As she disembarked from the plane at JFK airport, Sara Manning couldn't help thinking how relaxed this flight had been compared with two years ago. Waiting to pass through security, she had time to focus on the reasons why that should be. First, she knew exactly what to expect, and what her duties would be. As head UK representative for one of the leading book publishing companies in the world, her last visit had given her confidence. The boss on this side of the Atlantic was the charming Edward Blakey, in his late fifties, whose thoughtfulness on her first visit to the biennial book festival had been so helpful.

At that time, she had only been a minor representative, but since then her rise had been meteoric. At just twenty-nine it was something she was quietly proud of. Now, she was so looking forward to seeing Edward Blakey again in her new capacity.

But that wasn't her only reason for being relaxed. This time, having shaken off the shackles of two pointless years with Phil Rennet, there was a sense of freedom. Eight months ago, she had discovered his so ardent desire for her was being shared out with at least two other women, the bastard. He wasn't that great a lover, anyway. Too quick, too concerned about his own pleasures.

Before Phil, there had been Jack, who moved away to Italy, even his easy charm had left her feeling there should be more. It always seemed that her choice of men was somehow flawed. Maybe she succumbed too easily. She had to admit that her libido was quite demanding, yet so often unfulfilled. For sure, deep down inside her, was a slow burner, that just needed to be brought to full flame. Despite the calls of her libido, she hadn't been with a man since she'd ditched Phil. Eight months! God, she was almost proud of herself. Unlikely that New York would provide any opportunities, since she was only here for four nights. This was longer than the first time, when it had been a quick overnight stay.

At last, clearing security, with the masses, she dragged her case out into the wide hectic foyer, where, almost immediately, she spotted a black man holding up her name. He gave her a broad, friendly smile, grabbed her bag and told her that Mister Blakey had booked her into The Plaza hotel, near Central Park.

Within the hour she was being shown into a fifth-floor room, which was pure comfort, and had a wonderful view over the Park. Edward Blakey rang to greet her, and he was so effusive, it made Sara glad to be there.

"Congratulations on your promotion." he said, in conclusion. "A car will collect you at ten in the morning. I'm looking forward to seeing you.”

Sara slept well, and the promised car was there at ten o'clock, again driven by the same black man, whose name, she learned was Sam. By ten twenty she was heading up in a lift in the large building that was the main centre for her publishing company.

As soon as she was admitted to his lavish office, Edward Blakey, tall, silver haired and, as ever, distinguished looking, strode across to wrap his arms around her in a genuine hug.

"Sara, you look stunning. Promotion has made you bloom. I'd like to marry you—but, my wife, Dorothy, won't let me." So typical of the light-hearted approach he had to life.

They laughed, and he asked, "You still with your young man?"

When she told him, he nodded, "Good, I'm glad you're being choosey. I waited, and never regretted it. Best be certain you've got the right one." Then, for a while they talked about the book festival, before Edward got to asking her questions about her new role in the UK.

For Sara, it felt as though she was being interviewed, in the sweetest possible way. But what Edward said next, confirmed that she had been in a kind of interview. "Sara, how would you feel about coming over to work for me, here, in this office? I admire your knowledge, your enthusiasm, and your open personality. You'd be my extra support, which I do need. Would you consider it?"

Sara was just a little stunned. To work in New York, was that not a latent dream she had? Both her parents were dead, she had a few friends, but there was nothing to hold her back. She asked if she could think about it, and he gave her an understanding smile, "Of course, my dear, I'd expect nothing else."

Then he said, "Of course, I'll be seeing you this afternoon, but tonight I've had an invite to one of Stanley Grover's occasional parties."

"Stanley Grover, the movie director?"

"The same. Be warned, they can be pretty wild affairs. He has a wicked sense of humour, but his style is a little too much for Dorothy. You're a lively youngster and could find it appealing. Would you accompany me? I hate refusing influential people."

Sara was thrilled by the idea, and happily accepted. “Good, I'll phone for Sam now, then we'll collect you at about one thirty. Okay."

For Sara, everything looked fine. She had this offer of a new situation, plus the chance to visit the home of a renowned movie director. Things just couldn't be this good.

Edward's mention of 'getting the right one,' had created a slight pang inside her as it brought recall of her late parents and the example they had set in ‘getting the right one’.  Sara had always been so aware of how deeply they had loved each other.

Then, when Sara was twenty-four, her mother had been struck with abdominal cancer, and within a year she had passed away. Sara remembered the utter devastation of her father. He had been inconsolable, and she had been so worried about him. Despite her subsequent grief, she was almost relieved for him, when a massive heart attack took him, just nine months after her mother. But that love she'd seen in them, had always stood as a goal for her.

That afternoon, the festival went well enough. Good contacts were made, interest in their books was enhanced, and Edward had given her more insight into what her position would entail if she up his offer.

That evening she had a quick nap, a shower, and then considered what she would wear for the evening. "Smart casual" is what Edward had advised, "Nothing's formal about Stanley." For smart casual, Sara chose a close fitting dark blue, bare shouldered summer dress, with two thin straps. 

Prompt eight pm she found herself alongside Edward in the back of the car driven by Sam, out to a district called Windsor. "Not where the Queen lives," Edward joked.

The house they finally approached was massive. A huge entrance hall sparkled with a myriad of lights, not just from the great crystal chandeliers overhead. A tall man, late sixties Sara estimated, round bellied, with a mass of silver hair, came to greet them.

"Ed, great to see you. No Dorothy? But who is this beauty you have on your arm?"

