Amateur Nights

Book 1: Lustful Longing

by Emma Allan

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Diana Wilson is a beautiful woman - but a frustrated and angry one too. Frustrated because her husband no longer appreciates her ripe body and passionate nature. And angry because he's left her waiting for him in a hotel bar for over an hour. Which is where she is approached by a man who mistakes her for an 'escort' he has arranged to meet.

Will Diana go upstairs to the room of this handsome stranger and allow him to make love to her? Perhaps Diana's about to realise that there's a first time for everything . . .

Part one of the Lustful Longing series.

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 256

Sample

He was about an hour late. She was on her third large gin and tonic and was very angry. This was the fourth time in so many weeks he had left her kicking her heels at some bar while, he said, he was sorting out some mess at the office. The office had come to dominate both their lives. The office always came first. Before any social life, before friends, before even the simplest of arrangements, a night at the movies, a dinner at home. The office rules; but it was not OK any more. Not by a long way.

She was sitting on a bar-stool in the bar of the Portland Square Hotel. Handy for the office, naturally. The alcohol she had consumed was making her feel hot though the bar was air-conditioned. Perhaps it was her temper that was making her feel uncomfortable. She looked round towards the entrance to the bar for the twentieth time then swung the stool back to face the bar-counter. The barman took it for a sign that she wanted another and in the international sign language of bars offered her a refill by holding up the gin bottle. She declined by pointing to her half-finished glass.

The bar was quiet. Four business men huddled in one corner talking intensely. A couple at the other end of the bar-counter hardly talking at all. Another solitary woman sitting at a table in the middle of the room, now talking to the barman as he brought her another drink. A joyous Tuesday night in central London.

Well, this was the last time she was going to sit waiting for him to take her out to dinner. The last time she suffered as he arrived late, full of how much work he had had to do and how he really should have stayed on and finished. The last time she watched as he drank too much through the meal, smoked too many cigarettes before, during and after all the courses then rounded everything off with three double-brandies. The last time she drove home as he slept and snored in the passenger seat, then slept and snored all night while she lay there yearning for even the slightest touch and got nothing.

The office even dominated their sex life. He was too tired to make love he told her, too much work. Too tired to notice when she made a special effort with her hair, her make-up, or even a lacy black teddy she had bought on impulse and paraded in front of him. Even at the weekend he was too tired. She couldn’t remember the last time they had had sex. No, she did remember. And even that was down to the office. Six months ago. He’d been given a new office car. A Sierra four times four something or other. They had a bottle of champagne to celebrate and he had pulled her down on the sofa in the front room and put his hand up her skirt. She’d co-operated as he pulled her panties and tights down and had managed to free him from his trousers at the same time. But by the time she lay back, her skirt around her waist, her cunt exposed, his erection was already beginning to droop. Using his hand he’d managed to stuff what was left of his hardness into her eager cunt and moments later, feeling nothing herself, she’d heard him groan. Seconds later she felt his flaccid wet cock on her thigh and his spunk running from her cunt. He’d come having penetrated her hardly at all. That was the last time. Mr and Mrs Charles and Diana Wilson at home.

A man had entered the bar and gone up to the woman sitting on her own. She was smiling at him broadly. After a moment she got up and left with him. She was wearing exceptionally high heels and her tights or stockings had a fully-fashioned heel and a seam that flattered her long attractive legs and pinched ankles.

Diana watched her with interest. She seemed curiously alive and animated.

So why did she bother with this farce of a marriage? Diana asked herself. Why go on? Because she loved him once. Because he always held out the promise that things would be different one day, when he worked his way into a position of real responsibility in the company. And because in all other respects life was good. Money was not short. She wanted for nothing and for her, coming from the poverty she had known as a child, that was important. More than important. It was necessary.

Absorbed in her own thoughts she had not noticed the man approach. He was at her elbow. And now she noticed him. He was tall, a big man, but not fat. His body gave an impression of power; his greying hair gave the impression that he was older than he probably was.

‘Well, I couldn’t have asked for more,’ he said sliding into the next bar-stool. He spoke with a soft American accent.

‘Sorry?’

‘You’re gorgeous. I could do with a drink first. Just a quick one.’ He indicated to the barman who came over immediately. ‘Scotch, no – vodka and tonic. Scotch is bad for the breath, isn’t it? And another for the lady.’

‘No. I don’t …’

‘Fine. I don’t need to get you drunk, do I?’ He laughed. She noticed his strong white teeth.

‘Listen, I don’t …’

‘You’re wearing tights. Are they in your bag?’

‘What?’

