I start to reply as I’m walking, and it chimes again, from her: btw im only typing with one hand ;-*. I make my response short and sweet: omw baby just a few more min, and with that I pick up the pace. I get to the registration counter and ask for her by name, and explain that I’m her husband. They ask for ID. I show it. They give me her room number. “You two have got the penthouse suite. Congratulations on your marriage.” Apparently he thinks we just got married. Not gonna waste time explaining it to a stranger. I say thanks and leave. The elevator takes way too long. People hopping on, getting off, hopping on, and getting off. Finally I get to the 22nd floor and step out into a very short hallway with only two doors: one to the roof as a fire exit, the other to our room. Labeled simply “P” no number. My heart is racing and my hands are nearly shaking I’m so eager. I swipe the door card and swing the door open. The spacious penthouse suite is obviously very nice, with black-marble. The stool slips forward once again but stops suddenly, short of its usual distance. You opened your eyes and look down. The foot of the stool stands against the lip of the next stone; one slightly higher than the one the stool is on. As you are looking at this, your eyes half close, a slight smile on your lips, as the wave continues to heighten, you feel the stool move forward again, but the foot remained where it was; trapped against the higher stone. You look back at the rear legs and see that they are off the floor by more than an inch. Instinctively you raise your hand to catch yourself if the stool actually does fall over, but the movement is cut short by the rope around your wrist, holding you fast. For a full second, an eternity, your mind stumbles over and around the facts being thrown at it. Your hand remains open, frozen, reaching out, as you balance tentatively on the two forward legs your perch. Your orgasm rises up, engulfing your like a dark cloud. You gasp aloud, "Oh.
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