This room was oceanfront and it was on the fourteenth floor.
Randall had cracked the sliding glass door and the waves crashing against the shore outside made for remarkable music. Simone stood in place and listened for a while.
Randall never disturbed much in the room. He even made his own bed most times. But sometimes Simone would beat him to it, be there just after he awakened and do it herself.
He didn’t move much when he slept. Simone assumed that was from the peace of having somewhere safe and clean to lay your head. People tended to take that for granted.
Tonight his discarded clothes were in a heap on the floor, so Simone bent to pick them up for washing so he’d have something clean for in the morning, but as she reached down, the bathroom door opened, and Randall was there.
She hadn’t even heard the shower turn off.
He was standing there, wearing nothing but drops of water on his toffee-toned skin.
Beneath his normal layers of clothes, Simone never would have guessed Randall was camouflaging such a nice build. His arms were toned, his legs thick and muscular. His chest was strong, solid and bare.
Simone liked a bare chest on a man.
And…his…
Cock.
It hung there, lovely and lengthy.
Simone thought at least Randall would place his hand there, attempt to cover at least that part of him. But he didn’t. He just stood there in the door of the bathroom and stared at her.
Mouth agape, Simone stammered for words.
“I was just…I’m…uh, I’m sorry, Randall. I was just bringing towels and grabbing your clothes.”
But Randall threw up his hand.
“You’re fine,” he said. And he took a seat.
He went on to make mention of the weather or some other odd thing. In the chair next to the wall, naked, Randall was talking to Simone as if he were fully clothed.
Simone reminded herself to keep her eyes on Randall’s face, not on his bare chest and arms, but especially not on his…
His cock stood between his legs like a trophy, dancing back and forth, forth and back. Randall talked as if he didn’t notice.
When Simone simply couldn’t take it anymore, she handed him a towel from the folded stack in her arms.
He looked at it strangely, squinting his hazel eyes, then with sudden realization, he draped it over his lap.
“Sorry,” Randall said softly.
And Simone said, “No need to apologize. You were comfortable. I’m glad you can be that comfortable with me.”
“But you’re not that comfortable with me,” Randall said.
“I am,” Simone answered, “but I think we have different views on comfort. I’m not an exhibitionist.”
“Nor am I.”
Simone was suddenly afraid she had offended Randall, and she hadn’t wanted to do that. More embarrassed now than when she had walked in, Simone got up and walked toward the door.
“I’ll let you get some rest now.”
“Okay.”
But his voice was closer than it had been. Randall was behind her, walking her to the door.
“If you never knew me, never saw me the way you see me, you’d never know. But just so you know, Simone, I know how to love a woman.”
“I never said…”
“I know, I know,” Randall interrupted. “I just think it needed to be said, that I’m more than what you see here. I was different, once. I had a job. I had a home.”
Simone nodded.
And then there were Randall’s hands, easing up from behind. He placed a palm on each breast.
Simone breathed in, then out.
“I even had a woman or two. Once I had one who was all about me playing with her tits. She’d walk around topless just to get me going.”
And Randall was getting Simone going with his words, with his slow and steady rubbing of his hands over her breasts and nipples. With one hand, he reached behind the open button of her blouse and found the lacy fabric of her bra. He slipped inside, so that his hand was on her skin.
“She didn’t care if I never made it anywhere else,” Randall continued. “And she had the most sensitive nipples. They rose and they were hard before my fingers or my lips even touched them. Like yours are now, Simone.”
Simone could only nod.
“But I’m not a breast man,” Randall said. “Care to guess what kind of man I am, Simone?”
Simone shook her head.
“Fair enough,” he said. “I had a woman once who was all about the hot spots. It was foreplay or no play. She really taught me how to love like a man.”
Randall’s hands moved from Simone’s breasts to her shoulders, where he initiated a mini massage. Then he brushed a hand across the back of her neck.
Stepping closer, he flicked his tongue against the back of her ear.
Simone wished she could see him now. Wished she could turn around and open her mouth, have Randall force his tongue inside. She wanted to have him pressed against her so that she could find some sort of relief, but Randall only continued slowly, touching places that sent waves and vibrations throughout her body, places that hadn’t been touched in months, places she would have never guessed would turn her on…between her shoulder blades, circling around her navel, dropping to his knees to kiss the backs of her knees.
Randall was speaking again, his voice as low and steady as a well-oiled motor.
“That stuff, that’s all fine and good, but that’s not what really gets me off.”
Simone wondered if he would allow her to do something to him, if maybe he would let her return the favor, maybe fall to her knees, snatch the towel away and take him in her mouth.
But it would appear that Randall wouldn’t.
Instead, he lifted Simone’s skirt, hiking it roughly until it rested in folds and wrinkles around her waist.
But he didn’t turn her around. He wouldn’t let her see. Randall was close enough now that Simone felt his cock against her ass.
He was hard and he was big. She hadn’t been expecting that before tonight, and she was hardly ever wrong about people.
Simone heard the air conditioner kick on in the background at about the same time that she felt Randall’s fingers wedging between the cheeks of her ass.
Simone’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp.
