Christmas in New York

Christmas in New York

Occasionally I like to write things for friends, or casual acquaintances if everyone involved knows what is happening. I had someone approach me, and this become a fun story the husband and I talked through, that he wanted to give his wife after he had read some of my other stuff, and knowing my view of being sex positive in open relationships. So, this was fun to write, I hope that he, she, and everyone else enjoys it tremendously.

The door opened, 715 in golden letters on the outside of the door, a woman pulled a man by his tie into the room at the Marriott. They had been making a scene down in the bar, talking to each other, making out and being half drunk flirts with each other. As the couple walked into the room, the woman dropped her hotel key on the desk and walked over to the window.

“I told you,” the woman said, flinging the curtains wide open, “that we had a great view of the tree. I can practically reach out and pull the star on top from here.” The woman slurred her words, the result of a few drinks, but she looked confident in what she wanted; as she looked at the man, she knew she craved him.

The man walked over to the window and looked out. “It’s definitely a nice view of the tree. The people looking at it from the ground have a nice view of your room.” He laughed at the thought. The woman walked over and turned the lights on, knowing this will give everyone outside a view of what the two of them may get up to.

“Have you ever let anyone watch you fuck?” The woman asked slowly, her voice lowered to barely louder than a whisper as she asked the question. Her voice now switched to a sultry, seductive tone.


“There’s no time like the present, is there?” The woman put her phone down on the desk, and opened the music app, and clicked on the Lady Gaga playlist that she had been listening to earlier in the shower.

As the music came out of the small speakers, the woman swayed a little, this time intentionally, looking for the beat of the music, her hips swinging back and forth, she ran her fingers through her short, blonde hair, and then down her face. Switching hands each time one hit her chin, turning her head into the new hand. She danced over to the man, and pushed her body up to his tall, thin frame.

The man smiled down at her, a head taller, and as she looked up at him, he leaned over to give her a long, deep kiss. She responded by pressing her stomach against him, her breasts falling on each side of his stomach, now spreading her legs a little so he can feel her grinding her thigh against his.

As their kiss broke, she looked up at him, barely a whisper he could hear over the music, “I want you to take pictures of me as I strip.”

The man did not hesitate; he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. The woman pushed back from him, and danced by herself for a moment, Poker Face playing now, she stomped her foot, and thrust her hips as she started. As he unlocked his phone, and brought up his camera app, he took several pictures of her dancing, and enjoying herself, the flash lit up the room.

The woman danced around the room and he traced her motions from one side to the other, including as she jumped up on the bed, she motioned him in, and he took close-up pictures of skirt, at this point lifted high enough that her panties were showing. He ran his finger down the length of one of the garter belts, the whole time taking more pictures.

“Unzip me,” the woman said as she danced closer to him and spun. “This skirt needs to come off.”

“Happily,” the man put the phone down from taking pictures for a minute to use both hands to pull the zipper down on the skirt. It slipped from the woman’s shoulders, and she grabbed it with one arm across her chest, and spun to face him again. She looked him in the eyes and danced backward toward the window again. She motioned at the phone; he picked up his phone and continued to play his role as the photographer. In just a few minutes, he was already up to a hundred pictures of the woman, her skirt raising from high on her thighs, up now to show her panties, and the top now laying limp in her hand on her cleavage.

The woman moved into the window and faced out to the star on top of the tree. The man took pictures of her back while she moved her arm, and the let the top of the skirt fall limp, her tits now let free. He could see her smile in the reflection on the window; he also admired the size of her breasts, larger than a handful, her nipples hard, and the aureolas big, dark red circling them. Such a great site, he felt his cock throb; he had been hard since they were downstairs in the bar.

The woman closed her eyes for a minute, and let herself get into the music again, turning to the man, and allowing him to take her chest in. She worked her hands up her side, shimmying from side to side. She slid her hand onto the outsides of her tits, and pressed them toward each other, opening her eyes halfway, and letting her smile go a little crooked. He stopped taking pictures, and just drank in the view he was now getting. She looked at his phone, and he picked it back up; the pictures were now going fast, the lights in the room flashing as if they were a strobe light. She raised one eye, tilted her head a little, and then bit her bottom lip.

As the man took a few more pictures, the woman reached down to the top of each side of the skirt and pushed it down over her hips, pressing her legs together until it slid down easily. He took in the view of her standing there. Her black garter belt, and black lace panties contrasted with her pale skin. Her lipstick matched in color, a dark red shade, with her nipples. Her platinum blonde hair, short, and spiked, showed all the colors so well. He licked his lips; she saw him lick his lips and walked up to him. 

“Do you like what you see?” The woman asked him.

“So much, such a beautiful view,” the man responded.

“Should I put my clothes back on?”

