Casual Encounter 6

My hotel room had a view out over the river, but the view remained uninspiring. The sky was leaden and the water the color of sheet steel. The rain was one step up from mist and the wind strong enough to make it horizontal. This side of the river was all business parks, with tall fences and vast parking lots. The other was run down industrial buildings, a cement factory and some warehouses.

This would be home for the next week, while my team and I finished our project. This place was great for proximity and terrible in most other regards. The lounge was tiny and was only one step up from the minibar. The restaurant was probably good for instaeggs at breakfast. I'd give you even odds for whether the burger was microwaved or fried in a pan.

I didn't know the town and the idea of driving round and round in the rental car was unexciting. So I ordered up some room service and fired up my phone to call home.

Kendra answered on the third ring. "Hey, you made it."

Kendra and I had been married for about six years and together for a little over nine. When I'm on the road like this, we check in once a day. This was actually the second week of this trip and, with the time difference and our busy schedules, we can fall into a kind of semi-disconnected state. I make up for the separation when I get home. She listened politely to my sadness over the hotel and eventually we wished each other a good night.

It was 7:30 and I wasn't remotely tired. Or, rather, I was tired from travel, but I wasn't going to be able to sleep for hours. I didn't want to see my coworkers and there was no point in going to the bar. I'm not proud: I decided to see if I could find a one-night stand.

I opened my browser, visited my favorite hookup site, and posted a quick ad. I didn't expect a response, really: too many men for not enough women. My ad made clear that I was married and that it was strictly casual, strictly one night of fun. Most of the time, I got more of a thrill just out of posting the ad than ever materialized.

While I was browsing the women's postings, my phone chimed with a new mail. The thing I like about this site is that it relays messages, so you can't see the other person's contact info--and they can't see yours. The incoming email was short: "Where u at?" Attached was a photo of what appeared to be a thirty-something gal. The face was blurred.

I replied with the hotel name and address. "There in 30. Room?" was her reply. I was kind of shocked. There was no back and forth, no long questions, and she didn't appear to be after money. I paused for a second, thinking it too good to be a good idea, and then replied with the number.

"On my way" she replied.

I swung into action. I put my valuables and wallet into the hotel room safe, ran down to the hotel store to buy beers and condoms, and then hurried back to clean up some. It was closer to forty minutes later, when I'd started to wear a hole in the carpet from the nerves and and was beginning to doubt this was real when she tapped on the door.

Looking through the peephole I could see a shorter woman similar to the photo. Nobody seemed to be lurking, so I popped open the door.

"Hey," she said.

"Come on in," I invited.

She wasn't much to look at, but then, neither am I. She was a few inches over five feet, with a Mediterranean complexion, with brown skin, an oval face, almond-shaped eyes of piercing green, and tightly curly black hair kind of like Darth Vader's helmet. She was wearing a white jean jacket over a vertically striped knit top and blue jeans. There wasn't an umbrella or coat in sight, but she only looked a little damp.

I was still wearing most of my travel outfit. I had shed my outer shirt but had on my white cotton t-shirt and Docker pants.

So, there we were, standing in my hotel room with all of ten words between us.

She broke the ice.

"We doing this? I mean, I've been needing it. You got something in those pants for me?"

"Yes. You look nice." I stepped towards her, thinking we might embrace or maybe kiss, but she was turning away, shrugging out of the jeans jacket.

"I'll look even nicer with your dick in me," she said. There was no pretense here: we were going to get right to it. She kicked off her pumps and started working her jeans down. I can take a cue, so I opened my belt and stepped out of my chinos. As I laid them on a chair, she pulled her top over her head, placed hers carefully next to mine, and sat on the edge of the bed.

She had okay sized breasts held in place by a bandeau bra--just a horizontal strip of black stretchy material matched to utilitarian black panties. I pulled off the t-shirt and, still wearing my boxers, moved in to join her. I went to kiss her, but she turned her head and whispered in my ear "I love kissing. You can kiss me later. Right now I need you to fuck me."

She was working my boxers off, so I returned the favor with her panties. She had a neatly trimmed bush sprouting from a firm little mound. We were doing a little dance, her scooching around to get further into the bed, tugging on my thickening boner, and generally wriggling around to get it to its target.

