Just for conferences

Story Madison Black
Illustrations Christina Williams

I open my eyes to an anonymous hotel room. Jill caught chickenpox babysitting her niece, so I’m in New York running her workshop at the conference. Groggy, I drag myself out of bed, shower, dress and head out the door, juggling bag, laptop and folders as I make for the lift.

The doors slide open and I nod at the suited delegates. They are making insanely cheery small talk. My phone rings. I reached into my bag and the entire contents falls all over the lift floor. Room card, purse, lip balm, phone, organiser, vibrator – everywhere.

My phone rings. I reached into my bag and the entire contents falls all over the lift floor. Room card, purse, lip balm, phone, organiser, vibrator – everywhere. Vibrator. Shit.

Vibrator. Shit.

One of my helpful lift companions is holding it in his hand. I restrain the urge to snatch it back. It’s discreet; it could be anything: a tampon holder, a fancy container for a travel toothbrush.

‘Here.’ He smiles and passes it back to me, along with my room card. I answer my phone and shove the vibrator back in my bag.

‘Jill! The flight was fine, thanks. I’m heading down for breakfast I’ve gone through everything Don’t worry, I’ve done this before. Go back to bed and get well.’

After food and coffee I feel mildly less comatose. I have time before the workshop, so I wander down to the lecture theatre to catch some presentations. I settle in the back row and turn my attention to the speaker. It’s the guy from the lift.

He talks well, moving around the stage and commanding attention. He laughs often as he takes questions, making eye contact with the crowd, inviting discussion. The room crackles.

I have a vivid flash of what it’d be like to fuck him on the table. Riding him, his hands on my waist, looking up at me. Down, girl. Business environment, workshop to deliver, people to meet. Not the time to chase keynote speakers. He wraps up to applause and the delegates file out for coffee.

I approach him at the podium. ‘Great presentation.’

‘Ah, the lady from the lift. Thank you; I like to perform. Jack Dawson.’

‘Sarah Maddox.’

We swap cards and shake hands.

‘So you’re the filthy capitalist sponsoring the conference.’

‘Which makes you the dirty hippy?’

‘Would you like to get coffee?’

‘I’d love to, but I have a workshop to run and street children to kidnap for my sweatshops. Catch you this evening?’

‘Sure. If I’m not out saving baby seals, I’ll be in the bar.’

My workshop goes off without a hitch and I breathe a sigh of relief, check in with a relieved Jill and pack up. Time for a drink.

I can see him across the bar, corralled in the corner, fielding questions from suits. He makes eye contact and grimaces. I smile with sympathy. I finish my drink slowly, watching him squirm, then walk over.

‘I’m going to have to steal Dr Dawson from you. We have some planning to do for our panel tomorrow.’

‘If you’ll excuse me.’

We thread our way through the crowd, out to the lobby.

‘Thanks for the rescue. Are we on a panel tomorrow?’

‘No. Buy me a drink and we’re even.’

‘How about dinner?’ He gives me a smile.

‘I know a great place up the road.’

Twenty minutes later we’re in downtown New York ordering Mexican and he’s teaching me how to drink tequila, with his coat slung on the back of the chair and shirt sleeves rolled up.

Twenty minutes later we’re in downtown New York ordering Mexican and he’s teaching me how to drink tequila.

‘Where’s the salt and lime?’

‘This is good tequila. You sip it, like whisky.’

He demonstrates. I try it, and screw up my face. I flag down a waiter. ‘Can I have a frozen margarita please?’

‘If I knew that’s what you wanted, we could have gone somewhere with sombreros and a Mariachi band.’

‘Next time I’m leaving you at the mercy of the networkers.’

‘Forgive me.’ He kisses my hand and looks at me with mock devotion.

The waiter smothers a grin as he presents my drink, followed by piles of dishes. We talk as we eat. He’s spent time in Mexico, teaching and surfing, but studied here in the city. He’d played tour guide on the way to the restaurant, pointing out landmarks: a Korean family restaurant that serves the best hangover cure in New York, a club with great live music, the park where he used to play basketball.

‘Dessert?’

‘Something with chocolate.’

‘I know just the thing.’

He orders in Spanish and a steaming slice of chocolate cake arrives with two coffees.

