Blue Motel Room

by Tymber Dalton

  It was almost nine o’clock when he checked in and made his way to his room.

  Yay, blue room.

  They were his favorite because of the color.

  He’d stopped just up the street and purchased food, a couple of two-liter bottles of soda, and a bottle of rum.

  He wasn’t going to waste a minute of this rare two-night stay at the resort. Already, there was a party underway in the courtyard, and he needed to get moving and become part of it if he wanted to get what he needed tonight.

  Ten minutes later, he’d downed his first rum and Coke, nuked a pot pie in the room’s microwave and consumed it, took a shower, mussed his hair, and donned the electric green Speedo he’d brought. Tomorrow he’d wear the blue one. But anyone there for the weekend who saw him in the same one tonight and tomorrow, it might turn them off.

  After refilling his drink, he grabbed his room key and headed downstairs to the courtyard. A few familiar faces, mostly clustered around the restaurant patio and smoking cigars. A lot of unfamiliar ones, and a few who vaguely pinged his brain.

  Picking up the beat of the music pulsing through the night, he started swaying in time, letting the alcohol flow through him, pulling the “twink” mask firmly into place. Dr. Mercado was never in residence here.

  At least, not until Kimbra had effortlessly seen past the mask and yanked it out of his hands.

  He cruised past the pool and down to the tiki bar, where he frequently found newbies to the scene hiding under the overhang, sometimes practically clinging to the high tops or the posts supporting the overhang.

  Tonight he spotted two guys he sized up out of the corner of his eye before slowly making his way over to the more older-looking of the two. He wasn’t the most handsome guy there tonight by a mile, but his hair was neatly styled and he wore a decent-looking watch on one wrist—which ended in a really meaty hand he suspected could deliver a satisfying spank.

  Chunkier than he was attracted to, but even better, because maybe the guy would be more willing to bite the hook. Wasn’t quite a bear or a chub, looked more like a vanilla guy who’d discovered the scene and was trying it on for size.

  Perfect.

  He put on “the smile” as he sidled up to the guy. “Hola, papi. Choo here alone tonight?”

  * * * *

  The recently divorced and barely out of the closet tax attorney was twenty-five years older than Ivan and a quick study. After Ivan got the guy all horned up by grinding on him there in the tiki bar, he led him upstairs to his room, exchanged test results, and…

  Unplugged.

  After the spanking, it wasn’t really Ivan blowing the guy. It was him watching from within a safe and cozy mental nest.

  At least with Kimbra, he’d stayed…there and part of the events.

  With this man, Ivan’s normal pattern took hold. He detached and endured and let the guy fuck him with his average cock—with a condom—doggy style while the guy’s fumbling, unskilled hand did manage to jerk a load out of him at the same time.

  By eleven that night, Ivan was once again alone in his room, had taken a shower, consumed another drink, and was watching episodes of Ghost in the Shell on his laptop.

  This wasn’t his first venture back to the Toucan since the night with Kimbra, but that night compared to all others since reminded him how much he usually didn’t connect with people.

  Kimbra had been different. While physically, yeah, it’d been more the alcohol and her skills than attraction that had done it for him, emotionally he’d responded to her.

  Dominant…and not domineering.

  Nurturing.

  He tried not to think about her. He’d yet to strike the motherlode and meet a guy who could make him feel like Kimbra had that night.

  Part of him never wanted to, either.

  Because vulnerability like that to another person full-time could easily destroy him.

  * * * *

  By lunchtime on Saturday, Ivan had already downed his first drink of the day and was spread out over the lap of a guy only a couple of years older than him, but who looked a lot older than that due to his full head of prematurely grey hair. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, sort of vanilla, but willing to give Ivan a hard spanking in return for some fun.

  The guy then plowed him—with a condom—missionary style, while telling Ivan to stroke his own cock and tell him how good he was, how great it felt, how big his cock was.

  So much talking it pretty much ruined what Ivan needed.

  It happened sometimes.

