She was 33 and had been married nine years, but the marriage was at its lowest point. The kids were little, the husband was always at work, they never got along anymore. The bedroom had been dead for at least two months. They were glorified roommates. It was lonely and frustrating.

She had been working at the hotel for a little over a year. He had been working there about two months on that night. It was a small hotel, and in the winter when heavy snow was in the overnight forecast, it was normal for a few of the staff to stay in unoccupied rooms overnight, to be available to open up and clear snow in the morning.

The two months he'd been working there happened to coincide with the dead bedroom for her--it had probably been a year since she and her husband had really had sex they were both into. He was only 22, and she was 33 and all too conscious of her extra pounds, but she felt the unmistakeable spark of mutual attraction. Normally it would never have gotten any further than that, just the casual enjoyment of being around someone you found attractive, which even those of us in committed relationships can occasionally appreciate. When they spoke, his eyes would just linger on hers for an extra half second before he gave a ghost of a smile and walked away. He would greet her almost every day with that knowing little fraction of a smile. She knew what it meant. She could have just looked away, made it clear she wasn't receptive. But she didn't. After a while she began to catch herself smiling back, and scold herself for it. She was a married woman.

It was January, and the snow started falling right at sundown. She was on shift until 9:00 that evening and happily volunteered to stay overnight. The husband was home with the kids and she kind of looked forward to having the evening to herself. She even brought a bottle of sweet red wine to drink a glass or two of from the comfort of her room. She didn't even know he would also be there until right before the end of her shift. He arrived around 7:30, the snow already falling hard; he had volunteered to stay overnight and work in the morning. Was it because of her? Did he know she'd be there and wanted to put himself in the right place, right time for something to happen? He would never say, and she would never know.

She got to her room, overnight bag in hand, a few minutes past nine. She turned the heat up to 75, a wonderful luxury since her husband hated it going any higher than 70. She took a beautifully languorous hot shower, put on a loose night shirt, and settled into bed with her wine.

She drifted through the channels for a few minutes before stopping, somewhere in the high channels, on a show she didn't understand the point or purpose of, but she found herself enjoying it. It was about two confident women taking a hot but shy young man and explaining how to please a woman in the bedroom, more or less by way of a threesome. She was shocked how explicit the show was, in language and nudity, but found herself increasingly turned on as she finished her second glass of wine, grinding her legs together and twisting restlessly in the bed. She needed to stop before she began to pleasure herself. But deep down, however guilty she might feel for it, she knew she would. Her left hand was already resting just below her navel.

Her phone dinged. She instinctively raged at the interruption, but really after one second's reflection was grateful for it. She expected the text to be from her husband, but it wasn't. It said:

"hey, u up?"

Her heart raced when she saw who it was from. They were both snowed into the hotel for the night with hardly anyone else around. Instantly her hindbrain grasped where engaging in this text conversation could lead. Her conscious mind refused to even think about it. As so often happens, her conscious mind was mistaken about being in control. Ten minutes later the conversation read:

hey, u up?
    hi! yea in bed but still awake for now
yeah me too. i always stay up late
hardly ever in bed before 1 am, so i'm still wide awake
    i'm usually asleep by right around now
    just enjoying a nice quiet night... how about u
honestly kinda bored lol
    lol u must be, youre texting with me after all :)
lol u know i didn't mean it like that
u want to watch a movie or something
i can raid our box of 15 yr old dvds and bring one
but if ur going to sleep soon that's cool

She lay there staring at her phone for a good two minutes, her conscious mind scolding her hindbrain that she's a married woman and inviting a guy barely out of college into her room at night would be wrong. Especially a guy she could admit to herself she was attracted to. She told her fingers to type "thanks that sounds fun but i'm drifting off, see u tomorrow". But her fingers only got as far as "thanks that sounds" before stopping. They weren't taking orders from her conscious mind anymore.

She could feel her racing heartbeat pulsing behind her eyes. She felt like she was having an out of body experience, helpless to only watch as her fingers deleted those words and instead typed:

    a movie sounds nice actually

Five seconds later:

what room u in

Another minute passed before her shaky fingers, exulting in their rebellion, typed:

    110

And then:

ok, ill be there in a few
cya soon

At this point she felt she should be thinking, in fact was trying to think: no, this isn't right, I need to text him and say sorry I don't feel good, anything. But in reality what she was thinking was that she didn't have anything decent to wear. All she had was her thin, oversized, frumpy night shirt and the black slacks and blue button-down blouse she'd worn to work. Wearing those would be lame and uncomfortable; but wearing just the night shirt would be embarrassing.