He was doing just what she’d thought and hoped he might.
Randall rubbed first, and Simone pressed against his finger, ready but unwilling to appear eager. And when she was just loose enough, he gave her his index finger.
Her anus clutched tightly around his finger, but Randall managed his way in and out, out and in. He continued this ass play for what seemed like hours, and in a second, his fingers were gone.
“I like swimming,” Randall said then, inserting a finger in then out of her cunt. “That’s my thing. And as wet as you are, I’m gonna have to keep myself from drowning.”
Randall entered her. The swish swish of Simone’s wetness echoed in the darkened room. Randall filled Simone with every solid inch of him. She was sure she felt him at the base of her belly. She forced her knees apart to be as open as she could, taking all of him in.
“You know, Simone, I’m a simple man,” Randall said. “I don’t need a fancy backstroke. And I like taking my time getting to the edge.”
Simone was at the edge. She clutched the fibers of the carpet. She dropped her forehead to the floor.
Randall pulled her by her hips into him as he gave her stroke after stroke, some long, some short, some quick, some slow, all an endless stream of beautiful friction that filled Simone with ecstasy.
“Ummm.” It came through gritted teeth and tight lips. She hadn’t wanted him to know. “Ummm,” Simone said.
“That’s right,” Randall said. “You come first.”
And Simone came, pushing back against Randall’s cock, the swish swish louder when she released what had been building inside her.
Her arms trembled beneath
her own weight, weakened at her release.
Simone struggled not to collapse as Randall pumped harder and faster until he himself was coming.
His growl was that of a tiger’s, and Simone was a cub, crying and sighing beneath him.
She could have slept this way, easy. She could have lain with him on the floor and let her eyes flutter closed. But Henry would be wondering where she was, and she didn’t want to blow Randall’s cover.
She said, “I have to go, Randall.”
And Randall nodded, his chin against her back.
“But you’ll come again.” He said it instead of asking and Simone was okay with that.
She said, “Yes, Randall, I will.”
DIRTY WHITE ENVELOPE
Ellie Vokes
It took me three years to tell Ron I wanted to be treated like a whore.
“A what?” he said. He ran his hands through his long brown hair.
“Well, not all the time, of course. Just for one night. Maybe a couple of hours. I’m not even sure what the appeal is, but I’ve always had this fantasy of wearing a slutty hooker getup and then going to a cheap motel and being treated like a whore.”
He stared at me for several long minutes. “Okay. But just how far do you want to take this? What’re your limits?”
“I want the whole experience. Pick me up beside the road. Take me to a cheap motel. Talk trash to me. I trust you, babe. Just use your imagination. And if I don’t like something, I’ll use our safeword, red, and we’ll talk about what’s going on.”
“All right, all right.” Ideas were brewing in his head. “But only if I can play a role, too.”
“What would that be?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Two days later I was dressed in fishnet stockings, a mini jean skirt, tank top and heels, standing in front of a few bars in downtown feeling debased and humiliated. People stared. Two college jocks muttered something under their breath and then laughed hysterically. A woman held her purse closer to her body. I never wanted to be rescued so badly in my life.
Ron pulled up in his Ford Escort a few minutes later. He rolled down his window. I walked over, bent down, my blonde hair falling inside the car, and stuck my head in the window. I loved what I saw. He was wearing a priest outfit.
His hair was tied back into a neat ponytail. Tanned skin hugged a white plastic collar. A gold cross hung around his neck. He was dressed in black.
“Hello, Father. You need some company tonight?”
“Hop in.”
“Thanks, it was getting cold out there. You got someplace we can go?”
“Yeah. The Motel Six is down the road here. You been busy tonight?” He put his hand on my thigh. “What do you mostly do? Blow jobs? Sex? Anal?”
“Money talks, Father.” He pulled into a Motel 6. “Wait here.” He went inside and paid for the room. Ron looked cheesy in his priest outfit. I wondered how many fake priests paid for a room at the Motel 6. I was pleased he was really getting into this.
He came back out, keys in his hands. “We have the room till eleven a.m.”
“Ron, you’re breaking character. Don’t do that.”
“Sorry, babe,” he said, changing the subject. “I never got your name.”
“Bridget.”
“Well, Bridget, here’s our room.”
Never before had I seen such a cheap room. Bedspreads exploded in primary colors. Water stains decorated the walls. Stale cigarette smoke lingered. I didn’t even want to check out the bathroom.
If Ron was grossed out, he didn’t show it. He sat on the bed and pulled out a white envelope. “Is this enough for whatever I want to do to you?” It contained five crisp twenty-dollar bills.
“Wow, that is quite a bit of money, but I need to know exactly what you’re looking for, Father.”
“Oral, straight sex, and I want to talk real dirty to you.”
“Sounds like you’ll be saying a lot of Hail Marys tomorrow.”
“You’re the real sinner, whore.” He grabbed my hair. “You’ve been out in front of that bar all night, with how many men? And how many times have you had to clean your mouth and cunt of come?”
I was taken aback. It was more than I could have asked for. I was ready to come just from those words alone.
