My situation seemed to magnify my loneliness.  I was in one of those soulless 'business' hotels.  Sitting alone at a corner table in the bar.  At the bar itself, people seemed to be enjoying their after work, after dinner, free time.

I had been asked to visit the newly-formed Birmingham branch of my company, there was a discrepancy in their accounts, brought to our attention by a surprise audit.  My head of department was on extended holiday, cruising in his canal boat, otherwise it would be him here in my place.  I had travelled by train, first class.  Tomorrow I would have to sift through pages of numbers trying to locate why and how company money was disappearing.

I watched as the few unattached females were picked up, leaving with their one-night stands.  Sluts!  The barman had suggested that I sat at a table, a woman alone at the bar was an invitation.  I was at a crossroads, my previously happy marriage was on the rocks.  My husband had become one of those availing themselves of the type of women who sit alone at hotel bars.

He travelled a lot.  He was away now, I had no idea where, he moved about and had long since stopped telling me where.  I had left a note on the kitchen table;

"Called away on business."

Let him wonder for a change.

At the table next to mine was a group of four, one female and three male.  They had been in the dining room.  As the drinks were consumed, they got noisier and noisier.  I decided to have an early night.  T.V. on my own as usual, just in a different place.

I spent all of the next morning scrutinising spreadsheets and finding nothing amiss.  I was glad when the head of the branch invited me for lunch.  The place he chose was a short walk from the office, in Brindley Place.  We ordered.  On the back of the menu was a brief history of the place,  dedicated to the canal engineer James Brindley.  I had seen that name before.  And recently.  But I knew nothing about canals.

Back in the office, I went through the employee list.  Sure enough, the branch had an employee named James Brindley.  I asked the head of the branch who he was.  He shrugged and said;

"Never heard of him."

But he was being paid a salary, a good one.  And it exactly matched the amount that we were losing.  Bingo!  I phoned head office to report my findings, adding that the head of acounts, the head of my department, was a canal nut.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking."

Asked my boss.  He said that 'James Brindley' would be investigated.  I was to stay in Brum until then.

I was feeling very pleased with myself as I sat down to dinner.  Who better to hide embezzlement than the head of accounts?  My phone buzzed just as I finished dessert.  My boss.

"You've nailed the bastard!  Well done.  Our head of accounts, A.K.A. James Brindley, willl come back to find a police car waiting."

I said that I would come back on the next train.

"Dont you dare," he said.  "You deserve a reward.  The hotel was booked for three nights.  I want you to enjoy every facility they offer, and buy yourself something nice, put it all on expenses.  Nothing but the best for you young woman, you're going places.  And I don't  mean Birmingham."

I felt even more pleased.  Elated, I went and sat on a high stool at the bar, heart pounding.  I had never done this.  The barman grinned knowingly and brought me a drink.  On the house.

An hour later, I was still alone.  I went to my room.  What was I doing wrong?  I was the only woman not to be picked.  Perhaps my own life needed a surprise audit.

I was twenty five. No glamour model, but not unattractive.  I dressed conservatively and, I realised, I was prim.  Old fashioned word but that is exactly what I was.  Thanks mainly to a rigid upbringing.  One that I had rebelled against as soon as my hormones began to pump.  Resulting in a very unwanted pregnancy, and a wedding to a man who obviously no longer loved me.  And I lost the baby.

I turned on the TV.  Same old same old.  I trawled though the channels, right at the end of the list was one that said;

"This is an adult TV channel.  A charge will be added to your hotel bill."

The new me pressed the button.  As expected, it was porn.  There was a faint plot, a sort of link between sex scenes.  I watched for about fifteen minutes, it was a bit repetitive.  Was that the kind of sex that my husband had with his women?  If I was more like the women in the film, would we be on the brink of divorce?  I was no different to those women, I had all the bits.  I could change, goodness knows I was young enough.

