thursday, perhaps

Room #504 is not so far, only upstairs. I look at the elevators, my heart racing. Room #504 is an entire world away. I stand in the lobby, waiting, watching the numbers light up. 5 4 3 2 The door opens, and you walk off, immediately take my hand and push me into a corner, fury in your hot hands. Yes, I am here. “Baise-moi,” you say. Perhaps.

I told my lover in the early Wednesday light about you, Jean-Paul. I told him, and he fucked me hard, harder, aroused he was at your interest in me, in the mere possibility that I would show up here and then return to him late tonight, my cunt tired and filled with your come.

You may wonder why I avoid sitting now. You may wonder why my panties are already this wet, why when you push me now into this corner as you have, kissing me now as you are, I loosen my coat, ravenous, have my knee bent and pressing into your pants, your ever-growing cock bulging against my thigh.

My lover bent me over his lap before I left him today, peeled down the panties I am wearing now.

You may wonder when you see the red, the welts, you may wonder if he traced his fingers deftly between my legs as he ordinarily does when he spanks me. You may wonder if he pushed his fingers into my holes, if he pushed his tongue into my sweet pussy, if, indeed, he has already fucked me.

My body aches with yet unrequited lust, you, your gallic tongue circling, inching down from ears to neck, from collarbone to shoulder, from lobby to elevator to room to my coat now here, on the floor, the bumps of my garters apparent through the sweater dress I chose for this evening. Dark green, now my nipples beneath the cashmere, your hands running from my waist across my sore ass, down to the hem of my dress, lifting, impatient. Perhaps.

No, yes. Yes, I say as I think of things to say, stop thinking, let you pull the sweater up over my head, spread me across the bed, sheets turned down now, the soft light, the lights outside, my heels dangling, your tongue now tasting my lust, fingers deep, insistent with my swollen pussy, bringing me quickly to loud cries. No, no, yes, yes, yes at last. And then you stand, remove your watch, unbutton your sleeves and throw a shirt across a chair, buckles, buttons, zippers undone, and I gaze upon a cock worthy of the tales I will tell, now near, now, oh, yes, yes fuck me.

You growl, using me, your hands rough on my breasts, you sliding into me with no stops save the limits of my own skin, if that, if you can keep going now, you do, yes. I beg for you, yes, fuck me, baise-moi. Do it now before you explode, your heavy balls relieved, my legs shaking. Only an hour again, only an hour, you hesitate no longer. The grabbing urgency overwhelms me, transforms me, and I feast upon your glistening body, here so glorious in the low light.

We talk now, yes, it is lovely here, Jean-Paul. It is lovely, and yes, I can walk with you tomorrow. I can show you the city, the lights we see below, the water and the wind. I can tell you stories, tell you of the American dreams, and the things I remember from my younger travels, the night I came home to my lover after I saw you. I can walk, my hot hand inside yours as we walk near the harbor, yes I will tell you more about my lover, what he said to me when he saw me, you dripping down my leg. I can tell you how he said you tasted, how we tasted, perhaps, in awkward words, in charming words, in strange tongues, your tongue once more finding mine.

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