The Fix 1

Cynthia sat uneasily in one of the plush chairs, in the waiting area, just off of the hotel lobby. She fingered the envelope in her hand – the one that had been left for her at the desk. She smiled to herself as she examined her name neatly printed in Chad's handwriting. Today would go well – he knew the drill. He knew her routine, and his limits. He didn't necessarily understand her preferences, but had learned it was worth his while to follow her directions. She frowned a little, when she felt the electronic pass-card, through the envelope. There was something erotic and powerful about the way a key slid into a lock. The mechanical noise it made. The flicker of worry as you turned it – "Will it work?" "Do I have the right room?" The pass-card took some of that away. Oh well, just another thing "improved" by progress.

She glanced at her watch, noting it read 2:22 PM. She would not head towards the elevator until at least 2:27 – Chad was probably just getting ready, now. As she fidgeted, the glow was spreading through her body. With one of her "regulars" she was never nervous – just anxious. It was always nice to be confident that things would go smoothly. With a new "date" there was added excitement, but also – added concerns. As usual, the butterflies were dancing madly in her tummy. Her pussy grew more damp by the second. She pushed her "librarian glasses" up upon the bridge of her nose, stood up gracefully, and smoothed out her slacks. She reminded herself that she would need to change hotels again soon. Even though she was 15 miles "out of town", she was married, and didn't need anybody to notice her. Of course, she knew that she not only had her husband's "permission", but also – his encouragement. That didn't mean the rest of the community would understand, however.

At 2:28 she was stepping onto the elevator. Her hair was piled up into a bun. She wore a dark, chocolate pantsuit, with a cream blouse underneath. She had heels on – not slutty, but not conservative, either. She carried a leather attaché – looking all the part of a lawyer or broker, in town on business. At precisely 2:30, the elevator stopped at the 5th floor. At 2:31, she was sliding the pass card into the lock on the door of room 548. As she stepped into the room, she found a counter and set her briefcase down, pausing a moment, so her eyes could adjust to the darkness. The room was dark, but not pitch black. The air conditioner seemed to be on "max" – it was 68 degrees, or cooler – in the room. The drapes were pulled. Several candles flickered from the spots they were assigned, around the room. From the scent in the air – the candles contained essence of Patchouli. That pungent smell, drifting on the currents generated by the AC ducts, almost made her light-headed.

She could see Chad's outline on the bed. As she preferred, the bed was bare, except for the single linen sheet covering Chad. The same Chad, whose face she had never seen. His cock – just a bit bigger than average – protruded through a hole that had been cut in the sheet. It was not fully erect yet. She took a quick little breath, as she always did, at the moment she saw it. It was a raw, sexual contrast, to the plain white linens. It was pure sex. There for her – not for him, not for any other purpose. She bent down and lightly kissed the end of it. Then she scraped her nails down its length. Almost immediately, he was hard. Quickly she shed her slacks, folded them, and placed them on the chair. She took a sip from the glass of Coke and ice, that had been set out for her. Next to go were here bra and panties. Curiously, they were plain white cotton. Nothing exotic, nothing kinky. With an ice cube in her mouth, and without comment, she engulfed his cock. He grunted at the surprise. She murmured her approval as her chin met the crisp linen of the sheets. His dick popped from her mouth and she took it roughly in her hands. She was far from gentle as she slid her hand up and down its length. Chad moaned, but per the agreement, spoke no words. It was literally, the "object of her desire" – protruding grotesquely from the sheets, there was nothing else to distract her; nothing else for her to focus on.

God, how she loved this – craved it in fact. She stroked it. She scratched her polished nails over its shaft, the head, and Chad's balls. He squirmed at each new touch, but uttered no sound. She took it in her mouth – at first just the end, then the entire thing. She licked it like a lollipop. She smeared the silky drops of pre-cum over her palm, and rubbed it over her nipples. Whenever she had a free hand – she put the fingers to use, on herself. They feverishly tweaked her throbbing clit. They sunk, 3 or 4 at a time, into her sopping wet pussy. She even slid her slick index finger into her ass. Her hips gyrated at every touch, while she worked his cock over. She needed it, the way an addict needs his fix. Her cunt ached to be filled. Denial, though – was part of the arousal. It was not yet time. She lavished in the moment. Here she was – soccer mom, devoted wife, upstanding member of the Community... acting like some crazed slut in a darkened hotel room. She loved having an alter-ego. Loved having this secret side that only her husband and lovers knew about. Loved having the freedom to live her sexuality the way she wanted to live it. She loved cock, loved fucking – almost to the point of obsession. Sex made up a great deal of her persona.

