Hostels

Waking sometime after 3am, it took me a moment to get my bearings, then another second or so to make proper sense of what had fully woken me. I suppose I hadn't slept too well during the past two days, and certainly not properly with all the travel, so I could be forgiven for not immediately recognising the noises indicating that the bunk bed above me now had a couple in it, a couple that were busily fucking.

Perhaps they hadn't been at it for so long, not considering the urgency with which the rickety bunk-bed was being shaken back and forth – also the slurred whispers coming between those last grinding thrusts, faltering into uneven but quiet, heavy breaths. It all spoke of a quickie after an evening out together.

I blinked and sighed inwardly and turned over quiet as I could, it was never easy travelling like that, all day long on a vibrating bus together, a day full of slow build-up, everything narrowing the focus until the drink inside gave courage enough to finally say 'sod it – let's fuck here anyway...!'

I'd been there myself, making do with slow, quiet intimacies on late night coaches, touching each other under the mask of draped coats...and now my erection was, despite my tiredness, complete...

great!

Listening to their whispered exchanges, I lay there wondering if it was just a matter of my own luck, or the nature of things surrounding these budget hotels now, the way there are at present? To be fair, most of those passing through were young and horny backpackers on holiday, ready to indulge their chance to do those things they couldn't at home, for fear of being seen. So the end result shouldn't be a surprise, not with all those hormones, alcohol and opportunity mixed together in a strange place...and of course strangers to explore it all with.

By the sounds drifting down now, they were already asleep...and I was of course, fully awake...

fucking hell!

Lay there, head turned on and nowhere to go, I contemplated my very hardened friend under the covers and weighed up the old favourite standby of just masturbating myself back to sleep. No one else in the sixteen bed room seemed to have been woken by the two above me, or maybe they too were quietly listening. The way I was feeling right then, it wouldn't have bothered me if they were

all

awake, I was horny and probably couldn't sleep without that needed bit of attention first. Regular followers of these, my erotic reminiscences, will remember the last time I'd been in such a hostel, and so know that an audience would only prove more of a turn-on for me.

Softly, I pushed the sheets down away past my hips, exposing him to the dark room's secrecy, all porcelain-pale and looking almost as smooth. My hand lifted and brushed lightly down his length, then encircling with thumb and forefinger only, I drew down slowly and then back up again, feeling the familiar texture of knobbly veins that belied that apparent smoothness.

Carefully experimenting with pace, I wanted to see first how far I could go, knowing there would be no point in starting, if the bed would shake too much with that final rush of necessity – I reckoned that I could get away with it, and so settled down to slower strokes, letting the tingle of need and good feelings build within me silently.

A moment later from above, I heard movements and so stopped my silent stroking to listen for some seconds – despite my

braveur

of earlier, I didn't really want to get caught cock in hand. There was still the regular, drink-fuelled breathing - his I reckoned, so I relaxed somewhat - but under that I heard a zipper's slow draw downwards, followed by more movement and sounds of heavy fabric slowly rucking up, suggesting denim. This fascinated me...

surely they hadn't fucked, clothed...

the thought came complete with images of almost chaste, dry humping...or her hand bringing him off as his explored hotly inside her jeans...

maybe she'd been sucking him off and he'd fallen asleep straight away...it happened, meaning...

The start of a light, regular squeaking from the strung mesh less than an arm's length overhead, gave fuel to my imagination's directional flow, while I lay there listening some more. After a moment, I could definitely feel a light but tell-tale shudder transmitting itself through the posts to my lower bunk.

Staring hard up at the bed's sag above in a vain attempt to see any sort of corroborative motion, I lifted my other hand to lightly touch against the mattress' underside - not wanting to stop the gentle squeaks, or make the occupant aware of my silent attention – I just wanted confirmation of what intuition told me about events unfolding above.