  Once the guy had left, Ivan showered, made a fresh drink, and headed out again. He had plenty of time to find one or two more guys today. At least between last night and that guy, the mental static had diminished by approximately half, so that was a win.

  He’d take as many of those as he could get.

  Ivan opted to grab a salad from the hotel’s restaurant and ate out on the patio so he didn’t have to put on more clothes to go inside. While he ate, he was aware of one of the leather Tops eyeing him, a guy he’d seen there at the Toucan plenty of times, nearly every time he’d been, but had never approached.

  This time, the guy walked over. He was cut, rugged, obviously a guy used to hard work, from his defined muscles and callused hands. Today he wore jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a chest harness with no shirt. Tall, maybe six-three, his black hair was greying around the temples and smile lines outside his intense brown gaze gave Ivan hope the guy might not be a total asshole.

  “Mind if I sit?” the guy asked.

  Vaguely terrified, Ivan nodded, his gaze dropping to his salad.

  The Top reached across the table, extending his hand. “Porter.”

  Ivan shook with him and barely remembered to keep his accent intact. “Ivan.” He never lied about his first name. Why bother? It was on his test results sheet.

  Porter sat back, studying Ivan. “I’ve seen you here a lot, but never with anyone permanently.”

  Ivan nodded.

  “And every time I’ve tried to catch your eye, but it’s like if there’s a group of us standing around and talking, you’re afraid of us.”

  By us Ivan assumed he meant the leather Tops that tended to congregate around the smoking area with their cigars.

  There was no reason to lie to him about this, either. “I am.”

  Porter’s gaze narrowed, but with what looked like curiosity, not predation. “Did one of the guys hurt you?”

  “Not anyone here. It’s me, none of choo.”

  One eyebrow arched skyward and he leaned in, dropping his voice. “I spent four years working in Puerto Rico, honey. Drop the accent, or we can switch to Spanish, but that’s just painful to listen to.”

  Ivan felt his face heat. Figures he was pegged by someone like this guy, who he didn’t feel like running from…yet.

  “Sorry,” Ivan muttered.

  Porter sat back in his seat, a casual, easy slouch. “Riddle me this, buddy—I watched you take a guy back to your room last night, and he left after only about an hour. But he looked like a happy guy when he did. Then I watch you pick up another guy this morning. And here you are again. This seems to be your routine. You look pretty damn young, too.”

  “I’m thirty-four.”

  At that, Porter’s eyebrows arched in shock. “Seriously? Lucky fucking bastard.”

  “Not really, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re not turning tricks, are you?”

  It felt like his face was burning. “No.” He shoveled another forkful of salad into his mouth.

  “Then what’s your deal? Because I’ve watched you repeat this pattern every time I’ve seen you here.”

  What the hell, might as well admit it. “I’m only looking for a good, hard spanking, no strings attached. I’m willing to trade sex for it, if that helps.”

  “Then why the hell haven’t you approached me or any of the other guys before?” He tipped his head toward the Tops over by the cigar area. “That’s kind of our jam, you know.
”

  “Because there’s other…stuff I know a lot of you guys might like that I can’t do.”

  “Stuff? You mean physically?”

  Ivan shook his head.

  “Humiliation, or something like that?”

  Ivan nodded and finally met Porter’s gaze again. “And I really don’t have the mental strength to get into a long, drawn-out negotiation or explanation about it. Plus I don’t know if I’m mentally strong enough to stand up to one of them—one of you—if they decide to push once we’re alone.”

  Porter’s chin lifted slightly. “Ah. You want a vanilla-ish guy who’s just happy to get laid.”

  “Yeah. A single guy.”

  “I’m single. Couple of regular play partners, and one fuck-buddy who’s currently out of the country for work and won’t be back for nearly a year.”

  The longer Porter sat and talked to him, the more Ivan felt drawn to him, and that both interested and horrified him.

  “So tell me, point-blank, your ideal scenario,” Porter said.

  Ivan took another bite of his salad and chewed it slowly to buy him some time. “Guy comes to my room with me, spanks the hell out of me so I can cry and get what I need, I give him a little joy in return. Either a blow job, or he can fuck me, and we’re done. If he wants to make me come, too, great, but not a requirement. Not much talking, no making me tell them how good they are, how big they are, fake sexy talk, or anything like that. I don’t want porn narration with my spanking and sex.”

  Porter smiled, propped an elbow on the table, rested his chin in his palm, and met Ivan’s gaze. “I have test results. Neg. And I like to spank. A lot. Other than checking in with you for a safeword, I promise I’ll keep my ego corralled and the talk to a minimum.”

  Ivan’s cock was already twitching with interest, and considering he wore a Speedo, it wasn’t like he could hide that once he stood.

  He nodded.

  “Good,” Porter said. “Then finish that up and let’s go see if I can’t scratch your itch for you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ivan nervously led Porter back to his room. He hoped he wasn’t making a huge fucking mistake in trusting the man, but if he was…

  Well, he’d deal with that later.

  The draw of possibly getting what he needed was too damn strong.

  Once the door swung closed behind them, Porter pulled out his wallet and produced a slip of paper that Ivan glanced at. Neg all the way across. He also showed Ivan his ID, and the name on it matched the test results. Porter was forty-eight, which surprised Ivan because he would have guessed the man was closer to forty, and he lived in Lakeland. At least, that was what the address on his driver’s license said.

  Even better, because that was over an hour away from here, and almost two hours from Sarasota.

  Ivan walked over to his bag, dug out his wallet, and handed his results over for the guy to scan before he returned it.

  “Let me see your ID,” he said.

  Ivan blushed, but showed the man his driver’s license. He only took his room key and a pre-paid debit card with less than fifty bucks on it when he walked around the resort. He brought his own alcohol, so he didn’t have to be worried about getting carded. That way, if he lost the card he wasn’t out a lot of money.

  Making his own oblivion saved him money, too.

  “You sober?” Porter asked.

  “Mostly. Sober enough.”

  “Good.” Porter left his phone and wallet on the dresser before he sat on the end of the bed, but made no move to undress. Leaning back stretched his torso and Ivan fought the urge to pounce on him. He wasn’t super hairy or anything, but he could see the guy used clippers to trim his chest instead of waxing or shaving. A faint treasure trail headed south, below his waistband.

  “Ground rules first,” Porter said.

  Ivan nodded.

  “I ask for a color, you give me red, yellow, or green. Red doesn’t mean we’re done unless you say we’re done, so don’t be afraid to say it if you need to. Red means I’ll stop what I’m doing and talk to you before I continue.”

  Ivan nodded.

  “What about leaving marks?”

  Ivan shrugged. “Elbows to knees are safe. I can hide that.”

  “Good.” His eyes scanned Ivan’s body, and Ivan thought the man’s gaze lingered on his thighs for a moment, but then continued on until he was looking Ivan in the eyes again.

  “I’m here for the spanking,” Porter said, smiling. “I’ll never turn down the opportunity to put a sweet little twink over my knee and turn his ass red.”

  Porter’s smile faded. “I do not expect sex. If we finish and you say no, then that’s it. I won’t pressure you. Not trying to sound like an asshole, but I can walk out that door and have a guy on his knees for me with my cock down his throat in less than five minutes. Can’t always find a guy who wants to take what I can give him in terms of sadism.”

  “Thanks. Probably yes.”

  “Are you okay with me groping you during the spanking, or do you just want a spanking?”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  Porter scooted a little farther back on the bed and nodded toward him. “Strip.”

  Ivan dropped the bathing suit and stepped out of it, leaving it on the floor, waiting while Porter’s gaze scanned him again.

  “Good boy,” he said, his voice dropping in tone and volume. “Condoms and lube, just in case.”

  Ivan retrieved them and set them, and a hand towel, on the nightstand.

  “Come here.” Porter pointed at the floor in front of him, and Ivan walked over, kneeling there.

  Porter leaned in, studying his face for a long moment. “I spank pretty damn hard. No shame if you need to safeword or ask me for a minute to breathe. I’ll keep spanking you until either I’m ready to quit, or you ask me to stop. Understand?”

  “Thank you.” He wouldn’t call him Sir, even if the guy asked it of him. That was opening too much of himself, and he felt a dangerous skid along the edge as it was.

  Porter patted his right thigh. “I’m a lefty. So head this way.”

  Relief washed through Ivan as he stood and stretched out over the man’s denim-clad thighs, thighs which felt well-muscled, firm, just as in shape as the rest of him. Ivan’s cock brushed against the guy’s thigh as he settled into position, and he realized he might end up making a wet spot on the guy’s jeans.

  Then again, this guy was experienced. If he wanted Ivan to move or put down a towel, he’d tell him.

  Warm, strong hands stroked his back, his upper arms, his ass, his thighs. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Porter eased him into it, starting off light but quickly stepping up the force and pace of the spanking as he gauged Ivan’s ability to take it. Ivan’s ass quickly heated, stinging, the delicious wave of subspace yanking him down hard and fast.

  Outside, the world disappeared, and he realized this was every bit as good in most ways as the spanking he’d received from Kimbra, minus that extra emotional warmth.

  But it was good enough.

  The tears soon flowed, and every time Porter whispered, “Color,” in his ear, Ivan told him green and they were off again. Porter mixed spanking with pinching and raking his nails up and down Ivan’s flesh, hard, making him gasp and squirm and beg for more.

  The Top periodically reached between Ivan’s legs and palmed Ivan’s sac, played with his cock, but other than telling him what a good boy he was, or asking for a color—or making an appreciative noise when Ivan squirmed just right after a particularly intense series of impacts—he remained quiet.

  Sometimes the impacts came heavy and fast and in sweet bursts of pain that bordered on too much. Sometimes Porter slowed the pace, giving him time to breathe and process.

  At some point, Ivan realized Porter was picking him up, gathering him in his arms, and they stretched out on the bed with Ivan draped over the man. As his brain slowly oozed back into his skull, Ivan registered the light l
ooked different than it had when they started, as if several hours had passed.

  This warm, firm hunk of flesh he’d molded his body around held him. Ivan fought and lost against the urge to hump himself against the man’s hip, his hand snaking down his abs, until Porter caught it and laced fingers with him.

  “Oh, we’re not done with the spanking yet.” He sounded amused. “I just needed a little break.”

  Ivan whimpered, muffling it by pressing his lips against the man’s bare chest.

  “Yeah, keep making those noises for me,” Porter said, patting Ivan’s ass with his other hand. “Because either you or someone else will end up with a hell of a ride by the time we’re done.”

  Porter made no move to undress. When he sat up again a few minutes later, this time he put Ivan facing to his left and spanked him with his right hand. Ivan could tell it wasn’t the man’s dominant hand because the strokes weren’t quite as hard or fast, like he was getting used to it himself. But after that round ended, Ivan’s cock throbbed, dripping, and he really did want to do something for the guy.

  He slid from the guy’s lap and dropped to his knees between his thighs, fumbling the man’s fly open and earning an amused chuckle from him. Porter easily picked him up and spread him out on the bed, where he bent in and slowly took Ivan’s cock into his mouth.

  Oh…fuck!

  In this way, too, Porter was no amateur. He kept his fingers pressed firmly around the base of Ivan’s cock as he teased him with his mouth. Before Ivan knew it, he was begging to come, which was something that rarely happened with him. Usually, by now, Ivan had already emotionally and mentally checked out and was just waiting for things to end.

  “You want more?” Porter asked.

  Ivan nodded.

  Porter sat up and rolled onto his back, shoving his jeans down a little, just enough to free his cock. “Wrap and lube me, then.”

  Ivan nearly knocked everything onto the floor in his excited lunge toward the nightstand. But a moment later, he had rolled the condom down Porter’s thick ten inches and was eagerly impaling his freshly lubed ass onto it.