O’Hare Snowstorm

CANCELED. CANCELED. CANCELED.

“Looks bad,” I said, scanning the flight departures screens.

“Who would have thought O’Hare would have such problems with snow?” sighed Madison.

Madison and I were returning from a press tour, visiting trade reporters and industry analysts. She worked in corporate communications, while I was product manager for this launch. After a week on the road, airports and hotels had grown as tedious as the PowerPoint we repeatedly pitched. But a snowstorm blanketing the Midwest looked ready to ground the last flight for home.

I fished my mobile phone from my pocket, and dialed corporate travel. When the agent answered, I said, “My colleague and I are trying to fly home, but the snow may strand us in O’Hare. Can you reserve us two hotel rooms, just in case?”

Madison sighed and slumped onto a vinyl bench. Already other travelers were staking out territory for the long night ahead. O’Hare is always busy on Friday afternoons, and the canceled flights were turning it into a refugee camp.

“How’d we do?” asked Madison a few minutes later, as I hung up.

“Some good news and some bad news,” I answered.

“Good news first,” she said hopefully. “I need some good news.”

“Somebody must have just canceled their reservation. The Hilton on the airport property has a room.”

“A room?” she asked dubiously. “Only one room?”

“That’s the bad news,” I confirmed. “Everything else in the area is booked. Lots of stranded people.”

She looked into the middle distance, taking in the news. Despite this new stress, she still exuded a self-contained calm, a quality I’d grown to admire during the crazy week. Her clear eyes, above high cheekbones, gave strength to her naturally pretty face. And though I always treated her with the professional respect she earned and deserved, I couldn’t help but secretly notice her taut body, with confident breasts and a hint of hips.

I chased such thoughts from my mind, and offered a proposal. “Let’s walk over right now. Maybe they can give us a suite, or at least a room with two beds. Otherwise, I’ll sleep on the floor. Anything would be better than the terminal.”

“Well, no point staying here,” she agreed, scanning the departure screens one last time. “Let’s go.”

After a long hike through the huddled masses yearning to fly home, we arrived at the Hilton front desk. The clerk found our reservation (miracle!), but could offer nothing but rooms with a single king-sized bed. I looked at Madison and she looked back at me, shrugging with her eyebrows. Soon we were checked in and heading upstairs with our luggage.

Our working relationship had always been business-like but friendly, and we’d traveled together for the past five days and four nights. Still, entering a hotel room together created a sudden awkwardness, particularly with a large bed looming before us.

“I don’t usually come to hotel rooms with strange men,” she said, with mock solemnity.

“I’m not that strange,” I protested.

“Stranger than most,” she countered. “Anyone nattering about our products for days on end probably has serious psychological issues.”

I laughed aloud and the awkward moment passed. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

“First let me change,” she said, opening her bag and retrieving some casual clothes. While she disappeared into the bathroom, I called home about the delay.

“I know, I miss you too,” I told my wife. “I hope we can get home tomorrow. At least travel found us some rooms.” A white lie, to match the snow falling outside the window. I hung up as Madison came out of the bathroom, in a loose blouse open at the neck and slacks that showed her curves nicely.

As I took a turn changing in the bathroom, I noticed I’d grown hard in my shorts. I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered what had got into me. I could hear Madison talking on the phone, but not the words. Then she knocked at the door. “Ready?”

“Just a moment,” I said, pulling on my jeans.

After a round of drinks at the bar, a table opened for us in the hotel restaurant. We ordered our meals, and Madison chose a decent bottle of red from the wine list. “The least the company can do, to make our unscheduled stop a little more festive.”

We’d dined together every night that week, but always with an editor or analyst, so mostly we’d talked shop. By ourselves tonight, by unspoken agreement, we talked about anything but work. We compared notes on books and movies; her praise for Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle was enthusiastic, but unconvincing, while we shared an appreciation for Jackie Chan. She talked about her quirky family, centered on the stormy relationship between her parents. I talked about my wife, and how, after so many anniversaries, we still sometimes wonder who is this person I’ve married.

The dishes and empty wine bottle were cleared away. Instead of more wine, I switched to cognac, while she ordered calvados.

“Get the tiramisu,” she instructed. “That way I can eat from bahis şirketleri your plate, and the calories won’t count.” I informed the waiter, who smiled and said, “With two forks.”