Through the convection of touch, my mind translated the slight but regular up and down motions felt. Imagination did the rest, seeing the shape and form lain in the bulge under my hand's sensitivity, feeling too the heat radiate from where flesh pressed deepest. In this way I sensed and built up the full image of her ass, hips, back, then the longer shapes of her slightly parted legs – and from that moment on I could see her clearly above me, a hand between her thighs, fingers slipping rhythmically between sex swollen lips, circling her clit with broad, short strokes, to quickly finish what they'd begun together.

Now that it was implanted, I couldn't get that image out of my head and it seemed in the short space of time since it had begun, that her movements had definitely become more pronounced, and more rapidly paced. If my cock felt hard earlier, I don't know what word should be used to describe its state now, while ambiguity slipped away with each half-second of listening to her quiet persistence, now shuddering the connected beds lightly as urgency took over. What else could be going on –

his

breathing was still regular, oblivious – she was playing with herself, or had a hell of an itchy nose - it could be nothing else.

With my left hand still raised to catch the regular bouncing-touch of her movement, adding its thrill to the secrecy, I started masturbating again too. Moving the sheets back fully, I raised my legs and caught her pace, hoping it would mask the rocking soon to be caused by my own motions.

I explored in the dark, seeing with my imagination through the mattress to what she was doing, lay there next to her sleeping boyfriend, on her back, legs slightly raised, maybe the covers pushed aside to reduce any extra noise of her busy hand under draped fabric, exposing herself daringly to the night air, and to freedom of movement – yet this wouldn't stop the finer noises, the slight, wet sounds of fingers rasping over moist pubes, escaping to merge with the quiet and peace around her.

It was an incredible turn-on, leaving every sound and motion felt, for the mind to connect and make into something special.

Perhaps she was snug and warm under the covers, feeling herself by memory of touch, wet and hot in the dark, concentrating on that sweet nub and its jolts of pleasure, sliding controlled but skittish under focused fingers' pressure.

Carried away by the thoughts and associated images, I realised that the bed had begun moving out of synch, under my own counter-rhythm, so I slowed right back down, not wanting her to know that I was awake and listening to her masturbate – let alone that I was doing the same. I knew I could wait a while longer, let her finish and go to sleep first, even if that waiting wouldn't be easy. It is a special feeling, that of an orgasm shared while watching each other, but I couldn't afford the risk of such a luxury with someone I couldn't even see.

Stopping for a moment to let the itch of pressure subside, I concentrated instead on what my raised left hand could feel of her movements, how her fingers' short down-strokes moved not only flesh, but the mattress too, the light bounce and squeak of her activity saying it all for me. Her pace had now intensified, lightly vibrating the mesh under my fingertips – then there was a sudden stillness, a pause ending in a short, quiet, delightful gasp and slow release of pent up breath as she came, and her body shook ever so softly, fingers at the same time resuming a gentle stroking to drawn the last of it from within her.

I smiled up into the darkness, lowering my hand, imagining her face as I thought of all the orgasms I'd seen, and the ones I'd imagined. My own would definitely not be long in coming – just let her settle to sleep, give her a few minutes and I could take it up where I'd left off without her being any the wiser.

Those few minutes of temptation were indeed long, and I distracted myself throughout by stroking and squeezing just the shaft, near the base, while still listening to her settle above me, ready for sleep. I forced my focus to drift out further, following other sounds of the city's last, all heading home to bed now – deciding as I did so, that it was luck after all, to be here at this moment to witness what I had. Perhaps a lot more of it would be going on in future, maybe even some bed hopping...

Such additional thoughts were not doing me much good, so I rolled over, needing to give myself a little extra time, by removing temptation. I wanted my orgasm to be something memorable, and not just a quick few strokes and then relief – I wanted to feel it build up again, to appreciate before letting it out in squirts of release. The thoughts and continued light teasing hadn't helped, so I lay there trying to while away the moments, feeling my hardness pulsing under me, stretched hot and ready to my belly-button, doing its best to call all straying attention back, and stopping me from thinking of much else than the woman masturbating and her ready wetness, of how good that would feel to slowly envelop myself within...

Teeth gritted, I checked the time, having heard no noises for what seemed like an age. It was now almost 4am – which told me nothing really -

so what the fuck...!

