The check-in desk are being excruciatingly slow. I can see you’re nervous, you don’t know whether to cling or to run.
I turn to face you, ignoring the clerk behind reception, and reach with my hand, placing it on your chest between your breasts, feeling the thumping of your heart. Heavy. Fast. You visibly relax, knowing I’ve recognised your nerves.
The eternal wait for the key card comes to an end. I pick up our bags and walk you into our room. You stand inside the door as I walk past you, placing our bags on the floor. Returning, you’re against the wardrobe, watching every move. I told you what I’d do to relax you if you were nervous. You know exactly what’s going to happen.
I close the door and turn again. Watching your deep breath, your body weakening a little at the sight of the hunger in my eyes.
Things happen in a rush, you’re only able to keep up because you’ve known what’ll happen now, how I’ll take away your nerves. You feel your head pulled back by the hair, my mouth on yours tasting you, your lips, your mouth, my arm lifting your skirt as my hand reaches under it, finding your knickers, wet, hot. Your legs weakening further at my touch. I catch the whimper that my touch elicits from you in my mouth. My hold under you stopping you falling as the pressure of my fingers on your cunt becomes movement. Fast, hard, like your heart, like your breathing. The breathing that quickly loses rhythm, the orgasm you’ve needed me to take since Tuesday crashing over you. Spurred on by your cries, stifled by my kiss, but still loud enough that anyone outside our room must be able to hear, my hand between your legs unrelenting, not allowing your orgasm to wane, your wet soaking my fingers through the fabric of your delicate knickers, my body supporting yours as it begins to buckle.
You’re suddenly aware you’re on the floor. A little away from where you were standing, the skirt of your dress around your waist, your stockings exposed, your legs spread wide for me, my hand still between them, but stroking more softly through your wet knickers, my left hand no longer in your hair but around your throat. not tightly, just firmly enough that you know not to try to get up.
Your hand reaches for my trousers, feel my cock inside. You stroke its length, and the same hunger I had a moment before takes you over.
“Your cock, I want your cock.” Not waiting for an answer your hands are both at my belt, undoing it, pulling at the buttons, grasping inside for what you want.
Your hand closes around it. The sigh you try to give becomes a short sob, a relief that it’s in your hand. With a firm grip you’re pulling it to your mouth. I have to move my hand from your throat back to your hair, pinning you to the floor. My fingers become firmer on your knickers, faster on the sensitive clitoris, the wet cunt inside. Your sobs stifled now by my cock as I feel your lips close around it, your tongue licking the underside as your hand reaches between my legs to rest behind my hips to pull me into you.
I can feel your breath rasping through your nose as another orgasm builds. The look in your eyes as it sweeps over you. Your hips rise up, but the tremor in your thighs make them shake in my hand as you try to suck air in through your full mouth. The muscles of your chest and neck begin to judder with your hips, your head trying to shake but anchored by your hair and by the cock impaling your face.
The cock you didn’t ask for.
The cock you took without permission.
The cock I told you you’d have to come enough to earn.
The cock that has just earned you a thorough spanking.
© Charles Rochester 2016