It was a quiet Sunday night at a hotel bar, not the usual place that you’d think someone would be looking to hook up. It’s kind of my slutty little secret, though. Fridays and Saturdays, that very same bar is packed, sometimes to capacity, and I’ve made use of that fact regularly. I’ve fucked guys of varying quality from that bar more times than I care to count. But Sundays are quiet. No one wants to start their Monday with a hangover, so the usual working stiffs have cleared out after a weekend of partying, ready to fake normalcy for another five days. Sunday nights, the bars are ruled by people who don’t particularly want to be there, people who have flown or driven in on the weekend, alone, usually for work, and are alone, drowning their sorrows in the cheap drinks within walking distance of their rented beds. No one looking to get rowdy, just sad people looking for comfort.

And I can be very, very comfortable.

That’s how I found Dean, a simple, not-unattractive man who had flown in from the west coast to my midwest town for some sort of business. He wasn’t a model or anything, but he had his charm. He spent most of his time staring down at his cheap beer that he’d been nursing since he’d first sat down. We were relatively alone, and struck up conversation. He worked in plastics, something that he clearly thought was the most boring thing in the world, but was flattered that I took an interest in. He was single, owing largely to his time spent traveling, no family to speak of, had a genuine love of cinema, which we bonded over. We shared musical recommendations, some of which I still listen to with some regularity, shared a few genuine laughs, and had a pleasant time.

The entire time, though, he only gave me fleeting glances before looking down at his beer, or fiddling with some burn mark on the bartop or something. Well into the night, I finally asked why, and he blushed, shook his head, and claimed it was for no reason in particular. When I pushed him, though, he looked over at me, took a deep breath, and said that he thought I was gorgeous, that I was the most stunning woman he’d talked to in a long time, and that he didn’t feel like he deserved to be wasting my time, and that when he didn’t look directly at me, he could fool himself into thinking that he deserved me.

Cards on the table, I’d sat down next to Dean with the specific intent of fucking him. That was why I was there, he was cute, I was looking, the evening was going to end with him inside me unless he said something truly heinous to put me off. After that though…well, if my panties weren’t soaked before he delivered that little speech with utter sincerity in his eyes, they certainly were after. I leaned in and kissed him softly. He, to his credit, immediately kissed me back, not hot and heavy, but with enough passion that it was clear we both knew where the night was headed. It didn’t last long before I broke it off and told him to finish his beer so we could get out of there.

There’s something naughty about hotel rooms. The complete lack of personality, the utilitarian look of them, the knowledge that untold numbers of people have likely fucked in the same bed. I love hotel rooms. We came through the door like two high school kids after prom, kissing furiously, like we only had one night to let out a lifetime worth of passion. When the door clicked shut behind us, his fingers went to the buttons on my blouse, undoing them nimbly without looking. I shrugged out easily, tossing the white shirt to the side, leaving me in just a skirt, heels, and a white lacy bra. Without breaking our kiss, he led me backwards until my legs hit the edge of the bed, which he lowered me onto gently. He stood up just long enough to take off his shirt and drop it to the floor. He settled onto the bed beside me, burying his face in my 36C tits, pulling the cups down to suck on my sensitive nipples. I placed a hand on the back of his head and held him close, riding the building waves of pleasure. I was barely aware of one of his hands moving my skirt until his fingers found my wet pussy, massaging it lightly through my panties as I cooed out in pleasure.