Was that the kind of sex that was happening in the rooms all around me, right now?  On screen a young woman wearing nothing but holdup stockings and spike heels, was now being taken by three men at the same time.  The noisy foursome had been in the bar tonight, but had left before me.  Together.  Were the men taking turns with the girl?  Or perhaps together, like the girls in the film, all holes fucked.

It was a word that I never used.  My husband didn't fuck me, we had sex.  We still did.  On Saturdays he did his duty.  I would lie on my back with my nightdress pulled up until he pumped semen into my vagina.  No, not my vagina, that was what the old me had.  The change would start right now.  The new me had a cunt.   He fucked me until he shot his spunk into my cunt.

My toes curled even as I thought the words.  I loved it.  New me, new language.  I raised my head and shouted;

"Fuck my wet cunt!"

Oh my, that felt so good, a little frisson ran through me.  Then paranoia set in.  Did anybody hear me.  I looked up at the ceiling, was that really a smoke detector?  Or a microphone, perhaps even a camera!  I went into the bathroom, turned on the taps and stripped naked.  I looked at myself in the full length mirror.  My breasts were full and firm, my nipples stiff.

"Good tits."

I said to myself, feeling that frisson again.  I turned;

"Nice arse too."

I was enjoying this enormously.  I leaned forward and said softly;

"Fuck me, fuck my cunt with your big hard cock, shoot your spunk on my tits."

My knees were giving.  And I was wet, dripping wet, my cunt was dripping with cunt-juice.  I pulled aside my newly discovered cunt-lips, formerly known as my vadge, or pussy.  I slipped my fingers inside and masturbated.  Standing up!  When I came, my knees went completely and I lay naked on the tiled floor, shaking.

Yes, I masturbate.  Have done for years.  And yes, I orgasm.  Mostly when I masturbate, but also during sex with my husband.  Or at least I used to, just lately it had just been DIY.  On the occasions that we did have sex, sorry, when he fucked me, it seemed like I was being used.  If I had not been there, he too, would have masturbated.  Wanked.  Ooh, another new word.  So the sex act served two purposes, doing his husbandly duty and releiving himself at the same time.  After he had finished, I would go into the bathroom and use his semen as lubricant.  I like it wet when I masturbate.   If I was by myself, I would use lubricant.  I hadn't needed it this time, it was still in my bag.

So what had died between hubby and me?  He was a good husband in most respects, perhaps he couldn't get from me what he got from his other women.  Dirty sex.  It had never occurred to me, perhaps it was all my fault, with me it was sex, with other women it was fucking?  And sucking?  I sucked it for him, but as a duty.  I hated it if he came in my mouth.

Did he have anal sex with his women?  We had tried it in the early days, it hurt.

I slipped naked between the sheets, thinking about dirty sex, and wanked myself off for a second time talking dirty to myself and again without the need for lubricant.

The next day, I spent the morning shopping.  New me, new everything.  New dress, new shoes, and new underwear.  And all of it was what I had always considered tarty.  After lunch, I had a massage and noticed that in the same area was a hairdresser and beauty salon.  On impulse, I had my long hair cut off, darkened and styled like Sally Bowles in Cabaret.

I then allowed the makeup girl free reign to produce a new look for me.  Taking my new hairstyle as a cue, she chose heavy eye makeup and full red lips.  She asked me to choose the lipstick, leaning forward conspiratorialy and saying;

"We call this one Viagra Red."

I chose that one.

I dressed carefully in my new clothes, first the knickers.  Did they qualify for the name?  There was not much of them, two small triangles of fabric held together with elastic ribbon.  The bra was equally skimpy.  The suspender belt was just the ribbon.  But it would serve its purpose, to support the deep welted, seamed stockings that completed the outfit.  I said to my reflection in the mirror;

"Well, I would fuck you."

I covered the lot with my new dress.  Very close fitting, it could have been tailored for me.  It had a high neckline and ended just above my knees, covering everything but revealing everything at the same time.  My new strappy stilletos screamed;

"Available!"

