The Holiday Cottage Listen to the podcast at Steamy Stories The  Holiday cottage owner entertains guests. Joe could not prevent his dirty mind getting carried away as he fantasized about his next guest. Lea looked stunning in her profile photo on the booking app: erotic platinum blonde hair, alluring facial features, wicked smile and a look of naughtiness in her eyes. He could be wrong and she might well have zero interest in him, but he had a hunch that she was going to be as wild as she looked. He felt that familiar stirring of his libido as he anticipated her visit. She reminded him of a woman he had met and had wine-fuelled sex with at a travel industry networking event the year before, which took place at a remote old country house that had been adapted as a conference centre. Gabriella was a rep from a tour operator who had been seated next to Joe at the welcome lunch. They had chatted and flirted increasingly shamelessly over endless champagne. She was in her late forties, at least, he guessed. Slim, long straight natural blonde hair, pert boobs, seductive smile and the most luscious pink lips (which she was expert at licking in the most erotic manner). By the mid-afternoon they were tipsy and horny as hell. She had made the first move while they were still at the table. Sliding her arm under the linen tablecloth so that no one else would notice, she had run her fingers up his leg, caressing his inner thighs through the tight trousers of his bespoke suit. As usual he wasn’t wearing underwear, so when her fingertips reached his crotch she could easily feel his cock, swollen and pulsing against the tight fabric as she stroked him. She leaned towards him to whisper, ‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you?’ To this he had gasped and replied, ‘That’s the effect you have on me!’ She rubbed harder. He tried not to moan out loud. She whispered again, 'Let’s take this to the cocktail bar.’ He grinned at the way she stressed the syllable “Cock”. Joe followed Gabriella out of the dining room to the lounge bar, trying to be discreet by following a few steps behind her, not that he really cared whether anyone else noticed them slipping off to have a drink together. Truth was he wanted to check her out from behind. She wore elegant black heels, a short black skirt (legs bare) and a cobalt blue silk blouse, which during the lunch had been unbuttoned enough to show her generous cleavage- she had seen him ogling and grinned at him. From behind she looked stunning, striding like a catwalk model, flicking her long hair, swishing her waist and showing off her tight buttocks as they strained against the tight material of the obscenely short skirt (no visible panty line, he was pleased to see). Was he mistaken or could he smell her too? Was she wearing knickers? He determined to find out. They sat at high stools in the far corner of the candlelit bar. As she wiggled her way up onto the stool, turning it to face his, her legs parted and he could almost see up her skirt. He could definitely smell her cunt now: a rich aroma of pure sexuality wafting his way. She ordered a gin martini; he had a negroni, served by a discreet barman who knew Joe from a previous visit when Joe had been hosting an event there. At that moment he had an unbidden moment of fantasy, imagining inviting the guy to join him and Gabriella in his room, suspecting (correctly, as he would discover later) that she loved threesomes. Meanwhile, he raised his glass to her and they toasted: 'To pleasure!’ As she knocked back her drink he saw her legs part again, revealing a brief glimpse of a tiny white triangle of material – so she was wearing panties. They were as close as they could be, sitting on separate stools. He considered suggesting they move to one of the sofas, but for now they were content to be facing each other, legs touching, eyes locked, smiles hinting the kisses they both yearned to give and receive. How to get her up to his room, or hers? She took the next step agai