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The Old Vacant Hotel

Chapter 27 – Quyen is suddenly back

My muse Nguyet wanted to party really hard toward the end of our seven-year affair. She and her freshly minted husband, Hiroshi, were planning to have a child together but he also had wild fantasies, which he wanted to see fulfilled, until the couple would retreat to their new home and take care of their offspring.

One outrageous yet also potent story that kept occupying Hiroshi’s dirty mind was to watch another couple indulging in urophilia, while he was banging a lady from behind, who was kneeling in front of him. Ideally, Hiroshi envisioned Nguyet squatting over my head while sucking my cock, during which she would let go right into my face, while I was to piss concurrently, so that Nguyet could rinse her palate.

The latter had sketched said scenario the previous week, and I was surprisingly zealous to make it happen. I loved piss-play with my muse, anyway, and if her new husband wanted to watch, I would be in. The only question was: Who would be the other lady, willing to get banged by Hiroshi, while watching Nguyet and myself?

Sally was one obvious candidate, but she had just been offered a good position in Saigon, as Ho Chi Minh City was customarily called in Vietnam but, as far I knew, she was there to visit her new company and find an apartment in the moloch. Our masseuse Ly, who adored Hiroshi, was perhaps another option, but she was seven months pregnant.

As adventurous as my favorite ex-colleague Mira was, I didn’t want her to join that particular fracas, as I loved her too much to watch her getting fucked by Hiroshi, while my muse would pee in my face. And I in hers. Luckily, Mira didn’t find Hiroshi attractive, and I had never heard him rave about her, either.

Another aspirant for the fourth role in the piquant, delicate project was Quyen, a young HR person from the huge International School in our town, who had become curious about me after I had turned down a rather decent job offer for a part-time position at her institution.

So, Quyen and I went for coffee, during which we made plans to eat in the park across the street from the vacant hotel but ended up on the roof of the building, where she eventually even offered herself for a quickie. Which then resulted in a short series of trysts over the following weeks, until she met her current boyfriend, who she presumably was still together with.

So, it came as quite a surprise when Quyen contacted me, asking if we couldn’t meet at the vacant hotel, of which she had such fond memories. I wondered if her contacting me was just coincidence or if my muse Nguyet had her elegant fingers in the pie but, in the end, that didn’t really matter:

I still think of the day with you and Mister Hiroshi sometimes, Quyen wrote. I want to do that again, perhaps together with Mrs. Nguyet. As you know, I’ve had sex with you and her, and then with you and Mister Hiroshi, but never with the two of them together, Quyen added.

Like she wanted or needed to warm up to the big day, however, Quyen wanted to meet just the two of us, first, which was understandable. It all did sound as if Quyen had spoken to Nguyet, but: Had the latter mentioned what truly outrageous depravity was looming?

Perhaps not, as I knew Quyen better than Nguyet did. And it would have been somewhat embarrassing for my muse to ask the young lady to kneel in front of her husband, naked, so that he could fuck her from behind. While Nguyet would sit on my face and we would micturate upon each other.

Yes, this peculiar rendezvous would outclass and outshine everything we had ever done, as orgy posse, over the last seven years. In many ways, this particular rascality was too quirky and too outlandish, but we all knew it had to be carried out. Possibly in different variations.

And, the longer I thought about it, the more Quyen seemed the perfect choice: On our second date, up on the roof of the hotel, she complained that she didn’t like staring at the wall or the bedsheet when getting banged from behind – a position which she actually enjoyed, as the stimulation usually felt better than during a plain missionary fuck.

Back then, Quyen was envisioning me banging her from behind, while watching another couple, but I was already certain that, once she and Hiroshi had watched Nguyet and me, she would want to switch and do the same with the roles reversed: Quyen could pee on me, while Hiroshi would be banging Nguyet. Or something.

The possibilities seemed endless, actually. And it was true that Quyen loved our Samurai, with his Japanese foil and his pianist’s hands, which could elicit whole cascades of juicy, hearty squirts. And, when Quyen mentioned that she still hadn’t had anal sex because my boyfriend doesn’t like that – Hiroshi was fond of it, of course – I knew we were all set.

