Warning: this story contains pegging.
I came into work tonight with a condom in my pocket and a hard-on in my boxers. I'm a zombie. I haven't slept all day because I've been fantasizing about Marla. Marla's throat around my cock. Her velvety snatch squeezing me dry. She moans as I shove my fingers in her rectum. Cover her in my...
"Uhhh...? Ex-
cuse
-me? I said... about the MoMA?"
This blonde chick is gawking at me, she looks like she's at most eighteen and she's wearing more makeup than clothes. Is that her friend or her sister with the fake red hair, talking in her ear while giving me the stink-eye? How long have they been here?
"Dude, I think he's high or something," she whispers in the blonde's ear.
I'm not high, I just need a moment to process new information, and to stare at your nipples pointing through what might as well be a belt.
"Yes, the MoMA..."
The blonde stares at me expectantly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah! It's here."
"I know it's here!" She rolls her eyes like I'm a retard or something, which I probably am at this point. I read somewhere that sleep deprivation can really fuck with your brain. Or was it in a documentary?
"...want to know how to
get
there!"
Oh shit, she's talking again. I give her a map and my best smile. I'm hoping the counter effectively hides my thunder because I've got Thor's hammer in my pants again from staring at these chicks. They're sharing a room with a king-size bed, I wonder what they get up to in there.
As I'm picturing her friend tongue-deep in her clam, the red-haired one snaps her fingers at me.
"Key?"
I give her the key and they run off towards the elevator, muttering to each other what I can only assume are less than complimentary remarks about my mental well-being. I can feel my heart pumping blood into my prick as I watch them go, their asses bouncing with every step, punctuated by the clicking of their high heels on the marbled tiles.
I turn my eyes to the wooden panel where the keys hang. It's almost empty. Full house tonight. Two hours go by in a haze, and there's only one key left on the board. 405. Marla. I can't stop tonguing that scratch.
And suddenly she's there at the counter, spilling out of her dress every which way, radiating sex through every pore, and just looking in her eyes is making me burst at the seams. I put her key in her hand, and the touch of her skin almost melts me on the spot.
She leans over the counter and I can smell her perversion.
"See you soon," she says, and I can't say anything my throat is so dry. I start locking up while she waits for the elevator, but it gets there before I'm done, and I imagine what it would be like to finger her in the mirrored cabin. It's an impossible fantasy, of course, as safety regulations prohibit me from riding the elevator.
After the doors and the cash box are all locked up, I take the stairs to the fourth floor. There's still light coming from underneath one of the doors before Marla's. 402. I make a mental run through the reservations and come up blank. As I come up close to the door however, the sounds coming from the room are unmistakable.
I've been working this hotel for a while now and I know the layout by heart. I know that 402 opens to a closed antechamber, and I could probably peek inside the room without being seen.
I unlock the door with my passkey and gently push it open with my hand from the outside hallway, maintaining plausible deniability, waiting for a cry of shock, of surprise. But the only sounds coming from inside the room are moans and grunts and the slap-slap-slap of flesh on flesh.
I slip out of my shiny leather shoes and step inside the antechamber, the sounds and smells of sex filling my senses. I push myself flat against the partition separating the antechamber from the bedroom proper. Dare I peek?
I dare and am rewarded. I see the king-size bed from my vantage point, pushed up against the opposite wall. The girls are facing the headboard, away from me, as they're getting pounded by two guys I don't remember checking in. It's not an orgy, just two couples fucking on the same bed. The girls don't even play with each other. I'm a little disappointed, but I guess real life isn't like porn.
A burst of clarity permeates my addled brain and I suddenly feel ashamed at this intrusion of privacy. I leave the room and shut the door quietly. I slip my shoes back on and keep walking to 405. Three light knocks. "Reception," I say in a soft voice, as I let myself in with the passkey.
Marla's sitting on the bed, naked but for a pair of silky black thigh-highs and an assorted leather choker. She pays no attention to me, completely engrossed in whatever's happening on her laptop screen. Her legs are splayed wide and she subtly rolls her hips as she types, rubbing her lips on the satin bedspread.
I take off my jacket as I approach the bed and shift my boxers to make room for my growing cock. As I reach Marla, I see that she's on video call with a middle-aged man. Rugged face, short and neat beard, salt-and-pepper hair. Could be me in twenty years, if I'm lucky.
"Ah! This must be the young Alex. I've heard so much about you! I'm Jack," he says as I come into the webcam's frame. I turn to look at Marla.
"The secret to a happy marriage is to tell each other
everything
," she says. I turn back to the screen.
"You're the husband? For real? I was starting to think she made you up!"
He chuckles. "No, I'm very real. Unfortunately, I've been delayed, but I'll be in town tomorrow." He sees my disappointment and smiles. "Oh, don't worry. You can still come and play. I like to watch."