Room 26
By Miranda Sommers
Published by Miranda Sommers at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Miranda Sommers
Smashwords Edition, License notes
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She took a long, deep breath before removing the key from her car’s ignition and opening the door.
Once again, she found herself wondering why she was here, why she was doing this.
She glanced up at the motel’s vacancy sign, its blue neon invitation glowing brilliantly underneath the dull grey haze of the cloudy afternoon sky, beckoning her.
She already knew the answer, of course. She was here because she needed this, needed it desperately.
She wondered if he was already here, possibly even watching her from the window of their favorite room, from behind the curtains. The thought sent a giddy shiver of anticipation up her thighs.
No, she reminded herself. That wasn’t his style. He’d be sitting in a chair next to the bed, his tie loosened, waiting patiently with a bottle of Dom Pérignon nestled in a bucketful of ice.
He’d greet her with a raised eyebrow and a confident smile, invite her to have a seat and pour her a drink.
After taking a few minutes to unwind and engage in a bit of icebreaking chit-chat, he’d start by lazily tracing a finger up and down her leg. One thing would inevitably lead to another, and before long their clothes would be haphazardly tossed to the floor as they hungrily devoured one another’s bodies in a frenzied, all-night marathon of lovemaking.
She walked across the parking lot to the check-in office, the clacking of her three-inch black Prada stilettos(Her husband called referred to them as her “fuck me” shoes) echoing against the pavement.
She usually purchased an entirely new, carefully selected outfit every year, but the shoes were just so damned cute that she couldn’t resist wearing them, and indeed, even building the entire ensemble around them. She’d even dropped an obscene amount of cash for a matching Louis Vuitton handbag to complement her fabulous footwear.
She nodded politely at a disheveled, middle-aged man in boxers and a wifebeater who had momentarily diverted his attention from the Pepsi machine he’d been banging his fist against and cursing at to look her up and down appreciatively.
Horny old man, she thought, opening the office door. She couldn’t blame him for looking, though. She looked good, and she knew it. She’d better, as much time and energy as she’d put into getting ready for this day.
A month beforehand, she always hit the gym a little harder than usual, making sure her body was in tip-top condition; after all, when a woman’s secret lover sees her only once a year, she’d better make it worth his wait.
The innkeeper, who was seated behind a cluttered desk reading a dog-eared Ann Rule paperback smiled in recognition as she entered the office.
“Hello there,” he said, his eyes darting up and down her body.
She felt only slightly uncomfortable; a part of her, she supposed, enjoyed being ogled by strange men, and the innkeeper wasn’t all that unattractive, for an older guy.
“Your, uh, friend hasn’t showed up yet,” he said, leaning back in his chair and reaching towards the pegboard from which all of the room keys dangled neatly from their respective hooks..
He knew which one she wanted; she didn’t have to say anything. He snatched up the key to room twenty-six and handed it to her.
She stared at it for a moment, turning it over in her palm. “Thanks,” she said, keenly aware of the man’s penetrating gaze upon her cleavage.
What must he think of her? Did he think she was some kind of whore? If she were in his place, the curiosity would have eaten away at her; the same two people showing up year after year, always on the same day, like clockwork. It had to seem strange, she knew that. No, not strange. Downright bizarre.
To the innkeeper’s credit, though, he’d never asked.
She turned and exited the office, knowing full well that the man behind the desk was mentally peeling away the tight black Gucci dress that clung so suggestively to the contours of her well-toned body.
When she arrived at the room, it seemed oddly disconcerting, seeing the place empty for the first time. He’d always gotten there first, and therefore she’d never been there alone. It looked like any other budget motel room one would crash in while traveling cross-country on a business trip. Check in late, catch a rerun of Sex and the City if the place had HBO and settle in for a few hours of restless sleep before guiltily taking advantage of the free donuts and coffee in the lobby the next morning.
She set her purse down on the table and checked her lipstick and hair in the mirror. Everything was in order. She’d been slightly worried that he wouldn’t like the new hairstyle, with her formerly shoulder-length sandy blonde hair trimmed a few inches shorter, but not too worried.
He’d be overcome with lust when he saw her, just as he always was. He was reliable like that; never taking her for granted, always cherishing the all-too-brief moments of passion allotted to them.
She sometimes wondered if he treated his wife the same urgent sense of licentious fervor; savoring her, treasuring her as if she were the only woman in the world.
She doubted it. Married men, almost to a fault, tended to settle into a comfortable routine and stay put. That satisfied them; the predictability of it all. She supposed that women were the same way. Hell, she herself found comfort in the stability of her upper-middle class suburban existence. Picking the kids up after school, ordering takeout for dinner and settling into bed with the latest James Patterson book on her Kindle…Rinse and repeat.