“No, should I help you with what you have left?” During the last couple of words, the man’s pitch raised a little. The woman had slipped her hand onto the bulge that hid in his slacks, her fingers traced the length of his cock, and she leaned into him, pressing her head against his chest, listening to his heart now beat faster, and faster with each inch she traced. She unsnapped the belt he had on, then the hooks fell unfastened, her fingers moving swiftly, and precisely over the clothing, his slacks now just a few zippers from falling. She looked him in the eyes, and with her hand pulled the zipper down, his slacks falling away just as quickly. His cock sprung out.

“I’d have taken a little longer if I had known you were going commando,” the woman said. The man stepped back, out of his slacks, but leaving them in a pile on the floor. As she saw that he was clear, she pushed him back onto the bed. “I guess it’s only fair if I’m without panties too.” She reached down and unsnapped her garters from her stalkings. He watched as she bent over in front of him, he even reached up and placed his hand in her hair. Her panties fell to the floor, and she bent over a little more, letting his cock now press against her lips.

The woman dropped to her knees, letting the cock slide into her mouth, between her lips, she felt his length as she tried to go a little more down his shaft, and his girth made her feel like her mouth was wide open. She sucked on his cock for a minute, and she could feel the heat from his body, now in her mouth, she knew how badly he wanted her. She slipped her hand between her legs, her fingers now running over her bald pussy. She was happy that she had shaved earlier that day, she could feel how smooth she was, and knew this man’s cock entering her would feel so good. She played with her clit, first a finger, then two, she could feel that she was so wet that she was dripping her wetness down her thigh. She stood up, looked him in the eyes, grabbed his hands, and walked him over to the window.

“Fuck me!” The woman said to the man. She spun and faced the window, looking at the crowd below, over the top of the tree, over the top of the star. She stood on her tiptoes, now exposing her pussy to him. He stepped up behind her.

The man slipped his cock into the woman’s pussy, taking her from behind, and pushing her into the window. She placed both of her forearms against the window, the first few thrusts she grunted, his cock was so thick, much bigger than she was used to, and even though she was ready for him, his girth surprised her. He attempted to put the tip in slowly, but in his excitement he attempted to push in hard, he wanted to feel as much of his cock inside her as possible. He looked over her shoulder, and then out at the crowd of people looking at the tree. He wondered how many of them saw the couple, in the room, fucking against the glass. He saw his reflection in the glass, and he knew there had to be many down in the crowd looking up and seeing the two of them; he thrust a little harder and pushed his cock deeper into her.

“Fuck!” The woman exclaimed. Then she did it again. The man saw her face get twisted in the words, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. It encouraged him to push harder. Her mouth opened wide, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head backward forcefully, but slowly, and she lurched her body forward, pressing her cheek into the window. He felt her pussy tighten, every muscle in her body got tense at his thrust. She squeezed her legs tight; he thrust in once more; his cum shot into her, and he collapsed forward onto her back. His hips had a few smaller follow up thrusts upon completion.

The lights on the Christmas tree lit up, and the woman noticed that several men were standing on the ground, looking up at her standing in the window, naked minus a garter belt, and she could see the smiles on their faces. She loved to receive admiration. She loved the feeling of the man on her back, she could tell that he was having a hard time continuing to stand up, but she loved feeling his cock throbbing inside her, going limp. She could feel their juices drip down her leg as his cock popped out. She turned around and kissed him. She felt the coolness of the glass against her ass.

“Get dressed,” the woman said. “You have to get going.”

“Can’t I stay for a little longer?” The man asked. She shook her head at him.

“No, I have some important things to do once you go.”

“Can I at least get your name and number?” The man asked.

“Just like all the hotel staff, you should just call me Mrs Cheshire,” the woman said. “There is no reason to ever mention this to anyone.” 

“Do you want the pictures?”

“Yes, send me a copy of every one to (512) 555-6789. Only send the pictures, and then never use that number again.”

The man looked confused, but he put all of his clothes back on, slowly. As he finished putting his slacks back on, he looked in the mirror and adjusted his tie so he looked professional still. The woman came over, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then a long, deep passionate kiss. The lip prints, in the shade of red lipstick she loved was fresh on his cheek, and there were smudges on his lips from their activities. When the man walked out of the hotel room, he sent the pictures from his evening to the number the woman gave him as he walked down the hallway.

“You look like you had a great evening,” Mr Cheshire said to the man as they passed in the hallway.

“I absolutely did,” the man said in response. “I hope you have a wonderful evening, sir.”

The man heard Mr Cheshire’s phone chimed in rapid succession; he looked over his shoulder and saw him open room 715 and open his phone. He looked back over his shoulder at the man, winked, and walked into his room with a huge grin.

picture from Ingrid Taylar on Flickr (

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