It was a business trip as always, this time a little further afield than usual and of longer duration. She had already been to Milan and Munich and this was third week of the trip.
It was also the Saturday of a free weekend, giving her a carefully contrived two days of R&R before the work schedule recommenced on Monday. She had arrived the evening before and was cosily set up in a nice hotel with a fine view of a canal and two well mannered streets.
Her little suite was on the third floor, on the corner of the building. It had a modestly sized but well equipped living room accessed directly from the vestibule. There was a good sized desk with full communications, an up market sound system and a midsize flat screen TV.
In one corner there was a nice little bar with an ample fridge, a good range of wines and liquor and some very nice gourmet snacks. Near the bar was a small dining table. The in room menu was brief but tasty.
Lounge chairs and a coffee table were in front of the fire.
The best part of the set-up from Em’s perspective was the gas-fired faux-coal fire in a proper grate. Even though the room was warmed to comfortable level (Em had turned the thermostat up) the live flames in the grate were a significant mental boost.
Through a door between the bar and the TV lay the bedroom and en suite with a walk-in wardrobe and a comfy king-size bed. Double-glazed windows with internal wooden venetians and nice, non-fussy curtains looked out to the streets and the canal from both rooms.
She would be there a week with a hefty schedule, so she was glad of the space and the additional privacy of being on a corner of the building.
Em had been to Amsterdam a couple of times before. The first time she also had a weekend to herself. She’d gone to a little unlicensed cafe down a side street near the Red Light district on the Saturday afternoon, not the sort of place she would normally visit but she was feeling adventurous.
Over several coffees and a number of cognacs she had chatted with a young man from Suriname who had told her, when she asked what went on out the back where she’d seen customers going, that they did massages there. He said, “I don’t think it’s the sort of place you would like to go.”
Em had liked him all the more for that, but she had been intrigued. “Are they hot massages?” she had asked him.
He had looked at her, surprised, and said, “Yes, they are.” Then he had paused and said, “Do you like hot massage?”
Em had felt her nipples harden. She had then looked him in the eye, over her fourth cognac, and said, “I like them very much. But I like them in nice, safe comfortable places.” She had paused, looked at him again, and added, “For example, in my hotel room.”
The young man had smiled back at her and said, “I am a masseur. I work here. I finish work tonight at ten o’clock. Where would you be then?”
Em’s pussy had opened wetly, her mouth had gone suddenly dry and she had squirmed on her seat. She had said, “In my hotel room.”
The young man, whose name was Johann, had then put his hand over hers and said, “Would you like it very hot on your bed tonight? It would be a pleasure to do that for you.”
Em had felt her nipples straining to get out of her bra and become aware that her inside upper thighs were hot and wet.
She said, “Yes.”
They had made the arrangements.
Johann had arrived at ten-thirty and gave her a very hot massage on her bed. She had been fully clothed when he placed her face down on the opened bed and deliciously naked except for her bra two minutes later.
It had been spectacular when Johann took off her panties. He had put one hand on the string at the back and pushed the other underneath, through her pussy and up to the tiny little triangle of fabric at the front.
On the way he had seriously disturbed her furry mound. He did so on the way back too, when he drew the panties downwards front and back and slipped them down her legs.
Then he had given her ten minutes of pussy massage with his hands and his tongue. It had been so hot. The sexy late removal of her tiny red lace bra had been accompanied by her first loud orgasm.
Johann had previously unclipped the bra and his tongue had been wetly circling her clit when he suddenly pulled the little garment off underneath her, from one side, intensely exciting her nipples.
Em got hot thinking about it now. He had massaged her sexily for ninety minutes, every bit of her and especially her breasts and pussy. Then he had fucked her twice with a young man’s urgent passion and a long, solid, thick and very black cock.
Then Em had eaten hard cock while the young man ate soft pussy. That had been a mutually loud affair too. Johann had fucked her twice more in the night and once before he left in the morning.
Em remembered that night with intense pleasure, though her memories of the next day were not so good. She had phoned home and excused her failure to call the evening before by saying that she’d been to a coffee house and had stayed there late drinking cognac.
Ambrose had laughed and said, “Sorry Em, you’ll have to do better than that. Coffeehouses in Amsterdam may sell cannabis but they can’t sell alcohol.” He left the issue hanging there, loose. Em hated that, but she had to admit he was damn good at catching her out.
Especially when she’d forgotten an essential element of her cover story, for Em knew very well that the licensed coffee houses in Holland were not allowed to serve spirits. She was literally caught with her pants down on this one, so she had confessed.
Yes, she had had a very hot massage in her room. Yes, this had been complemented by a number of hot fucks. Ambrose wouldn’t think she was exaggerating and he did like to get a good outline of the event when he had caught her out.
He had not been angry; he never was. He had simply said, “Well you’ve been away for two weeks now and there’s a week to go, so I guess that’s fair enough.”
Ambrose travelled too.
Em had silently thanked her stars she had managed to keep under wraps the monumental shagging she had enjoyed in Singapore on the way to Europe, with a friend who lived there, and the impromptu dinner date in London that had extended from early Friday evening to late Saturday morning.
That had been a number of years ago. Since then she had had further business trips to Europe, three of them including Amsterdam, and had managed to avoid inquiry. Em preferred to confess only when it suited her to do so.
This weekend she had decided she was hot for big black cock again. Em considered them a prime indulgence. She had enjoyed them in Amsterdam three times, in New York and Paris twice, several times on Pacific islands when she was taking solo holidays and a couple of times on business trips at home.
Once, deliciously, she had been hot-nailed to a hotel bed in her home town by the astonishingly long black cocks wielded by two visiting Chicago businessmen.
Tonight she had dressed with care for her adventure evening. She was planning to visit a club that catered for women in her situation. She had been there before and knew it had the tools for job, in a manner of speaking.
She was wearing a little black dress. This one had a crossover plunge neckline that revealed the top quarter of her cleavage, that cleavage enhanced by a very tiny but super-efficient push-up bra.
It was powder blue, as was the see-through lace string she wore below. This only just managed to contain the full triangle of pubic hair that was her currently preferred style.
She also wore sheer black thigh-high stay-ups on her long and shapely legs and the black patent leather stiletto heeled fuck-me shoes she’d packed specially for this trip.
Em knew exactly what the sort of youthful, big black cock she was looking for tonight would want to see.