Sometimes, though, she needed a little jolt of excitement to make her feel alive, to remind her of just what it meant to be a woman again. To be desired, placed on a pedestal as a sex goddess.
He provided that jolt. Once a year, that was all she needed to recharge her batteries.
Occasionally, throughout the year, she’d allow her mind to conjure up sensual images of past encounters as she pleasured herself with the small, pocket-sized vibrator she kept in her nightstand, imagining his powerful hands gripping her hips, his cock thrusting deep inside of her as she he tenderly kissed her neck.
He wasn’t significantly larger than her husband in the dick department, but he was definitely more skilled in its use. When she climaxed with him, it was damned near close to a religious experience. The man knew how to fuck, and sometimes a woman just needed to be fucked. Not made love to, not treated like a delicate piece of china that might break if handled too roughly, but used and abused until she couldn’t see straight. That was what he gave her. And that was why she kept coming back for more.
One thing she never did, however, was to think of him while she and her husband were in bed together. Not out of guilt, because she didn’t feel particularly guilty, but because she wanted these encounters kept separate from her normal, every day life. It was her way of compartmentalizing things.
After nearly an hour of unbearably introspective waiting, she began to grow concerned. Had he decided not to show? Had he lost interest in her? God, had something happened to him?
For the first time, it occurred to her that if he were to die, she’d never know what had happened to him. Jesus, she didn’t even know his name. She’d simply be left wondering, for the rest of her life, what had happened to the man who had brought her so much pleasure over the past few years.
How would she deal with that? She couldn’t imagine what that would be like, the uncertainty of it all.
Maybe it was time to break the rule they’d established, their agreement about not knowing each others’ true identities. Would that kill the excitement? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out, either.
There was a knock at the door, and her heart skipped a beat. She sat up straight, smoothing the front of her dress and pushing her chest out suggestively.
“It’s unlocked,” she called, hoping that it was indeed him and not some random weirdo out to rape her.
The knob turned, and the door swung slowly open. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was him. And he was just as sexy as ever.
He was taller than she remembered, dressed impeccably in a charcoal gray Italian style suit with a silk-woven lavender paisley tie, leading her once again to wonder how a straight man had developed such great taste in clothing.
He smiled, revealing a set of white, flawlessly straight teeth, which was something else she liked about him; he knew how to take care of himself.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, drinking her in with his dark, hazel eyes.
She felt herself melting under his lustful gaze. “No problem,” she said. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”
She didn’t ask what had happened that had caused him to be late. It was really none of her business, anyway. She didn’t know anything about his life outside of this room, nor did he have any knowledge of hers. That was they way they’d both wanted things to be.
She stood up and walked slowly towards him. They met in the center of the room, where they embraced. With his hands resting gently on her waist and her arms around his neck, they brought their lips together in a wet, sensual kiss.
As he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she began to feel woozy. The subtle, understated smell of his cologne combined with the clean, minty residue left behind by his mouthwash was a lethal combination; she was tingling all over now, and she wanted nothing more than to fall back on the bed and be ravished by this strikingly gorgeous hunk of a man.
She withdrew from their kiss, tugging playfully at his lower lip with her teeth.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he muttered into her ear.”
“You’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I know exactly how much.”
She reached up and loosened his tie, unraveling it from underneath his collar and tossing it over her shoulder.
“I want you to fuck me,” she breathed as she began to unbutton his shirt.
He grinned, removed his jacket and took her by the arms, guiding her onto the bed.
As she lay there, panting with anticipation, he ran his hands up her thighs, all the way underneath her dress until she felt his fingers tugging at the waistband of her panties.
He slid them down expertly, pulling them off in one slow, smooth motion. He looked appreciatively at them for a moment, wadded up in his hand, moistened by the wetness of her pussy, and tossed them to the floor before raising her legs over his shoulders.
He dove right in, teasing her clit with the tip of his tongue and then hungrily lapping at her dripping wet hole.
She felt her eyes rolling back into her head. God, he was good. She’d had her pussy eaten by dozens of men over the years, especially in her college days, but no one did it with as much skill and dexterity as he did.
Before long, she felt the first shudders of an orgasm begin to flow over her body from head to toe, little waves of pleasure that danced across her skin, caressing every nerve ending like tiny sparks of static electricity.
As she came, she grabbed a handful of his thick, lustrous brown hair and pulled his head down, bucking wildly against his face, moaning with pleasure with as her pussy began to spasm uncontrollably.
She cried out in surprise as she felt one of his fingers slip into her asshole, flinging her arms to her sides as he continued probing her with his tongue.
After she’d come yet again, he rose and climbed on top of her, kissing her breasts, her neck, her cheeks, and finally her lips.
She could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against her through his pants, and she began massaging the head with her fingertips. She wanted to worship it, to bow down and submit to its power, to become a slave to its desires.
