This post was featured in E-Lust #32. Thanks, E-Lust, and welcome, E-Lust readers.
“Hop in,” I said. As she sat down, wearing jeans and a soft sweater, I looked at her: “Where’s your skirt?”
“Oh shit,” she said. “It’s been a REALLY bad day.”
“You just want me to beat you.”
“That would be nice.”
As we started the short drive to the hotel, I reached between her legs and rubbed her pussy through her jeans. I pinched her nipples just a little. “Sounds like you need a good fucking.”
“I’m going to give that to you.”
I asked her to play with herself a bit in the car as we drove – she was happy to oblige me, unbuttoning her jeans, sliding down on the chair, and pushing her hand down into her panties. “How’s it going?” I asked. “Good,” she muttered.
It wasn’t long before we parked the car and asked the hotel if they had hourly rooms. “$50, plus $20 deposit. And your ID,” said the Chinese woman behind the counter. The whole place was Chinese – and had a sign laying out the rules for short-stay visitors in that bad translated English familiar to anyone who’s ever bought a Chinese appliance. My favorite rule: “Guests must be greeted in lobby. Not in room.” She handed me a key card and the remote control for a TV, and we headed to our room. The key seemed not to work, which was unfortunate, because even more than I wanted to fuck L., I needed to pee. We went back down to the desk. The woman looked at the key, looked at me, and made the universal, “You’re a total idiot” sign with her hands, as she indicated the correct way to insert the key. Embarrassingly to me, this was helpful.
We got to the room. I successfully navigated the door. I asked L. to shuffle the deck of cards I’d asked her to bring while I peed. I came out and asked her to change into a dress. I had asked her to bring a bunch of clothes so she could put on a little show for me. “And lingerie?” she asked. “Yes, please.”
She emerged from the bathroom in a red silk (?) dress, slinky and sexy, a bit Asian-themed (appropriate for the hotel). I kissed her, squeezed her ass, and brought a hand up under her dress, pressing it against her cunt. On the way, I could feel that she was wearing thigh-highs and a garter belt, in addition to the grey boyshorts I’d asked her to wear. I removed my hand, suggested she change one more time. She emerged from the bathroom in a skirt and top.
“Lie on the bed face-down.” I dealt a card down and a card up to each of us. “What are we playing?” she said. And she looked, and realized. “Oh.” She turned over her card, and said, “Hit me.”
I hadn’t thought about this particular (inevitable) joke, but as she lay there on the bed, I followed instructions well. The “thwack” of my hand was satisfying. “You’re a moron,” she said.
She won the first hand. “Take an item of my clothing off,” I instructed her. She reached down and unbuckled my belt, pulling it off with a swift pull. Another hand. Another win for her. This time, she took my jeans off, generously stroking my cock more than absolutely necessary (at least, more than was absolutely necessary to remove my jeans). And then it was my turn to win a few hands. Off came her black heels, and then the skirt, and the top. And then my top. I was down to my black boxer briefs, she, to her grey panties, white stockings and garters, and the wife-beater I so enjoyed the last time I saw her.
I told her we’d be flipping a coin to determine who was in control. I wanted her in control – I’ve been in control pretty much all along, and I welcomed the opportunity to relinquish just a little. “Heads, you drive; tails, I do.” The coin cooperated – heads. “Show me your bag of tricks,” she said. Out came the under-the-bed restraints, the blindfold (a blindfold she had given my wife as a gift), the paddle and the condoms. “Put this on,” she said, handing me the blindfold.
Not a bad start, I thought. I could see a trace of light through the bottom of the blindfold – a lovely silken thing, with wrist restraints on the ends of the straps – but I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see anything. As I lay back, her lips, her tongue, her teeth, traced their way down my body. She nibbled my nipples. Her hands found my cock, holding it, squeezing it, as her tongue licked, flicked the head. I love the way she plays with my cock, treating it as if it were a toy – a fun, strange, unfamiliar toy, but one with which she has a preternatural aptitude. She stood me up, turned me around, and whacked my ass just a few times (but HARD) with the paddle. I can’t say that the whole spanking thing is MY thing – a little sting is invigorating, fun, but once the threshold of pain is crossed, I’m less compelled. Not turned off – just not turned on. Which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy whacking HER ass….
