DudeThrill.com
The appointment was always in the same room, 212, of a hotel near the station. A place for invisible souls, for workers on the move or passing through. Lonely people who only wanted a clean bed to rest in and a superficial semblance of elegance. A perfect place for those who, like the two of them, wanted a few questions. For a man and a woman who wanted, for a few hours, not to exist for others but themselves.
Every Tuesday afternoon, for a few months, they were there to give life to their fantasies, each one an accomplice of the other. He was refined and cultured. Charming and athletic despite a few pounds too much. She's beautiful and enviable, in body and head. She always smelled good, a gift that nature had always left her and that was part of her femininity. Each with his own life flowing out of that room. Both married with a demanding and rewarding job. Two beautiful lives that lacked something to be perfect. And they found that something in that room rented on day use.
They had met on the internet as is often the case these days. The affinities emerge even in the middle of that sea that are social networks and words tell more about us than they seem. They had written to each other, flirted, understood each other and recognized each other among thousands. They had found, each one in the other, the missing piece. Nothing more and nothing less. They weren't looking for a story or a lover, neither of them. They weren't looking for love, certainly.
They were looking for the only thing they were missing: sex, the pure, crystal clear, and for this cloudy one. Sex that knows no shame. The one that has no prescribed limits other than respect.
They didn't know their names, they didn't consider it important to tell each other their names, just as it wasn't important to know what happened to each other during the week from the time they left the hotel to when, seven days later, they would see each other again, in that sort of purgatory that separated them from their weekly paradise. They knew they had a passion for sex in common, they knew they were curious, they knew they needed each other and that was enough for them.
The first time, a few months ago, he came into the room first. He took off his jacket (he hardly ever wore a tie) and sat down to drink, quiet and present. Certainly not cold. She knocked after a few minutes. Beautiful, as always, sensual without needing to show off. He kissed her as soon as he came in. No words, no introduction, no pleasantries. They weren't there for that and they both agreed. A pornographic relationship was what they wanted and...
was what they were gonna get.
The kiss was dense, it was their way of presenting themselves, of confirming everything they expected from each other. The two of them embraced tightly and their tongues were the same while their hands, like tropical explorers, moved over their clothes to become aware of the surfaces.
He lingered with one hand on the full and firm breast. He opened her shirt, pulled it out of her skirt and threw it on the bed. He only stopped kissing her when he took off her bra and her lips went down to the nipple to lick it. She reclined her head back, an implied consent to continue. He clenched his teeth a little more without hurting her too much. She, a little further down, started to get wet.
Her hands didn't stay still for long. During the kiss they had clung to her bottom almost violently, almost as if they wanted to cut the cloth that separated her from his skin. But it was not reluctantly that they moved to the front, one measuring his excitement from above his trousers, the other tinkering with his belt, impatient to release the object of his desire.
And so, as he went up from her breast to her ear, sticking his tongue wherever it gave her the creeps, she took his cock in her hand for the first time.
The movement of his hands was slow and expert. She kissed him even before she knelt down in front of him and started licking him. A torture, for him, whose excitement was commensurate with the harshness...
that she could well hear. But a well repaid torture when she finally opened her lips and began to move her head, always swallowing a little more of the shiny cock. He leaned against the wall and put his hands behind the back of her neck, beginning to push her (although forcing is certainly not the right definition for something she wanted strongly) to apnoea with the cock now in the back of her throat and then free her and let her breathe waiting to start again. She took advantage of a moment when her mouth was free to moisten her fingers and, while she started sucking cock again, she passed those fingers over the man's swollen balls and even further down to his anus which she began to tease. The man liked it and could feel it in the mouth of the
woman, the blood flowed with even greater force. It was marble, now, that she was sucking hard.
She didn't want to enjoy it so soon. Or rather: he didn't want to cum because the enjoyment, for him, had begun since she had entered that room. Or maybe even earlier, since they had finally decided to meet, to make him a gift for her and vice versa.
He stopped her and laid her down on the bed. She still had her skirt on, but it wasn't for long. He, still standing, looked at her. A beautiful woman, dressed only in a pair of panties, was waiting for him on a bed. She saw him smile before his face disappeared between her legs. The first thing she did was to smell him. His scent there was, if possible, even more good, perceptible and exciting. He started with his tongue and drew circles on her flat tummy as he descended, slowly, further down. He licked her on the panties, whose stain let him understand the woman's excitement as well as the breath that was getting shorter. He waited a little while to move the fabric, perhaps to torture her...
in turn, perhaps to prolong his desire. When she did so, she was not surprised why someone called it the origin of the world. Her fingers were in his hair. They were pulling them towards him, inciting him to go on, without needing any more words. He started licking her, looking for her clitoris, sucking on it. He penetrated her with two fingers. It was soft and open, but it was still like an electric shock. He arched his back and moved his pelvis, letting the man's fingers in even deeper. He did not move them but began to bend his fingertips inside her in search of her most sensitive part. He certainly found it because the orgasm was immediate and violent, a series of spasms, a liberation expected for who knows how long.
Not that she never fucked her husband and occasionally some other man, but this time she knew it was something different. It was as if she had split up and her male side was making her enjoy it.
She knew that time was running out on that Tuesday but she was now sure they would be in that room. That other times there would be objects, fantasies, few limits and maybe other people with them in those meetings. That with him she had really found what was missing.