Wanting to prolong things, but knowing Chad couldn't take the roughness for long – Cynthia slowed the pace. She took a sip of her soda, and lay on the bed next to Chad. Her fingers gently stroked him – enough to keep him aroused, but not so much as to make him cum. With her free hand, she ran an ice cube, plucked from her glass, over her body. Down the side of her neck, around her breasts, and across her tummy. She ran the cube through her pubic hair, and pushed it against her clit, while her third and fourth fingers tried to spread her lips. All the while, she gazed longingly at Chad's cock. The ice made her throb even harder. She moved the rapidly shrinking cube back up her body, and sucked it into her mouth. That hand now totally free, she went to work again, fingering herself. She writhed and bucked against her hand. Her wanting to be filled now approached desperation. Her breath was labored, and her body would not be still, for even a moment. Even Chad moaned softly – his inability to fully experience this – was almost cruel.

Finally, she straddled him – facing away of course, lest he became uncovered. With her left hand she held him, while she positioned herself above. Lowering herself just a little more, she used his glistening head to part her lips. Still, nothing but his cock was exposed, through the sheets. He barely made a sound. Her clit was swollen, and she was trimmed, but not clean-shaven. Outside of the hotel rooms, she was a very conservative lady. Suddenly, she let her weight go, and impaled herself upon him. He grunted – partially in surprise, partially in pain – it was not a graceful movement. It was indicative of her need. She moaned as he was all the way inside her. She was sopping wet, and she loved how "dirty" she sounded, as she began to move her hips forward and back. Like one of those women in the movies. Her motion became more and more frantic, and her breathing became increasingly ragged, with each stroke. "God he felt good." All week long, she could barely think of anything else. Now, here she was – finally getting the relief she needed. She imagined a junkie must feel this way, upon getting a long-awaited fix...

She began squeezing her breasts, kneading them. Their tempo quickened, with the "smack-smack-smack" of her ass hitting Chad's body, through the sheet – filling the room. She was panting now, like a dog. With one hand she rolled her nipple hard between her fingers. With the other, she worked her clit best she could, while fucking Chad's engorged cock. Now what she needed was his cum. She arrived at her one minute moment of weakness in these sessions – the moment when she began to beg. She begged Chad to cum inside her. Through tears of pleasure she pleaded for him to fill her. She was almost animal-like in her frenzy. Focused only on his cock inside her, and how it made her feel. Focused on the moment he would swell, and finally erupt inside of her. Her shrieks and pleas came rapid fire now – she needed his cum, and kept telling him so. She was nearing the brink of orgasm herself – she could feel it welling up inside of her. Finally, she heard him begin to moan, and his cock seemed to double in size. "Yes, please" – she begged – "Fill me! Fill me with your cum". And with that, his whole body seemed to stiffen for a moment, then spasm. Then another spasm. She felt him twitching in her. Felt the warmness spreading though her. On what felt like his second or third squirt, her own orgasms began to crash into her very being. Like a thousand, blinding, ice cream headaches, bouncing through her body as if they were pinballs. With a whimper, she collapsed, and lay down across the sheeted form beneath her.

Finally, after she had showered and dressed, Chad eased himself out of the bed. The envelope on the bureau held a crisp $50 dollar bill – another mysterious part of her "scene". Harmless, though, and he could always use the cash. After all – he had the room for a whole day – he might as well watch the game, and grab some room service.

Riding down in the elevator, Cynthia felt like a new woman. She imagined her husband would enjoy hearing about her escapades, later that evening. She checked her attaché for her day-planner. On the taxi ride home, she'd have to figure out her plans for next week. Hmmm. Maybe Anthony, at a new hotel – the Biltmore would be nice.