She should post an ad with a link to her blog.
Who has the time to read this long post on this board?
We cum here to look find and move on.
Sorry Studio just my .02 cents but I maybe wrong and some people like to read this here.
Posted By: timeoutstudio
While on my way down to the lobby of a Vegas hotel, the elevator I was in lurched to a stop halfway between floors four and five. I glanced nervously at the only other occupant in the elevator, a well-dressed man in his late 30's to early 40's. Turning his head, he gave me a reassuring smile; unfortunately his effort did little to half my contemplation of the elevator plunging to the floors below. Calmly, his manicured fingers touched a few buttons and I watched hopefully as the buttons lit up. But the damn elevator didn't move. There was no emergency phone, but there was an emergency button, and I felt some of the nervousness fade as the alarm bell sounded, thinking that surely someone would hear it and come to our rescue.
Initially, I was frightened because of the stalled elevator, but as the minutes ticked by I gained my composure and leaned up against the metal wall of the cubicle. I felt the eyes of the elevator occupant on my bare legs. Did he like what he saw? I wondered naughtily to myself. At 5'2 I am very petite and even though my legs may not be of the length that encourages a male to visualize them wrapped around his waist, they are strong and well- muscled. I also spend time in the sun and my skin takes on the gold-tone glow frequently seen on the typical California blonde, so it isn't necessary for me to wear stockings.
My automatic instinct was to stare the man down in challenge for his leering. But absent my customary business suit I felt unarmed. Thinking about it now, perhaps I looked a bit easy tonight. My blond shoulder-length hair was free from its pins atop my head, and my makeup was heavier than usual. When I had dressed this evening the let-loose atmosphere of Vegas influenced my choice of clothing. My skirt was a little on the short side and the tanned expanse of my legs would attract the eye of many men. The silk camisole-shirt that many women wear clung sexily to my curves. Because I am a generous C-cup (on a petite frame) for work I choose loose fitting clothing. I had to learn the hard way. During sales presentations, I would frequently glance at clients to find them fixated on my breasts instead of paying attention to my presentations. Passes from the male species I could handle, but being confined in an elevator with a man that was clearly undressing me with his eyes evoked a feeling of helplessness and anticipation.
Getting into the elevator, I wasn't worried about the occupant in the elevator. The cloth of his suit was obviously expensive and the material clung to his elegant shoulders as if were tailored around the contours of his body. Even the Italian leather of his shoes gleamed. The tell-tale manicure of his fingers and his carefully groomed head of hair completed the picture of a man who was a CEO or a lawyer, easily pictured sitting in a boardroom or speaking eloquently in a courtroom. Everything except his eyes proclaimed him harmless. Even though his lips still smiled at me, it seemed that he was merely toying with my emotions. Heat in his eyes contradicted the disarming smile.
"Cold?" he asked and I looked at him and shook my head mutely as if at a loss for words. His accent was English-the single spoken word testament to fine educational institutions. I felt him staring at my breasts and I knew why he had asked if I was cold. My nipples were outlined against the thin silk of the blouse I had chosen to wear. I almost groaned because I realized what a mistake I had made in my choice. As a response to arousal or cold my nipples get very large, and because of this I usually am very careful in my choice of fabrics and lingerie. Another coincidence perfectly or not so perfectly timed.
My unease must have been obvious, because he made another attempt at polite conversation, and inquired about my reason for being in Vegas. My explanation about my cousin's bachelorete party seemed to satisfy him, but it evoked another question that I was not ready for. "So are you in a randy mood tonight?" He teasingly asked me, the clipped words falling from his ever-smiling mouth. That accent alone was making my knees part subconsciously. When I hear an Englishmen speak in that ever-so-proper tone of his, I think of the BBC's Pride and Prejudice and Colin Firth/Darcy soaked through with his shirt clinging to his torso. So here I am, stuck in an elevator, toes curled, knees apart, thinking nasty thoughts about getting on my knees and sucking a man's cock just so I can hear how dirty words would sound in that accent. Oh sure that thought that I was in a public elevator that could start moving at any moment was in my thoughts also-somewhere in the dark depths. I never did answer his question. Apparently I didn't need to. He took one deliberate step towards me, standing so close that I smelled his cologne. The top of my head barely came to his upper chest, his head came down and his lips covered mine, and I fell into the kiss. His lips were mission-oriented, insistence. I could not resist when he thrust his tongue into my mouth, imitating the act of copulation. My body was extremely hot, I felt wet warmth pooling in my lower region, and as his hands came to my breasts I felt his fingers tugging at my nipples through the silk of my camisole. I placed my hands over his and encouraged him in his play. With a desperate motion I pulled my camisole up and my bra was yanked down under my generous breasts, pushing them up for his mouth. He was a rare find, for his instincts lead him directly to my weakness. Because my breasts are so sensitive, I can be brought to orgasm though simple manipulation. His nipping teeth added a little pain to the pleasure and I was even more at his control.