Nothing more and nothing less.
His hand was completely wet. He put his fingers to her, she started licking them and he with her.
A way like any other to seal their pact. To bring the birthmark in.
Waiting for the next time.
Every Tuesday afternoon, for a few months, they were there to give life to their fantasies, each one an accomplice of the other. He was refined and cultured. Charming and athletic despite a few pounds too much. She's beautiful and enviable, in body and head. She always smelled good, a gift that nature had always left her and that was part of her femininity. Each with his own life flowing out of that room. Both married with a demanding and rewarding job. Two beautiful lives that lacked something to be perfect. And they found that something in that room rented on day use.
They had met on the internet as is often the case these days. The affinities emerge even in the middle of that sea that are social networks and words tell more about us than they seem. They had written to each other, flirted, understood each other and recognized each other among thousands. They had found, each one in the other, the missing piece. Nothing more and nothing less. They weren't looking for a story or a lover, neither of them. They weren't looking for love, certainly.
They were looking for the only thing they were missing: sex, the pure, crystal clear, and for this cloudy one. Sex that knows no shame. The one that has no prescribed limits other than respect.
They didn't know their names, they didn't consider it important to tell each other their names, just as it wasn't important to know what happened to each other during the week from the time they left the hotel to when, seven days later, they would see each other again, in that sort of purgatory that separated them from their weekly paradise. They knew they had a passion for sex in common, they knew they were curious, they knew they needed each other and that was enough for them.
The first time, a few months ago, he came into the room first. He took off his jacket (he hardly ever wore a tie) and sat down to drink, quiet and present. Certainly not cold. She knocked after a few minutes. Beautiful, as always, sensual without needing to show off. He kissed her as soon as he came in. No words, no introduction, no pleasantries. They weren't there for that and they both agreed. A pornographic relationship was what they wanted and...
was what they were gonna get.
The kiss was dense, it was their way of presenting themselves, of confirming everything they expected from each other. The two of them embraced tightly and their tongues were the same while their hands, like tropical explorers, moved over their clothes to become aware of the surfaces.
He lingered with one hand on the full and firm breast. He opened her shirt, pulled it out of her skirt and threw it on the bed. He only stopped kissing her when he took off her bra and her lips went down to the nipple to lick it. She reclined her head back, an implied consent to continue. He clenched his teeth a little more without hurting her too much. She, a little further down, started to get wet.
Her hands didn't stay still for long. During the kiss they had clung to her bottom almost violently, almost as if they wanted to cut the cloth that separated her from his skin. But it was not reluctantly that they moved to the front, one measuring his excitement from above his trousers, the other tinkering with his belt, impatient to release the object of his desire.
And so, as he went up from her breast to her ear, sticking his tongue wherever it gave her the creeps, she took his cock in her hand for the first time.
The movement of his hands was slow and expert. She kissed him even before she knelt down in front of him and started licking him. A torture, for him, whose excitement was commensurate with the harshness...
that she could well hear. But a well repaid torture when she finally opened her lips and began to move her head, always swallowing a little more of the shiny cock. He leaned against the wall and put his hands behind the back of her neck, beginning to push her (although forcing is certainly not the right definition for something she wanted strongly) to apnoea with the cock now in the back of her throat and then free her and let her breathe waiting to start again. She took advantage of a moment when her mouth was free to moisten her fingers and, while she started sucking cock again, she passed those fingers over the man's swollen balls and even further down to his anus which she began to tease. The man liked it and could feel it in the mouth of the
woman, the blood flowed with even greater force. It was marble, now, that she was sucking hard.
She didn't want to enjoy it so soon. Or rather: he didn't want to cum because the enjoyment, for him, had begun since she had entered that room. Or maybe even earlier, since they had finally decided to meet, to make him a gift for her and vice versa.
He stopped her and laid her down on the bed. She still had her skirt on, but it wasn't for long. He, still standing, looked at her. A beautiful woman, dressed only in a pair of panties, was waiting for him on a bed. She saw him smile before his face disappeared between her legs. The first thing she did was to smell him. His scent there was, if possible, even more good, perceptible and exciting. He started with his tongue and drew circles on her flat tummy as he descended, slowly, further down. He licked her on the panties, whose stain let him understand the woman's excitement as well as the breath that was getting shorter. He waited a little while to move the fabric, perhaps to torture her...
in turn, perhaps to prolong his desire. When she did so, she was not surprised why someone called it the origin of the world. Her fingers were in his hair. They were pulling them towards him, inciting him to go on, without needing any more words. He started licking her, looking for her clitoris, sucking on it. He penetrated her with two fingers. It was soft and open, but it was still like an electric shock. He arched his back and moved his pelvis, letting the man's fingers in even deeper. He did not move them but began to bend his fingertips inside her in search of her most sensitive part. He certainly found it because the orgasm was immediate and violent, a series of spasms, a liberation expected for who knows how long.
Not that she never fucked her husband and occasionally some other man, but this time she knew it was something different. It was as if she had split up and her male side was making her enjoy it.
She knew that time was running out on that Tuesday but she was now sure they would be in that room. That other times there would be objects, fantasies, few limits and maybe other people with them in those meetings. That with him she had really found what was missing.
Nothing more and nothing less.
His hand was completely wet. He put his fingers to her, she started licking them and he with her.
A way like any other to seal their pact. To bring the birthmark in.
Waiting for the next time.