‘The stockings. I did ask.’

‘Stockings?’

‘They didn’t tell you. That’s very naughty of them, isn’t it? They’ve always been very efficient before. Every detail. Black with seams.’

‘I think there’s been some misunderstanding …’

‘Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Still I have to say you are very beautiful. The tops. Aren’t you?’

‘Am I?’

‘You don’t need me to tell you that.’

‘I do. But—’

‘Yes. Time is money.’ He downed his drink, and left a fiver on the bar. Now from his wallet he counted out three fifty-pound notes. ‘I always like to get this over with first.’

He offered Diana the money. In that second her mind was racing. Racing to the other single woman in the bar with the black-seamed stockings. And her very high heels. And, come to think of it, a rather revealing blouse. A prostitute. And she had gone off with someone else. Had a better offer. And now this man stood with a hundred and fifty pounds in his hand thinking she was prepared to sleep with him. This handsome and attractive man who she might well have slept with for nothing. Had she not been a married woman. But she was a married woman. And she had never slept with anyone since her marriage. A married woman. A married woman who could feel for the first time in ages a stomach-churning sexual thrill coursing through every inch of her body; who could feel her cunt beginning to weep – or was that her imagination? All these thoughts. All these thoughts before her hand reached out and took his money and she almost caught her breath in excitement.

‘Shall we go then?’

‘Why not?’

As they walked out of the bar and over to the lifts she realised they were directly opposite the main entrance to the hotel. If her husband arrived now he could hardly miss seeing her standing there with this man (she didn’t even know his name). Both lifts were on higher floors. The man pressed the call button. In the large mirror between the two sets of doors Diana scanned the entrance looking for any sign of her husband. One of the lifts was descending, five, four, three. It stopped on three. The other lift seemed to be stuck on six. Three. Three. Now two and one. Stopped again on one.

With a ping the lift arrived. It was empty. The man guided her into it. As she turned to face the doors as they closed her husband walked into the hotel. If Diana had reached out there and then, pressed the DOORS OPEN button, rushed out of the lift to meet her husband, she could have escaped. But she did not. She did not even think of it. Instead she moved back into the lift. She was committed. Committed to what? She dare not think.

His room was not large. Built-in wardrobes, a small bathroom, a chest of drawers and matching bedside tables; copies of Victorian botanical drawings dotted around the walls. He was turning on all the lights. Both bedside lamps, the overhead light, the light by the wardrobe, even the light in the bathroom. Clear white light.

For a moment sheer terror seized Diana. What on earth did she think she was doing? She must be going mad. What the hell did she think she was going to do now? There was only one thing she should do – turn and run. Turn and run. Down to the bar, down to her husband.

And she realised immediately that was why she did not run. Her husband. Sitting in the bar by now, waiting impatiently for her. A wave of anger swept through her. Anger that gave her courage …

‘Hope you don’t mind the lights.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The lights, I like a lot of light.’

‘So I see.’

‘All the better to see you by. You’re quite a looker.’

Nobody had given her any form of compliment for a long time. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the wardrobe. Her hair was long and fair, nearly blonde, and shone in all the light. Her face had fine small features with strong enquiring eyes. Those eyes stared back at her now and she turned away quickly not wanting to face the question they posed.

He sat on the bed and took off his shoes and socks. She watched objectively almost as if she wasn’t in the room with him. He took off his jacket, tie and shirt, throwing them on the floor by the bed. His body was firm, good muscle-tone, and hairless. His stomach was tight with no hint of a paunch. Without thinking she heard herself asking him how he kept himself in such good shape.

‘Good living,’ he laughed. ‘You can take the trousers off. I like that.’ He lay back on the bed, his eyes never leaving her for an instant. Somewhere behind the pleasant smile she could see a hunger, a hunger she had not seen in a man’s eyes for so long she could not remember the last time. She felt a jolt of pure sexual pleasure again. It was hunger for her.

For a moment she wondered why he was just lying there doing nothing; then she realised he was waiting for her. It was her move. She was the prostitute. It was all up to her now. He’d paid for her to take the initiative. None of the normal rules applied to this encounter. She had been hired to perform a service.

Diana was wearing a black suit and white blouse. She threw the jacket of the suit on a small armchair by the bed. Her body, she knew, was nothing to be ashamed of. She had not let herself go despite her husband’s lack of interest. She watched her weight, exercised regularly and used a sunbed to top up her holiday tans. She had a good waspie waist, a flat stomach and large but firm breasts. Her legs were long and lithe with distinct calf muscles and hard-stretched thighs that rose into a pert rounded arse at the back and a forest of thick blonde pubic hair at the front.