She unzipped his pants, reached inside his underwear and pulled it out. Engorged and beautiful, it seemed to stare at her, beckoning her.
She sat up, pushed him down on the bed and took his cock into her mouth. She’d never been all that fond of giving head, but there were exceptions, and this was one of them. She actually enjoyed sucking him off, giving him pleasure, looking up and seeing the reaction on his face as her mouth worked its magic.
As her head bobbed up and down, her hair tickling his stomach, she felt his legs tensing up, his breath quickening.
She wanted nothing more than to swallow every last drop of this young, vital and virile man’s cum, adding his magnificent liquid life-force to her own, but she withdrew as soon as she felt his balls tightening, tracing a long-nailed finger around the head and flashing him a mischievous smile. “Not yet,” she said.
“You’re killing me,” he said with a shaky laugh.
She shrugged, batted her eyelashes innocently. “Surely there’s worse ways to go.”
She stood up and turned her back to him, slowly stripping off her dress and giving him a full view of her pert, toned ass that she’d spent so many hours shaping in the gym.
She turned around, reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, exposing her bare breasts.
“You are beautiful,” he said taking in the sight of her completely nude body.
She
started to remove her shoes.
“No,” he said. “Leave those
on.”
She smiled and slinked down to the bed, crawling towards him with the smooth, graceful motion of a cat on the prowl.
After she’d finished unbuttoning his shirt, she started on his pants. Soon all of his clothes were off, and she was sitting astride him, running her hands in circles around his chest.
She raised herself up and then slowly lowered her pussy down onto his cock, moaning as his thick, swollen shaft stretched and filled her.
She rocked slowly back and forth, enjoying the sensation of his stiff pole sliding in and out of her now sopping-wet twat.
Without warning, he grabbed her by the shoulders and rolled her on her back, his dick still inside of her.
He began to fuck her with eager, furious thrusts of his hips, causing the mattress to squeak and the headboard to bang rhythmically against the wall like the relentless beat of one of those techno songs they played in the clubs she’d frequented before she met her husband.
Digging her nails into his back, she came twice more as he pounded away at her like a man who’d just been released from prison and hadn’t been with a woman in years.
The thrusts began to slow down and become more forceful as his facial muscles became contorted in ecstasy. When he climaxed inside of her, she thought she could actually feel the warm jets of cum being released into her pussy.
Spent and exhausted, they fell side by side on the bed, her cheek nuzzling against his chest. She ran her fingers through his chest hair, marveling at its soft, silky texture. She wasn’t typically a fan of body hair on a man, because it was usually so coarse and scratchy. For some reason, however, she loved his. It suited him. He wasn’t too hairy; there was just enough there accentuate his masculinity.
A thin sheen of sweat covered her entire body as she struggled to catch her breath, her breasts heaving up and down as she gasped for air.
“Wow,” she breathed, staring at the wobbly ceiling fan above the bed. “That was good.”
He smiled, stroking her hair. “You’re telling me.”
***
Sleep proved elusive that night, even after several more rounds of furious lovemaking. She was exhausted, but the harder she tried to fight her insomnia, the more futile her efforts became.
She laid there silently, her mystery lover passed out beside her, staring at the alarm clock on the nightstand, watching the minutes pass slowly by.
2:31. 2:32. God, this was torture. She thought about getting up and taking a shower, but she didn’t want to make too much noise, thus depriving her friend with benefits of sleep as well. That would hardly be fair.
Still, she thought, that might not be a bad idea, “accidentally” waking him up. What man didn’t like to be roused from his sleep by an attractive, horny woman whose body was his personal playground? Pussy, mouth or ass, they were all his for the taking.
She wondered if he knew how lucky he was; she didn’t let her husband Steve anywhere near her butt. He was far too selfish a lover to be permitted to indulge in the forbidden pleasures of anal sex with her. He’d wind up cramming it in there with no regard for her well-being, slamming her ass until he got off. The fact that the entire scenario would probably last less than a minute was beside the point.
The man lying beside her, though, would take his time, arousing her to the point that she would practically be begging him to fuck her in the ass.
Her eyes were drawn to his pants, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. His wallet would be in one of the pockets, she realized with a sudden rush of adrenaline. If she could get a quick peek at his driver’s license, she’d finally know his name.
She banished the thought from her mind, or at least tried to. No. Don’t even think about it. You’re going to ruin this if you do what you’re planning to do. Just leave it alone and try to get some sleep.
But she couldn’t. The prospect was far too tempting.
She slipped out from underneath the sheets and tiptoed over to the discarded pants, reached inside.
She glanced back to make sure he was still asleep before snatching the wallet and creeping over to the bathroom.
Gently, she closed the door behind her, turned on the light and sat down on the edge of the tub.
