"Call me Maggie."

That was her response to my introduction.

I had spotted her at the front desk checking in. That shaft of sunlight illuminating her just accentuated her beauty as if an alien transporter beam was attempting to abduct her right in front of my eyes. I had no choice but to introduce myself before she was gone.

She had struck a visual chord in my psyche. I wanted her.

Her hair glowed like a campfire with amber speckles of gold sprinkled throughout. I couldn't help but watch her response escape from her pouty lips coated with a Chianti colored lipstick. It was about the shade of those freckles that floated on her milky skin like cinnamon on a cup of cappuccino. They’re so delightfully sexy.

She was petite, about five feet four, and was one of the world's true rarities, a blue-eyed, natural red head. It was shoulder-length and iridescent as it snared the light like a fowler. Her bosom was full with narrow hips that said no kids had passed between her legs. I was salivating.

She retrieved her registration packet for the same two-week training class in which I was enrolled. That sunbeam reflected off the rock on the fourth finger of her left hand. She was married.

I just adore married women for several reasons: hopefully, they've been exposed to the joys of orgasm, and they present a challenge that I readily accept.

She was the perfect age - old enough to be a full-fledged woman but young enough to still be naïve in some ways.

Myself, I'm model height about five foot eight with long and lanky legs, however my best asset and most noticeable are my unmodel-like tits, thirty-eight Ds. I take great pride and work hard at keeping them perky.

Since I’m packaged in a skirt and heels, women typically don't think of me as a predator. They're mistaken. When I approach them out of the blue, it's much easier, especially if we have a common thread like this training.

“Hello, let me introduce myself. I’m Laura Andersen, and I see we’re enrolled in the same training.”

Initially, she had a surprised look on her face, but it was soon replaced with a pleasant smile that was highlighted by her snowy teeth. It was like she needed someone to banish her loneliness. I was here to do just that.

Extending her hand, I noticed that she had slender fingers. “I’m Maggie O’Connor. Call me Maggie." She had a delightful Irish brogue that made her just that more appealing to me.

“What a lovely accent. It sounds so quaint. I just love the Irish. Are you from Ireland?”

“Yes, my husband and I were transferred to the States six months ago. We’re still getting used to your bigness,” she proffered.

“Is he here with you?” I inquired.

“No, he’s at home working and taking care of our dog, Freckles.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, but while the cat's away,” something I threw out there, looking for her reaction.

A faint smile crept across her lips, “I’m sure we won’t be in class the whole time. I was looking to have a little fun, too. I’ve never been to San Francisco before.”

Although I had a different type of training in mind for Maggie, I commented about our training and how lucky we were to be spending two weeks in a world-class hotel like the Fairmont Heritage Place.  Ghirardelli Square was just outside the front entrance, and it was so close to the waterfront and a lot of the “sites.”

I invited her to dine with me after we dropped our bags off in our rooms. She accepted. 

We met in the lobby, then headed for McCormick and Kuleto’s restaurant. It was only a couple of blocks away. Our table had a beautiful view of the bay and all its happenings. We began a very nice conversation and meal.

Her smile was effervescent, her lagoon-colored eyes sparkled while her exquisite fiery lashes fluttered as if they were red lacewing butterflies looking for nectar. 

I discovered that she and her husband had both been transferred to the States from Ireland. She was twenty-eight and had been married five years. She didn’t believe me when I told her I was thirty-four.

She said, “You look so young. You must take good care of yourself?’

“I do. I jog every morning except Sunday, eat sensibly, do Pilates, and a little weight training to keep everything tight. San Francisco is a great place to run because it’s always so cool and the scenery is beautiful.”

Eagerly asking, “Are you going to run while you’re here?”

“Yes, of course. Do you want to come along?”

“Yes, I would, as long as you really don’t mind. I need something to get my blood pumping first thing in the morning besides coffee,” remarked the little red hen.

We finished our dinner and strolled leisurely around the wharf, just enjoying the sights and sounds of this unique place. We agreed to meet in the lobby at 6 AM for a morning run.

