Caught Empty Handed
In this game called life there are rules. When you break those rules you must heed the consequences, even if you haven’t done anything wrong. Yet.
April 21, 2010
In this game called life there are rules. When you break those rules you must heed the consequences, even if you haven’t done anything wrong. Yet.
After a meeting at The Core Club with a very dear friend, we stood outside and I took a hit from the joint we were sharing. I love the way a couple hits just relaxes my entire body. We strolled down Park Avenue heading to Monkey Bar for a much-desired cocktail.
Just as the last bit of Belvedere hit my tongue it was time to leave. With no real plans I decided to head to Balthazar, my go-to-spot, to see if someone wanted to buy me dinner.
I sat at the bar sipping Chablis; considering it was 9PM there were loads of geriatrics still kicking around. When I grew tired of avoiding the way-too-old men who continuously tried to invoke conversation, I spotted an opening beside a handsome suit near the end of the bar. Chablis in hand I strolled over and sat down next to him.
Finance Guy was well styled, in a sharp pinstripe suit that was cut to perfection. I would have expected nothing less from someone in his field who is hip enough to live in SOHO and savvy enough to still have his job (it was 2009). Drinks and food flowed, along with our witty banter. I couldn’t help but notice the very shiny ring on a certain finger.
How is it that a married man was able to go out alone on a weeknight? To say the least I was impressed; the married men I see can barely check their mobiles with out fear of getting caught, let alone pick-up girls on a random Tuesday! Turns out he was much less impressive than I had imagined. His wife was out with her girlfriend; he was supposed to be in France but due to a certain volcanic ash incident, he found himself at dinner with me. Ever the gentleman, he insisted on buying my dinner and then suggested we go to The Crosby for some bubbly.
The bartender topped up our second glass of fizz; his knee was beginning to accidentally graze mine as the alcohol worked its way into our systems. All of a sudden, a look of sheer panic struck his face, “my wife, that’s my wife…” An angry brunette was charging towards us. It was almost more than I could handle.
“What is going on here,” she demanded, staring back and forth not sure which one of us to take her rage out on.
I reached over and extended my hand, “You must be Finance Guy’s wife, I have heard so much about you, I’m Chloe”. I smiled and she shot me a look of death before announcing to whoever would listen that THEY were leaving. Finance Guy, now white as a ghost, threw down money for our drinks and proceeded to be dragged into the night.
The entire thing was simply too much; I couldn’t help but laugh. With two half empty flutes in front of me there was only one thing to do. I downed mine, followed by his. It seemed to me that a certain financier would most definitely be sleeping on the couch.
Hotel Hopping
I am notorious for double dating, often planning 2 consecutive dates. It was a Tuesday and first up was an early dinner and a first encounter with Ad Exec Guy, to be followed by drinks with Iron Man. It had been months since he had been back to New York and I could hardly wait to get my hands on him.
April 13, 2010
I am notorious for double dating, often planning 2 consecutive dates. It was a Tuesday and first up was an early dinner and a first encounter with Ad Exec Guy, to be followed by drinks with Iron Man. It had been months since he had been back to New York and I could hardly wait to get my hands on him.
Dinner was at a hotel in the East Village and it must be said that the cheese plate and champagne were far more interesting than the man. There is nothing that turns me off more than a know-it-all. This is why I often set up two dates in one evening; when one is disappointing you simply move on to the next.
I touched up my lipstick as the elevator sped up to the 8th floor of the chic uptown hotel, the soft pink gliding smoothly across my lips. Iron Man opened the door to his suite; he looked better than I remembered. He slid his arm around my waist and kissed me deeply; the door closing behind us as he pushed me up against the wall. He was hard instantly.
We could barely stop kissing long enough for him to pop the cork on the bottle of bubbly. Our glasses clinked and I took a long sip letting the bubbles dance on my tongue. I looked him directly in the eye as I took another sip; we were both aching to rip each other’s clothes off.
I sat leaning on the edge of the dresser; Iron Man placed his glass on the table next to me and got on his knees. He slowly undid the straps on my heels, gliding his hands up my smooth legs. He pressed his lips into the creases of my knees, working his way up my thighs sending shivers down my spine. I could feel myself getting wet. He slid his fingers up, rubbing me through the lace of my Agent Provocateur thong. I let out a gasp as he alternated pressure.
He continued touching me, staring up to witness how turned on he had me. I asked how long I had him in New York, he told me just tonight; he had meetings in Washington in the morning. I loved knowing he had flown in just for drinks with me.
Iron Man grabbed my wrist and threw me onto the massive bed, the 1200 thread-count sheets caressed my body and he pushed my skirt up and devoured me. I begged him to stop, not to make me cum just yet, but he would not listen. He licked and sucked me until I came so hard, his fingers sliding into me just as I let go.