I kissed her on the lips as she got me all lined up. Her hand waggled me against her moist slit. I let myself feel where her opening was, and she thrust her pelvis at me. She felt lubed up and ready and she was clearly in a hurry to get me in there. Not wanting any risks, I turned slightly to reach for the box of condoms on the nightstand. I could see her look over, aware of them there, aware I was going for them.

That didn't slow her down, though. A flex of her body and she engulfed me partway.

"Don't you want..." I started, but she shushed me. "I want you in me."

"But..." I tried to continue, but at the same time I pushed forward all the way. It felt good to be sheathed within her. "I need you to fuck me. I need it raw," she said. "Yeah, just like that."

Well, I am already in her, I thought. I kept going. Now she seemed willing and kissed me. I closed my eyes and felt our tongues duel. Her hands and heels kept pulling on my butt and I started a steady series of deep thrusts. She was light enough that I could lift and shift her further on the bed without withdrawing.

She worked her body, flexing and shoving back into me, rocking her hips and squeezing inner muscles. While her body was articulate in what she wanted, she broke the kiss to ensure I knew what she needed. "Come on, come on, come on, do it. Do it. Do it in me. Give it to me. Give me everything. I want it all. Fuck it into me..." and more. I was swelling up, getting close. She urged me on, never letting me step back from the brink.

"Here it comes," I announced. Her body impaled itself on me and every ounce of her strength went into holding me tight and deep inside her. It was a big, heavy load and I flooded it into her.

I laid with her in the afterglow. Then she went into the bathroom. When she came out, she went immediately to putting on clothes.

"That was perfect," she said. She pulled out her phone, and, in a blink of an eye, snapped a photo of me naked on the bed, a big wet spot in front of me.

"I'll be here all week," I said.

"Yeah, you know how to get at me," she replied.

"That was fast," I thought, when she was gone. I opened one of the beers and, eventually, drifted off to sleep. The next day was work and busy, but at lunch I paused to check on a repeat performance. Maybe this time we could take it slower? It didn't matter, the anonymous email system sent a reply instantly: "account deleted or blocked". Oh well.

We had dinner out as a team, and I got back to the hotel late. I called Kendra and we chatted for a few minutes before saying "I love you" and "good night". I was going to turn in when my phone chimed with email. Thinking it was maybe a late message from a team member, I opened the mail app.

The message was from an obvious throwaway account and the subject line was "Hey". The body was "I need a love injection" and attached was the photo of me. This was disquieting: it was on my work email. I didn't think we even knew each other's names? But obviously, she knows who I am. So... "I've got what you need."

She's in the parking lot and so she is at my door in just a few minutes. "How'd you get my email?"

"I took a business card in case you gave me something."

"I'm clean... no thanks to our playing unsafe."

"Don't worry, I didn't give you anything. But I need you to give me some more of that love muscle."

This time she bares her breasts, each with a fine brown tip hanging down. She pushes me back onto the bed, rising up to straddle me. At first, I think this will be slower, more romantic, but she wets her fingers with spit, lubes my shaft, and sits right down on it. It's my turn to buck and push up from below. Her titties feel good in my hand and I tweak the sensitive ends. Her face remains focused, as she concentrates on how I feel inside her, focused on my pleasure and ignoring her own.

This time, after I cum, she curls up next to me and lets me hold her. I turn out the lights with the switches next to the bed. Some time later, in the dark of night, I awaken to her grinding her ass against me. She's gotten me hard. She pulls one knee forward so I can get in from behind. We start slow, sensual, relaxed, but, as I awaken further, she draws me to crouch over her doggy style, our bodies slapping together.

She's calling my name out between cries of "Do it. Put it in me. Flood my pussy. Give it up. Deeper."

It's hot and wicked and this time I think she cums from my efforts before I groan out another bellyful of my own. I sink back into sleep. When I wake, I find she's gone.

Two days later and the team is on the downhill slope. Tomorrow will be our last day in the office, so I'll check out in the morning. I haven't heard from my nameless play partner, which is okay. I have to admit that I like it more when my partner responds to me and wants me to please her. But then, it's been a nice interlude, fun but no expectations.

That night I talk to Kendra, finish up some work, and then switch off the light. The digital clock reports it's 11:41 when there's a knock at the door. I shuffle over in my boxers and it's my nameless friend.