Edward introduced Sara to the great Stanley Grover, and she felt quite cowed under his gaze. "Sara? I thought it was Audrey Hepburn, reincarnated in that little dress." He winked at Edward as he passed a hand in front of, but very close to, Sara's breasts, and laughed, "Just a touch overdeveloped to be the divine Miss Hepburn. But they're just right for you, my dear."

Sara felt her face reddening as she searched for a response, Edward leaned in to her to whisper, "I warned you."

"Just enjoy. Get a champagne, food everywhere." And Grover shuffled away to greet others.

He, being a film director, had all kinds of wannabe's among the guests, handsome young men casually dressed, and hopeful actresses, in sparkling gowns, that made Sara feel quite plain. As well as that there were several business men, all portly and rich looking, with their blue rinsed ladies, wishing they were younger. It was quite an affair, with a sumptuous buffet to be found wherever she wandered.

Armed with a glass of champagne, Sara, advised by Edward to take a look around, did just that. She strolled, completely relaxed, by a large bathing pool, where some young ladies were sitting giggling and paddling their feet in the water. Just beyond the pool was a dance area where a few couples were moving rather sleepily to the soft rhythm of the six piece band.

Just walking, and viewing the beautiful people would have been experience enough. At the end of the pool she found an empty table and sat down, watching men and women making early overtures to each other. No prude, she was just a little surprised at how blatant some of it was. Female buttocks were stroked; skirts were surreptitiously lifted. Female hands touched at bulging pants. And there was kissing, lots and lots of kissing.

"Exciting, isn't it?" A female voice said, and Sara found a young lady in a green dress, sitting near her. "Are you an actress?"

A little taken aback, Sara shook her head, "No, are you?"

"I'm trying to be." She was a very pretty young woman, and Sara could see why she might have such ambition. "What do you do?"

When Sara told her, she asked, "You write books?"

"Nothing that glamorous. I sell them."

They exchanged names. She was Fiona, and she was looking around the crowded pool area keenly. "Do you know many of these people?" she asked.

"Only him over there," Sara said, pointing out Edward. "He's my boss."

"I don't know many," Fiona admitted," but you see him." And she pointed out a tall, very handsome blond haired young man. "He's just had his first starring role in a Stanley Grover movie. Not released yet."

A waiter came, picked up Sara's empty glass and replaced it with a full one. "Building yourself up for later?" Fiona asked.

"What happens later?"

"At Stanley Grover parties, anything can happen."

After a while Sara excused herself, saying she wanted a further look around. She walked through what looked like a library, and there was even food available there.

Back on the other side of the pool, she took a bite to eat from the sumptuous array of foods. She was onto her third champagne, when an announcement was made introducing the Trinidad Dancers. A group of six loincloth clad men flexed their way onto the dance floor, followed by six young women, in long skirts which were split completely up the front, with a tiny bra covering their breasts. The dance that followed, to a raw West Indian drum rhythm, had to be the most erotic Sara had ever seen.

As a climax one of the women was lifted high by four of the men, her arms and legs held wide, while the other women twitched and humped around them, and the two spare men nuzzled their faces, one after the other between the parted thighs.

Sara, despite being initially shocked, felt a long-withheld spasm low in her body. She reached for another champagne. Shortly after that Edward came to say, with a knowing smile, that Dorothy didn't like him being too long at a Stanley Grover party.

"You stay, my dear. See how the other half really lives." And his smile widened, "It'll certainly be an education. Sam will be back with the car for whenever you need him." Sara, already very relaxed on champagne, was curious about what might follow later. She gave Edward a peck on the cheek and thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

Shortly before midnight, with a few older couples drifting away, Stanley Grover called for order, and announced that it was time for a little game. He smiled slyly around the remaining guests, and told them that he required eight lady volunteers.

Several hands immediately shot up, but, most intriguingly he went on to warn that there could be sexual activity, and any lady uncertain about that would perhaps wish to remain at the poolside where food, drink and happy chat would still be available.

One or two of the younger actress types looked uncertain, and some shook their heads before turning away. Sara was curious enough, and, probably, drink bolstered enough, to take part. For sure, eight months’ celibacy lay heavily in her lower body. In the end, she was standing in a line with eight other ladies, only two of whom, she guessed, would be over forty. Fiona stood alongside her. "I'm hoping I might get the blonde star," she told Sara. “Did you notice how some of the young men disappeared?"

Sara hadn't noticed that, and wondered just what she had let herself in for. Stanley Grover looked along the line, a lustful gleam in his eye, as he joked, that he wished he had put himself in for the game. Then he stated that there were a few rules.

"Please listen carefully." he advised them. "On the next floor, there are eight bedrooms, all numbered. A man will be found in each bedroom." A few nervous glances were exchanged, a few excited nods. Sara felt only curiosity,

Grover held up a bundle of white cards, before going on. "You will each get two cards. One will indicate which room you will enter. A second card will hold one word either, 'lead' or 'obey'. The men already know what their role is, it will be the opposite of whatever you receive."

Now, Sara became just a little uneasy, as Stanley Grover went on, "A lead card gives the right to dictate what takes place between the two people in that room. If you have it and just want to talk, that's the way it must be. Apart from that, the obey card holder must stay silent, through the whole session, and must do whatever their partner asks ".

With a wide smile Grover gave his last piece of information, "Here's the clincher. You will never see the man you are with, nor will he see you. The rooms are totally blacked out. No source of light at all. You better not have darkness phobia."

One or two of the women chatted nervously, and one raised her hand, and asked, "If we have the obey card and are told to do something utterly disgusting, and refuse, what happens?"