When the drinks arrived, I asked her why calvados. She explained she’d been an exchange student in Normandy. “I stayed with a family in an old stone house near Saint- Malo. The rest of France grows grapes, but Normandy grows apples. So I developed a taste for calvados. I also developed a taste for their son, Roger.”

“Sounds very romantic,” I said, smiling.

“I suppose,” she admitted sheepishly, “particularly to a college sophomore. And a bottle of calvados helped me decide to give Roger my virginity, one evening when his parents were out. Not that he fully appreciated the gift. Despite the reputation French men cultivate as magnificent lovers, teenage boys are speedy the world over. Tres rapide!”

I laughed and lifted my glass. “To Roger, wherever he may be. That he’s mastered his hair trigger.”

“I’ll drink to that,” chuckled Madison. As she set down her glass, she asked, “How about you?”

“Oh, much more control than Roger, I’m sure.”

“That’s not what I meant. How did you lose your virginity?”

“Also during college, but in a dorm room, not a French villa. And tequila, not calvados. Her name was Meg, and we were so into each other. I was done in moments, but Meg was undeterred. She coaxed me back to life, and let me try again.”

“Ah, yes, teenage boys,” smirked Madison. “Rapid fire, but loaded with multiple rounds.”

We shared dessert and finished our drinks, then signed the bill to our room. She stopped briefly in the lobby shop for a magazine, then we headed upstairs. In our room, I opened the closet to get a pillow and blanket from the top shelf.

Madison saw what I was doing. “You know,” she said. “It’s stupid for you to sleep on the floor. This bed is huge. We can each have a side, no problem.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “No concerns for your virtue?”

She snorted. “I told you, I left my virtue in Normandy.”

Gathering her nightclothes and toiletry kit from her bag, she headed into the bathroom. I replaced the pillow and blanket, and changed into the t-shirt and shorts that serve as my pajamas. I sat down and flipped through some papers from my briefcase, waiting for my turn in the bathroom.

I was startled when Madison emerged. She’d let down her hair and taken out her contacts, and her clear eyes looked at me through black-rimmed librarian glasses. Her nighty came down to mid-thigh, and though not sexy lingerie, the thin flowered cotton hung over her breasts in a way that made clear she’d removed her bra.

“I didn’t pack a robe,” she said, a little shyly. “I didn’t expect to have a roommate.”

I retired to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, but had trouble peeing, I’d grown so hard. I managed somehow, then tried to arrange myself in my gym shorts to conceal my unbusiness-like reaction to the situation.

Madison was sitting on an easy chair when I returned, her head on one of its arms, her legs dangling over the other. She was sipping something amber from a glass, and flipping through her new magazine.

“More calvados?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not in the mini-bar. Just brandy. See if there’s something you’d like.”

I poured myself a scotch and sat in the other chair. She showed me the cover of her magazine: Cosmopolitan. She handed it me and said, “Quiz time.”

I opened the magazine to the page indicated, and read, “What Kind of Sexy Are You?” I laughed out loud, but asked her the multiple-choice questions, covering what kind of date she preferred, what movie stars she identified with, what sort of guy attracted her. In the end, she was “Fun-Loving Sexy… You’re the quintessential natural-yet-naughty chick. You feel sexier on a fun day date than dressing to the nines to go out for a superchic evening.”

“Your turn,” said Madison, grabbing back the magazine. I protested that I couldn’t figure out what sort of bra I should be, or which male fantasy I most wanted to fulfill, but we did our best and discovered I was “Siren Sexy… You emanate sex appeal with just a bat of your eyelashes or shake of your booty. And when it comes to being fun, fearless and frisky, you wrote the XXX book.”

“Goodness,” she said, mock seriously. “I should have quizzed you before I agreed to share the bed.”

We laughed, and talked a while longer. Then Madison yawned and said, “Well, that was a long, tiring week. I’m turning in.” She set her magazine and glasses on the bedside table, slid between the sheets, and let out a long satisfied sigh. I looked out the window at the snow, still falling thickly, then shut the curtains. I walked around the bed, shut off the lights, and climbed in.

“Good night, Madison,” I said.

“Good night,” she replied.

The smooth sheets felt cool at first, then warmer with body heat. I heard Madison breathing in the dark. I stared into the darkness, my heart bahis firmalar beating faster, and smiled at the strange excitement I felt. Several minutes passed. I was wide awake.

