As I drove toward the hotel on North Street, I started thinking about R. He was the definition of "tall dark, and handsome." He had dark brown hair, striking blue eyes, and that particular tone of skin that would tan to a golden bronze within a few hours of being out in the sun. The more he tanned, the more alluring his eyes became. He was 6'4" and solid, one of the strongest men I knew. His strength wasn't developed in a gym, but over decades of tossing hay bales, repairing machinery, and hauling irrigation pipes on the family farm. He had left the area to go to college, but he came back when his father passed away, and now the farm was his. He didn't dress or act like a farmer, though. The only real giveaway was his farmer's tan - stark tan lines on his neck and arms where his sun-exposed skin met the part of him covered by a plain T-shirt.
He was one of those men who actually looks better in jeans and a t-shirt than he does in a suit or a tuxedo. Those fancier clothes hid his strong physique and muted his masculinity, making him look small. I hated it when his wife made him "dress up" like that. I wondered if he did,.too.
He married his high school sweetheart soon after he came back after college. Twenty years and two kids later, she looked angry all the time and they were rarely seen together around town.
I became more and more nervous the closer I got to the hotel. I was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea after all. I remembered my motto at the time - "Fuck globally, but only flirt locally." Sex with someone from my own town was extremely dangerous. There were eyes everywhere and the gossip mill was relentless. One only had to be seen more than a few times with a married person of the opposite sex and the rumors would start flowing. And if things went bad the fallout would have a direct impact on my husband and my kids, and that was not okay with me. No man was worth that.
Yet there I was, driving into the hotel parking lot and pulling behind the building. I saw his truck and I parked next to it. I noticed a note on his windshield. I got out of my car and retrieved it. The only thing written on it was the number "124." I threw my purse over my shoulder and set out to find room 124.
The first thing I noticed when he opened the door was that his shirt was off. Any reservations I had before that moment were gone and I stepped into the room quickly.
He lifted my purse off my shoulder and onto the table with one hand and he put the other on the back of my head, pulling me in for a kiss as he kicked the door closed. I started unbuttoning his jeans, a task made more difficult by the fact that we were kissing deeply so I couldn't see what I was doing and the fact that he was already so hard that the fabric was stretched tight, resisting my efforts. Feeling his cock through his pants sparked my memory of the thick eight inches I had enjoyed at least five times that night in the tent, and I worked on those buttons with more focus and urgency.
The few seconds of delay gave him time to get my blouse and my bra off and to start pulling up my skirt. Just as he had my panties down, assisted considerably by some strategic wiggling on my part, his cock was finally free. I knelt to pull his pants and underwear down, and I took his cock into my mouth as he was stepping out of his clothes.
I was surprised when he pulled me up, turned me around, bent me over the table, and pulled up my skirt. I shoved my purse out of the way forcefully and heard it crash to the floor, emptying its contents, as he drove his hardness into me. We both gasped and moaned, like a deep and longstanding thirst had finally been quenched. He fucked me hard and deep, his hands on my hips pulling me back onto him as he pumped his hips forward.
This wasn't like our experience in the tent. That was slow and sensuous and quiet. This was fast and raw, punctuated by the sounds of his moans and my screams as his hard thrusts lifted my feet off the floor. This was four years of passion and desire erupting all at once.
I was close to orgasm when I felt him start to release into me. He pulled me back onto him and tried to hold me there as he came, but I kept rocking forward and back as best I could, trying to bring myself over the threshold before he finished. I groaned in protest as his satisfied cock started shrinking.
He pulled me up to standing and turned me around to face him. Short of breath and glistening just a little with sweat, he pulled me close to him, kissed my forehead and said, "I'm sorry, darlin'. I just couldn't wait, but it's your fault. You felt so damned good!" He laughed and added, "Don't worry. We're nowhere near done yet."
I started moving toward the bed. I looked back at him and said, "Oh, I know we're not." Then I stretched out on the bed and closed my eyes. I could feel him lay down next me and slowly start to trace his finger around one of my nipples, just like I saw him tracing his finger around the rim of his coffee cup only an hour ago. Keeping my eyes closed, I turned my face toward him and smiled. He kissed me gently. That was the kiss I remembered.
I felt his hands on me, touching me everywhere, slowly working their way all over me as if he were examining every inch with his touch. I moved as he indicated, still with my eyes closed, letting his hands guide me. My skin felt aroused, even in the most innocuous of places. I shivered when he touched my arm. I felt a jolt of electricity as he touched my hip.
When he touched my clit, I arched my back and started grinding against his hand. He slid two fingers inside me and continued to rub my clit with his thumb. I screamed as I started to come and he kissed me, breathing me in, kissing me until I stopped shaking.
The rest was a blur, with one act of pleasure fading right into the next. At one point I remember laying next to him, suckling his hard cock for what seemed like the longest time, my throat totally relaxed, just enjoying the taste and feel and pressure. When he came close to climaxing, I pulled back a bit, waiting for him to come back down before I dove back in, swallowing the head again. It was unlike any blow job I had ever experienced, not just because it lasted for the better part of an hour, but because it didn't feel like it was for him at all. It was for me. I was enjoying it and ignoring his pleas for release.
At some point, I think he grew weary of the game - or he just couldn't stand it anymore - and he grabbed my hair, pushing and holding me down on him while he pumped his hips fast, fucking my mouth. He drove his cock into my throat as he came. I could feel the throbbing as his cum spurted out in waves, and it went on so long that I was beginning to be concerned about taking a breath. I struggled to pull my head up but he held me down forcefully. I grabbed his hands and tried to pry them off my head, but I couldn't move him. With his cock in my throat, I couldn't make any sound, no pleading groan or whimper. Just as I was about to dig my fingernails into his balls to make him release me, he grabbed two handfuls of hair and pulled me up and off his cock. The pop of the head coming out of my throat was audible, and I gasped for air as I was falling back away from him.
.Neither of us spoke. I caught my breath and looked over at him. He was still shaking, his cock was still hard.
I rolled over and looked at the clock. Three hours had passed since I showed up at the hotel. My pussy, my ass, and the back of my throat were all sore. I was drenched with cum.
It was time to go.
We both cleaned up and got dressed in silence, but it wasn't an awkward silence at all. It was more of a communal silence, the kind that said more than any number of words could have.
When we were both ready to go, I gave him a hug and we kissed as we stood at the door. I put my hand on the door nob but he quickly put his hand on mine to stop me from opening the door. I turned and looked up at him with an eyebrow raised.
He smiled and said, "Thursday. Noon. Here. Will that work?"
I nodded. Then I got up on my tippy toes to give him one more quick kiss before I opened the door and headed for the parking lot. I heard the door close behind me. I guessed that he was going to wait a few minutes until I was gone so no one would see us leave here together.
That was a Monday. The next morning, when I went out to my car to go to work, there was a note wedged in the window on the driver's side. It simply read, "Thursday is too far away. Today."
Yup, I thought. We've got a lot of time to make up.