Replay: Take Me Home Tonight Part I

He sent her an email with his travel itinerary, suggesting work was the reason for traveling to New York, then San Diego. “Want to go?’ he wrote casually, knowing that she would never make the commitment. They hadn’t spoken on the phone in 4 years, hadn’t seen each other in 5. She suggested that their efforts at reconnecting even verbally were futile. “We don’t know each other anymore…”
His persistence fresh and sharp, he playfully coaxed her into revealing her current life, asking for details about her work, her husband’s schedule. “Where have you been?” was the theme of the phone call, which she admittedly thought twice about making, but figured his influence was diminished by geography, time, and perception. Their exchange possessed a subtle but manipulative tone, his efforts focused on attempting to push her this time. He managed to get her phone number, her attention, and he r praise. Narcissists, both of them, totally engrossed in the game, telephonic voices smiling wittily at each other, both vying for the psychological edge, only giving in if it created a precipice the other did not detect. A slight nudge at their opponents most vulnerable moment facilitated a fall right into a trap that momentarily determined who was in control. No matter how long it had been, this banter created excitement neither could ignore.
He called her on it. He knew her interest in him was only about the game. For her their liaison was ultimately about power. Power was more exciting than love she’d discovered, and who, she thought satirically, had more perceived power than a cocky, middle-aged but fit, wealthy, business man. It was her intention to build him up, marvel at the life he’d constructed for himself, and then prove how what he’d so masterfully created was incomplete without an equally exhilarating extramarital sexual rendezvoused with a girl who was previously on his payroll, and half his age.
She told him she’d call him the week he was on travel and hung up the phone. She began making plans that second to travel west and see if the game was still in her. A sexually satisfied and confident woman could make a powerful man weak at the knees, if she could skillfully manage to heighten, and not threaten his self image. She’d been playing this game her whole life, and knew that the subtle but skillful stroking a man’s ego could eventually and without warning, disturb and threaten his master plan, leaving him wondering how he managed to have everything, but her. That is where the transfer of power occurred. It brought her to orgasm every time.
She booked a flight with the intention of not telling him she was planning to meet him. She would call him during his travel week when she was ready to see him, surprising him with her spontaneity. A discrete and independent gesture that not only represented their equivalent autonomy, but demonstrated her being there had nothing to do with his invitation or sudden interest, only her desire to have the upper hand in their rediscovery (or reenactment?) of what was left of a previously fleeting yet equally satisfying office escapade.
As she boarded her flight she considered for the first time that he might chicken out, be too shy to meet her and possibly make excuses about how he couldn’t get away without prior planning. It wouldn’t be the first time he disappointed her with a forced and facetious morality that she suspected might be masking insecurity or an intimidation he was desperately trying to hide, not wanting to admit that her sexual desire might ravish and overwhelm him. This next encounter would be a balancing act for them, where their sexual equilibrium was a tight rope of possible ecstasy or rejection, either action resulting in the probable yet undesirable shifting of power, a frightening concept for either of them. Neither one took defeat well; no matter how hard they came.
Upon her arrival, she asked the hotel concierge to make reservations, dinner for two and car service. She suspected their evening would begin with drinks and end with intoxication, chemical and sexual. She would seduce him through dinner, please him on the way back to her hotel, and then punish him into the early morning hours with every ounce of sexual prowess she could muster. She smiled to herself, realizing that the last time she’d seen him, they were on his turf, but he didn’t stand a chance now. She’d get every last drop, leave him dry, depleted, and wondering how in the hell he could ever go back to making love to his wife. This of course was the ultimate power play. An unattached offering of multiple mind blowing orgasms was control at its peak. She knew he would never be able to duplicate this and would spend the rest of his life comparing his wife, or the next girl, to what took place that evening. She was in it to win it and the smell of success made her whet with anticipation.
She unpacked her small suitcase as an overnight stay required only the essentials. She laid out a pair of black stilettos, black thigh high stockings, and a black lace bra. She pulled out the matching crotchless panties but considered whether she would wear them. She didn’t wear panties at home, but smiled to herself thinking he might want a souvenir. She found the short black skirt just below her black lace halter top, perfect for revealing her tan and tone back and arms, her perfect long legs, tight ass, and firm breasts.
She stood before the mirror. She pictured him arriving at the restaurant, his anticipation building, and instantly growing hard when he saw her. She loved men, how easy they were, how uncomplicated their needs, how satisfying it felt to escape after great sex, leaving them, their groin still quivering and their dominance that of a twelve year old boy. She could feel herself become whet and her kegal tighten. Her nipples hardened. Her abs flexed. She ran her hands through her long dark hair and considered pleasing herself in front of this mirror. Amazingly curvy and fit, she admired herself and knew he had never had better, knew he would take it from her, and at the same time give himself away.
She relaxed in the bath the rest of the afternoon paying special attention to clean and refresh her body, touch up her painted toes and nails, keeping a close eye on where she anticipated he would put his mouth. She wanted him to taste her and was satisfied that his seeing her tight and cleanly shaven pussy would obsess him with pleasing her with a cunnilingus so intense she cried out with joy, screaming his name, inching away and begging him to stop. She pictured his bright eyes and blond hair between her legs. She questioned if she could limit their exchange to this one affair?
He answered his phone with a subtle secrecy. She was sure that over the years he had perfected the ‘I have something you want’ tone and attitude making him alluring, irresistible, and totally untrustworthy. She smiled into the phone, “I have a surprise for you, birthday boy…” She told him the car would be there to pick him up at 7:00 this evening, to bring his credit card and his ‘A’ game. She wasn’t cheap and not a sure thing. She would make him work and then reward him with her hands, her mouth, her best tricks and techniques. He had no idea what he was in for and she couldn’t wait to see his power drain with every squirt of cum she would illicit.