Interestingly, Quyen had also asked me if she shouldn’t escort bursa wear her long white high-school dress, which she knew I found arousing to the utmost. When I asked her, along the same lines, if we shouldn’t wrap our sensual encounter in some sort of role-play, anyway, it turned out too much for her, however:

Douglas, we couldn’t really talk then, Quyen was certain.

As I was waiting for her, outside the old vacant hotel, which had already seen so much debauchery, I was still envisioning her in said white long dress; ideally, without the pants that went with it, nor underwear, so that I could make out her large black bush under the semi-translucent light fabric. Oh yes, that would be the proverbial bee’s knees.

I couldn’t really imagine Quyen wearing her high-school garb, however, as she was coming straight from work, where everyone would ask her why she, as a 25-year-old office worker, dressed up like a student. But there wasn’t really a place to change on the way. Or was there?

Well, Quyen didn’t want to do a role-play, anyway. So, when she finally arrived, I saw already from the distance that she, unsurprisingly, was sporting the set of clothes she customarily wore at work: a purple polo with the white school logo on her ample bosom as well as a grey pleated skirt, blue sneakers, and light socks.

Her long dark hair was fluttering and wafting under her helmet, as she was passing me on her scooter, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of one of her dimples, which were the most enthralling feature of her, otherwise, slightly doughy face. Yeah, Quyen was prone to putting on weight.

But, hold on: Didn’t she look slimmer than I remembered her? Since I wasn’t done smoking yet and thus still outside near the curb, Quyen popped her head out next to the large metal sliding door, asking me if she should change into her long, white high-school dress now:

“I got it with me,” she added with one eyebrow raised.

“If you want… but it’s quite hot…”

“Well, we’ll undress as soon as we’re up in the room,” she eventually giggled: “And I need to take a shower, anyway.”

For the whole time Quyen had been talking, I had been staring at her calves, which she had apparently noticed, as her gaze traveled downward on her own body. Done with my ciggy, I flicked it into the gutter, before we went in, and I pulled the screeching door closed.

So that she didn’t have to worry about what went through my mind regarding her calves or her whole body, I just told her:

“Have you lost weight? You look awesome…” I complimented what I was looking at, so that she wouldn’t think I was missing her baby fat.

“Yeah, my boyfriend and I go to the gym every day. I’d put on like ten pounds…” she smiled proudly, because she had lost them – which may have been another reason why she had retreated from our orgy microcosm a few months back.

I was about to tell her that weight gain was common when people fall in love and become a couple but didn’t. Instead, I placed the padlock through the latch, so that we would remain undisturbed but then noticed that no one had been here for weeks, apparently: the old, caramel-colored curtains that we placed under the bedsheet to prepare for our Golden Showers were still here, over the banister, to dry.

When I grabbed and then folded the two large items, Quyen grinned, since she knew what we had used them for, in all likelihood. She didn’t make a remark, though, as the large classy chandelier caught her attention again. She had seen it once as a child when her aunt, uncle, and cousins were staying here, at this hotel, and the classy item was the catalyst for our adventure when we returned here about six months back.

On that fateful day in December, Quyen had asked me if we couldn’t get up all the way to the roof, where we eventually even had sex, in the missionary position, on two folded thick blankets, with Quyen still fully dressed, apart from her opened bra and her undies. Which she had wrapped around her left thigh, so that she wouldn’t lose them.

Although I was tempted to bring up said day and reminisce a bit, I asked her a more obvious, albeit trite question, after I had taken her hand:

“What’s new at your school?”

Quyen didn’t instantly reply, since she was still enamored with the chandelier, but then just shrugged shoulders:

“Nothing, really,” she said languidly, which was kinda sexy, in an odd way.

Once, we had already undressed down here, in the lobby but today, she had come straight from work, it was like 97 degrees Fahrenheit, and she had already expressed her wish to take a quick shower. Which would be perfect, anyway, to warm up again. After all, we hadn’t seen each other for more than four months.

As we were going up the stairs, I noticed that her ample bosom hadn’t shrunk, unlike her calves. Thank God. As much as I was tempted to lift up her skirt – which I certainly would have görükle escort been allowed to – my mind now delivered the memories of her pussy, which I loved dearly. Particularly her inner labia, which weren’t crinkled much, but thick, large, and soft.