I lay there, breathless yet aching for more. He told me to follow him and then led me into the bathroom champagne in hand. I couldn’t wait to find out what he had in mind.
Sleepless Nights
I really love my sleep, unless of course it is being interrupted every hour by Iron Man to have his way with me again and again. His kiss was delicious and lying naked in the white linens, exhausted from a night with little sleep I couldn’t help but crave more.
I really love my sleep, unless of course it is being interrupted every hour by Iron Man to have his way with me again and again. His kiss was delicious and lying naked in the white linens, exhausted from a night with little sleep I couldn’t help but crave more.
My mind kept wandering back to him taking me; the way he went down on me, making me cum and then fucking me so hard sent my body into waves of pleasure. He loved taking me any way, as long as it was deep and slow. He had me up against the wall in the shower, the hot steam pouring down making it hard to breath while he worked me, spanking my wet, full ass.
He rolled over and rubbed my shoulder, slowly sucking on the tip of my ear, working his way down my neck; teasing my nipples with his tongue before sliding himself inside me. It was amazing how hard he still was after last night.
He left my naked in bed to head to a meeting anticipating that I would stay that way until he returned. As the door closed, I let out a long breath; who knew a job interview with Boss Lady would have turned into this?
His meeting went way longer than anticipated; by the time he returned we only had time for a quick bite. I could not get enough of him. When he climbed into the taxi, JFK bound, I followed him inside.
I sat kissing him with my legs draped on either side of his as the car sped down Central Park South. I pushed my hips down onto him, he was hard again; I slid my panties to the side and unbuttoned his jeans. With the driver less than a few feet away from us I slowly slid him inside me.
Both of us were in ecstasy with the slow movements of my hips grinding into him. I came so hard and then continued to ride him until I came again. Just as the taxi was about to turn onto the FDR, I hopped out, breathless and barely able to stand. I’d never done that before and am not sure if it was the urgency to take him one last time or the naughtiness of the driver being right there that sent us both over the edge, either way I was aching to do it again.
Iron Man
It was fashion week, the opening of a chic little bar in the East Village and I was there meeting a potential work client for the first time. The meeting was fantastic, the drinks were beyond amazing and there was an extremely dashing young man who kept eyeing me from across our group. He was there with the Boss Lady’s friends, but they did not know each other.
Helmut Newton
It was fashion week, the opening of a chic little bar in the East Village and I was there meeting a potential work client for the first time. The meeting was fantastic, the drinks were beyond amazing and there was an extremely dashing young man who kept eyeing me from across our group. He was there with the Boss Lady’s friends, but they did not know each other.
Boss Lady had to leave around midnight, but told me to stay and have fun with the group. As soon as she was out of sight the handsome man came over and took the now empty seat next to me. Let’s call him Iron Man.
Iron Man was impeccably dressed and extremely hansom. I asked where he hailed from and he informed me that where he was from was much too complicated a story for just one drink and that I should join him and his friends dancing.
We left the bar and piled into a giant black SUV. We arrived at Butter around 2AM on a Monday during fashion week and it was as packed as I’d ever seen. As we made our way down the stairs it became clear that not a table was even close to being open.
The manager rushed over to us, apologizing and promising us the world if we could just hold on for 2 minutes. I saw him head over to the back corner booth and within 30 seconds the table was ready for us, complete with bottles of Patron, Belvedere and Veuve. I remember thinking, “Who on earth am I with!?” I would later find out the group was part of Asia’s fashion and social elite.
As we danced the sexual tension became too much to handle. Our lips almost touching, but we kept trying to resist. His hands moving over my ass, squeezing my every curve, his breathe tickling the back of my neck as I pushed into him. He had grown up in London and his English charm would sneak through every now and again. By 4AM the group was getting ready to head to the next spot, I heard something about a strip-club but Iron Man and I were way too into each other to join them.
We hopped into a taxi and sped up-town to his hotel on Central Park South. Anyone that knows me will realizes that it takes a lot for me to go above 14th Street and this guy must have been well worth it. The taxi ride was full of kissing and touching as we began to give into temptation. He paid the driver and escorted me up the hall to the elevators. The concierge greeting us as “Mr. and Mrs. Iron Man” when we entered through the glass doors, I guess he stayed there a lot.
Once in his room he kissed me slowly, with one hand on the back of my neck. He used his other hand to gently flick the straps of my dress off my shoulders, causing it to fall to the floor. I stood there, 6” high-heeled black leather boots, neon green Agent Provocateur lace thong with matching bra, and a shiver ran down my back. I could tell this was just the beginning.