"Guess I need a bit more," she remarks. "Only this time you can do whatever. Guess you deserve that." I kiss her and she lets me undress her. I lay her down on the bed and touch her sensually. I let me kisses trail down over hills and valleys, to nestle in between her thighs. She moans and sighs to each touch, her feedback gently nudging me to find her secrets, build her passion. Twice she pushes my head away as her body jerks with pleasure before I agree to mount her.

This is familiar territory. Once I'm inside her, she's a panther. Her body toned and taut. She likes it deep and fast and I give it to her. "Tell me when you're close," she begs.

We keep going, moving harder and harder together. "Tell me when you're there," she demands.

I feel it building. I let myself get right to the edge. Holding it. "I'm there," I tell her.

"Fill me." I do.

I think maybe she'll spend the night, but she goes to the bathroom and returns to start dressing.

"Do you love her?" she asks. She means Kendra, of course.

"I do."

"That's too bad," she says, "when I might want you for myself." She shoves her soiled panties into my pants pocket and then leaves.

I still don't know her name.

A couple of days later I get another email from a different throwaway account. The subject line is still "Hey". This time it says "Missing you. Want more of this." The attached photo was clearly taken in the hotel bathroom. It's her pussy spread open, a trail of white cum clearly visible inside.

At first, I think it's best I ignore the message. I let it go. But I sneak a look at the photo again later and it gets the better of me. I hit 'Reply' and send her: "That was fun. Thank you."

A couple of days after that I get "Re: Re: Hey". The message is: "I don't get a picture?" This time the attachment is of her fingers cradling a breast, the nipple poking out of a tight crinkly areola. "What kind of picture do you want?" I reply. This is kind of dangerous. Her photos are clearly NSFW--not safe for work.

"I want to see your tool again," is her response. "I can't do that from this work account," I say. "Figure it out," she says. "You're smart. You can satisfy my need." This time the attachment is of her mouth with just a hint of tongue hanging out.

I go to the men's washroom and look at her bathroom photo for a while composing just the shot for her. I create a new throwaway account of my own and send it to her.

Saturday on the work account there's a fresh email, with a fresh subject line of "Hey". "Nice one. Might need it again soon," she writes. The attachment is of her sitting on a bed, but not in the hotel this time. It's only of her lower torso and spread thighs, so I can see her closed lips. This doesn't seem to call for a response.

Sunday there's "Re: Hey" with "spotting today" and a picture of her panties with some miniscule brown spots in the gusset. Whew! It's worrisome that my nameless friend has kept messaging me. She insisted so hard that we eschew protection that there was this nagging worry, but it seems that it'll be okay. I reply from the throwaway account with "Yay!" on the theory that she must be relieved also.

She replies quickly with "didn't think you'd be excited. Glad you are." This remains mysterious until Tuesday. Around 11:00 I'm in a super boring teleconference. I have the video off and am catching up on email. That's when the new one arrives: "Hey" with a message "Wonder what it will say?". The picture is of her hand holding a bright pink box: Early Result Pregnancy Test.

"I thought that wasn't going to be needed?"

"Maybe you thought wrong?" The attachment this time is of an unused test being held between her legs over the toilet. She's about to find out.

"What does it say?" I send.

"Uh-uh," she replies. "Don't work that way. First tell me what you want it to say."

"What do you mean?"

"If you tell me you want it, then maybe we have to be together. If you tell me you don't, maybe you don't hear from me anymore. Either way, won't affect if there's going to be a baby. I just need to know first."

I sit there staring at the screen. Before I cave it, I try again: "You've got to tell me, if it's mine."

"Not telling you for sure till you answer. But if there's one there for sure it is YOURS." There's an attachment, the same photo, basically, only there's a stream of urine hitting the stick. I don't even know this woman's name, but I'm sitting there wrestling with an impossible choice. I start to write back saying I don't when a new email pops up.

"I might be there soon. Need an answer." There's a picture of an airline gate. There's a flight boarding for the nearest airport. I've flown out of that very gate not that long ago.

"I want it." I reply. Maybe I can fix things later.

"Good," comes the reply. "I'll call you when I land. You best pick me up. 4:15." There's no attachment. I send a reply "You forgot something!". There's no response.

