I grab the paperclips and rotate them to twist your nipples, then let them spin back to their original position before I remove them. Each touch sends a pulse through your body, evident to me both because I can feel you tremble in the chair and because your lips constrict, almost in a spasm, around my cock, though you try desperately never to lose your place. I cup your breasts, one in each hand, drawing my thumbs across the stiff and hyper-sensitized nipples, gently massaging, feeling their perfect weight in my palms. I push my hips, then pull backwards to withdraw from your mouth. Still holding your breasts, I kneel to bring us face to face, kissing your lips which are still slick and taste faintly of my own salty essence. One hand curls behind your head, fingers lacing through your hair, palm pressing you forward and almost into me in an intimate kiss. The fingers of my other hand trace down from your breasts, pushing the robe open and freeing your own hands. When I reach your waist, I push your legs apart and firmly insert two fingers into your throbbing, pulsing, dripping cunt, and you moan into my mouth. Of course this causes my fingers to tighten in your hair, to urge you forward, to further interlace your tongue with mine.

You wrap your arms around my neck, pulling me in ever closer, deepening the kiss, pressing your hips forward to engage my thrusting fingers. I spread my hand and while I stand, lift you out of the chair. Your robe falls open, and I impale you on my hard shaft; you wrap your legs around my hips while we consume each other, standing this way, in the middle of a midtown hotel room. I begin to rock my hips back and forth, lifting you and then sliding back into you, hard. I raise one hand to your breast and tweak first one, then the other, and feel you react. Your tits are still sensitive, and I enjoy pinching and twisting, gently at first and then harder.

I stagger to the ice bucket, though we are still coupled, and grab three cubes. I kneel, and rub your nipples with the ice. I pop a second cube in my mouth, and press the third between your lips. You look at me quizically, understanding dawning when I press my lips to your wet pussy and begin to suck on your clit with my ice-cold mouth. I slip my tongue inside, then out, flicking between your lips and around your clit again. The ice cube slips inside and you squirm; I suck it out and you squrim again, and I feel your own cool lips on my cock: first the tip, then then entire organ. We sway back and forth, then reverse positions so that we are again lip-locked, my cock thrusting in and out of you. We alternately pass the ice back and forth, between our mouths; and place our mouths anywhere that has heated up: nipples, cock, pussy, anus, ears, and the less notable but expansive erogenous zones in between. The strange thermal sensations of cool against warm, and warm against cool, and cool against cool, warm against warm, are enough to simultaneously prolong our ecstacy, and hasten our climax.

You are unbelievably wet — almost dripping, it seems, on the hotel carpet. The feel of it is intense, erotic, sensual: warm, slippery, welcoming, with a musky-sweet scent and flavor I’d recognize anywhere as you and you alone. I slip in a third digit, then slip it out again and use it to lubricate and tease your anus. You tremble, shudder, but hold still; leaving my left hand in you: my free hand roams your body, while I speak softly to you and nibble your ear, your neck, your shoulder, preparing you for what comes next.

You begin your orgasm, and I remove my hand. For the first time, your head turns to look at me directly, your eyes begging for release. My fingers thread through and into your hair, holding tight and positioning your beautiful mouth just so. I lower my hands, forcing your head back so your eyes must meet mine again. Your bring your hands up from your sides; they find my cock and stroke me firmly, while you lick and suck the tip: greedily, hungrily, a lewd and amatory petition. All the while your eyes search mine for benediction. I raise my hands sharply, your hair still entwined in my fingers; thus forcing your head down farther, so your mouth must displace your hands around my shaft.

You are eager to please, and eager to show off your skills. I, too, am eager but finally exercise some restraint and pull you away to regain my own composure. I raise my knee to your throbbing, glistening, hot-and-cold slit, then slide my thigh back and forth: just making sure you are still dripping wet, which you are.

Deprived of anything else, you twist your head free from my hand and suck your own essence off my leg. Eventually you make your way back to my cock, dipping your head while I turn and thrust my fingers deep inside you, stroking both from the inside and the outside: two long fingers thrusting hard within, my thumb circling without.

Again you look at me imploringly, and I am ready. I thrust inside you again, and again, holding your wrists, pinning them to the floor above your head, while you try to claw the air, until we both climax. We wake on the floor, still engaged and entwined, and find to our dismay that the ice has melted.

The champagne, however, is still cold. It would be a shame to waste it, so sip it eagerly — and pour it playfully on each other — while we draw the bath.