Things start to grow hazy here. She sat on my face, instructing me to slide her panties to the side (or maybe she slid them to the side for me). I sucked and licked her clit for a bit. She asked me to put the blindfold on her. I lay her on her back, climbed up alongside her and slid my cock along her cheek, in front of her mouth, teasing her. I slid into her mouth, fucking it just a little. I grabbed a condom and put it on (quietly) while tapping the inside of her thighs with the paddle, tracing a path with the leather loop of the paddle, tapping her nipples through the wifebeater. I slid, slowly, gently into her, and rocked back and forth, allowing us to press against one another as my cock slid gently, slowly – not so much in and out as deeper and less deep. Then, the fucking began in earnest: I pounded, back and forth, in and out, her head hitting against the headboard as I pushed her down by her neck into the bed. More of the same. (One of the nice things about an hourly hotel: I lose any self-consciousness I might otherwise have about noise. I once had sex with the Secretary in a room on the ground floor of a NOT-hourly hotel, and when we emerged, the hotel staff applauded. Or maybe they only communicated applause with their eyes – I’m not sure. In my memory, they applauded. And once with the Artist, I went down on her in her bedroom on an airshaft in a tenement, and when she came, there was applause. In that instance, I’m certain it was real applause.)
L. asked me if I would go down on her. I love going down on her. I love her fragility, the tenderness with which she prefers to receive oral. It’s always hard for me to remember to go softer, slower with her. I know (or I think I know) that this is her preference, but it goes against all my instincts – instincts which have served me well over the years. (“You lick good,” the Russian once told me.) So down I went – licking, slurping, sucking, gently – then more urgently. Her cunt is delicious – sweet but pungent, fresh tasting. And as I slid a couple of fingers in, pumping them in and out, stroking her g-spot from below, I felt her come just a bit closer to cumming. And closer. And closer. And then – with a shudder, I could feel her cunt close around my fingers, spasming back and forth, tighter and looser, as her tiny, but REALLY strong thighs crushed my head.
Every time I go down on her, I vow to myself that I’ll make her beg me to stop. But every time, I become distracted by the idea of fucking her – her face, her cunt, whatever. This is what happened today. As I was pondering making her beg me to stop, I had her, instead, put on another dress – a slutty, black dress, the designer of which she knows (but about whom I couldn’t possibly care less). This dress looked particularly delicious hiked up over her ass as I pressed her against the window and rocked back and forth. “Is this the first time you’ve ever looked north out a window while being fucked in this dress?” I asked. “Yes,” she breathed. “Well,” I said. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Soon, she decided (I decided? who can remember?) that she should kneel and take my cock in her mouth once again. First I stood, then she pushed me back on the bed. I asked, “Do you have a preference as to where I cum?”
“Preferences just create disappointment.”
“But I can grant your preference.”
“I like it when you cum in my mouth.”
“What, you don’t like it when I cum in your pussy?”
Another costume change, this time, into a flouncy sort of teddy ensemble a girlfriend had given her but, inexplicably, she had never worn. More sucking, more fucking. I asked her to play with her vibrator – a Jimmyjane Little Chroma. I took a dozen pictures, all with her face obscured. I showed them to her. And finally, with her rocking on top of me, pushing her hips violently, grinding her down on me, I came deep inside her.
A little post-coital cuddling, talking, and then we returned the remote for $20, after I signed my name in a tiny box on a form in Chinese. The box was big enough for two ideograms, perhaps. I squeezed in the initials “JBF” – they seemed appropriate. And we headed out….