Madison broke the silence. “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” I asked.

“The tension,” she replied.

“Huh?” was my clever response.

“The sexual tension,” she said, a little exasperated. “I started feeling it during dinner. I feel it really strongly now. It’s like a third person in the room. Don’t you feel it?”

“I suppose I do,” I admitted. My persistent hard-on brooked no denial.

“Look, I know you’re married,” said Madison. “Say goodnight again, and I’ll roll over and try to go to sleep. I just had to say something.”

Lying in the dark, I pondered the dilemma. But truthfully, not for very long. I didn’t say goodnight. Instead, I slid over to Madison’s side of the bed, and kissed her.

On the eyeball. In the dark, I missed her mouth completely. We both giggled, a little nervously, but then I found her mouth and kissed her in earnest. Her full lips were thrillingly unfamiliar, and soon they parted so our tongues could meet. Each person’s way of kissing is unique, and I enjoyed learning Madison’s style.

She rolled toward me, and I put my arm around her. My hand slid down her back and thigh, to the hem of her nighty. It slid the nighty up to the waistband of her panties, then it crept under the waistband to cup her firm round ass.

“Mmm,” she purred against my lips, the scent of brandy on her breath. My heart pounded, and I felt her muscles ripple as she slid her leg between mine. We kissed in the dark for a while, then she knelt up and pulled her nighty over her head. I could see only the silhouette of her breasts in the dim light peeping under the door. She gathered my t- shirt and, as I half sat up, pulled it over my head. Then we returned to kissing, her bare tits pressing firmly against my bare chest. I ran my fingers from the small of her back, up the smooth line of her spine, into her thick hair.

Madison reached under the sheets, and grabbed my stiff cock through my shorts. “Feels like you’re ready,” she said softly, and before I could respond, she climbed from the bed and turned on the bedside lamp. She was gorgeous in the soft glow, her hair tousled, her breasts firm and round, with surprisingly small, dark nipples, and her white panties fascinating in how ordinary they were.

After slipping on her glasses, she scanned the room and walked over to the plastic bag from the lobby shop. She reached in and pulled out a small box of condoms.

“So you had mischief on your mind earlier,” I said, grinning.

“I didn’t know what would happen,” she said, defensively. “But like the boy scouts say, be prepared.”

She returned to the bed, turned back the sheet, then tugged down my shorts. Removing them past my ankles, she glanced at my stark erection, and said wryly, “I seem to have your full attention.” I giggled, slightly embarrassed by my display. She unwrapped a condom from its foil, and carefully unrolled it down my full length. The light touch of her fingers gave me goose bumps.

She stood back, as if to admire her handiwork. Then she slipped her hands under the waistband of her panties, shimmied them down to the floor, and stepped toward the bed. She reached for the lamp, but I stopped her. “Leave it,” I said. “You’re wonderful to look at, Madison” Now she smiled shyly, as my eyes ran down her body. She had a slight bulge of tummy that told of a person willing to savor dessert and other pleasures. Below, her triangle of hair revealed the outline of her pussy beneath. Her legs were full, not spindly, with strong curving thighs.

Madison climbed back into bed and straddled me, a knee on either side of my hips. She bent forward, her lips touching mine as her nipples brushed against my chest. Almost involuntarily, my pelvis lifted towards her, and several times she arched away, teasing me. But then she reached down with one hand, and firmly guided me deep inside her pussy.

I breathed out a long sigh, and she smiled down at me, pleased by my reaction. Then she began to ride me, up and down, as I held her hips. Looking down, I saw my shaft slide out of her, the latex slick with her juices. Then it disappeared back inside, our pubic hair curling together in dark combination. Looking up, I saw her breasts, round like pears, slightly swaying in rhythm with our hips.

I’d like to say I went all night, or at least twenty minutes, but in fact the excitement was too much. Not long after we’d started, I looked in her eyes with sudden urgency. “Oh God, Madison,” I whispered. “I’m coming.” And come I did, deep inside her, lifting her with my final thrusts, then collapsing.

I suddenly felt bashful. “That didn’t last long,” I said, a little discouraged. “I was fast as your French boyfriend.”

“No worries,” she said, looking down at me with a bemused smile. “I take your enthusiasm as a personal compliment.” She climbed off kaçak bahis siteleri me, freed my wilted dick from the soggy condom, wrapped it in a tissue, and tossed it in the trash can. Wiping her hands with another tissue, she climbed back into bed.