Ron’s pants were tight against his hard cock. I reached for his zipper, exposing his cock. “Go fill that bucket with water and wash my feet.”
Warm water filled the cream-colored plastic basin. I knelt before Ron and laid a white terry-cloth towel beneath his feet. Multicolored stains spotted the taupe carpet. Gently, I massaged and washed his feet, getting each crevice between his toes.
“That’s nice. Very good.” He caressed my hair. “Tell me, Bridget, what is your job?”
“To please you, Father. My only job is to please you.”
“Yes, that is correct. It would please me very much if you worshipped my feet.”
I kissed his big toe, putting it in my mouth, running my tongue in and around all his toes. My warm tongue licked the entire length of his foot and up his calf. He shuddered.
“Come here. I want to feel your stockings.”
His hands were rough from working in construction all day. They roamed over the netting of my stockings, catching on the nylon. Cheap seams ran up the backs of my legs. The gold cross dangled from his neck as he reached for my breasts. His cock waved in my face. He took it and slapped it across my face twice, then put his balls in my mouth.
“I’m not sure if you can be saved. Suck them.” His balls were taut and full in my mouth. Sucking on them, I reached up to jerk him off.
I took his cock in my mouth, choking on his thick bulbous head. Spit dripped down my chest. He held me against his belly, fucking my throat.
“That’s a good whore,” he said.
He opened the nightstand drawer and took out the Holy Bible.
“Stand up and turn around.”
My jean skirt exposed the top of the fishnet panty hose and showed I wasn’t wearing any panties. He sighed in approval, grabbed my ass and bent me over.
“Naughty girls need punishment.” He spanked me lightly with the Bible several times. I feigned cries of pain. “You must repent.”
He stood back up, towering over me. “Father, if it would please you, please touch my pussy.”
His thick fingers delighted in masturbating me through the nylon fabric. Wetness dripped down my leg. Precome oozed from his engorged crimson head. He pushed me onto the bed and tore the crotch of my hose.
“I can taste them. The others. I need to clean you before I stick my cock in you.” He took his tongue and ran it along my slit several times.
“Don’t stop. Please, Father. Please keep doing it.”
“No. I want you to fuck me now that I have you clean.”
He sat back on the bed, black shirt still on and the white collar snug around his neck. I didn’t want him to take it off. I removed my top, exposing my tits, and took off my jean skirt but left my hose and heels on.
“See that envelope over there? You don’t get to take that money unless you atone for your sins. I’m the one you need to impress. And I don’t even want to look at you when you fuck me.”
“Yes, Father.”
I mounted him, reverse-cowgirl style. I let his cock play with my clit while he talked dirty for a bit more.
“You should be so lucky that I picked you up in front of that dump.” He grabbed my blonde hair, pulling my head back, whispering in my ear, “You have the closest thing to God’s cock inside you, whore.” I moved faster against his cock, my slit engorged with fluid. He slipped inside me, his balls flush against the folds of my skin. We both let out a moan.
“Father, you do feel amazing. You were truly blessed when God made you.”
His hands played with my clit as I rode his cock faster. My tits bounced, nipples hard and flushed. His breath hot on my neck. Mixed smells from the room made me dizzy with delight. I felt cheap.
> “I’m going to come inside you. Fill you with God’s seed. Ask me permission before you come.”
“Yes, Father.”
He took over, pumping inside me. Grunting and moaning. Our neighbors banged on the wall for us to be quiet as the cheap headboard banged against the wall. We ignored them.
“Father, may I come?”
“Yes, you may.”
My pussy twitched and quivered around his thick dick.
“You whore,” he said.
All I could do was scream, “Yes.” It was everything I wanted. He came inside me as promised. When he finished I got off of him and watched his come dribble out of me. I cleaned it off my leg and disposed of it down my throat, washing away our sins.
We cuddled on the brightly colored bedspread.
“What did you think?” he asked.
“I thought it was great. But why a priest?”
“I always wanted to do a role-playing situation where I could be a priest gone bad and I thought this would be a great situation to enact that. Was it okay?”
“Yeah, it was great. I’m really glad you decided to do that. It made the experience so much better for me. What did you think?”
“I enjoyed it. We should do something like this again.”
“Oh, we will.”
We didn’t stay until morning. The room was just too disgusting. I got home and took a long shower in my very clean home that didn’t smell. I haven’t been back to the Motel 6 since.
TAILGATING AT THE CEDAR INN
Delilah Devlin
I stepped out of the shower onto chipped and cracked aqua-blue tiles with grout so dingy it was hard to tell what color it had been. Not that the bathroom was dirty, thank god. Just old. Like the rest of the ’60s-built motels I’d found on the little back-country road.
I toweled my hair, then shook my head like a dog, not caring where the droplets landed. It wasn’t a mess I’d have to clean up. For one last night I could be irresponsible, messy, even if it was only in a small way.
I draped the towel over the edge of the old white tub and sauntered naked into the small room with the double bed. It smelled of tobacco and industrial cleansers. The bedding looked clean, if a little nappy from wear, but I peeled back the quilt-top and tossed it on the floor anyway. Pristine white sheets beckoned.
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