You have just gotten off the phone with your husband, after promising that you would do unspeakable things to him when you returned this evening, you've had to break the news that your trip has been extended and you wouldn't be returning until the next day. He is disappointed and frustrated, the images of his cock sliding between your red-painted lips have driven him mad in your absence.
You argue, he slams down the phone in anger, blaming you for things that are beyond your control. After a cry, you get dressed for dinner, "To hell with him!" you think, "I'm going to have some fun!" You dress provocatively, not intending to violate the promises you've repeatedly made to him, you just want to see if you've still got what it takes to attract a man: a little heavy on the make-up, the new black dress and lingerie that you bought to tease him when you got home, your lipstick in a shade to match the soles of the Louboutin's that you splurged on with your annual bonus. You look hot, like hotter than you ever have. Satisfied, you leave your downtown hotel room and head for the restaurant.
You don't have a reservation because you thought that, at 6:30 in the evening you'd be greeting your loving husband with a long delicious kiss at the arrivals area of the airport. You agree to wait at the bar for the first available table, ordering a glass of pinot-grigio and scanning the room. As you lower your glass, you see the red lip print and you smile at the memory of the time you left the same shade on your husband's cock at your last naughty weekend.
Around the corner of the bar, you see a tall, fit black man staring at his mobile with a sad look. He looks up and catches your eye, you offer a little smile which he returns. Your glass is nearly empty when the cute female bartender slides another in front of you, "With the compliments of the gentleman down the way," she says with a knowing smile. She's seen this game played out so many times before. You drain the remains of your first glass and raise the second, tilting it his way to thank him for the drink. You feel a stirring deep in your belly and dampness in your loins, you lightly pat the bar beside you, inviting him to join you.
"Are you waiting for someone?" he asks. You shake your head, "No, I'm hoping to get a table for dinner." You make a point of showing off your wedding rings as he sits down. "My date has stood me up, I have a table for 7:00, it seems a crime to waste the trip, would you join me, just for dinner," he throws up his hands to show he has no ulterior motive. You don't believe that for a second. After a few minutes, the hostess comes and tells him that his table is ready, he takes your fingertips in his hand and you follow the sway of the hostess's behind to your table.
The air is charged between you, as dinner progresses and as you get to know each other it becomes more so. "You're married then," he says. You tell him of your fight with your husband, how he blames you for your trip being extended and how you are very frustrated because you had expected that at this moment, you would be riding him into the sunset. He smiles, a little embarrassed at your forwardness, you just stare directly into his dark eyes, trying to tell him with only a look that, if he asks, you will say yes.
After dinner has been consumed, he orders more wine, you are getting tipsy and increasingly horny. You wonder if the stereotype about black men holds true in his case. As you finish your wine, he excuses himself to the washroom, while he is gone, you touch up your lippy, then, in a moment of pure recklessness, you take your room card from your clutch and ask the passing waiter to borrow his pen. "Room 311," you write on the paper cover of the card, "Please don't make me wait". You cover the writing with a print from your lips, place the key card on the table and leave. Every man in the restaurant casts a glance your way as you walk through the tables to leave. More than a few stare unashamedly, to the consternation of their wives.
Stopping by the front desk to replace the card that you have 'misplaced', you go to your room and nervously have a quick wash, "Am I really going to do this?" You take out your phone and text hubby; if he is conciliatory, you will call the whole thing off. "Going out with some co-workers, won't be late. I'll call when I get back." His response was immediate, "Whatever. I'm off to bed." Whatever. You guess he's still pissed. You take off your dress and make sure your make-up is perfect. As you recline on the bed, you hear a soft tap on the door. Going to the peep-hole, you see it is your dinner companion, you scurry back to the bed as quickly as your heels will allow you, "Come in!" you call.
He enters the room, closing the door quietly and flipping the security latch behind him. He stops when he sees you, creamy white skin with the black bra, garter, stockings and panties contrasting it, the bright red on your shoes and your lips standing out invitingly. He licks his lips and looks like he is about to speak but you quiet him with your finger to your candy apple red lips and a small shake of your head.