Glover nodded, "Good question. A recording machine is connected to each room. So, if you were being abused, a high pitched scream will register as just that, and your activity will be stopped." He paused and tapped his nose, "But, be advised, if such a stoppage is considered trivial, some interesting forfeits will follow. Does anyone wish to withdraw?"

There were no further responses, and Grover moved along the line handing out the cards. Two to each woman. Sara was just praying that she didn't end up with an obey card and find some corpulent individual behind her door, wanting to have his way with her. For the first time, she had doubts. Then Glover was smiling at her, as he handed over her cards. One told her she had room four. Nervously she turned over the other one, and breathed deeply as she saw 'obey'. In theory, she had a man behind door four who could get her to do whatever he wanted.

As they mounted the stairs, Fiona crowed, "I've got the lead. I can have a man do exactly what I want. Nice change."

Sara was trembling as she came to room four, where a waiter was standing. He gave Sara a slight smile as he said, "When I open the door step quickly inside. You will find a black curtain all around you. Don't part the curtain until I close the door."

He opened the door allowing sufficient space for Sara. A quick glimpse of black curtain and then the door closed. Sara found herself in absolute darkness. She moved the curtain aside, and there was no change. Solid blackness pressed on her eyeballs.

A voice came from across the room "If you're afraid of the dark, don't worry. So am I." A deep brown voice, American, and at least he sounded interesting. His voice came again, with what Sara reckoned was his first request. "Take off your shoes, you'll find it easier with just small steps."

She did as ordered, and waited for the next bit of advice, "Damned inconvenient, isn't it, being in the dark? Now, while I talk, move in the direction of my voice. Arms out ahead of you, like sleepwalking. I’ve moved all the obstructions that I hit. But just in case, slide your feet."

Relieved to hear a friendly voice, Sara held up her arms, and slid her bare feet over the carpet, towards where it was coming from.

"Your breathing sounds nervous. Don't be. Very close now."

Within seconds her outstretched fingers touched bare skin. A man's chest, and she took an involuntary step back. "Right. I'm going to reach out for your hand. If you put your arm up again, I’ll show a simple way of communicating."

Sara jerked again as a hand bumped against her left breast. "Sorry, I'm not trying to rush anything." Damn, he really did sound caring. A hand, a strong hand, touched her left arm and moved down find her hand. Such, long broad fingers, she thought.

"Good smooth skin," the man commented. "Now here's the plan. A crazy idea, not being allowed to talk, by the way. I’ll ask you a question, which can only have a yes/no answer. For yes, you give one squeeze, and for no you give two. Is that clear?"

His hand in hers was enough to release some of the tension she had been feeling.

"Well? You haven't responded."

Stupidly, she had nodded her head. She gave his hand a quick squeeze, and his voice came with a little chuckle, "That's it. You'll soon get the hang of it. Being blind must be like this all the time. Pure hell, don't you think?"

Sara was ready and squeezed. Now it became more serious, "I suppose you've guessed that we're going to be intimate?"

She gave one squeeze, thinking about the bare chest she had briefly touched, and wondering if he was totally naked.

"You okay with that?"

A slight hesitation, but she gave one squeeze, and his next question although logical was also surprising. "How many men have you --" Sara sensed him seeking a delicate way of putting it. "—slept with. Is it more than five?"

It was four, so Sara gave two squeezes. "More than three?"

One squeeze, and he said, "That's interesting. I know this is indelicate but is your age over thirty?"

Two squeezes before he said, "Thank you for that. My mother told me it was wrong to ask a lady's age." How maddening was this, having a voice coming out of a void?

"Now, to get to why we're here. I'm going to touch you. Don't be nervous. Just raise your arms slightly sideways."

His hands wafted onto her shoulders, lingered there for a moment, before moving down to cover both of her breasts, and, as she took a quick intake of breath at his touch, on her clothed shape. Sara was sure an appreciative 'Mmm' issued from his lips. His hands moved to trace her hips, before trailing down over her waist and the outer region of her upper thighs

"Oh, yes, very promising. You have good shape, it seems. Now the clothes. I am down to my boxer shorts. Would you allow me to remove your garments?"

My God, how respectful, how formal. Was it all going to be like this? But Sara felt a rising excitement at the prospect of being stripped naked by a stranger, especially since he would not be seeing anything. That thought almost made her giggle, no doubt an effect of the champagne, but she moved her fingers down a muscular arm to locate his hand and accomplish the positive signal.

His hands were on  her shoulders again, slipping both straps off, before, turning her. She shivered slightly as his fingers slid down her back to locate her dress zip.

There was a zing as it was lowered, and then the dress was falling down over her hips. Sara wriggled to allow it to fall at her feet. As the dress dropped, Sara sensed her breasts being freed. He had expertly undone her strapless bra.

He turned her back to face him, if you could call it facing in such darkness. “Now, your final defence," he said, and Sara could not prevent a little gasp, as his blind fingers trickled over her belly to push at the waist band of her panties, which readily dropped away.

Completely naked, with a strange man, and she wasn't, up to this point, feeling at all vulnerable. Would that change?

"If you bend, and stretch your hand out to the right, you'll find the bed there." The bed was indeed there, a duvet cover under her fingers as he spoke again. "I would like you to climb onto the bed, lie on your back, with your arms out at right angles, and your legs parted."

Trembling a little now, but retaining that tremor of excitement, Sara did exactly as requested. Crazily, she was also thinking how comfortable the bed felt. The mattress wobbled, as he moved alongside her, and from where his voice was coming, she guessed he was kneeling over her.