I call Kendra and tell her "I have to pick up an unexpected colleague who's flying in today."

"Okay," she says. "Bring them to dinner. I'm making pork chops."

"I don't think that's a good idea. They'll be tired. I'll just get them situated."

I scramble to suspend the rest of my day and take off for the airport. There are no more emails. Maybe it was all an elaborate ruse? It's almost a quarter to five when, instead of an email, my phone rings. "Blocked number" it says.

I pick up.

"Hey," she says. "Coming out now. What are you driving?"

I tell her about the time I glimpse her. She's wearing a raincoat and dragging a rollaboard. Her hair is back in a kind of ponytail. She walks over and I get out to help put the suitcase in the trunk. We don't kiss or touch. She opens the passenger door and gets in.

"I'm glad you decided," she says. "Get me a hotel room and we can take it from there."

I pull the car out into traffic and try to think of where to take her. "Best make it a nice one," she adds, "since you'll most likely be proposing to me there. Unless you're ready to take me home and do it in front of your wife."

I adjust my aim. My bowels are water inside me.

I rent us a room. It's in my name, so I still don't know hers. We ride up in the elevator in silence. I open the door with the card key and let her go in first.

"This is pretty nice," she says. She parks the suitcase and shrugs off the coat. "I guess you think I'm fucking up your life, huh?" My body language this whole time must be screaming "nervous tension".

"I thought it was just a casual encounter. This is pretty serious. You haven't told me about the test yet." She smiles.

"I thought our encounters were pretty casual. Don't mean we can't have a connection after. Don't mean you can't be a daddy. And it definitely don't mean we can't

get

serious." She comes closer, looking up into my eyes. "I could tell you want the test said, but it was a two pack. I could just show you--after you make love to me. Or you can go out the door right there, back to wifey. Then you won't know, leastways not for sure and not for a while."

She paused, looking to see my reaction. "Do you know what you want? Cause if you want me, you need to put me on that bed and take me. Don't hold back." I was sorely tempted, but asked "Why me?"

"Because your ad seemed like the most honest one there. You didn't hide what you were or what you were doing. My clock's ticking and I need a man to put his babies in me. You've already shown you can make a commitment--not yet that you can keep one. But I figure a man sniffing around can't be entirely satisfied at home." She moved closer and put her hands to opening up my top shirt button.

I reached out and put a hand at her waist. I could feel the sea change going on in my tummy. The fight-or-flight butterflies started to take on a bit of gravity. They landed on my gonads. I pulled her a little closer as my second and third buttons surrendered. I looked down, her green eyes sparkled.

"You got to want it. If you want it, you get it all," she said. It didn't make a lick of sense. Her hands had opened my shirt fully. As I bent in to kiss her, I felt her bare hands on my back, under my t-shirt, skin on skin. She backed up, pulling me along, finding the bed.

The coarse coverlet was under her as she crab-walked back towards the headboard. We were mostly clothed but moving in tandem. Her hand rubbing my thickening member. I unsnapped her pants and then was thwarted by our tangled limbs. I reached up under the heavy blouse to finger her tits. She eagerly pulled her top off. I finished pulling off my shirt, discarded it and removed my t-shirt.

Her brown skin was just a little loose under my fingers, her body was warm. Her scent just the slightest whiff of patchouli mixed with feminine arousal. I kissed her again and she rubbed her body against mine as I held my eyes closed.

I felt off-kilter. Something was out-of-whack. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She wasn't Kendra. She had freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had silver earrings shaped like dragonflies with little red bands of coral. She had her hand inside my pants stroking my wooden staff.

"Get it in me. I need it." I was still balked by the pants. She rolled to the side and shucked them in one neat movement. Now, again I was naked with her. "This is yours. Make it yours. Put your babies in it." I caught at her entrance.

I put a hand in the small of her back. "That's it. That's it," she croaked as I drew her to me. Her innards went 'slurp', a big wet noise as I pierced her. I grabbed her ankles and, in a mix of fear and lust and anger and regret, rode her down into the bed. Pressed deep inside her the two of us ground and rocked, fighting to get deeper. It was a long hard session. When my climax came, it was to a symphony of her moans. We sang a duet. And then I fell down, sweaty and spent, beside her.