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.