I rolled toward her, my left hand propping my head, my right hand resting on her tummy. Looking up at her face, I said, “Seems like a shame to stop now.”

“Oh?” she said, arching her eyebrows. “What did you have in mind?”

Rather than answer, I let my right hand wander lower and lower. Her thighs slowly parted, until I could cup the full mound of her sex. I ran my fingers along the length of her pussy lips, feeling them part to reveal her moist opening. I teased out her moisture until she was slick everywhere. She breathed in through her teeth, as I traced lazy circles near her hood. Her hips twitched, seeking real pressure to end the teasing. When her clit finally found my fingertips, I relented and massaged in earnest.

Meanwhile, I kissed her lips, her cheeks. Near her ear, I breathed a whisper, “You are so sexy, Madison.” Then I kissed her neck, her collarbone. I paused to admire her breasts, then covered the one closest to me with kisses. My mouth found her nipple, and my tongue circled it, firm like a pencil eraser nibbled during an exam.

Her chest rose and fell more rapidly now, and I moved my hand against her in broad, firm patterns. Suddenly she arched her entire body, and as she tensed, I slid two fingers deep inside her. My fingertips felt pulses deep inside her vagina, as she exhaled a long moan of release, and eased back on the bed.

She rested her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped her in my arms. We lay quietly a few moments, until she murmured, “I really liked that.”

“Better than your French boyfriend?” I teased.

She punched me lightly. “You men. It’s all about competition, winners and losers.”

“And national pride,” I added.

She chuckled, and lay back against me. “Well, you were quick, but much more considerate. He never realized that I might like to keep going.”

“Wisdom hard won over my many years,” I intoned solemnly.

“Not that many years,” she replied, turning to face me. “You still have a hair trigger like a teenager.”

“Only for you,” I answered, with a soft smile.

“Hmm,” she said, her gaze lowering toward my crotch. “I wonder if you can reload like a teenager, too.”

She sat up, and reached to grasp my cock. Sure enough, as she ran one hand up my shaft, and cuddled my balls with the other, it began to stir.

“Aha!” she said with a little grin. “Signs of life. Just needs some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” With that she leaned forward, kissed the tip of my dick, and ran her tongue several times round its head as it grew more and more erect. Then she slid most of my now-stiff cock into her warm moist mouth.

I shuddered and arched with pleasure, watching through her disheveled hair as her mouth moved up and down. Her full lips stretched and pulled with the motion, and I was soon glistening with her saliva.

Moments later, she stopped. My naked dick stood cold and neglected, and I whimpered pathetically. “Don’t stop, please keep going. It’s heavenly.”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes and smiling. “I just need to move around to a better position.”

Madison climbed over my thigh, between my legs, and faced my cock directly. With a look of concentration and a quick lick of her lips, she grasped me and engulfed me with her mouth again. Now her right hand was free to stroke my slick shaft, amplifying the sensations from her sweet lips and tongue.

I began to buck my hips slightly, and as I lifted, she slid her left hand under my butt. She grasped the round muscle firmly, pressing her nails lightly against my skin. I felt her fingers running along my crack, slipping between my cheeks, then the tip of her middle finger brushing my asshole. It felt like an electric shock running to the pleasure center of my brain. My hips moved in rhythm, rising to probe her mouth with my cock, then falling to feel her finger penetrate my ass.

“Oh, God,” I grunted in a low voice. “Here I come.” She pulled her mouth away and stroked my slippery dick at a frenzied tempo, while pressing into me even deeper from behind. My orgasm rumbled up from deep within me, and strands of semen shot into the air like streamers, across my belly and chest. She stroked me a few more times, until I had to pull away in ticklish sensitivity.

I lay back, giggling and panting. “Amazing, Madison, absolutely amazing. You elevate oral sex to an art form.”

She grinned up at me. “An art form? Like Jackson Pollock?” she said, pointing to my splattered torso. She ran her index finger through my cream. “Or maybe more like finger painting.”

I laughed at her, and she laughed back at me, pleased with her own performance. Then she stood, retrieved a towel from the bathroom, and wiped up our art project. I looked at her beautiful body, and said, “I hope it never stops snowing.”

As she climbed into bed next to me, she sang softly, “Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we’ve no place to go, Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!”