‘Close your eyes.’

I look at him sceptically, but comply.

‘Open your mouth.’

He slides a forkful into my mouth. It’s sinfully good: rich and moist. The sauce drips down my tongue.

‘Good?’

‘Amazing.’

He slides a forkful into my mouth. It’s sinfully good: rich and moist. The sauce drips down my tongue.

It makes me think of wicked things. I lick my lips. I know I’m being obvious, but he’s feeding me cake damn it. He holds my gaze and I give him an inviting smile.

‘I’ll get the bill.’

Out in the street, he hails a taxi with an ear splitting whistle. He opens the door for me and I tell the driver the name of our hotel.

He throws his arm over the back of the seat, his other hand moving up my leg. The street lights dance like fireflies through the window and my skin burns with the echo of his touch. He looks at me and I lean over and kiss him. He tastes like tequila and chocolate, tongue sliding over mine, his fingers in my hair. His eyes are open, we’re both breathing hard. He pulls me on to his lap and grabs my ass. I’m straddling him, hands under his shirt, exploring warm skin and muscle, kissing him, grinding down into him and…

The driver coughs discreetly. ‘Here we are. $15.’

Jack laughs into my shoulder. I hand over some notes and pull my skirt down before climbing out.

‘Behave.’ I tell him.

‘You started it.’

‘You fed me cake.’

‘Fair point.’

We walk through the hotel a respectable distance apart, trying not to laugh. The lift closes in front of us and he pushes me against the wall. He runs his thumb over my lips and I bite down, swiping my tongue over the fleshy pad. His eyes darken and he growls at me. The doors ping open. He steps back quickly, the model of innocence. We reach my room.

‘Is this where I kiss you goodnight?’

‘Well, that depends. Are you coming in?’

He grins. The lock flashes green and the door shuts soundlessly behind us.

‘Come here.’

He scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the perfectly made bed. I arch into him, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him into me and we fall back, tangled together. I twist on top of him, and he rises to kiss me. I pull his shirt out of his trousers and unbutton it, revealing the planes of his stomach. He pushes my shirt off my shoulders and kisses the inside of my wrists, hands trailing down my spine. I sigh and grind down on top of him. He pushes against me, hard, unhooks my bra with one hand and I kiss his jaw, neck, teeth scraping over salt sweat skin. His mouth closes over my breast and he runs his tongue over my nipple and sucks, hands sliding up my legs, kneading my ass. I lean into it and moan.

I arch into him, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him into me and we fall back, tangled together.

‘Stand up.’ He unzips my skirt and pulls it to the floor. He kisses my stomach, the band of my panties. His fingertips tracing the edges of the fabric, sliding between my legs. I’m wet and I know he can feel it. He’s making maddeningly slow circles. Not enough. I’m swaying with him. We’re eye to eye, toe to toe and I want more.

‘I have a question.’

I can’t even think right now. ‘What?’

‘Do you always carry a vibrator, or is it just for conferences?’

Bastard.

He knew. He knew all day.

I push him onto the bed, pinning his wrists. He laughs and flips me over, pulls me into him. He kisses me hard and I’m burning, legs hooked over his hips, drawing him closer, rocking into him, slippery and wet. His hands fist through my hair and I run my nails down his back.

‘Threatened?’ I laugh.

‘Hell no. Show me.’

I stand on shaky legs and rummage through my bag, finding the vibrator, and condoms I keep in my purse. He pulls the pillows out from the crisp white sheets and peels off his trousers and boxers, stretching out on the bed. I’m struck by the sight of him. He’s propped up on one elbow, long tapered fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking it in slow, deliberate movements.

I step out of my underwear and crawl up the bed. He takes the vibrator out of my hand and turns it on with a flick of his wrist.

‘You’ve done this before.’ I like him more even more.

He takes the vibrator out of my hand and turns it on with a flick of his wrist.

He passes me the vibrator and I lie back, legs bent open, watching him watch me. The toy purrs quietly in my hand. I trace it across the inside of my thighs, tingling, cool metal and gentle yet insistent buzzing. I shiver. I look across, he’s all lean lines and muscle and I want to touch him, taste the hollow in his throat, the gorgeous line leading down his hip.

