I was staying at a hotel during a conference I was attending. The conference went on for two weeks so I'd decided to stay the weekend in the beautiful countryside that surrounded the hotel.
It is my surname that is Wolff but I'm known to everyone as simply that, either with or without the double 'f'. I'm now approaching thirty and believe myself to be good looking. I'm 6'3" with an athlete's build, although I'm no athlete. I tend to be quite successful with the ladies initially I'm told because of my ability to listen later because I want to please them nothing to do with the fact that I've been blessed with a nine inch cock.
I was returning to my room after a Saturday stroll in the grounds when I had the good fortune to wait to share the lift with a beautiful young woman. She was made more beautiful by the fabulous wedding gown she was wearing. I've always believed that brides are inheritantly beautiful, especially when dressed in white. This woman was stunning. She was a black girl, her skin the colour of milk chocolate and she was wearing her dress with the support on her arms rather than shoulders. The contrast this made with her soft skin was striking. I could not help but stare. Just as the lift doors opened she saw me staring and said harshly, 'What are you staring at?'
I thought about looking away but that's not my style. Instead I answered her with honesty. 'I'm staring at a beautiful woman,' I replied, 'I apologise if I was disturbing you.'
That surprised her. A few seconds later she said, 'I'm sorry, I thought you looking at me like that because black women shouldn't be in hotels like this or because of this.' She pointed to her stomach, which showed signs of about five or six months pregnancy.
'I must admit I had noticed you were black,' I said with a straight face. I was rewarded with a laugh, 'but I'll be honest I hadn't noticed junior'.
She laughed again at my euphemism for her bump. 'How could you miss it?'
'Oh I wouldn't have missed it. It's just that the view at the top was that good I hadn't looked that far down when you caught me staring.'
I'm sure she blushed but it's a lot easier to tell against a white face. 'Thank you! Are you here for the wedding?'
'No, but you can tell the groom, from me, that he's a lucky man.'
This time I could tell by her eyes that she blushed.
We both got out at the top floor and stayed talking on the landing.
'When do you get married?' I asked.
'Half an hour ago,' she said as she showed me what I considered to be a cheap ring.
'It's lovely,' I lied.
'Liar. It's cheap and you know it,' she said morosely.
I thought her mood seemed odd for someone just married. 'A curtain ring would look superb on one of your lovely fingers,' I said deliberately going over the top.
She laughed, 'thank you for that insincere comment, but I know the truth.'
'If you don't mind me saying so, you don't appear very happy for someone who's just got married,' I said voicing my earlier thoughts.
'Happy! No I'm not happy... ' she suddenly stopped and looked about to cry.
I put my arm around her and said tenderly, 'look, there's a couple of chairs over there if you want to talk about it.'
She looked up into my eyes; she was about six inches shorter than me although I had no idea if she was wearing heels. She nodded, 'yes, if you're sure you don't mind me having a good whinge in your ear.'
'I look forward to it.' I led her to the chairs placed adjacent to the lift doors.
She looked around at the chairs, 'is there anywhere else we can go? I don't want anyone seeing me like this.'
'Either outside or there's my room just along the corridor if you think you can trust someone you've just met?'
She didn't even hesitate. 'Your room then,' she said before looking me in the eye and adding, 'not that you' want to do anything in my state.'
I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. I led her to my room. Inside there were two single beds and only one chair, something until now I hadn't really questioned.
'Chair or bed, and do you want coffee, tea?' I offered.
'I'll take the bed. I don't think I could fit in the chair in this dress. I'd love a cup of coffee.'
She sat on the bed as I started to make the instant coffee. 'I'm Wolff,' I said with my back turned to her.
'Naomi.' She said in response, and then laughed, 'actually it's now Naomi Campbell, Mrs. Naomi Campbell.'
I turned to look at her. 'A big improvement on the more famous version,' I said.
'You're kidding,' she said sounding shocked.
'No doubt,' I replied.
I handed her the coffee and I sat down in the chair. 'OK! I'm all ears.'
She then proceeded to tell me her story. It seemed that Grant, her husband, and she had gone out a few times with no real inclination for anything else. They'd got drunk a few times, screwed a few times and everything was OK. That was until she found herself pregnant. Grant said it wasn't his but Naomi hadn't been with anyone else. What made matters worse was that their fathers were best friends, coming from Barbados, across to England together in the early sixties. To their parents abortion was out, so the only solution was marriage, something neither of the actual participants wanted. So here she was.
During her tale Naomi had laid down on the bed. Whilst listening I'd also being looking at Naomi. She was certainly stunning with a figure, allowing for her pregnancy, to match. Once she lay down I could see what great legs she had.
For something to say I asked where Grant was now.
Naomi shrugged, 'Screwing the bridesmaids probably,' she answered bitterly and started to cry. I went to sit on the bed to comfort her. I stroked her face, wiping the tears away, whilst offering platitude. A few moments later her tears turned to anger as she started to moan about how unfair everything was and what a pig Grant was. She leaned up, took off her headdress and through it across the room. Her anger vented she lay back down, this time resting her head on my lap.
'Tell me about you,' she asked.
As I told her about my ordinary life I began to finger comb her hair. Coarser than I was used to it was none the less soothing, to both of us. She asked why I'd never married. Usual story I replied, never met the right one. She asked if I'd been with many black women. She seemed surprised when I answered none. I shrugged what's the difference; a woman's a woman. It's like saying there's a difference between brunettes and blondes.
Unbidden my fingers began to caress her face and then her neck and shoulders. I was looking down at her cleavage when I realised what I was doing. I removed my hand.
Naomi looked up. 'Why did you stop? I was enjoying that,' she asked.
'Are you sure?' I checked.
'Of course I'm sure. Now put your hand back.' I complied.
My caresses now became more sensual. I was deliberately trying to please her. Whilst my left hand caressed her naked shoulder, I rubbed the fingertips of my right hand over her neck again, playing with and squeezing her earlobes before gently touching her lips. As I did so her mouth opened so I put one finger between her parted lips. She immediately sucked it into her mouth. I could feel her tongue licking my finger. My left hand moved from her shoulder to her chest and began to stroke the tops of her breasts and down between her cleavage. Naomi made no effort to stop me, on the contrary, she seemed to encourage me. I cupped my hand over a breast and squeezed tightly.
Naomi whispered, 'that's nice, but not nice enough.'
.... There is more of this story ...