I turned heads even as walked to the lift.  Service in the dining room was noticeably better than it had been on the previous occasions.  I was earlier than on those occasions, but I like to think that was not the reason.

I was early because I wanted to secure one of those high stools at the bar, to show off my wares like the other female hopefuls.  Tonight, I was determined to get myself fucked.

But I watched as one by one, the other women were chosen, not me.  Had I overdone it?  Did the men think that, looking like I did, I came at a price?  As their choice diminished, I was at last approached.  I bottled it.  I was back to feeling prim.  I sent him away.

And then were were none.  Well, not quite.  There was a man sitting at the far end of the bar, lost in thought, looking at his empty glass.  There was the frisson, but tinglier.  He was the one.  The one that I wanted more than anybody.  In my bed, in my arms, in my cunt.  He was the one who would fill me with his cum.

But he seemed not even to have noticed me.  I coughed.  Nothing.  Then I accidentally on purpose, knocked my drink over.  Onto my lap and then the floor, where the glass shattered with a noise like a pistol shot.  He looked up startled.  Then his eyebrows raised and his mouth fell open.  He waited until the waiter cleared away the shattered glass and then came over.

"Would you like another drink?"

Oh my!  My knickers were soaked, and not just with spilled wine.  At first I groped for words and then, quite unplanned, replied;

"Yes please, but I need to get out of this dress first."

"I would be happy to help."

He said.  We travelled the lift apart and in silence, apart from the loud beating of my heart.  He unlocked his room door and held it open for me.  Even before the door clicked shut behind us, I was in his arms, our mouths clamped together.  Just like in the porn movie from the previous night.  Also like in the movie, he found the tab of my zipper and slid it down.  I stepped away and let it fall.

"Wow!"

He said as my seduction undies were revealed.  The skimpy bra followed, he bent and kissed each tit, then sucked each stiff nipple into his mouth in turn.  I wanted to scream.  He went down on his knees and pulled me close to his face, inhaling deeply before placing his mouth over my crutch.  It was the first time that I had been sucked off through my knickers and I came like an express train.  Now I really did scream.  He had to support me as my knees buckled.

He carried me to the bed.  I raised my bum from the bed and peeled off the completely soaked knickers.  I left the stockings and suspenders on, and the shoes, correctly guessing that would be his choice.  He literally tore off his clothes, buttons pinging.  His cock was rigid.  And all mine.

He took me in his arms and we kissed, one kiss that seemed never ending.  His cock was hard against me.  When we came up for air, he showered my tits with kisses and sucked my nipples until I screamed.  Down he went, licking and kissing to where my gaping, gushing cunt was waiting impatiently for him.  That was the best kiss of all, my body arched from the bed to push against his mouth.

He scoured me with his tongue, slurping at my juice.  My clitoris was screaming for attention, but he avoided it, instead kissing lower, licking the skin between my two holes.  Then he licked my arse.  Again I screamed, it felt wonderful, I wanted it to last forever.  But there was even better to come, he drilled deep into my arsehole with his stiffened tongue and I wanted that to last forever.

It didn't of course, it just felt like it.  And besides, my quivering clit still needed seeing to.  He sucked it between his lips and used the tip of his tongue to rub it.  He held me down with both hands as an orgasm, even more powerful than the first, sent me into spasm.

As soon as I could find the words, I begged;

"Fuck me, please fuck me.  Fill my cunt with your hot spunk."

His cock unerringly found my hole, but I helped it with my fingers anyway, I groaned as it stretched me. 

There was no way that such a desperate fuck could last, and it didn't.  I wrapped him in my thighs, locking my ankles behind him as he pounded me.  He came with a mighty roar.  I swear that I could feel it spurt, yet another first.  There seemed so much, he really was flooding me.

His erratic movements slowed until he was motionless, deep inside me. I felt his cock twitch, delivering his final dregs, and another orgasm, this time smaller, clamped my muscles around his still hard, deeply embedded cock, as if in answer to his twitches.

