The sounds of the birds chirping and the clicking of the hookers boots clattered outside my shabby motel room. I sat on the creaky spring bed, in the musty atmosphere of the room. The sun shone in through the blinds highlighting the air full of dust. I was waiting for someone, someone special in fact. The senator's wife, who for whatever bizarre reason wanted to meet here of all places. A place where the motel manager would ask you outright if you wanted a trick.
When I got the call from her, I was excited. I thought maybe she wanted to tell dirty tales of her dick of a husband, but that excitement had petered out. I now came to my senses and realized that, that was probably not the case. Realistically, she probably wants a cover story on this place, expose the seediness of the city. By now my shoulders were slumped and I waited impatiently for my source to get here.
In case you're wondering, which I'm sure you weren't, I'm a journalist, and I work for the Moon's Crest. The second biggest newspaper of the city. We would be first, if we had sexy calendar girls, but we decided to focus on things like the news.
It was a hot day. A hot glorious day, and I couldn't help but be bitter of being here in this shithole, surrounded by the desperate women of sex, loitering around trying to catch their next prey. My bright soccer shirt was already wet under my pits, and my boxers were riding up, with all the support of my tight Levi jeans. Deciding to walk around, I made my way to the bathroom to rinse my face with water. I put the water as cold as it could go and pushing away my apprehension splashed it on my face. Gasping hard breaths, I reached for the flimsy old towel and dried my face. As I rubbed the towel against my face I thought I heard a knock. I stopped and peaked into the bedroom, watching the brown shedding door waiting for another knock. None came, so I put the towel back and look in the mirror. Staring at my self, I couldn't make up my mind if I had handsome features or just ordinary ones. My hair was sleek black and my eyes a sky blue. I'd got complements about my eyes through out my life. The tip of my nose, I thought, was too round, almost french like and my lips were thick giving me some femininity which I hated.
A knock echoed into the room.
I stopped staring at myself and rushed to the door. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans I opened it. And there she was, senator Tork's wife in a thin flower dress, which the glowing golden sun glared through, silhouetting her curvy figure. Her breast, bulbed behind her dress, I could tell very easily she wasn't wearing a bra. My cock harden automatically against my tighter jeans.
"Do you want to invite me or my cleavage in?" she asked me.
I woke up from my observation with embarrassment and apologized, and let her in the musty old room.
"That's okay, I'm used to it, and it's not like I really mind." Putting her purse on the coffee table, she pressed on. "So, should we get down to business or should we talk about the weather first?"
Her hair was a flaming red, that hung down beyond her shoulder, tips of it clawed against her sizable breasts. Her skin had a slight tan, but I noticed her face was whiter then her arms or her cleavage. I wasn't surprised by her directness, most politician's wives thought themselves strong, determined women, but really they were just golddiggers.
"What did you want to talk about, Mrs. Tork?" I asked her as I crossed my arms and walked to the middle of the room.
I saw her eyes go to the open door. Walking towards it, she said, "Sex, pretty much," and the door snapped shut.
I nodded and said, "You mean the hookers out there?"
She giggled and said, "No." Her head bent down and she peered at me from under her eye brows. "I mean myself, and my experiences."
I perked my ears like a dog who just heard a whistle and said, "Oh?"
She took a few steps closer to me, "I heard you want to write a novel, a non-fiction, but you're waiting for the right subject."
My heart pattered nervously, "You heard right. You want to talk about your sex life with senator Tork?"
Shaking her head, causing the tip of her hair to caress her massive cleavage. "I mean my whole life, including the senator Tork, himself."
Swallowing hard I stuttered, "Y-your life? You mean you want me to w-write your biography?"
"Yes," she said as she stepped closer to me, "I read your articles and like them very much." She was now right in front of me, I could smell her minted breath and the faint smell of perfume, but most of all I could feel the warmth of her body.
"Thank you," I simply said and swallowed another gallon of salvia.
Her small delicate hands reached down and stroked my protruding erection. I let out a release of breath and fell on her soft wet lips. I felt her tongue exploring my mouth as her hands unzipped my jeans. The flesh my penis touched the flesh of her tranquil hand. She gripped it and felt the pulse of my shaft.
Pulling her face away from mine, she said, "Fuck me, you asshole."
Doing as I was told I moved my hand to her thighs I moved them up her thin skirt and found she wasn't wearing anything underneath. I could feel her dripping, shaved lips.
She jumped up and wrapped her legs around my hips. I held her emollient bare ass. Quickly making my way to the wall for support, I banged her against the blinds of the window. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that I had her against the window, but I ignored that fact and focussed on trying to get my exceedingly hard erection in her supple wet pussy. Finally she pushed me inside her and I could feel her clasping herself around my shaft. I let out a loud moan.
"Fuck me hard, you fucking shithead. Fuck me like a real man should. I'm a fucking slut, a fucking whore. Fuck me hard!" she yelled into my ear and gripped into the skin of my back with her long fingernails.
Feeling a little irritated I decide to do just that, "You fucking slut!" I yelled and literally threw her down to the floor. Quickly and frustratingly I pulled up her skirt before she was able to get up and I pushed my cock in her and pounded myself into her from behind. I pushed her back down to the floor and then gripped her big fat ass. I could hear the smacking of my body against her dripping pussy.
She starting moaning loudly, as if my hard pounding was causing air to escape her mouth. Writhing and pouting out her ass, her face was lying on the rug looking up at me as I fucked her as hard I could.