"I'm about to let my hands get to know you now. With sight, I would know you well enough. You mustn't move yourself. I'm hoping my explorations might be pleasant."

His broad hands were on her throat, then immediately moving, one on either side, over her shoulders. They lingered there a moment as though admiring the curvature, before moving down each arm, and back again. Wherever he touched Sara's skin was left tingling, electrified by his hands. She couldn’t help thrilling as his broad fingers, and moved smoothly on her skin.

His hands moved delicately over her breasts, kneading them gently, and fingers played with her nipples. Sara’s trembling reaction was reminding her of how reactive her breasts could be, and already she could sense the familiar tugging they brought to her lower regions. Eight months, no wonder she was so pent up for it.

He must have felt some reaction from her because the movement of his hands became more caressing, making her squirm.

"Your breasts are delightful," he said, and she was sure his deep voice had taken on a gruffer tone. "Are your nipples pink?" And one of his hands trailed over her arm to reach her hand, where he felt her double squeeze “Well," he deduced, " they must be brown—unless they're vivid purple." He chuckled, and Sara suppressed her own laugh.

"Oh, I think you're allowed to laugh," he said, and she was liking him more and more, as his hands moved down over her flat belly, and rippled through her bush. He had to be hearing her faster breathing, and she was sure, his wasn't as steady as it had been.

His fingers still seemed to be enjoying her bush, and Sara was aware of that hair curling around his fingers, as he asked, "I assume not blonde?”

His hand touched on hers to be given a squeeze, "Brunette?" Close enough, Sara thought, delivering another squeeze. Her hair was brown, but   her bush was much darker, and since that was where he had reached it was an honest answer. Trying desperately to control her breathing she wondered where his fingers would explore next. Straight down and under?

They didn't go there, but he stroked her inner thighs before moving completely down her legs to fondle both feet briefly.

"You feel sensational," he told her. "Are you married?"

Hand on hand, and a double squeeze. "Have you ever been?" Again, a double squeeze. "God, you must be bloody ugly. Let me see."

Sara was gently laughing with him, as an exploratory finger traced over her forehead, while his other hand stroked through her shoulder length hair. The fingers moved around her eyes, over her retrousse nose, and tickled along her full lips, causing them to part slightly.

“No warts, no double chin, no hooky beak," he joked, “very strange. Now, here's where we should have started." And the next second a warm firm mouth settled over hers in a gentle kiss. Sara, her excitement already intensifying, felt her tongue almost automatically slide between his lips.

He instantly pulled away. "I didn't tell you to use your tongue." There was just a slight pause, while Sara wondered how annoyed he was. Then he went on, "But it's a good idea." And in the next instant their lips were together again, and their tongues were meshing, while his hand stroked her breast.

That touching of her breast along with his tongue around hers was so intoxicating, that it was automatic for Sara to wrap her arms around him. Again he pulled away. "No, I'm sorry but I haven't told you to use your hands." Another pause, and then, "Don't worry, that time will come, soon." His lips came back to hers, and the kissing and breast fondling continued.

Sara was enjoying it so much, but at the same time was finding it rather frustrating not to be touching him, when small fires were starting down below.

His lips suddenly pulled away, and she sensed him sitting up in a kneeling position. "Time for a change. Starting with you removing my boxers"

Glad of this, Sara half sat up, and her right hand found his waist almost immediately. With her hands on both sides of his boxers, she pulled down. They slid easily until they appeared to hit an obstacle.

Sara was experienced enough to know exactly what the obstruction was, and how to overcome it. Accordingly, she tugged the front of the elasticated waist outwards and down, but could only guess at the hardened cock that must be wafting quite close to her face.

"Get up on your knees, facing me. Hands by your side."

Sara struggled up and took up her position. "Wriggle a little closer."

Sara did that and instantly felt his manhood, bobbing at her lower belly. She thought about moving closer to have it pressed hard between them. Eight months, Sara. And you want that in you already, don't you? Sex from a stranger

"I want you to stroke my body down as far as my waist. My hands are going to be carrying out further examinations of your body at the same time."

Willingly, Sara placed her hands up onto his shoulders. They were broad and solid, as one hand moved on down a muscular hairless chest. Simultaneously one of his hands was on her breast again, the other drifted down to rest on her waist. His actions somehow prompted Sara to speed up her own, so that she was rubbing down over a stand out six pack.

"Your mouth on mine."

And his head was there, as Sara dutifully presented hers. Their kiss was a shade wilder, more demanding. The hand he had placed on her waist, drifted across to her upper thigh, and one finger-tip tested the beginning of the cleft of her crease. Their lips separated as he made some vocal response to her sharp intake of breath. Her hands continued to work on him within the allocated confines. There was no doubt that this was a man with an exquisite body, and it was just a little irritating to feel that erection bumping against her, when she so longed to grasp it.

Almost as though he was reading her mind he growled, "Take me in your hand." Sara allowed her hand to slide down very slowly. His finger had made very little progress in touching her down there, so she could apply a little teasing herself. Her own fingers ruffled his pubic hair. Was it blonde? Probably black. He fidgeted in irritation, and she allowed a slight smile.

Her hand slid down to bump on his hardness, but then went back into his hairs. She repeated the action twice, but finally, and with a demanding action she clasped it completely. It was massive, no doubt, long and wide, but it felt perfect. She dropped her other hand, so that it was grasped in both hands. Without any bother too, she noted. Oh, to have that inside her.