He rolled off, his chest heaving.  I stayed perfectly still, relishing the feel of his backwash trickle over my anus and into the sheet.

"Thank you," he said.  "That was the best fuck I have ever had."

Mine too.

"I was hoping that was just the starter,"  I replied.  "Will there be a main course?"

He smiled and said;

"I sincerely hope so.  And dessert."

I swung my legs off the bed and walked over to the minibar.  I opened it and bent down from the waist, knowing perfectly well that my bare arse was pointing straight at him, framed by the suspenders.  Both holes on display, the one that his tongue had been inside and the one that his spunk was dribbling from, down my inner thighs to be soaked up by the deep welts of the stockings.

I found a half bottle of sparkling white wine and waggled it at him.  He nodded.  I poured it into two glasses and walked as well as I could like Marilyn Monroe, back to the bed.

"Room service."

I quipped.  He replied;

"Are you expected a tip?"

"Oh, I was hoping for more than just the tip."

Where was this coming from?  A new hairdo and fifteen minutes of watching porn?  I had prised out a new me that I hadn't even known existed.  We sipped the wine without speaking, his cock, which had never really gone soft, was back to attention.  And obviously requiring attention.  I took the last mouthful of my wine, and holding it in my mouth, slid his cock in to share it.

I have since had champagne squirted up my cunt, so I now know what it must have felt like for him.  I sucked him until my jaw ached, then kissed and licked along the underside to his scrotum, sucking each ball into my mouth in turn.  Then with some trepidation, I licked his arse.  There was no taste, no smell other than deodorant.  He squirmed as I licked, my hand gently wanking his shaft.

I then kissed my way right back to his knob and sucked it back into my mouth.  He groaned and said;

"I'm very close to coming, is this how you want it?"

I did, I really did.  But then I had a better idea.  I heard myself say;

"No.  I want it in my arse."

He looked like he'd won the lottery.  I reached for my bag, where I had the lube, handed it to him and assumed the position, saying;

"Be very, very gentle."

He was, he must have used the entire tube, letting his finger, then fingers, ease inside.  Then I felt the pressure of his peeled back knob.  I thought to myself;

"This is going to hurt."

But it popped inside easily, no pain, just surprise.  I gave a little help, he pulled it out.  At least that gave me the pleasure of re-entry.  He fucked slowly, gaining ground with each thrust.  It didn't hurt, it actually felt quite good, full but nicely full.  Then he stopped.  I felt disappointment.

"I'm very very close," he said.  "And I want to make it last."

He eased it out and told me to lie on my back with my knees up.  I had the pleasure of it being forced into me for a third time, this time face to face.  I reached down to my abandoned cunt and rubbed myself to another orgasm.  Then the new me had another idea.  I said;

"Don't come inside me, spray it on my tits."

He pulled out again, wrapped his fist around it and finished himself with just a few strokes.  He painted me from arsehole to forehead.  So much!  For what was probably only a few seconds, but seemed ages, he surveyed his work.  Then he leaned down and did something that was beyond my imagining.  He licked my tits clean.  And to my astonishment, I came yet again, just a little one.

He kissed me.  We exchanged saliva, spunk and probably lubricant.  He then rolled over to lie beside me.  His chest was heaving, as was mine.  Soon, his breathing became deeper and he began to snore softly.  I dressed quietly and carrying my shoes, headed for my own room.

I slept very well but woke early.  I skipped breakfast and had reception call for a taxi to the station to catch the first train home.  I had breakfast on the train, I was ravenous.

I was back home before lunch.  My note was still on the kitchen table.  I tore it up.  It was mid afternoon when I heard a car draw up.  I ran to the door.  There on the doorstep was the man who had fucked me to near oblivion the night before.  My husband.

I know that you don't like part twos, but if this has whetted your appetite.  There is one, called, er.. Part Two!