Rolling over again, I started back slowly, coaxing the tension with a careful stroke that thrilled, tugging my foreskin firm but slowly down into smooth oneness with my shaft, then up again over the head, my light breath catching at the jolt of glorious anticipation. With caution I let the pace mount, feeling the pulse of hot blood and hormones start to sing until all would match, ending in that other pulsing splash of hot sperm arcing high in thick, sticky streams across chest and belly.

Feeling its imminent readiness, I dropped all caution, having rationalised during the enforced stillness that it would be fine, even I did shake the bed –

others shouldn't fuck in a public place, and not expect it to wind others up!

Perhaps it might be seen as a curious rationale, but I'd guessed she'd definitely have objected to some second-hand participation during their quick fuck, but maybe not so much if it happened afterwards, either as a result of or not, it would be difficult to say – nocturnal fumblings happen all the time,

non

? Even so, I had kept it quiet until now, stopping still whenever I'd heard a creak, squeak or change in breathing.

Ready, I let my thoughts have the reins, imagining that in fact she

was

awake and had been listening to me too, having felt my hand's movements rock her bed with its own unmistakable purpose. In those thoughts her hand resumes its stroking between her legs, the rocking comforting her and letting her imaging me on top of her, thrusting slow and deep – her other hand moves up under fabric, to softly cup, squeeze and slide its fingers over warm breasts, circling and rolling hardening nipples as her other fingers roll wetness around that hard nub.

In the darkness, imagination and reality can easily blur – I was about to come, and have no idea why I slowed for a moment so close to my ready-to-go orgasm, but I do feel glad now that I did. With the mask of my own noises reduced, I could hear the slight rhythmic squeaking from above again, and her breathing, clearer this time, but still soft and unmistakably in-time to the squeaks from short strokes of her fingers between open legs. Mixed in amongst those noises of her renewed activity, came the slower, tantalising rasps of fingers across silky skin, with the heavier movement of constricting cotton.

My slowed paced must have alerted her, possibly feeling the change through the connection of beds – her own movements stopped, breath held in listening. After a second of quick decision, I started back into bold motion – it felt right, both she and I knew the other was awake, and why – we both knew what the other was doing too, and we seemed to be relishing the uncertain anonymity of it all, feeling how it added incredibly to the buzz.

With my resumed up and down stroking now creaking the bed under me, I felt her pace pick up and take off on its own, blessing me further with wet noises of fingers now sliding in and out of her, lubricating the dream.

No longer able to control it, I let my hand have its way, and it really began pumping fast, adding a flurry of wet sounds of my own to our combined symphony. A second later I lifted my hips clear of the bed ready against the recoil, and came with a heavy spasm, shuddering as the first hot spurt pattered globules all over my skin.

I let out a slow sigh. Above me her movement quickened suddenly, and I listened whilst gently milking the last from myself with long, slow squeezes. With her breath held hard, she shook enough surely to wake the lad beside her, then stopping in that sudden way again, she let a drawn-out grunt escape softly into the room, the second orgasm definitely sounding a lot more satisfying than the first.

Both beds quietened into peace.

Reaching for yesterday's t-shirt, I wiped myself down quietly, listening to her breathing calm itself as she returned from her plateau. I gave her a few moments of peace before getting up and heading for the toilets - shared masturbation can be awkward afterwards, especially the first time, so I took my time while away, and cleaned up properly, allowing her the peace to settle and relax, to see that I didn't expect it to go any further, not unless she wanted it so. Toward that end, I would return and go straight to bed – we had had our mutual excitement, reaped the benefits and enjoyed the moment each in our own way.

Anyway, I would be up early in the morning as invariably all who did not stay out clubbing would be too; it was a sort of given understanding by those staying in the hostels. I therefore assumed that they would not, so avoiding any necessity for possible embarrassment tomorrow. It would also keep the fantasy fresh and unspoiled, as neither would have an idea what the other looked like.

Anyway, I knew I'd be back for a few days in a month's time, so I had already begun wondering if something similar might happen – spring would definitely be on the way by then...