"Spank me you shit!" she demanded.
Sweat was now pouring down my forehead and I could taste the salty drops on my lips, "What the fuck did you call me?" My cock was starting to feel sore.
Letting out a cry of pain and/or pleasure she yelled back, "You heard me, you fucking shitty ass reporter."
The room filled with the loud spanking on her big, stuck up ass. "This is what you get for being a whore, you've been a fucking slut."I could feel the extreme warmth off her wet pussy and red plush cheeks.
"Cum in my ass!" She yelled at me through her gasping and moaning.
At first I was annoyed at her telling me what to do, but I realized that was a good idea. I pulled myself out of her and spread open her red cheeks. I saw the small dark hole and stuck the tip of my cock to it. I could feel how tight it was and wondered if I could even get it in. But then she pushed back into it with a sharp yell of determination. So I started to fuck it, building my momentum as I did.
"Oh, god that feels good, with your cock in my ass." she said on the edge of a moan. She was pinching a nipple of her large juicy breast. Gritting her teeth and her eyes shut closed, she yelled, "Cum!"
Cum I did, I exploded. The hairs on my arms stood on end and I thought for a brief moment I was going to faint. I let out a deep breath as if I was holding my breath the whole time. Taking my swollen cock out of her tight ass, I saw a stream of my own cum escape. I let my body fall on her back and rested on her as she gasp for breath and her thighs shuddering against mine.
"Oh God," she whispered to the rug, "Oh God."
DRAWER ONE:
Appropriate to my life
I was a virgin, I was nineteen.
You maybe be wondering, how could a young lady such as myself, be a virgin at nineteen? Was I a devoted Christian? Was I an in-the-closet lesbian? If you asked me then, I wouldn't have an answer for you. I was standing in front of the mirror wondering the same thing. Of course the answer, I thought, was staring right at me. The fat, the fat that was my prison to a lonely world.
My life had gotten even more lonely when my parents died in fatal car accident. So I still stood there in front of the mirror totally naked and disgusted with my sorry excuse for a stomach and my gigantic breasts, which I loathed like a sheep herder loathed prowling wolves, trying to find something to wear to their funeral.
My cloths of preference were a grey hoody, which hid my bulbous breasts and grey sweats which repelled glances from men with great effect. My head hung slightly, because I knew I couldn't wear anything like that. My closet was jam packed full of nice girly clothing that my mother bought for the long gone, younger her. Sighing, I knew I had to root through the closet from the lake of fire and find something 'respectable'. I looked through all the hanging articles of clothing and imagined what kind of woman would look good in it. I felt the old familiar warmness coming from inside me as that woman became clear in my mind. She was beautiful, with my cloths fitting perfectly on her tight body. Wanting to touch myself, I resisted like I always did and kept looking. After going through the same skirts over and over again, I settled with a black one, that reached to the knee, with only a slight slit. Letting my eyes wander back to the mirror I found I had second thoughts about the skirt.
"Well, damn it try it on and see!" A voice in my head screamed.
"Fine," I said out loud.
I went to my panty drawer and pick a random pair of underwear. I had a drawer full of panties, but sadly no drawer for my swollen boobs, since I had to go to a specialty store. A store I've only been to once, with my mother. A real life nightmare I'll never forget. The only bras I had were identical, one black, and one white pair, both in a matronly style which my mother bought me. They hung on the door of my closet, as much as a virgin as I was.
Slipping the panties on, I checked my self out from either sides trying hard to look past my flabs. Being silly, I stuck my ass out at the mirror and tried to turn my self on. My panties stretched against my cheeks and I gave the mirror a naughty look and spanked my own round ass.
Being appropriate to my life, just at that moment my bedroom door opened and I jumped up with my heart clutched in fear. My wide eyes focussed on the open bedroom door and I saw my maid, Gloria, standing there with a timid look.
"Excuse me, I was wondering if you were ready?" she said.
I wiped the dripping sweat from my brow and told her, "No, not yet. I still have to find something to wear."
"Okay," she said and grabbed the door handle. Before she closed the door she asked, "Excuse me, but have you lost weight, you look skinner?"
"It's called being naked, Gloria." I said as I picked up the dreaded black skirt.
Gloria gave a little chuckle and said, "Yes, Of course. I'll wait for you."
"Okay, Gloria."
When I heard the door close, I pulled the skirt on and zipped it up. Looking in the mirror I was surprised I didn't look half bad, maybe Gloria was right, maybe I had lose some weight. Sucking in my stomach I admired the way the skirt fit on me. The warm feeling pulsed in me again and I let my hands feel my pelvis. Closing my eyes, I forced myself not to dig in. I wanted so much to rub my throbbing clit.
I opened my eyes and saw in the reflection my sagging, eye soar, boobs and huffed in abhorrence. I hated the way I looked. Every thing about me, I hated. The way I looked and the way I lived. I was smothered in my parent's money and negligence. They're weren't so much my parents as they were wardens of my house. Oh, don't get me started on my house. It was their throne of glory. Glory of how much money they had. It was a dream house, the kind people walk through and dreamed about. Three stories, clean carpets, newly painted walls, a confusing lay out that would get Christopher Colombus lost, stairs every where, chairs no one was allowed to sit in, abstract paintings that looked like a mental patients did them, tables with a layout of frame pictures and candles, oriental rugs, sculpture of retarded tribe men, hard wood floors made to make your business shoes click just in that right way and all that pretentious bullshit.