His voice when it gave the next instruction had an edge to it, “Take it in your mouth, please." Sara was only slightly shocked by the order, but liked the respectful way he had asked.

She had to slide her body back to lie with her face close to this huge devil.

Sara had enough experience to know exactly how to proceed. Her tongue licked in circles around the head, and she wished she could see it. But it would be purple. She had never seen one that didn't have a purple shade to it. Mind, in her time, she supposed she hadn't seen that many.

Slowly, deliberately, she passed her tongue from tip to hilt. It was a long journey. She lifted it to travel back on the underside vein. Repeating the same action, her hand stroked over his scrotum, rubbing at the balls inside. Then she closed her lips around his solid rod and had it slide, hot and immense, to the back of her throat. Finding it balk just above her tonsils, she was able have her fingers circle the section denied entry. She moved her lips up and down savouring his noticeable hip jerks. God, it filled her mouth.

"Hell, you are good, lady. But I don't want to shoot yet."

Obediently, Sara drew back her head, and as his cock came free, she delivered a final lick to the head. "Have you ever done that, and swallowed?" Sara gave the single squeeze for an honest response.

 She hoped he wouldn’t ask how many times, because she wasn't sure.  Three at the most, she thought. Other times she had suffered the indignity of her face, or her breasts, or even her dress spattered. His question didn't come in that form. "Did you like having me in your mouth like that?"

 Her response to the question was so easy that she found herself delivering a single squeeze which was much firmer than any she had given before.

"Lie back now," he instructed, "just as you did at the start, with your legs well apart, but you may move your hands as you see fit."

Wondering just what his intentions were here, but guessing, and God, yes, hoping that they would be approaching climax, she obeyed. In moving her arms, she was aware that he was kneeling very close. She could feel his knees pressing into her waist, just below her rib cage. She was also able to detect that he was actually holding his cock in his hand. Very soon she found out why.

Starting at her neck, Sara felt the head stroking over her skin. Across her collar bone, and down onto her breasts. Heaving in a shivering breath as it teased on her nipples, Sara stroked her hands over his chest, pinched his nipples, desperate to allay the heat gathering in her loins. He lay his   hardness across her breasts, then, almost straddling her, he had it between her breasts.

"Squeeze your breasts over it." She did that, and he flexed his hips so that his iron hard organ slid between her breasts. Raising her head, she found that on his upward push, she was able to extend her tongue and just lick at the tip as it came near.

"Oh, that's good," Came his sound of approval.

After a short spell he moved his hardness down, rubbing it over her belly, teasing it into her belly button. On, down, to where? What was going to happen in that area?

"You enjoy this?"

Sara had no difficulty in finding his hand to give a single squeeze, while thinking how men always saw their cocks as the be-all and end-all of pleasure. Rubbing it all over her body was, no doubt, highly erotic for him, and obviously he thought it was a big thrill for her. But while it wasn't unpleasant for her, Sara could think of better things to do with it

It was at that point that he laid that hardness between her thighs, along the whole outer length of her slit. Wow, that was a new sensation, and even as she savoured that, his fingers parted those lips, and he poked the head directly onto her clit. She gave a gurgling squeak as a spasm hit her.  He found her clitoris so accurately in the darkness. How? If he did any more of that she'd be gone.

But at that point he brought his body up alongside her, and kissed her lips. Sara found herself responding eagerly. She was at that familiar stage where she wanted it all, and all at once. He wasn't there long, as he moved his face down to kiss and lick at her breasts. His tongue rolled over her nipples again and again. This was action that had her near to hysteria.

Leaving one hand to continue the favouring of one breast, his mouth moved down across her belly with some purpose. Lingering briefly at her belly button, his tongue licked through her bush, by-passed where her pink petals were desperately waiting attention, and smoothed along her inner thigh. The hand on her breast moved down, and Sara realised that his head was poised between her legs, with a hand on either inner thigh.

His hands moved, and she felt his thumbs, or it might have been his fingers, parting her lips.

"Oh, I wish I could see where my tongue is about to plunge. I know exactly what colour you'll be down here."

Then his tongue had pushed at where her cleft started, and he brushed it along that whole way back to that little space between her two entries. His body had moved so far down that there was nothing but his head for her to reach. Her fingers raked through a thick thatch of hair.

He must know from her gasping breaths just how close she was. Blood was pounding through her veins. His tongue returned to focus on her clit,  driving her mad, and he knew it. His licking moved again, and this time his tongue dabbled in her entry. No one had done that to her. She could sense her muscles drawing at his tongue tip, just longing for something to travel up that passage.

Suddenly his tongue was back on her clit, and his lips and teeth were gnawing gently at it, and Sara knew she was lost. Nothing was travelling up inside her, where her greatest desire lay, but her mind was in a mad haze. She needed to scream her needs at him. Pitch black, yet she was seeing sparks, her insides churned for something, for everything. Her head tossed, and still that tongue travelled that delicate stretch that had flared up from slow burn to wild fire.

"You're going to be fine." His voice came from far away, yet she could feel his body, his skin, sliding up towards her, and his tongue was travelling up over her breasts, having done its work below. His head moved past hers, and his hand touched her cheek. “Open your mouth. Just one final blessing."

Sara gulped as his baton slid over her lips, and despite herself, as she came down from her high, her tongue licked at it, before he urged it to the back of her throat. "Don't worry. I won't shoot there." Sara had sucked at the hardness of him, and he quickly added, "But don't drive him too mad."

