tongue. 

"Turn round so that I can do you."

He ordered, his voice gruff with lust.  I swung my leg over him to give him access.  I love to be on top when being licked, but as erotic as sixty-nine looks and sounds, I prefer to concentrate on either sucking or being sucked.  I tried, I really tried, but he was good with his tongue.  His hands were roaming over my body, from my buttocks along my back and beneath my body to cup my hanging tits, my orgasm was unstoppable.  I released his cock and howled in pleasure.

I rolled off panting and squirmed round so that I was the right way up.  He kissed me, letting me taste myself, his hand found a tit.

"Good?"

He asked.

"Wonderful."

I replied.  He asked me to turn over and get on my hands and knees.  Good, I thought, doggy.  I like doggy.  I would have taken his lovely cock any way it was offered, it would be fair to say that by now, was gagging for it.  I assumed the position, head down, arse up.  He positioned himself behind me and again availed himself of my most sensitive parts before spreading my cheeks with his thumbs, but it was not the tip of his cock that pressed against my welcoming portal, it was the tip of his tongue.

Oi!  I thought.  Done that, been there, what I need now is cock.  But tongue's good too, is it possible to have too much?  He again traced my dripping slit, from clit to perineum, but didn't push his tongue into my cunt, he continued on to the tight pucker of my anus.  He was rimming me!  It was a first for me.  I knew about rimming, I had attempted to do it to my husband but he had pushed my away and told me not to do it.

It was wonderful.  I thought that I had tried everything in my wilder days, but this surpassed them all.  But not content with drilling into my arsehole with his stiffened tongue, he pushed his thumb into my cunt, slid his fingers either side of my cuntlips and pressed them together, trapping and squeezing my clit.  I came like an express train.

I fell forwards onto the bed, drained of all energy.  Angus showered my buttocks with kisses the kissed his way up my spine, causing multiple aftershocks.  He placed his lips close my ear and said softly;

"Nice?"

I muttered my reply into the pillow.  He continued;

"Imagine somebody doing that while my cock was hard inside your lovely cunt."

More aftershocks.  I turned to him and said;

"Do you have someone on standby then?"

"Yes,"  he husked.  "My wife."

I snapped into consciousness, rolled over and sat up.

"Your wife?"

I echoed.

"Yes," he said.  "And she's better at it than I am.  She's in the bar, shall I call her?"

My mind was turning somersaults, this had all been planned.  But if she was as skilful as he was, I was a willing victim.  A woman's tongue up my arse?  Why not?  I had enjoyed female tongues in my cunt, why not my arse?  When I was at uni, I went through a lezzie phase.  I enjoyed it, but had decided that I needed cock more than cunt.  It had been a long time.  I said;

"Make the call."

To be continued…