When I arrived in the lobby a few minutes before six, Maggie was already there. Even at that time in the morning, sans makeup or any kind of preparation, she was lovely. It must have been that hair. She wore a sports bra that snugly held those ample breasts and some spandex running pants. I could see every nuance and indentation of her shapely form, including the outline of her camel toe. I felt like a dog drooling waiting on dinner.

Out the door we went. Taking a route down to the waterfront, we jogged about a mile, then stopped at some benches before heading back to the hotel. Running at a pace not to get too winded, we chatted and learned more about each other.

Once back at the hotel, we returned to our rooms and agreed to have breakfast together after we showered.

We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and delved deeper into each other's lives and passions. A passing comment from Maggie piqued my interest.

She said, "Do you do anything to keep your breasts so perky?"

"Yes, I have some exercises that I do twice a day. If you'd like, I can show them to you tomorrow after our run."

"Yes, I would like that very much."

Once the training started, we took seats next to each other, had all our meals together, plus we got to meet some of the other participants.

That evening after dinner, I told Maggie to come to my room the next morning, and we could put on our running clothes. After our run, I'd show her those exercises she asked about.

Maggie knocked on my door about 5:45 AM. I let her in. She was just as pretty as ever. Already dressed in her running clothes, she had her change of clothes with her.

After our run, we both headed for my room. Once there, I opened the sliding door to the balcony to help us cool off. I stripped down to my panties and suggested that she do the same. I had Maggie sit down at the vanity next to the bed and took up a position behind her.

I could see her looking at my boobs, and it made me wonder what she was thinking. I didn't have to wait long before she said, "Laura, you have such perfect boobs. Not to offend, but I would have expected them to be saggier since you're older than me."

"No offense taken. Like I said, I take care of my body, and especially these babies. I cupped them and gave them a jiggle. Once I show you these exercises, yours will perk up, too."

I reached down and took hold of each of her nipples then pulled her boobs up.

"They'll be riding up here. Don't you think that will improve your look?"

Her eyes were fluttering as she muttered, "Yes..."

Still holding her nipples, I pulled her breasts one way then the other to illustrate how the exercises would help strengthen the muscles and lift them.

Her face had become flush.

"Does your husband play with your boobs and nipples?"

She stammered, "Yesss..."

"What does he do with them?"

In softened tones, "He hurts them."

"Like this?"

I pinched her nipples hard between my index finger and thumb.

She jerked and leaned her head back on my belly, saying, "Yes, but harder."

I cupped them and pinched down harder.

Maggie moaned, "Ooo..."

Her hands tightly gripped the armchair she was in while her head pushed hard against my midsection as her back arched. I rolled her nipples between my fingers while resting my right boob on her shoulder. I knew she could feel my warm flesh draped on her.

Her face rolled to my flesh and she began sucking and nibbling my nipple. I stood her up and kissed her. My tongue thrashing about her mouth like the catch of the day on the wharf. She responded likewise.

I pushed her down on the bed with her legs dangling off the side then dove between them pulling her panties aside and lapping at her fiery slit. Her hands clasped two handfuls of hair as she pressed her womanhood onto my tongue. She tasted like the sourdough bread found on Fisherman's Wharf, juicy with a nice tangy aftertaste.

A few minutes in, her back arched and she screamed, "Oh fuck! Fuck, oh, fuck..."

A gush of her excitement flooded my mouth. I crawled up her torso and began kissing her. She lapped up her cummings from my mouth. I straddled her face, pulled my panties aside then plopped my slit on those lovely pink lips. Her tongue darted in and out of my pussy lapping me like this wasn't her first time.

Soon, I reciprocated and gushed a stream into her wanton mouth. We collapsed into a heap and held each other.

Afterward, we took a shower together and just barely made it to training on time.

On our lunch break, I took her back to my room and she was lunch.

We spent every minute of those two weeks together, mostly between each other’s legs. I loved seeing her standing near the balcony with a cup of coffee at sunrise, looking out on the bay with her hair aglow and fiery, her boobs basking in the morning light. I fell in love with her over those two weeks, and she with me.

As our time together came to a close, we pledged to meet up a few times a year to reignite our passions for each other.