She unbuttoned her blouse and dropped it on top of her jacket. Her bra was white and functional. Not the bra appropriate to a lady of the night. She stepped out of her shoes and unzipped her skirt. Not for a moment did she let her mind wander as she let her skirt drop and stood in her underwear before a man she had only known for the last ten minutes. She had cast herself in this part and she was determined to play it.

Diana reached behind her back and unclipped her bra. She moved her hands to cup her breasts then lent forward and eased herself out of the bra letting her breasts sway naked and free. Looking down at them she saw, to her surprise, that both her nipples were hard and erect. Almost as a reflex she pinched them between thumb and forefinger of both hands.

‘Can you suck them?’

She said yes, before she realised she had never tried. Cupping her breast in both hands she pushed it up into her mouth; fortunately she could just get her lips around the nipple. She sucked hard then repeated the process with the other breast. For some reason she couldn’t get as much of the nipple into her mouth on this left side. She looked up and saw the man’s eyes, the hunger obvious now, devouring her every move.

‘Pity about the stockings.’

She was just about to say she hadn’t worn stockings for years.

‘Take off your tights and give them to me.’

She did as she was told. With practised ease he took the rumpled tights, found the crotch and tore a hole in the nylon.

‘Put them back on.’ She was about to do as he commanded. ‘No, without the knickers.’ The rebuke stung her. Stung her back to reality? Was she going to stand naked in front of this man?

‘Such great tits.’ His hand snaked out and cupped her left breast. His hand felt warm and hard. He pinched her nipple gently. The sensation that gave her was out of all proportion to the action. She suddenly felt herself swimming in a lake of desire. Without thinking she knelt on the bed and kissed him. He responded immediately pulling her over on to her back and pushing his tongue deep into her mouth. As the kiss continued she felt her hand pull at her knickers until they were down her legs to her knees. Without waiting to get them off completely his hand was back up her thighs again and into her cunt. She caught her breath as first one and then two fingers penetrated her; she caught her breath not because of the penetration but because she had never felt herself so wet. Her juices felt like a river running over his fingers and out of her.

He broke the kiss and removed his fingers. She saw him look down at her cunt. She looked too and saw it was glistening with wet.

‘I thought you never kissed.’ The generic ‘you.’

‘Only with the ones we like.’ She thought that was a good response. Quick thinking.

‘Very flattering.’

‘You’re very attractive.’ Her confidence was growing. In fact her confidence was growing in direct proportion to her sexual desire.

‘Put the tights back on.’

‘Yes.’

She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the tights back on to her legs. They felt strange now as the hole he had torn exposed her cunt completely.

‘Stand up. Put your shoes on.’

She did as she was told, so obedient. She felt sure he would be able to see how excited she was. She had never felt so hot, literally hot. Her body seemed to be burning up. The torn tights made it worse. Made her feel open and wanton. She wanted his eyes on her cunt. Wanted him to see how swollen her nether lips were.

‘Now the trousers.’ He indicated that she should sit. But she knelt again by his side on the bed, all inhibition gone now. She unbuckled the belt and unzipped the fly. She could feel his erection under the zip. She pulled at the waistband as he raised himself off the bed and in a moment he was naked, his cock springing up free from its restrictions. Her hand closed around it squeezing hard. She saw it had a drop of fluid on the tip.

‘On the bedside table,’ he whispered. She wondered for a moment what he meant until she saw the condom. It hadn’t even occurred to her. And he would expect her to be an expert, slip it on effortlessly. What she actually wanted to do more than anything else was straddle his body and stuff that cock into her hot cunt. Amateur night.

She reached across and took the rubber out of the packet. She remembered being taught at school how you had to pinch the top and make sure the ring of rubber was on the outside. Holding it over his cock she pulled the rubber down. Well, that wasn’t so difficult.

Almost as she finished the man took her by the shoulders and threw her on to her back on the bed. Before she could draw breath he was on top of her and his cock slipped into her soaking wet cunt in one smooth movement. Instant coupling.

‘I want to see you.’ His eyes were wide open.

He thrust in and out. She threw her arms around his back clinging to him; clinging to him as an orgasm tore through her body from his first upward stroke, rippling from cunt to head, making her scream and cling to him tighter and push herself deeper down on to him. Almost immediately she felt him come, heard him moan, felt his prick spasm in her; and this made her come again too, so quickly after the first time that the two orgasms joined together racking through her body until it seemed every nerve she possessed shook with pleasure.

There was no ceremony. He pulled away the moment he had come. He. . .