We checked in and kissed in the elevator and in the room and I undressed Amanda while she looked out the window at the wide avenue and the expanse of park. I knelt behind her and spread her ass cheeks and licked the tight star of her anus until she jerked in orgasm. “Fuck me now,” she whispered. “Fuck my brains out.”

“No, first we have some dancing to do,” I told her, and I helped her slip into her little black dress and affix her silver shoes, kissing each toe before finally doing the tricky buckles.

We kissed in the elevator down and we went onto the dance floor. The tunes were slow and fast and we danced and danced. I’m only an okay dancer but it didn’t matter as long as I had Amanda in my arms or in my eyes. During the slow numbers her little belly kept my cock hard and during the fast numbers her blond tresses swirled and swayed and her little breasts almost leapt from the low bodice of her slippery gown and I wanted her right there on the dance floor.

In an hour she was flushed, a sheen of sweat on her skin, and she whispered, “Can we go up now? My greedy little cunny needs your big bad cock so bad,” and I told her some refreshment first. I led her across the lobby to the quiet bar, bathed in soft blue light with an edge of red. It was almost empty, just a sad looking man in gray at a table and a bartender behind the bar.

At the bar I asked Amanda which stool she might prefer and she smiled and pointed at my groin. “In case someone else comes along we should save space,” she said, her big eyes soft and lewd.

I sat and I hoisted her up and set her on my lap. She leaned back and we kissed until the bartender came over. “Something with raspberry,” Amanda said. “I love raspberry.” The bartender nodded, and we watched him prepare a drink. She took a sip and smiled at the bartender. After he retreated a discreet distance Amanda whispered, “It’s good. It tingles, just like my nipples, just like my toes, just like my naughty clitty. Would you like a taste?”

“Maybe a taste of it on your tongue,” I said, and again we kissed.

“I love this bar,” Amanda said, “but why do you think that man looks so sad?”

I swiveled the stool so we could see him better. “Maybe his wife left him for the mailman,” I said. “Or his mistress left him for his wife. Or his cat ran away with the spoon.”

“You’re silly,” Amanda said. “The cat plays the fiddle. The dish runs away with the spoon. Everyone knows that.”

“You’re my dish,” I said, “and I’m not letting you run away. You’re mine, mine, mine.”