I draw the vibrator over my clit, light, barely touching at first. I’m wet, swollen, all need and want, making light circles, slipping the toy in and out of my pussy. The cool metal warming to my body. Dragging it out slowly, feeling the sweetness rise in me. He’s watching, eyes dark, pupils blown, hand wrapped tight around his cock. He runs his hand overmy hip, and slides a finger inside me, careful, slow.

‘More.’ One finger, now two. ‘Slower, curl your fingers up. Higher.’

I rock my hips against his hand and press the vibrator into my clit.

My cunt pulses in response.

‘You look so fucking beautiful.’

I’m unravelling, the constant steady buzz of the vibrator, his deft fingers working in and out of my pussy, drawing it out of me.

His hand’s moving faster on his cock now, more urgent, needy and holding my gaze.

His hand’s moving faster on his cock now, more urgent, needy and holding my gaze. I’m arching off the bed, intensity rushing over me.

His hand finds mine and I fall into myself, shaking, looking straight at him as I come.

‘That was unbelievably sexy.’

I want more. I want to feel his warm weight on top of me, his skin against mine. I want his cock in me. I want to see him come, listen

to the sounds he makes. I want him to feel me come around him.

I give him a dirty smile. ‘I want to fuck you.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

He tears open the foil packet of the condom and unrolls the latex over his cock.

‘How do you want to do this?’

I lean forward on my hands and knees. I can see him behind me in the mirror on the wall.

I watch the smile spread across his face as he gets it. He passes me the vibrator and kisses my neck, hands smoothing over my back. I watch us in the reflection. I’m flushed and glowing and I can see him, the man in the mirror, hand on his cock. The vibrator’s quietly buzzing in my hand and I drag it down to my clit. Everything’s heightened, it’s sweet and bright, echoes from before, and I need him, want him, want to be filled.

Everything’s heightened, it’s sweet and bright, echoes from before, and I need him, want him, want to be filled.

The man in the mirror is teasing the woman stretched out in front of him, cock tracing the entrance of her cunt. Frustrated, greedy, she pushes back against him and he holds her hips, keeping her still. The vibrator is a brilliant blue against her skin. He slides into her slowly and the breath catches in her throat.

I close my eyes and I hear myself moan, feel him inside me, deep and full, and already I’m close again.

I open my eyes and look at our reflected selves, see the need on their faces, lust and want. The sight of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy, slick and glistening. The man and the woman in the mirror are moving together now, finding a rhythm. He reaches down between her legs and takes the vibrator, holding it firmly against her clit. The woman in the reflections sighs and angles her hips forward, bracing her other hand on the bed. He was watching before and he knows. Knows how she feels when she comes on his fingers, butterfly pulses, contracting against his hand. He knows what she looks like when she’s getting close.

‘Fuck me harder.’

And he does. The room smells of sex, they’re sheened with sweat and they’re urgent now, strung out on wanting. The woman in the mirror clutches the sheets, hands scrabbling in the fabric, trying to anchor herself to something, rocking back against him, wanting more. She can feel it rising like a storm, the inescapable pleasure from the vibrator and the rhythm of his cock, sure and deep inside her. Faster now, the man in the mirror is losing control, slamming into her. The woman smiles, filthy and dark eyed and rolls her hips. It’s building in her belly, his cock hitting the sweet spot.

The dam breaks and it crashes over her like a tidal wave. He holds the vibrator steady and she sees stars. Her whole body shudders against him; the woman in the mirror mewls and screams, collapsing on the bed. He follows after her with a shout, something loud and incomprehensible and his face is beautiful as he loses it completely. His hips jerk, and she can feel his dick pulse as he comes, sending tremors through her again, washing every thought out of her mind.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, woman.’

We lie together boneless and shaking. He cradles me into him and I rest my head on his chest, counting heartbeats, remembering how to breathe. He threads his fingers through my hair. I purr in satisfaction. Eventually, he moves, coming back with two glasses of water and a room service menu.

I rest my head on his chest, counting heartbeats, remembering how to breathe. He threads his fingers through my hair. I purr in satisfaction.

‘Breakfast in bed tomorrow? What would you like?’

He kisses my forehead and I climb on top of him.

‘You. I’d like you.’

This story first appeared in Filament magazine Issue 3.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *