Suite Encounters

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  I called Mark at the office later and told him where to meet me for dinner. Nothing fancy, and nothing heavy; I didn’t want to feel fat on my birthday! Afterward, I drove him to the hotel. “Holiday Inn? Are you serious?” he asked, disbelieving. “You could pick any fancy hotel, and you wanted to stay here? Honey, I wanted your birthday to be someplace special, not some cheap motel!”

  “Oh,” I said with a soft laugh, “it will be special.” That seemed to give him something to think about, and he was quietly curious as I checked us in.

  The room was basic: utilitarian, clean and comfortable. Perfect. I wasn’t going to play pampered princess; the extravagance of our Napa hotel just didn’t seem appropriate for tonight. Mark closed the door and reached for me, beginning to kiss me tenderly. I pushed him away, the palm of my hand flat on his chest. “Get undressed,” I said. “Now.” That earned me a lift of an eyebrow, but he complied. Tonight was definitely not going as he expected.

  I watched him as he undressed, his long fingers working the knot of his tie, undoing the buttons on his shirt to reveal the silky hair of his chest and the firm little nipples I so loved to nibble. He tossed the shirt aside and sat on the bed to remove his shiny patent shoes and dress socks. He stood again to unbuckle his belt, a wicked grin on his face, then his slacks were sliding down to the floor, revealing his long, muscled legs. The boxer briefs followed, and he was naked before me, not quite erect and probably wondering why I was still dressed.

  “Sit,” I commanded, gesturing to the bed. I didn’t wait to see if he obeyed but started slowly removing my dress, revealing my red satin bra and matching panties. He smiled as he realized I was wearing thigh-high hose. I’ve always loved the snug feeling around my thighs, the way they make me intensely aware of my legs, of what is covered, and what is not. I playfully removed my bra, hiding my breasts behind my hands as I turned around to glance coyly over my shoulder at him. I bent over, presenting my ass, and slowly slipped the panties down, revealing the smooth skin beneath.

  Naked now except for the hose and my high-heeled black pumps, I turned again to face him, allowing him to see my newly shaven sex. I stood right in front of him, crotch thrust at his face, letting him inspect my handiwork. He gasped in surprise and tried to grab me. I felt his hot tongue on my skin before I pushed him back onto the bed.

  I stared down at him, brown eyes meeting blue, and a small smile formed on my lips. I saw his own answering grin before I bent down to kiss him. Our mouths finally met in a slow, lingering kiss, lips tender and softly nibbling, tongues gently probing. His beard was just slightly scratchy against my chin.

  “Roll over,” I whispered suggestively, and he quickly did. My eyes drank in his broad shoulders, the golden tan of his smooth, warm skin. I sighed happily and ran my finger quickly down his spine, causing him to squirm a bit. Gently, I grasped his arm, lifted it slightly so I could fasten the black Velcro strap snugly around his wrist. His muscles subtly tensed, then relaxed again. I brought his hands together over the small of his back and tightened the second strap around his other wrist. Bound. I leaned over, my long hair brushing his skin, and asked if he was okay. He nodded, speechless, and I smiled and kissed him again.

  He jumped as my open hand struck his buttocks. We both laughed a little at my boldness. My palm stung a bit, and I wondered if it hurt him at all. I hoped it did, just a little. Was this making him nervous, wondering if I’d do it again? I let my hand run over the firm roundness of his perfect ass for a moment, then down to tickle his balls, making him jump again. I started to lick my hand, having seen him do that, then thought better of it. Instead I bent over and licked his buttcheeks, getting them good and wet. He twitched a little under my wet tongue, his eyes closing in anticipation. They flew open with the next smack. And the next. Enough; my hand hurt.

  I picked up the next item and leaned over him. I saw him eying me, my lips, my naked breasts. He obediently lifted his head as I started to fasten the blindfold on him, but I stopped. “No,” I decided. “I want you to watch.”

  I helped him roll over onto his back. His eyes widened as I straddled his muscular thigh, my hands slowly sliding up my belly to my breasts. I sighed, enjoying my own caresses, enjoying his eyes on me, on my firm brown nipples peeking from between my fingers.

  I saw him craning his neck to watch, so I crawled forward and put a pillow behind his head. I teased him, my tits just out of reach of his eager mouth, before resuming my position over his thigh. I settled down, pushing my sex against his leg, and he could feel the moist lips against his skin. His mouth opened just a bit as I slowly started to grind on him, my head back, my hands on their way to my clit. I moaned just a bit, echoed by his own soft whimper. I looked down to see his bright blue eyes watching, following my every movement. I smiled slyly, dipped my finger down into my wet pussy and then brought it to my lips to taste my tangy sweetness. I leaned down to kiss him, my tongue running lightly across his lips, darting into his mouth to share my honey. I wet my finger once again, rubbing the cream over my nipples. I brought my breasts to his mouth once more, but this time I let him suck on them, first one aching nipple, then the other. He took as much as he could into his mouth, enjoying the taste of my arousal.

  I moaned with pleasure before pulling away, but I wouldn’t deny his hungry mouth. I knelt above his face, and he raised his head, straining to get to me. I let him lick me with just the tip of his hot tongue, and it felt so good. I lowered myself so he could plunge it into me once, twice, then as his tongue started to circle my clit, I pulled once more out of reach. I wasn’t sure who I was teasing now.

  I knelt over his cock, only semi-erect, but the drops of slickness at the tip gave him away. I used my thumb to spread the precome over the head of his cock, laughing a little at how much there was, then used my tongue to lick the thick, sticky fluid away. I took him into my mouth, and his eyes closed as his head fell back on the pillow. I gently sucked, feeling the blood rushing to engorge his penis. Soon I couldn’t contain it in my mouth anymore, so I started moving up and down his swollen shaft.

  I got him good and ready before I stopped. I straddled his hips, his cock flat between his belly and my pussy. I ground down, making us both moan. I stared into the endless depths of summer sky in his eyes, lost for a second, caught helpless in my own passion.

  I grabbed my vibrator and rubbed it against my clit, rubbing my pussy against his cock. I stood up over him, one hand on the wall above the bed to steady myself, my other hand working the toy in and out of my pussy. He gazed up at me in fascination, watching it disappear into the depths of my sex, listening to the wet sounds it was making.

  “Oh, god,” I moaned, “Oooooh…” His breathing was almost as fast as mine as he watched, mesmerized, caught in my spell. I bent my knees a bit and positioned myself so he could see everything. My hand worked faster and faster, and I could feel the muscles inside tightening, so tight…so tight…

  “Oh, Angie,” I heard his awed whisper, “you’re so beautiful when you come!” I could hardly hear him over my own moans, but it pushed me over the edge. He started in surprise as the first hot drops hit him, then his mouth opened wide to catch my gush. I slowed, stopped, laughed a little. I could see my creamy white come on his face and chest. I rubbed my hand across my pussy lips and brought it to my mouth, curious to taste it, then lowered myself onto his face so he could eagerly lap it up. I sighed in contentment as his tongue thrust deep into my still-trembling pussy, causing me to squirt once more until his face and my thighs were wet with it.

  Finally I got off of him and reached beneath him to undo the straps. He sat up slowly, hair disheveled, rubbing at his wrists a bit. He grabbed me and we kissed deeply, his tongue pushing into my mouth like it had pushed into my sex, plunging, demanding.

  He pushed me onto my back and entered me quickly, one fierce thrust to the hilt. I whimpered as my legs tried to close a bit, but he continued to grind almost painfully into my swollen pussy before withdrawing to kneel over me. He
waved his erection in my face, using the tip to part my lips. “My turn,” he said, a big smile on his face. I smiled back and opened wide for him, taking him in, licking my own juices from his member. I ran my tongue around the swollen head of his cock, my fingers gripping the base. I sucked eagerly at his length, my hands playing with his balls, gripping his ass to pull him in deeper. His moans excited me, and my hips lifted a little beneath him.

  “My turn again,” I whispered, pushing him onto his back once more. I climbed on top, straddling him. It took a bit of maneuvering to get his thick cock into me, and then I was fucking him, my hips grinding down in circles as he filled me. I couldn’t believe how hard he was, huge and solid inside me. I took it slow, feeling every bit of him deep within. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me down even harder, making me whimper. My fingers found my clit and started rubbing frantic circles around it as my breath started to come faster. I felt almost bruised inside, but Mark was the one well used tonight.

  His eyes burned into mine and I saw the fire there, the love and the need, and my own eyes started to overflow, burning tears of passion trickling slowly down. I leaned forward and we kissed once more, bodies pressed together, melded into one. With a final thrust he came deep inside me, the walls of my pussy squeezing him, holding him tight. I shuddered as I climaxed with him, breathless in our enduring kiss, writhing with him, riding the ecstasy until the moment was over.

  We take turns now, being in control, being on top. I’m more assertive in other areas as well, and I’m thinking about going back to college. Maybe I’ll become a writer. Why not?

  TRAVELODGE TESS

  Justine Elyot

  I spot him in Costa, lolling on one of those high stools, flashing his top of the range smartphone for all to see. As my sights home in on him, I tick off items on my mental checklist: handmade shoes, fake tan, splayed crotch in pinstripes. Or, to put it another way: ostentation, vanity, arrogance. Yes, he’s the one. He’s perfect.

  I spend a lot of time in motorway service stations. It’s my job, you see. I have to inspect the facilities and report my findings to a consumer organization. This place apparently rejoices in four-star restrooms and an onsite barber shop. But it’s the motel I’m interested in today. And how can I rate a motel without testing the bed?

  Everywhere I go, I see men like him. I imagine them coming off some production line conveyor belt as hair gel and aftershave rains down from overhead spray nozzles. Their circuits are loaded with business-speak and self-puffery before they are suited and booted and sent out into the world like a biblical plague.

  I wasn’t too surprised, on drawing within earshot of my target, to hear him spouting some nonsense about baseline figures.

  “Are we in agreement, then, mate? Cool. We’ll roll it out over the eastern counties then, once all the ducks are in a row. Yeah, I’ll catch you tomorrow for a visioning session. Ciao, mate. Bye.”

  If it weren’t for the words spoken, he would have a nice voice, deep and slightly hoarse, probably the product of talking too much and listening too little. He is good-looking despite the over-styling, and he knows it. Coming up behind him, I note giant cufflinks and a whiff of whatever won the latest GQ Grooming Award for Aftershave. I make sure I pass just an inch or so too close to him. My handbag skims the edge of his table and I hear him put the phone down with a faint clatter once my back is presented to his view. Easy, always so easy. Reaching the counter, I jut out a hip in its tight pencil skirt and ask for a cappuccino in my throatiest purr.

  While the barista busies herself, I push out my ass and pretend to be reading the price list on the wall. When he puts his coffee cup back on its saucer, it makes a juddery, wobbly sound. Steady your hands, boy, you’re going to need them.

  For a midweek afternoon, the café is strangely empty, so my table choice—directly next to his—can’t fail to be provocative. I set down my cup and reach into my handbag for my phone. When I cross my legs, letting the side split in my skirt reveal the edge of my stocking top, I hear his breathing deepen and quicken.

  I dial my home phone number and talk to my answering service.

  “Hi, it’s me,” I say, with a quick glance at him. He is looking at me. “I’m at the services on the M4. Think I might book into the Travelodge.” I finger my necklace. He is still looking at me. “It’s been a hard day and I need to relax. So I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Yes, the meeting went well. I’ll be in the office first thing tomorrow morning with all the news. Bye.”

  As I press the off button, he clears his throat. I inhale, waiting for it, waiting, here it comes…

  “Did you get caught out by those roadworks just past Heston?”

  I turn my face to him. He is smiling, a smile that makes him look like Jaws with better dental hygiene. His eyes, above the dazzle, have a hard, hungry gleam.

  “Afraid so,” I laugh. “I’m so sick of the sight of cones now. I hope I never see another one in my life.”

  “I hear you.”

  “You aren’t deaf then.”

  It’s exquisite to see the way his brow rumples and his smile fixes itself into a rictus. I didn’t mean to do it, but I couldn’t resist. But I must overcome this little self-inflicted setback and get him back on track—the track that leads to my motel bed.

  “Sorry,” I say with an apologetic little smile. “Do you have to travel much?”