She stared at the wallet for a long time, trying to convince herself to put it back without looking inside, but that was a lost cause.
She took a deep breath and opened it up.
Staring up at her, from inside of a yellowed plastic insert was a picture of a woman, probably his wife. She was very pretty. Prettier than her, at least.
Wait, was that a twinge of jealousy she was experiencing? Ridiculous! Get a grip on yourself, for Christ’s sake.
She looked underneath the pic and found another. This one was of him, that same woman(definitely his wife), and two young children, a boy and a girl. They were adorable, of course. Two devastatingly attractive people weren’t likely to produce ugly offspring.
For the first time since these clandestine encounters had begun, she felt guilty. Was she a home wrecker? Was she a filthy whore driving a wedge between this man and his picture-perfect family?
No, she decided. He was a big boy, capable of making his own decisions. He was just as culpable as she was.
She spotted his drivers license sticking out of one of the folds of the wallet. Here it was, the moment of truth. The big reveal.
She slid it out, squinting at the tiny print on the creased and scratched-up laminated card.
Arizona. So that’s where he was from. She didn’t know why she found that odd, but she did. She’d always had him pegged as more of a Pennsylvania man. New Hampshire, even. He seemed like the Ivy League type.
She read the name on the license; mouthing the words with a barely audible whisper. “Jeffrey Sloane.”
She wondered if people called him “Jeff” for short. God, this was so strange, finally being able to attach a name to the face. To the cock. Anticlimactic, almost.
She realized, with a sinking feeling, that she never should have caved into her insatiable sense of curiosity. The mystery was gone now. He was just another man, Jeff from Tucson. She sighed.
Her heart jumped into her throat as the bathroom door creaked open, and she scrambled to conceal the wallet. It was no use. The driver’s license fell to the floor between them. He looked at it, then at her, shaking his head.
“I’m very disappointed in you,” he said as she squirmed, naked and defenseless under his accusatory stare. He’d put on a pair of boxers to sleep in, so he wasn’t quite as exposed as she was.
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling like a complete and utter fool. “I couldn’t sleep, and it was just…there.” She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“So,” he said, “Now that you know my name,” he said stiffly, “I think it’s only fair that you tell me yours.”
She hesitated for a moment, but he was right, of course. “Carrie,” she said softly, looking at the floor.
“Carrie what?” he demanded. What’s your last name?”
She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. “Underwood?”
He didn’t laugh.
“Mackenzie,” she said, looking away from him.
“Well, Carrie Mackenzie,” he said, “You’ve been a very naughty girl. Do you know what happens to naughty girls?”
Her eyes widened. Where was this going? Was he going to murder her and leave her body in the tub for the maid to find. Oh my God, I never should have come here.
He seized her by the arm, hauling her to her feet. “Come on,” he commanded, dragging her through the doorway and over to the bed.
He sat down, pulled her down across his lap, her naked, uncovered ass protruding into the air.
Okay, so this was some kind of spanking game. She could deal with that. It was better than the alternative she’d been concerned about a few short moments ago.
She cried out in surprise as he brought his hand down with much more force than she’d expected.
“Ow!” she said. “That hurt!”
“It’s supposed to hurt.” He smacked her ass again, even harder this time.
“Okay,” she said, laughing and starting to get up. “That will be quite enough. You’ve made your point.”
He held her down and continued to spank her, each stroke of his hand more powerful than the last.
“We’re not finished with your punishment yet,” he said with an unusually calm voice.
Her ass was on fire now, but something else was happening. She felt a slight dampness forming between her legs. Oh my God, she realized, this is actually turning me on! Judging by the throbbing, hardened cock poking against her stomach, the feeling was mutual.
She decided to give in to her punishment, raising her ass higher. Her cheeks parted, exposing her tender little asshole, which soon felt the sting of his hand.
Ripples of pleasure passed over her entire body as he unrelentingly disciplined her naughty little ass and showed no sign that he was going to let up anytime soon.
“Oh, yes, daddy,” she cried. “Yes, I’ve been so naughty! I’m sorry, daddy! Please stop spanking me, daddy!”
But he didn’t stop. Ignoring her feigned pleas for mercy, he kept swatting her reddened bottom until she finally came.
He stood up, allowing her collapse to the floor in an exhausted heap while he began to put on his pants.
Still naked and vulnerable, she watched him get dressed, wondered if she’d ever see him again. Had she ruined a good thing by nosing around in his wallet? God, why couldn’t she have just left well enough alone?
He started towards the door. No, she thought. He couldn’t leave her like this, wondering if she should even bother to show up next time.
“Jeff,” she whimpered as his hand rested on the doorknob, “Is this it?”
He turned around to look at her one last time. “I want you to think about what you’ve done,” he said sternly. Then his face broke into a wry smile. “Until next year.”