Permanently protruding. Basically, one could see them if Quyen was simply standing up, naked. They formed a three-and-a-half-inch-long vertical strip of dusky pink – a color reminiscent of Nguyet’s dress last week – which was easily discernable under Quyen’s long and dark but sparse pubic hair around her pussy. Her bush itself was fairly large, however.

Six months ago, Quyen had brought a few items here, of which we saw two right away when we entered the only furnished room of the whole building, apart from the maid’s chamber all the way up on the sixth floor: There were her mint green flipflops under one of the chairs and also her orange sports shorts over on the single bed, which we rarely used.

“Let’s take a shower, first,” Quyen suggested again, very pragmatically, after I had drawn the curtains half-way, opened one window, and switched on the wall fan.

The air was pretty stuffy but, with the window open and the fan, we would be fine when we stepped back out of the shower. Quyen had already started to undress, while I was arranging the older curtains on the mattress, before I put a fresh bedsheet on – the navy-blue one that Casey had brought here once.

When Quyen was about to snap her white bra open, however, I paused to watch. I hadn’t seen her firm large breasts with their large pink areolas for a while, and they were quite a sight to behold. She smiled at me but wasn’t embarrassed since we had had sex before, and now, she reached for the button and zipper on the left-hand side of her skirt to let gravity pull the thing off her womanly hips.

Her little unassuming striptease still caused solemn church bells to ring in the distance, and now I took my clothes off as well. Quyen seemed super happy to see my cock again, which, she reminded me, was decidedly larger than her boyfriend’s. Naturally, her remark prompted me to ask her how things were going with her beau:

“Let’s hop in the shower. I’ll tell you there,” she replied; again, rather pragmatically.

Although I didn’t want to stare at her large pubic mound and the vertical strip of pink mauve flesh below, I couldn’t help it. Like a large flower, her pussy was blossoming in her center -too fascinating to ignore. And so, I quickly soaped my hands, of which I instantly placed one between her legs, while the other was kneading Quyen’s large boobs, as we were kissing for the first time, today.

The only thing I regretted was that the sensual tension had no chance of unfolding properly. No, we were already naked, fondling each other and would fuck in fifteen minutes. We both knew it. Half-way through the shower, Quyen turned and asked me to clean her butthole, as if she wanted anal sex later, but when I asked her if she didn’t need to pee, she only chuckled, saying that she just went, at work.

Standing behind her, one of my hands was still massaging her ample breasts, but then I noticed that the tip of middle finger of my other hand was already in her sphincter. When I looked at Quyen from the side, I noticed that she had closed her eyes and was simply enjoying whatever caresses I was lavishing onto her.

Since I didn’t want to cheekily push further and further with my middle finger, I switched and began to probe her butthole with my pinkie, which was easy. Thrusting a bit, I grew ever more certain, that my whole middle finger wouldn’t be a problem, and so I switched back again. When the two upper digits were inside her rectum, feeling around in the dark abyss, Quyen nodded and told me to continue:

“This is sooo nice,” she cooed but, when I offered to fetch the lube from the room or lie down with her on the bed and continue there, she told me to just keep going right here, under the lukewarm shower.

“We’ll go to the bed in five minutes,” she added, as if she thought I might be concerned that we wouldn’t do it at all today – which I wasn’t.

Obviously not. And so, I kept stimulating her lovely soft anus with my finger, until I noticed that I needed to pee. Since I didn’t want to drag her to the bed for that – and then change the bedsheets again – I placed my noodle on her lower back and just let go.

Since the tepid water was still running, I didn’t think Quyen even knew what was going on. But there was no harm in me peeing onto her back and butt. Eventually though, I let go of her boobs to use both hands to pull her butt cheeks apart, after which I pressed my micturating noodle directly onto her fairly dark pumping rosette.

I had to bend my knees a bit to make the connection but then, my lukewarm living room fountain was rinsing her rectum in the most rousing and thorough way. A bit leery, I checked if any Nutella was running out of her, but there was nothing: just crystal-clear piss that had been inside Quyen for a second.

“See, Douglas, I don’t such things with my boyfriend,” she murmured and giggled; apparently, she knew exactly what I was doing.

