Hi, my name is John. I'm a voyeur. I can't remember exactly when it became clear to me that I actually prefer to watch rather than participate, but it's been a long time. At first and for many years I tried to deny what turned me on, sexually. But once I admitted it to myself, I set out to find an occupation that would afford me optimum time and opportunity, to indulge my tendencies.
I spent about 5 years, bouncing from one career to the other, hoping the next one would do the trick. Freelance photographer, manager of gentlemen's clubs and porno houses, to name a few. I had a steady porno habit all along, but I wanted and needed to observe the real thing taking place.
It wasn't until I was traveling out west and ended up staying over night in a motel right outside of Denver, Co. that it came to me what direction I needed to take. It was actually right outside of a little town, which was right outside of Denver. I remember thinking this place is really off the beaten path, but it wasn't seedy or dirty. It was actually a pretty nice place.
Anyway as I said, I just kind of stumbled on this place and I only stopped because I was too tired to drive but I wasn't sleepy. So I ended up hanging around in the lounge that was adjacent to the check in area. I was sitting at a table reading and half way listening to the TV. I could also see the front desk from where I sat, so I could see people as they arrived. Almost without fail, they were couples. And not the "we're tired as hell and want to lie down" kind of couples. These were the "we are going to fuck our brains out" kind of couples. You know the type. Constantly touching and playing with each other. Looking around, whispering, giggling.
It was while I sat there watching these couples come and go (that's right some of them weren't there but a couple of hours) that I started to formulate the plan which would allow me to make a decent living and have enormous amounts of time to pursue that which arouses me sexually.
So here I sit in the room I keep for myself, at the motel I now own. No it's not the same one, but similar. Nice, clean, and most importantly; discreet and out-of-the-way. I'm sitting at my desk as I write this and at the same time I am watching the couple in the adjoining room through the special mirror I had installed. Yep, just like in the police line-ups. I can see them, but they can't see me. All they see is the mirror over the dresser, but I can see their entire room. In fact, I even had the glass made where it would magnify and illuminate the room. Therefore they appear closer than they actually are and things are brighter than they actually are in case they turn the lights out. And high-quality sound equipment, of course. There is nothing more exciting to me than the sounds a woman can make and the things she will say while in the throws of passion.
This particular couple? Not married, definitely. At least not to each other. He's probably in his early fifties, and if she is a day over 30 then I'll eat my hat. A boss and his underling would be my guess, just from some of the conversation. But it was the age difference that sparked my interest earlier when they came in and I was still working the front desk. That is my routine most days. I will work most late afternoons and early evenings at the front desk in order to pick the couple I want to direct to the room next door.
But this couple is not why I am writing this story. What I wanted to tell you about was the pair that came in about two weeks ago, late on Saturday night. Actually it started out as just a man in his mid-thirties. He was well dressed but casual, like someone out for a night on the town in search of a woman. He had obviously had a few drinks. And he was black.
He requested a single room with a king size bed, paid with cash, and signed in as Larry Smith. "Oh yeah, right pal," I thought. While checking in he kept looking back towards the front door and smiling. On a hunch, I decided to put him in 311, the room next to mine. Watching an attractive African-American couple having an affair would be a great way to spend Saturday night, I thought to myself. After he'd signed in and I'd given him his door key, he started back out the front door and as he approached it I could see him signaling to someone with his hands by putting up 3 fingers, followed by 1 finger twice......311.
Once he was outside the door I could see him light up a cigarette and could hear muffled conversation and laughter. Then he came back in by himself and went straight for the elevators. About this time another car had pulled up and an elderly couple was making their way into the lobby. As I checked them in I noticed out of the corner of my eye a nice looking woman in her thirties making her way from the front door to the elevators. I didn't remember her checking in earlier but maybe someone else handled her while I was away from the desk for a bit. Her pace was quick and she had her head down and her blonde hair concealed most of her face, but I remember thinking she looked a little familiar. She was dressed nice, but fairly provocative. Like a woman in search of a man might dress on a Saturday night. And she was white.
While I continued to check in the elderly couple (who by the way I could tell were only interested in sleeping) another younger couple came through the door. And they fit the profile much better. Giggling, touching, even necking a little while they waited their turn. "Geez," I remember thinking to myself, "Get a room, will ya." And then realizing and laughing at myself, "Hey dumbass, that's kind of what they're here for, don't ya think?"
While all of this was going on I kept watching for the black woman I was sure would come through the door on her way to "Mr. Smith's" room. But I never saw her. Thinking I had missed her, or worse, that my hunch about him was all wrong I decided to head for my room. I told my assistant for the evening that I was tired and was calling it a night. Once again, this was the routine. I would put the couple I thought most likely to please in room 311 and then retire for the festivities, leaving the front desk to whomever was on duty that night.