Then his head had swung away down, his cock filling her mouth as his own mouth moved down to the centre of her universe. Sixty nine, crossed Sara's mind as his tongue once more started ploughing over the soaking swamp between her open thighs, front to back. His fingers moved down there too, and they played around her entry, one finger entered, as his tongue lavished attention on her clit. As the flames started up again, Sara smacked her lips over his rod.

His lips sucked at her clit and in reflex she sucked harder on him. She was desperate that this might all go wrong. His fingers, his tongue, his lips were stoking her up. There was going to be a massive explosion, she knew it. One finger slid up her entry. How far? Not far enough, Sara was gasping around his hot hardness, her tongue lashed around it. She was groaned around it. That was when, as his lips sucked, his hand spread, one finger remaining inside her, while another eased into the tightness of her anus.

Sara had never had that done to her, and her mouth hauled away from him as she gave a great gargling screech. Instantly, he had twisted his body back over her, and she realised that the train roaring into her tunnel, was, at last, his massive rod, filling her, immense, as he heaved it deeply up to her cervix, her womb, her heart. And for the second time in a just a few minutes, the fires that she had always been certain were there blazed and flared. Sara crashed through a lifetime of sensuous sensations, feeling every inch of this stranger inside her, who could no longer be a stranger.

Her internal muscles pulled at him, urging his cock, his prick, his massive tool onwards and upwards deep into her cunt. This was truly being fucked.  Oh, God, these were expressions she'd never used, but her mind was gone, far beyond anything she’d known before. She heard him cry out as though in great anguish, but, with some satisfaction, she knew it was just the opposite. His member was like an exploding volcano up inside her, and his molten lava flowed free. And she cried out once more at the sheer joy of it.

As they lay calming down, he whispered, "May I say, that was the best. I am not a newcomer to this kind of performance, but you outdid anything I've experienced. You were so involved, so luscious." A brief silence followed in which Sara, shyly almost, stroked his chest. "You did have two orgasms, didn't you? That was my aim."

Sara found his hand and gave it one massive squeeze, wondering whether, now that it was over she could say something about how she felt. Then a bell rang.

"That's the time up signal. How cruel this is, having to let you go."

Together they searched out her clothes, but couldn't trace her panties. Nevertheless, she dressed, and he guided her across the room until they touched the curtain. "Just step inside, knock and you'll be away. Could I beg a goodbye kiss?"

Without hesitation she moved up close to him, realising he was still naked, as her rising hand struck against his limp cock and her lips found his with a warm kiss. "I thought you were going to rape me again," he said with a laugh. She shared that moment of humour with him, then with some regret, parted the curtains, knocked on the door, and was allowed out.

A few ladies moved down the stairs, and Fiona was there, rather tight-lipped, "Just my bloody luck. I’m sure I had the one with the biggest gut. You?"

"Just all right," she said, blandly, not wanting to sound boastful. It had been pure heaven. She saw Stanley Grover standing by the door, bidding guests farewell. He gave friendly nods to the ladies who had come out of the rooms at the same time as her.

When Sara reached the door, he looked at her closely, before asking if she had enjoyed her evening. Surprised at his interest, she said she had, and couldn't resist adding, "Especially the last part."

"Splendid," he said, and added, "Do come again sometime. I believe Edward's driver is waiting for you."

Sam was there, and Sara was in bed by two am, although she did not get to sleep immediately. Her mind was too full of her sensual encounter in the blackness. Was he handsome? She had not made a tactile check on his face the way he had with her. How could she ever know? All she knew was that, as a lover, he had ignited her delayed fires.

The next morning at the publishing house, Edward looked at her closely. Obviously, he would have been told by Sam just how late she had left. "Little shade of dark under the eyes," he said, with a wry smile. "I'm so pleased you had a good night."

They put in the afternoon at the book festival, and Edward invited her to his home for an evening meal. His wife, Dorothy, was a lovely, elegant lady who expressed her delight that Sara was considering Edward’s kind offer. Before she left, Edward reminded her that the following day, being Sunday there would be no festival. "I think I'll see a bit of New York." Sara told him.

And that was her intention, when she awoke the following morning. The day was set fair. After taking a shower, she dressed in a thin summer dress, and was about to set off without any real direction in mind, when the internal phone rang. Answering it, Sara was surprised to be told that a Mr Grover was downstairs asking for her. Stanley Grover? Why would he be calling to see her?

Puzzled, and reckoning the desk clerk was not a movie fan, when he did not recognise the name of a top movie director..

"Tell him to come up to room 526," she told the clerk, immediately wondering if that had been wise, remembering the lustful glint in Stanley Grover's eyes.

"I've done that, madame, but he said, it would be best if you could meet him in the lounge."

"Tell him I'll be down." Mystery on mystery. First why the visit? And then, he was such an open character, why wouldn't he come up to her room? Discretion? She doubted that.

Stepping out of the lift, Sara turned left through the arch leading into the lounge. Her eyes cast around the room, seeking out the silver hair, or if he was standing, the rotund belly. She briefly spotted a man seated to her left, and his dark hair discounted him. The same for the man who sat at the bar, and another at the other side of the room. Everyone else was in pairs or in a party. So where was Stanley Grover? Realising she would need to ask at the desk she began to turn away, when the man sitting to her left, spoke out, "Excuse me, Miss Manning? Sara Manning?"

Facing him, as he came to his feet, Sara told him that was right. But already her heart was beating faster. Tall, dark haired and quite handsome, he was wearing a lightweight blue blazer, over a white shirt. His brown eyes were traversing over her whole body, and his face held a 'I don't believe it' expression. He spoke again, "I'm Ian Grover. You were probably expecting my father."