Since I didn’t want to blather during this lewd yet moving moment, I just made sure my glans stayed connected, until I was done, after which I washed my purple tip thoroughly, of course.

“Now I need to go, a bit…” Quyen was almost proud when she turned, after I was done.

A bit. Okay. To not overthink it, I just sat down on the ledge around the shower, so she could pee onto my hairy chest; anything else would have required too much acrobatics. And I wasn’t quite ready to drink from her piss, at that moment, anyway. And then change the bedsheet again.

I liked, however, that Quyen had placed both hands next to her pussy, so that she could pull her treasure open properly. Mirthfully, she was now peeing into my chest hair, with the shower still on – a mild debauchery that was perfectly suited for our first little urophilia session during our reunion today.

The way we were arranged, with my face above her pubic mound, I couldn’t see the opening of her lovely urethra too well, but I was fairly certain that there would be a second time of pissing together today, during which I could lick the little orifice and whatever else I might want to lay the tip of my tongue on.

Since Quyen was holding her labia apart, the first few yellow hummingbirds quickly turned into a formidable cheeky jet, above which the mauve flesh folds below her clit were pumping.

“I suppose you’ve never done that with your boyfriend, either,” I surmised, chuckling, looking up at her face, past her heaving breasts.

“Oh, Douglas,” she sighed: “I wouldn’t even ask him. He’s kinda… prissy might be the word.”

“Fussy? Finicky?” I offered, in turn.

“Yeah, whatever: We never play together when we have sex. Missionary, that’s it. In the afternoon. Either at his house or mine… we both are still living with our parents, you know. So, we can’t spend the night together.”

I briefly thought about contorting my body to catch the last bit of her fine young urine with my mouth, but that seemed almost impossible, the way we were arranged. In the end, there hadn’t been much, anyway, and when she was done, Quyen just turned off the water, after I had rinsed my chest.

I liked that she didn’t wash her treasure with soap again; instinctively, she understood that the messenger substances on her skin were important. After we had dried ourselves in the room, Quyen lay down on her back and asked me to kneel over her ample chest; the way we had done once up on the roof.

She wanted to suck my cock, but that way, we could also talk a bit more, Quyen was certain:

“But I wanted to lick your pussy,” I interjected, thinking of all the fine messenger molecules there.

I also simply loved her snatch, which was more beautiful than her face, actually. Which I wasn’t going to tell her. At least, not to her face. But maybe, to her pussy.

“Mrs. Nguyet said that you want to tell me something,” Quyen reminded me of the primary purpose of our tryst today.

“But if I kneel over your chest, I can’t see anything,” I complained once more, alluding to what she had told me several times: that she didn’t like getting banged from behind, since she would only be looking at the wall or the bedsheet.

Eventually I relented, of course, as it was probably always best to oblige her; at least, at that particular moment. If Quyen wanted to lie on her back and suck my cock, while we would be talking, so be it. To convince me that we had made the right choice, Quyen took my purple tip in her mouth and began to suck artfully right away.

As if it was a lollipop or an ice-cream on a stick, she began bobbing her head slightly, after she had fixed her lips to a round opening and shoved a pillow under her head, which was now almost perpendicular to her upper body. With my fists akimbo, I languidly thrusted into her mouth, which was quite something, I had to admit.

Quyen, in turn, folded her arms behind her head and closed her eyes, now trying to hold her head still, while I could feel her rough tongue circling my glans inside her mouth. After a minute or so, our periodic movements had become quite harmonious, and I wondered when the last time had been I enjoyed such a perfect, gentle face-fuck.

As awesome as everything was, I still asked her if she didn’t want me to lie down on her and polish her divine, generous sheath, but she had two disarming answers again:

“I get that enough, Douglas. Today, I want to do other things. And: Don’t you want to lick me, later? For that, you don’t want your cum in my pussy, do you?” she asked back rhetorically, with an impish smile.

Well, I couldn’t think of a counterargument and just kept thrusting, as the sensation was heavenly, indeed. I just lowered by upper body a bit, until I could feel her inflated boobs on my butt cheeks. At some point, she did let my noodle snap out of her mouth, however; probably, so that we could talk some more:

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