This story is a work of erotic fiction intended for adults 18+.
From the street outside, the sunny cafeteria on the ground floor with the large glass windows ribbed with wooden frames let in the light, and you could see the plants in pots as they peered outside, curious - as the customers at their tables sipped coffee and carried on with their conversations.
M glanced across the street, it was empty apart from a few vagabonds sitting by a bench exchanging a cheap cigarette; and he quickly skipped across the tarmac to the door. It was relatively early but he wanted to get there a little before her so that he could book a room, and maybe order in some alcohol. Unnatural, that's what this felt like; the attempts civilisation makes at concealing that which it depends on and is its essence. And yet, the street outside and the room inside are two worlds - and sex, or perhaps intimacy, affection, love..the steps towards mutual understanding, could not as of yet find a common ground between these avenues. An odd thought - and yet he wondered bitterly, grudging the coldheartedness of the managers who make a living profiting from the needs of space which lovers seek to secure for themselves. And, inquired after a room at the front desk.
The clerk was a stout dark man, about fifty with a strong square face and intent eyes, which may have studied the faces and dispositions of far too many people coming through the doors to care for their names and characters any longer. M indicated that he would like a small room, and without much of a scuff, was given a key to 033. Since he didn't have any luggage, the bellboy wasn't called - though as he walked up the stairs he noticed him peering into the pantry downstairs saying something to the kitchen.
The carpet on the staircase was inviting, and seemed to assure him that the place was well kept; a sign of taste that the establishment had not forsaken corridors, which to him at least was always reassuring. A meeting between guests would at least find itself on the privilege of half an inch of thick red carpet; whose plushness softens personalities better than many a quick nod.
He pushed the key in and let the room fill his senses. It had light curtains covering french windows. A bed which would almost look inviting were it not for the course woollen blanket left there. A bedside table with a lamp pleased the eye, and across the room squeezed against the wall was a desk and chair. Hardly anything luxurious, but serviceable.
He pulled the chair out and sat down to open his phone. A text from L said that she should be reaching in about five minutes or so. He liked that about her, her promptness, that she kept him informed. In a world where most don't share each others names he read this to be a remarkable act of trust; secretly still believing however that in matters of faith women were afforded luxuries which men will never know.
He had bathed and brushed before coming, but checked the bathroom to make sure it was comfortable, more out of a gut reaction, a matter of instinct or habit, like the film of uneasiness that this entire scenario seemed to conjure. It lacked, despite its commonness - the assurance of familiarity. It was not, after all a TV dinner with a girlfriend on a Friday night...
But this was a new city, and this rendezvous was organised on the fly. The single day of leave he had arranged for was for the sole purpose of getting away from the office's environs; environs? no thats a sad and sick word...almost, no - just the office itself. He needed to get away from it.
Yet, it was in his breaks between documents that he had ventured out to make an acquaintance with a beautiful stranger over the phone. And with some giving and taking, of trust and assurances, mostly about the past which didn't seem very significant to either, a correspondence emerged.
He was about to think about the past and its insignificance, but a beep on his phone alerted him to L's arrival. "I'm at the desk" - he quickly texted her "033" and waited to check if she had seen the message.
Waiting, he felt that he should make some gesture - a word of welcome, perhaps conveying anticipation but the duration was too brief. She was there, a knock on the door. He quickly got up and answered it, and she came in. She was wearing a frock like dress, her hair held back with a clip over her forehead, he pulled her close and kissed her, exploring her mouth almost as if for signs to assure himself that the journey hadn't been as weary as his, and she reciprocated, with less concern and a sense of the desire which had animated their exchanges.
The sense of company that one would rather keep than not, its comfort and assurance warmed him as much as her tongue and kissing. They drew apart and looked at each other for a while that felt longer than it should have, almost as though the script of some play written in heaven had not imagined anything beyond precisely this freeze frame. And finally, as though to break the mounting silence, which was not uncomfortable, she said - I hope you have been well. M nodded. He held her hand and looked down at it, happy to see someone who was willing to take an interest in him beyond purely commercial matters. This was the first time they had met, yet a lot of trust can be built in the backing up of a promise with an appearance.
They had planned this moment, and even joked about the situation and its absurdity - and really, what was left was to head to the bed and have sex. But for some reason, I believe that in this script of our lives something may be missing. Thankfully our characters were not bothered by such narratorial concerns.
L was slightly plump, but beautifully formed - hips that framed her but and pelvis invitingly, as her midriff plastered close to his allowed him to feel her body which he had wanted for so long. He loved that she took initiative as she went to the bed and lay down beckoning him to her. Her eyes on his, as she lay back on her elbows - he felt that he may have been here before, but wasn't sure; and almost clumsily lay down on top of her. She held his face away with her hand for a moment in a small smirk before letting him kiss her - and with the other reached down below his belt.
She looked at him as she undid the buckle, thinking in a weird yet practiced manner as to who this man really is. The excitement of a new love was not what animated this encounter, they knew each other as well as two people who are willing to share that which constitutes their lives with another may, and yet somehow - without a shared custom, it is difficult to think of it in relation to that which is uniquely our own, an idea of oneself - if it is that. Sex builds bridges. He was not wearing any underwear and his cock slipped easily from the opening. He slid the top of her dress over her bare shoulder and kissed her neck. Impatiently, she slid her dress up and eased his cock in inside her. Her hand was quick.
Missionary was still his favourite style - and he had needed to be inside her, to fuck her - he knew from the first moment of their correspondences. She was soft, and inviting and he had dreamt of fucking her for a few days now. Feeling inside her, he lowered his pelvis, thrusting up as he felt her vagina contract around the head of his shaft, hardening his cock further. Strangers as they were, rhythm was coming to them, and intimacy arrives without icebreakers when sex is on the table.
His cock was erect now, and her snatch was wet - and he held the back of her hair and pulled her head in to kiss her again as they turned on the bed playfully giggling without making a sound. She was on top of him now, and stared down - thinking again, who was this man, and how had strangers come to form a bond as intimate - but she wanted him now and there was no turning back. The dress was off, looking at him, she slid down his trousers, and holding his gaze - took his cock, still wet with her juices and put it inside her mouth, closing her eyes.
Her tongue cradled him, as she sucked him hard guiding her tip up and down his head as she stroked his shaft. He had needed this, the assurance of still being wanted of feeling the touch of a woman who would love him..as he gently cupped her cheeks. She slurped his dick moving up and down from the head to about the middle of the shaft and he could feel himself sliding against the inside of her cheek, but he wanted her tongue..
She responded to his urgency and lathered his head with her tongue, circling around it and sucking; he needed her to stop here...but he couldn't - she slid the back of her tongue over his head and brought him to orgasm, as he came hard into her mouth, throbbing with tension as she held his cock in her mouth sinking into her tongue to make him feel it.
M collapsed onto the bed in release, and she watched with some satisfaction as he squirmed and trembled from the sensations.
Relaxation, relief - and some rest... Relief more than anything as the nervous energy which had animated their intimacy mellowed slightly, and the emergence of a complicity of a kind was beginning. L had gotten up to head to the washroom.
He wondered why she hadn't let him go down on her... it didn't matter. He wanted to ask her what she liked, but this wasn't the time. She was back, and looked at him with a knowing smile and said that he came a lot; a nervy smirk escaped their lips as they looked at each other, happy yet unsure.
He had forgotten about the liquor he realised.