So now I was on my way to my room thinking I may have really screwed up by putting Mr. Smith in 311. Thinking I may have to settle for some porn, I ran the keycard through the slot and entered the room. Just to make sure I wasn't wrong, I quickly flipped on the sound switch for the room next door and was pleasantly surprised to hear conversation. Low, quiet conversation, but conversation all the same. Hurriedly I removed the large picture I used to conceal the window into the next room and was shocked when I saw the white lady that I had noticed earlier sitting on the edge of the bed. Mr. Smith was standing directly in front of her and she had one arm around one of his legs and the other hand was reaching up underneath his partially unbuttoned shirt rubbing his stomach and chest. He had his hands in her blonde hair pulling her head up against his hips with her face only inches from his crotch area.
I was now able to make out some of the conversation. He was saying, "That's right, go ahead.....you know you want to."
"No, no....I shouldn't even be here," she said, turning her face away and flat against his upper thigh, her words obviously denying the fire building within her. "My husband.....oh God! What if my husband finds out?"
It was at this point that I realized why she had looked familiar. She was Alex Sanders' wife. Though I had never met her, I definitely recognized her from the times I had my car in for work at his shop on the other side of town. The few times I had seen her I remembered thinking what an attractive woman she was. Just a little on the heavy side but not in a way that was unattractive at all. On the contrary, she was one of those women who look even more beautiful with a few extra pounds. And she looked exceptional tonight. Her hair had been done in a way where it fell seductively across one eye. She was wearing an attractive short skirt and blouse with one too many undone buttons revealing more of her milky-white cleavage than any normal man could resist. And now, here she was in the room right next door with this black stranger, just a few feet away and completely unaware that she was being watched.
"You can feel it now, can't you?" he continued to coax her, as he turned her head back toward his cock, and forced her face closer still to the growing lump in his pants. "Kiss it, rub your face on it. Kiss it and I'll take it out and let you suck it like the little whore you know you are. Yeah, come on baby put those red lips on my dick."
At that point I heard a soft moan escape from her lips as she gave in to her desire to touch his penis through the fabric of his trousers. She began to seductively rub her hand over his stiffening prick, lightly tracing the length and girth. Then with his right hand clutching a fistful of her blonde hair, the man forced her face to his cock, as she kissed and nibbled it best she could, covered as it was. Then he took her head in both hands and moved her face all over his crotch, up and down the length of his penis, as he started to move his hips in and out, and then taunting her further, "There whore, what do you think of that? You wish my cock was in your mouth don't you, you dirty little slut?"
She was moaning loudly now and I heard a muffled "Oh God yes," as I watched her hands reach up and around to his buttocks, clutching tightly to pull him even closer.
"You want me to fuck you right between those ruby red lips of yours don't you," he half asked and half demanded. "Tell me the truth you beautiful white wife whore, you want this black cock in your mouth, don't you?"
"I do. I want to taste your cock. I don't care if he finds out," she panted as she reached and began to undo his belt buckle and then tore at his pants as she desperately tried to unleash his cock. It seemed the worse he talked to her, the hotter she got.
I was beside myself at this point and now had my own dick out, stroking it slowly as I watched the scene unfold. I had never imagined anything like this happening when I decided to put Mr. Smith in this room. Watching this beautiful white wife lose all control and cheat on her husband with a black man was almost more than my heart could take.
She was now reaching in his boxer briefs for his manhood, as she pulled and tugged to lower them. I had noticed earlier by the bulge in his pants that he appeared to be pretty well endowed, but I had no idea. This guy had a cock that looked to be almost as big as her forearm. And it was black as coal. She grabbed a hold of it with both hands and shoved it in her mouth as she pleaded with him, "Fuck me in my mouth, please fuck my mouth".
With that he laughed a dirty laugh, grabbed her head again and said, "OK bitch, hold on." He started a slow, forceful undulation with his hips, causing a little more of the damn thing to disappear down her throat with each stroke. He had two fists full of blonde hair and was giving it to her just like she asked. Although she was holding his ass again it was clear who was in control, and it wasn't her. She was starting to gag, and her saliva was coming out in strings, falling on her opened blouse, drenching it and her tits but good. When he spread his legs a bit for better balance, it looked like he was fucking a blonde rag doll, as she tried to hold on.
He continued to berate her, "Suck this black cock down your throat you fucking whore. Suck it deep and slow and I might let you swallow this black man's cum."
