It was in Moscow, in early December last year.

The meeting was scheduled for 10 am I myself was almost late, barely jumping into the train (yes, it turned out to be more convenient for me to arrive at the meeting place than on the subway with transfers). She is late quite a bit, about 5 minutes away. Call to mobile:
- I'm already here, and where are you?
- I, too. How to see you?

She is trying to explain to me from which subway car she left and which way she turned, but I arrived by other means of transport, and it is more convenient for me to be tied to ground objects. In general, we meet.

A pretty woman like that, smiling and embarrassed by her own determination for a real meeting after a short correspondence, and even with a married visiting man.
- Where are we?
“Not far,” I reply (the preparation of the venue was done last night, by phone calls). - Two minutes walk.

A small hotel, completely without outdoor advertising, and even no sign. The day before I ordered a room there for 2 hours. The maid rises with us to the second floor, shows a bathroom in the corridor, a room with a shower stall and warns that with the valve were neat, it can jam. While I pay her, she goes downstairs and brings change, my companion quickly visits the bathroom and returns to the room.

For certain reasons, which will become clear at the end of the story, I will not give her name to her name (even the fictional one, as I usually do in my other stories) and I will not tell the story of her life, sexual and family development, children and work , although it is clear that all this information was told to me partly during the correspondence, partly during the meeting itself. The most ordinary woman with the most common name (for the list, let it be Galya) and a typical biography of many.

Having taken off outer clothing, we embrace with it and we kiss. Bending back again, she hides her face on my shoulder. I begin to squeeze her body under clothes.
- Wait a bit, let me catch my breath. Tell me, how did you get there, not by metro? And why?

I tell her the vicissitudes of my movement, why I decided not to take the subway, and why I almost missed the train. She listens with great interest, asks questions, frowns and smiles in the story of retelling, and already seems not to pay attention, as I stroke her hand with one hand and with the other, though not as persistently as immediately after the kiss, lightly stroking her thigh.

- And you will go back by train too? She asks.
- No, on the subway. I will need to be there at about 13 o'clock, this metro is such and such.
- I am also on the subway to “such and such” transplant. Let's go together?
- Of course! Will we hold hands and kiss like young couples?
“Oh,” she sticks out her lips in ridiculous surprise, “I thought you were such a hardened cynic, but it turns out she’s a romantic at heart?”
- I'm a cynical romantic. Or a romantic cynic. As you wish.

I unbutton her buttons on her blouse and put her arm in the neckline, feeling the pleasant warmth of her body and the fabric of her bra.
- And you did not wash your hands? She says suddenly.
“We are taking a bath now,” I reply, not even quite understanding what I want to say by this.
- Swim, of course, but you wash your hands now, yet in the transport was. So I washed, and shows me my hands, as if it was I who demanded clean hands.

However, the demand is fair, and I somehow manage to wash my hands in the shower, without splashing the shirt and tie too much. I really feel that the valve is on its last gasp, I say this to her and poking fun, we hope that it will finally fail at least two hours later and will not spoil our meeting with a flood or drought.

Something about which we are still talking to her, after washing my hands, sitting side by side on a large double bed, or rather, she is already telling, and I listened, until the end of the button the blouse, and I caress her body. Then I take off my bra, and while not kissing my breasts, I roll my nipples, carefully looking into her eyes, as if listening attentively to her story, and at the same time I try to determine when she will not mind moving from words to actions.

The pauses in her words become longer, sometimes she does not complete the sentence, sighing impulsively and clenching and clenching her fists. I feel how she wants to spit on this question, raised in correspondence and postponed for a response until the meeting, especially since it is not in any personal or erotic context, and surrender to my caresses and to answer myself, but with an effort of will she does bring her story let it be to a crumpled but logical ending, and only after that, with my hands and eyes, caressing my lips on a kiss.

We roll on the bed to and fro, kissing each other where it will fall, touching our hands, where we will reach, and freeing ourselves from the unworn pieces of clothing. When these parts are left on us one by one (mine and her pants), I go first to the shower, then without turning off the water, so as not to disturb the naughty valve, she.

Then we caress again, she very long and gently gives me a blowjob, I swim away far away in some nirvana, the noise of cars outside the window makes me think of the surf, it seems to me that I am lying on the sand and the sun's rays warm my body and member and when she releases a member from her mouth for brief moments, then as the breeze cools the heated barrel.

She breaks away from the member and defiantly looks into my eyes.
- Come on? She whispers inquiringly.
- Come on! - I whisper in the affirmative.
“Just wear a suit, okay?”

During the correspondence, we discussed this issue, so I was not surprised either by the term or the sentence, although I hoped that I might forget about it in the heat of the moment. I take out the packing from under the pillow, it breaks, pulls it out, hands and mouth puts on, straightens, sits on the penis and frictions three slowly, then pretty quickly and actively in the pose of the Amazon face fucking me.

I catch the visual thrill of contemplating her bouncing breasts, caress her ear moaning, tactile contact of the hip parts of the body gives a lot of pleasant sensations when she ducks to kiss, enjoy the taste of her lips and tongue, and inhale the smell of purity and perfume with pleasure. Great sex, great woman, great start to the day!

The frequency of its frictions decreases. Probably tired, and I need to work. I put her cancer so that the priest bulges at the edge of the bed, I get up over the edge, and also for quite a long time, smiling to myself, to my feelings about life and sex, fucking it with measured movements.

Her moaning more and more often, my hammering in my penis faster and deeper, my hands also no longer caress and slap the buttocks, but grab the hips, control the movement of the pelvis, and now her “ah-ah-ah-ah” becomes fast “ahahahah” , and then the letter "x" disappears, a long and drawn out "aaaaaaaaaa."

But I have not finished yet. After some time, I renew the frictions, but I understand that she doesn’t have much of it. No, she delicately stands, does not dismount from the penis, verbally no objections, but she is silent, does not podmahivaet, and most likely even mentally in annoyance, why I did not finish. About this she, too, in the internet told me that the most pleasant moment of simultaneous orgasm was her.

I take out the member, get rid of the filthy gum, lie down on the bed. She also apparently remembers that my thrill is the most pleasant from the blowjob. He sucks for a very short time, a minute or two, and my favorite “stand-up” also performs well. Sucking everything up and playing with my tongue with the head, pretty smiles, pats my balls and lies next to me.

- Satisfied? - and calls my name from the questionnaire, not DD.
- Still would! And you? - and I call her name on the profile, for a second hitch (similar to my moment before), I understand that in her profile, most likely, too, is not a real name, but a fictitious one.
- You ask, - she blissfully exhales and puts her head on my chest.

We rest for a while in silence ....