Sara tried to catch her breath in order to speak coherently, "I certainly wasn't looking for a man with a familiar deep brown voice."

His grin was attractive, "Do voices have colour?"

Little doubts began to seep into Sara's mind. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. This couldn't be who she was hoping it was. Deep brown voices weren't one man's prerogative. But that voice linked to the Grover name? Was that coincidence?

Ian Grover resolved it all for her, "I can see you are just a little uncertain. Maybe this will help." And he held out a small black plastic bag which had been near his left hand. "Take it. Look inside."

Like the previous evening, he had to be obeyed. She looked in the bag, and there was the clincher, her panties she'd left in room number four.

Ian Grover shrugged, "That's all I came for. To return your missing,er, garment." He moved towards the arch.

Was he just going to walk away? She didn't want that. He turned suddenly, and must have noted the despairing look on Sara's face, for he smiled, shrugged, before telling her, "That was a big lie."

Sara moved towards him as though he was a magnet.

"Truth is, I've been trying to find you since Friday night."

Sara just couldn't get her mind around this situation. She was seeing this man, this Ian Grover, for the first time, yet he had had access to every corner of her body, and she knew so much about his. Just what was in his mind?

Ian Grover settled that one very quickly, "Look, are you free for a while? Central Park is just across the road. Would you mind walking with me, and I'll explain."

Mind? Although struck almost dumb, Sara could think of nothing she would rather do. Within seconds, they were out on the street, and he took her hand as they hurried to cross. As they entered the park his hand did not release hers, and she could only think that these broad fingers had been in her most intimate parts.

Ian looked down at her, "If I say too much, say the wrong thing, please stop me. I'm not here to embarrass you in any way. I just had to know the lady who had given me such good sensations the other night."

The park was quite busy, it being Sunday. Little groups had formed around the various artists and musicians who put on impromptu performances along the walkways. Sara felt so calm, so elated, to be walking with this man, this stranger, this lover. That thought pulled her back for a moment, but then made her smile.

"What are you smiling at?" Ian asked.

"Passing thoughts."

"About our time together?"

"Partly," she said. Totally, she meant.

"Anyway, I didn't see my father until last night. He's always chasing around on business. Fancy a coffee?".

Soon they were sipping latte at a small table, watching folk wander by.

Ian sighed, "I love it here. Sunday in the Park with George. Did you see that show?"

Sara told him she hadn't, and he went on, "Last night I asked my father if he knew anything about the lady who had been in room four. And you know what he said?"

Sara was keen to know just what Stanley Grover had said.

"I thought you'd appreciate a taste of a beautiful English rose. Those were his very words."

Sara was trying to assimilate that piece of information. "You mean, he knew it was you in that room?"

Ian nodded, his eyes studying her reaction, "He can be a sneaky old bastard, my father. And he naturally assumed, since I was asking about you, that you'd been something special. He wasn't wrong there."

His brown eyes appeared to glow, and Sara was sure she was blushing. She just had to recover some ground here, try to lose this feeling of being caught in a strong current that was pulling her towards a waterfall. "I suppose he told you who I'd come with on Friday night."  

"Oh, yes. I know Edward quite well, and went to see him this morning. Of course, I didn't tell him about the circumstances of our meeting."

He smile enchanted at her, “But he’s a wily old bird, and may have guessed, but God, he thinks the world of you, doesn't he? Told me he had offered you a job over here. That would be perf-" He checked himself. "Anyway, he told me where you were staying, but warned that you might be away seeing the sights of New York. And here we are."

"Here we are." Sara said, beginning to warm to having his eyes on her face. Warming too, to his broad smile, his strong jaw line, and the comfort she had found when his hand had held hers.

Even as that thought was in her head, Ian reached across the table to clasp both of her hands, and say in a so familiar growling tone, "Would you do me the honour of allowing me to guide you on your tour of New York?"

Only slightly taken aback, Sara had no hesitation in accepting his offer. His car was parked back at the hotel, and they were soon driving down Fifth Avenue. Ian asked if she wanted to see all the sites without spending time at each. “You can give time to individual places if you take Edward's job."

The prospect of that job had suddenly taken on a new perspective for Sara. But for that day they cricked their necks gazing up to the top of the Empire State Building, looked over the water to the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island. They took in the Flat Iron building and moved up Broadway to Times Square.

So many other quick-view places, and the whole time out of the car they held hands. As lovers do, Sara thought, and the idea was so pleasing she was certain there was a moistening between her thighs. Their night together was never mentioned until they were in Times Square, although Sara kept telling herself to stop misreading the way Ian kept looking at her. Not sideway glances, but direct, full on, his eyes boring into her mind as though trying to read it. Occasionally those eyes were on her bosom, and Sara only found that even more stimulating.

Ian told her of his work with his father, as, what he called, "A kind of script adviser. I check out scripts that he's accepted. I look for books that might be adapted. In fact, I was at the festival on Friday, but didn't see you."

"I'm not very noticeable," Sara said modestly, and was delighted as Ian, briefly, wrapped his arms around her and said, "Oh, yes you are."

As they drove back to the hotel, Ian said, "I only learned your name this morning. My father couldn't remember it. I was so glad you hadn't the 'air' sound in it, with that 'ah' sound, Sara, it is just like a sigh." He had driven down into the underground car park, applied the hand brake and turned to her and repeated, "Just like a sigh, Sara."

He said it with such breathy gentleness that Sara was compelled to lean into him, and the moment their lips met they were clinging to each other. Sara was recalling the first kiss in room four, when he had scolded her for her use of her tongue. There was no scolding this time, as tongues meshed warmly.