  “In my line of work…” he starts, and I switch off. I don’t hear him, until he stops bigging himself up and starts winding things down with a polite, “Yourself?”

  “Oh yes, I’m always on the road. I’m in sales, too, but not quite the same product you deal in.” Whatever that is. Something to do with telecommunications whatnots, I gathered from the bits of interminable droning I’d processed.

  “Oh, really? What line are you in, then? Let me guess. Beauty?” Such gallantry!

  I fake a coy glance down at the table and bite my lip.

  ”I’m not sure I should tell you.”

  “Oh, go on,” he says, stretching out the entreaty seductively. His hand moves along the table, closer to me, his whole body following it into a lean.

  “Sexy underwear.”

  His Adam’s apple drops.

  “I’ve a whole suitcase full of samples in my car.”

  I think he’s forgotten to breathe.

  “Wow,” he says at last. “Cool.”

  “Would you like to see some?”

  “I, uh, I’m not really in the market…”

  “No, I don’t want to sell them to you.”

  He licks his lips, looks up at the light fixture for a moment, as if seeking advice from it. When he looks back at me, his pupils are huge and skittering from side to side.

  “Are you…serious?”

  “Are you in a hurry? Do you need to get back?”

  He stares for a moment longer, then shakes his head vigorously.

  “No, I…not at all. I can…I’m free for the rest of the day now.”

  “Good. Because I’m going to take my suitcase full of silky, scanty panties over to the Travelodge and check in with it. Are you coming with us?”

  He smiles again, less sharkily, looking more like a schoolboy invited behind the bike sheds for the first time.

  “Wow,” he says again, then, “Sure.”

  Long fingers tug at his collar, though his tie doesn’t need straightening.

  I slide off my stool and extend a hand, which he grabs with indecent haste.

  The barista, fascinated, pauses in her drying of crockery, the towel flapping over the counter.

  I nod and grin in her direction as I lead my lamb to the car park. If I could, I’d drag him by his tie. The vivid orange silk matches his skin tone, I notice.

  Not many people are hand in hand as they mill around the convenience store and the Burger King. Most of the nonstop human tide swelling in and out of this place looks tired and cross, slouching in tracksuits, munching on overpriced junk. Some of them stop and stare at us, the polished pa
ir with our eyes on the motel and our minds on sex. It makes me smile and sway my hips.

  I feel all-powerful in the car park, heaving my suitcase out of the trunk. I want sex. I take it.

  He wrestles the baggage off me, saying something about my being a “lady,” and tries to beat me to the motel, because it seems to be important to him that he gets into the lobby first. He does the alpha strut all the way across the forecourt and makes the booking in his name, which I don’t bother to remember. I guess that means he’ll pay with his credit card. The lack of wedding ring wasn’t just a travelling salesman’s ruse. My conscience can be clear.

  “Room Two-Sixteen, turn right when you come out of the lift.”

  The clunky key is given to him, and he wheels the suitcase into the lift, where it stands awkwardly between us, but not so awkwardly that I can’t wrap a fist around his tie and yank him down for a clash of lips and teeth the moment the doors slide shut.

  He smells like heaven by the motorway, fresh spice and petrol and coffee and spearmint all mixed with pheromones and flesh. He is lean and hard, the way I like them, and his lips don’t take prisoners. Neither do mine. We kiss all the way along the corridor, bumping into the walls, bruising our ankles with the suitcase, grabbing handfuls of well-cut cloth as we go.

  When we get to the door, he can hardly fit the key in the lock, and then there is a competition over who gets to push whom into the room, which I win by making him trip over a suitcase wheel.

  He sprawls on the thinly carpeted floor, swearing, and I shove the suitcase into the cupboard beside the door and lock us in.

  “Christ, are you always this feisty?” He is reaching for me, trying to grab a leg to pull himself up. I put my foot on his chest and survey his supine form.

  “Oh, yes,” I say. “I’ll wear you out. I hope you don’t mind.”

  His hands circle my ankle.

  “Not at all.” His rakish smile doesn’t look right from this angle, but it works to distract me while he sets about pulling me down on top of him. “As long as I get to wear you out, too.”