hotel (1)

Hotel room.

It’s evening, most of a bottle of wine drunk between us, all our clothes stripped off except for your socks – overlooked in our hungry fumbling – and the lace bralette that’s pushed up over my tits. I’m sitting on your lap, toes just brushing the carpet, barely enough to balance, and I’ve got one hand down between my legs.

‘Keep touching yourself,’ you say, not so much commanding as impulsive, like you can’t help it, like you really want to see it, and I do: let my fingertips slip in circles playing round my clit. I’m swollen and wet with my own slick and lube, too, from the toys we started with earlier; wet enough now that I’m slipping a little on your thighs. You tighten your forearm that’s braced across my hips and to hitch me a little closer against your chest. Your other hand is up playing with one of my nipples, rolling it between your fingers just hard enough that my body gives a little quiver with every tug.

“I’m gonna – oh fuck – I want you,” I say, not very coherent, grinding over your lap. I can feel your breath on the back of my neck and the weight of your cock jerking against the inside of my thigh and –

“please,’ I say, frantic, ‘fuck me, let me, please,’ and you tighten your forearm, graze your teeth over my shoulder. I try to wriggle down, to grind against you harder, take you inside, and you pinch my nipple in the web of two of your fingers, a duller, deeper pinch than fingertips would be.

‘After,’ you say, ‘wanna see you,’ and you move your hand down from my breast and pull one of my legs wider apart so you can see my fingers slipping and rubbing, see the tendons jumping in my inner thigh, see my pussy pink and glistening. Your cock isn’t twitching now, anymore, is pressed hard and straining between my legs, just beside my cunt. I can see it there, see the bright sheen of precum over its head, see –

that does it: I arch back against you, legs pulling up involuntary, scream choked short because fuck, hotel, thin walls. I sit awhile on your lap while the aftershocks settle, tracing my fingers over your cock. It judders up against my open palm.

‘Now?’ I say, breathless, and you answer with a noise low in your throat and take me to bed.

hotel (1)


I wasn’t planning anything, hadn’t even drank a full cup of coffee yet – was just looking for my comfortable bra, dropped (I thought) lazily on the bathroom floor before a bath the night before. But when I open the door from the hallway he’s standing beside the bathtub, towelling off, room still warm and foggy from the shower.

I don’t say anything, don’t have to; there’s a second of hesitation (coffee bus routes trousers to iron) and then I step towards him, peeling my shirt off and stepping out of my panties in a single movement, cause he just looks so good: drops of water still glimmering over his shoulders, nipples popped from the rough rub of the towel, his cock hanging half-soft between sturdy thighs.

I put the pads of my fingers just over his collarbone, lean in a little, enough that I can lick across his lower lip and press into a deeper kiss, mouths open, wet and warm and lips still sleep-soft. My palms drag down over his chest, slow, feeling every inch, drag down over his stomach and pause over his waist. His hips sway forwards, hungry, involuntary, and his cock bobs against the inner crease of my thigh, stiffening.

I touch it, just a little, fingers stroking light over the crown, just enough to feel his breath grow quicker, harsh. Then I press my palms against the front of his thighs and sink to my knees, roll my head a little sideways so his cock slaps gentle against my temple.

Baby,’ I say, and take him in my mouth, tongue soft and hungry and suckling along his length, take him deeper till the head of his cock bumps against my soft palate and I jerk just a little, resettle my hands on his thighs, breath in deeply through my nose. He’s looking down on me, dark-eyed, mouth a little open, wet hair fallen into his eyes. I let the saliva pool under my tongue and run out the corners of my mouth, bob a couple of times up and down his cock, getting everything wet and – sloppy, slick with want, undignified.

‘Morning,’ I say, around his cock, and start to suck in earnest, and his head knocks back soft against the wall and he starts to groan.


KOTW: crawling

‘Hey,’ he says, from the hotel bed, and the way he says it makes me look up from where I’m crouched on the floor, suitcase open, rooting around inside for deodorant. I sit back on my heels, let the suitcase fall closed. He’s on his back, legs tangled in the sheets, one arm behind his head. The way he’s looking at me, soft and dark and full of intention, makes the colour come up in my cheeks – I can feel it, hot and bright under my skin, flushing up my throat, over my chest where I’m still damp from the shower, smell of hotel body wash hanging vaguely floral in the air.

‘C’mere,’ he says, so soft it’s more of a breath, and on some half-thought-out instinct I don’t stand up, instead I lean forward onto my hands and knees and crawl slow towards the bed, back arched a little, eyes not leaving his face. I bite my lip, and he says, low, ‘oh, that’s how it is, is it?’ and sits up a bit on one arm. I keep my eyes on his, teasing a barely-there smile, letting my knees and palms drag slow and tactile-hungry across the rug, and a warm knot coils low in my belly, makes me slick and pulsing between my legs.

He starts to sit up but I just shake my head, no, and the rise and fall of his chest starts to quicken, grow rougher. He’s still looking at me, eye contact unbroken, when I get to the bed and crawl up over its foot, knock his thighs gently apart with my forearms and sink my mouth down around his cock and oh it’s good, half-hard already and quickening further in my mouth, bumping soft against my soft palate. I make a noise, involuntary satisfaction, as his hips rise a little against my mouth and the world collapses soft down into – this, the weight of his cock in my mouth and the jerky tightening of his belly under my palms.

KOTW: crawling