Panting, Sara pulled away, knowing exactly what she wanted, only needing to find the right words, "Would, would I be like a brazen hussy, if I was to invite you to see the lovely view from my hotel room?"

"I have a thing for brazen hussies," he said, rubbing his lips over her cheeks. "A view of the park, is it?"

"Of everything," she said, shamelessly.

"But just remember," he grinned, his face close to hers, his hand on the side of her breast, " We've only just met."

On entering her room, Sara momentarily had the ludicrous 'first date' idea in her mind. “I'd never do it on a first date." How many times had she said that? But this, here and now, was so remote from that, and it was enhanced just moments later, as they stood face to face, hand in hand, and Ian said, "My finger described that beautiful face to me, so accurately on Friday night. It is gorgeous."

"Does that mean you'd like to kiss me again?"

Without delay they were standing close together, lips meshing, tongues wrestling. Sara was very aware of the moistening between her thighs. She was even more aware of his hardness pressing against her lower belly, as though searching for that moisture.

Breaking apart, it was Ian who asked, "Clothes?"

To avoid any delays or awkwardness Sara giggled, "We managed pretty well without them on Friday evening." Now with an impudent grin, as she began to unbutton her dress, she added, “Give you a race?”

"You're on," Ian said eagerly, immediately unfastening his shirt buttons.

Within seconds they were declaring a draw, and they were standing, slightly in awe, each absorbing the body that they had experienced, but had never seen. "Just as faultless as I assumed," Ian admitted, and Sara could not avoid a little shudder of pleasure as his eyes caressed over her breasts, and down over her belly to that other region.

Sara had known that he would be well muscled, but even so, she was captivated by the way every part of him was well proportioned from shoulders, down to his slim waist. Of course, she had no doubt about what his manliness would be like. Hadn't she already taken it in her mouth? Hadn't it been inside her to its very limit? But seeing it there now, pointing out at her in all its glory, was electrifying.

Ian reached out for her hand, and led her gently towards the bed, "I know we've touched before, but it would be good to have a reminder."

Sara willingly lay back on the bed, and Ian lay alongside but over her, and said quietly, "No 'lead', no 'obey, just you and I, in daylight, and we may ask each other for whatever we want, and be eager to give in." Then they were kissing, and it was just one step short of desperation, as their tongues searched, tangled, swept along the inside of each other’s cheeks.

For Sara the kiss set a thousand electrodes teasing her, low in her belly. Ian's hand was stroking, squeezing lovingly at her breast. She ran her hand down to his hip, and reached for his erection. Her hand was able to make only slight contact. Ian shifted his body position, and his enormous organ was fully in her hand,

Sara recalled that in room four she had been able to take it in two hands, now she had the scope to slide her fingers up and down over it. She grunted as his hand moved swiftly down to finger at her moistness, subtly slip between those lips and touch her clit. Within just a few seconds that whole pretense of casualness was gone, and Ian was poised with that purple head nestling at her entry. "Time?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, yes. Definitely time." She managed to breathe, and lay almost stunned as that solidity moved slowly, gradually, but with steady determination, up, up deep inside her. Ian's face was above hers and she knew he was watching her reactions to each thrust. At first, he was thrusting, slowly, but gradually it became faster and stronger.

Sara flexed her muscles, to draw him in, as she attempted to match the rhythm of his pushes with the vigour of her own hips. She could tell by his breathing, and his increase in pace that he was nearing his climax, and she was relieved at that, for without any extra stimulation having been applied, she knew she was about to float away on whatever cloud was passing at the time.

That time came as, with two massive final thrusts, and a gargantuan cry, Ian burst inside her, and Sara let herself go, as her inner walls flared, and that fire that Ian had ignited in room four blazed inside her. Sparks burst throughout her lower body, and beyond. The sensation of his fluid pulsing into her, again and again, was almost startling. It was a very old line to say, "I've never had it like this," but if it wasn't in room four then it was now.

They lay still for a while, and Ian said quietly, but she detected the laugh in his voice, "Not much happened there, did it?" And he grunted as her elbow drove into his ribs, and she replied, "I was brilliant."

Ian kissed her and whispered, "Yes, you were."

They showered together, soaped hands over eager skin was fantastic, and Sara's bathing of Ian's flaccid cock saw it begin to revive. Then they were back on the bed, and their mouths took control. Sara sucked avidly on Ian's hard as metal rod, having told him, "I want you to finish in me down there again, but I promise my mouth will take it all before long."

Ian had hugged her at that, and said how delighted to hear her first suggestion of longevity in their relationship. "I know I couldn't be happy with anyone else."

Their orgasms on this occasion were as near together as they had yet achieved. Before trying again, they talked about Sara leaving the following evening, and Ian asked, "Have I helped make your mind up about that job offer?"

There was no doubt in Sara's mind. She would let Edward know she accepted, his offer. She'd fly home to clear up all her loose ends there, say farewell to a few friends. She leaned happily over Ian and asked, "But accepting Edward's job will not be the only reason I'll be returning. It may take me a week or so to clear things over there, but will I find you waiting for me when I return?"

“For that laugh, that roseate accent, the promise of what your mouth will do, and the total rest of you, I will wait, and wait, and wait. Never doubt that."

And Sara knew that he would, as she recalled her thoughts when she arrived, about the chances of having a romantic encounter in the brief time she was here. Could she have ever imagined she'd find that encounter in pitch darkness?

Sara Manning was a very happy lady.