She at least definitely needed to put her bra on. She hastily did that, replaced her night shirt, tossed her hair a couple times. She glanced at her work slacks, hanging in the corner, and told herself she's being silly to even think about wearing those things when she's trying to relax. He's seen a woman's legs before. And anyway don't be ridiculous, he's 22 and you're 33 and it's just watching a movie because there's nothing else to do.

That was her last thought on the subject, because three taps sounded on the door.

She forced herself to breathe slowly as she walked to the door and pulled it open. He smiled and said "Hi." He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, dark hair on his arms and legs to match his closely cropped dark beard. He was holding three or four DVD cases.

She found herself smiling back. "Hi. Well, come on in." She stepped back from the door. He stepped in, closed it, and turned back to her.

She felt herself fidgeting and tried to hold still. She brushed a few stray blonde hairs back behind her ear. "Well," she said, self-consciously, "Now you've seen me without my makeup. Sorry if it gives you bad dreams."

What a sorry attempt at a joke. But he just said, "You look good." He wasn't smiling. His eyes were locked to hers. She could feel the hunger. She stood paralyzed.

Not five minutes later they were having sex. It happened that fast. Their clothes and the blankets were strewn on the floor. He was on her and in her, her nails were digging into his back, he was fucking her with short frantic strokes and her hips were bucking upward, trying to get in rhythm with them, gasping with each thrust. She couldn't really even remember how it had happened. He'd stepped forward and she'd heard the DVDs hit the floor and then his lips were on her neck, and she tried at first to push him away but then her arms went around him as she felt his hand cup her breast. He'd pulled off her nightshirt and she'd pulled off his t-shirt, and then her bra vanished, she was on her back, he was saying "God your tits are incredible" and then his tongue was on her nipples and she was gone. She had no memory of her panties sliding off. The next thing she knew he was inside her and she was getting railed, for the first time in her life, by someone other than the man she married.

"Fuck you're so hot," he growled as he pushed himself up onto his knees, his cock still in her, and pulled her legs up in the air. "I've been wanting you for two months." All she could do was moan and put her feet on his shoulders. He leaned forward, his hands on her thighs, and began to nail her with long, deep strokes, each one with a grunt.

She got only a dozen of those at most before he suddenly yanked his cock out, just when she was sure her orgasm was going to hit on the very next one. She cried out in that breathless mixture of ecstasy and frustration. "Fuck you're so tight, I'm already about to cum," he breathed. Then his mouth enclosed one nipple and his fingers brushed her clit and she was lost, adrift in time and space. Her orgasm hit within seconds of him beginning to rub her clit. She frantically grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it to muffle her scream.

He must have felt it and been driven beyond control by the sensation, for he immediately, roughly, pushed her knees to her shoulders, her feet up in the air--it hurt, but she was so tightly wound in her pleasure that she couldn't form the words to say so--and rammed his cock into her, as deep as it could go, pounding her with all his might. The only sound she could manage was "Yes yes yes yes yes yes," timed to his thrusts, and she heard him, as from a long way off, say "oh fuck I'm gonna cum", and the rational part of her screamed No, pull out, don't, because her husband had been snipped last year and she was not on birth control and she should not be doing this. But it was stranded now on a deserted island far in the distance, an inaudible voice shouting into the tempest.

And then he suddenly reached his climax, his thrusts became irregular and frantic, and she heard him scream Fuuuuck! and felt the warm wetness filling her, his thrashing cock pumping cum deep into her all too willing pussy. She was crying now, felt the tears streaming down her face even as she felt the second orgasm take her, lift her out of the bed and whirling into the clouds, and then it was over. He rolled off of her and lay with an arm draped under her breasts. She was spent, totally exhausted, feeling nothing now, and fell asleep in seconds. It had felt like a century since he'd first knocked on the door, and it felt like only an eyeblink. It had in fact been barely 20 minutes.

When she awoke it was still night, he was still there, in fact she awoke to the feeling of his mouth on her nipple, and they had sex again. Her body responded to his touch, his tongue and his fingers, she offered no resistance when he spread her legs apart and entered her. But though this sex lasted twice as long, it wasn't half as thrilling. She was still into it, she was gasping and moaning, but mostly she was thinking of how desperately thirsty she was. She didn't cum this time, though she felt she would have, had he gone another minute or two--the sensation of cum filling her pussy always drove her wild. But it was done, and he got up and dressed and said good night. The door clicked shut behind him. She grabbed her water bottle from the nightstand and rushed to the bathroom, where she drank the whole bottle in four great gulps and then sat on the toilet, shaking and weeping.