My eyes were clenched shut and my mind was otherwise occupied, so I don’t know how long we stayed like that. I truly think that he would have been happy just sucking my tits all night, and I wouldn’t have complained. We both knew why we were there, though. When he stopped sucking for a moment, I took the opportunity to push him to standing position next to the bed. In short order, I had his belt undone, his pants unfastened and both his pants and boxers on the floor. His cock, fairly average sized with some lovely bulging veins, stook rock hard in the air. I shifted on the bed so that I was laying on my back, my head next to him. I opened my mouth, and he readily fed me his cock. He only gave me the head, and I sucked softly on it, drawing whimpers from him, before I sucked a bit harder, drawing him further in, taking his full length easily. He clumsily groped my tits, and I arched my back, reaching behind to unfasten my bra and tossing it to the side to give him unrestricted access, which he eagerly took advantage of. We stayed like that for a long while, me gently sucking as he slowly worked his cock in and out of my mouth while playing with my tits. That wasn’t why we were there, though, and he knew that as well as I did.

He pulled free of my mouth with a pop, breathing heavily, telling me that he needed to fuck me. I nodded, out of breath myself. He stepped out of his pants and boxers, still pooled around his ankles, as I moved to my knees, unzipped my skirt, and removing it along with my panties, leaving us both, two near-total strangers, totally naked, except for my heels. He looked me over, with the same look he’d given me at the bar, like he somehow wasn’t worthy. I backed up, closer to the middle of the bed, bit my lip lightly, and beckoned him with one finger. He didn’t need any convincing. He climbed on the bed and awkwardly shuffled toward me. I pulled him into a searing kiss, our tongues wrestling as I laid him backwards onto the bed and straddled him, rubbing my sopping wet pussy over his hard cock without any penetration.

Finally, I sat up, placing my hands between my hips, grabbing his cock delicately. I raised myself up and aimed him between my legs before settling down, taking his full length in one movement. My head rolled forward as I felt all the tension leaving my body all at once. There’s something special about feeling a brand new cock for the first time, witnessing the exact shape and length of it, feeling how it fills the void inside me. It’s like a religious experience. He was feeling it, too. His eyes had rolled back, half closed, a silly grin on his face. I gently rocked my hips forward, then back a couple of times, fully enjoying the feeling of him inside me. The room was quiet except our heavy breathing, the sound of the air conditioner, and muffled voices from the hallway. That didn’t last long, though.

After a few rocks forward, then back, then forward, then back, I placed my hands on his chest, giving myself extra leverage to lift myself up, sliding up his shaft, leaving the unique empty feeling that only a woman knows. He drew a long gasp as his cock was left exposed to the air before I pushed back down. I let out a small moan as I was filled again. Then up a bit more quickly, then crashing down again, and again, and again. Before long, I had my eyes clenched shut, moaning loudly as I bounced on his cock at a fast pace, little fireworks of pleasure exploding behind my eyelids. He moved his hands to my hips to help control the pace as he moaned out his pleasure, telling me in a hundred different ways how fucking hot I was, how incredible my pussy felt, and any other compliments that crossed his sex-fueled mind.

Finally, his breath caught, turning shallow and fast. He managed to squeak out that he was going to cum, so I buried him to the hilt, grinded my hips against his and told him, begged him to cum for me. His face went red, his fingers dug into my skin hard enough that they ended up leaving a bruise, then cried out as his cock jerked violently inside me, firing off shot after shot of his creamy jizz.

And then…he fell asleep. Somewhere between the beer and the orgasm, he’d had too much. Shortly after the last tremors past, his head fell back into his pillow and he began snoring. I got up carefully, not wanting to wake him. He’d done well, and I didn’t want to disturb him. I always sleep poorly in hotels, so I wasn’t about to deny him the greatest sleep aid known to man. Quietly, I got dressed, gathered my things, and jotted my number down on the notepad next to the bed. After checking myself in the bathroom mirror and fixing my hair and makeup enough that I could make it to my car without drawing any unusual looks, I left.

Dean texted me the next morning, after I was already at work, something to the effect of being sure that he’d been given a wrong number, but giving it a shot anyway. I sent him back a selfie. We texted throughout the week, and even met up one more time before he had to leave town. That was nearly a year ago now, and I still get occasional texts from him when he’s stuck in a lonely hotel room. I keep hoping that he gets called back to the area. I’d love to meet up again.