“Yeah… Yeah… You like that? You want it, don’t you?”
Uh, sorry? I want it? I’ve already fucking got it! “Mmmyeah.”
I’m laid on my stomach, the right side of my face buried in a mountaintop of soft white quilt. Why are hotel sheets always white? Unless of course they’re made of the same material as the curtains, but that’s really generally the 2-star hotels.
He rolls the condom on, dots the tiniest bit of lube on the tip of his knob (“Uh, aren’t you going to use any more?”) and then pokes and prods at my arse like it’s play dough putty and he was a two year old child. Men, whether straight or gay, take heed; remember that the area you’re battering at is sensitive and often a bit delicate, and your fingers and mouth have sharp pointy bits (nails and stubble). Plenty of lube and smooth motions; do NOT ram your finger up there and pull it out again like a ham-fisted Neanderthal, then jam it back in and wiggle it about. This is in no way erotic or pleasurable. Please, stop.
After a while of vigorous doggy-style rutting – arch the back, claw at the sheets, moan “yes” a few times whilst taking mental stock of what’s in the cupboards, trying to concoct a meal, ultimately deciding that you can’t and will have to go to tesco’s – I’m pushed face down onto the bed, where he clambers atop me once more and continues to thrust. At this point it’s just sore; I’d lost my erection a while ago and now that he was bucking on my back I’m hot and a little more than irritable. The sound of men fucking coming from the porn on the laptop on the table somehow only makes it worse.
“You don’t have to be anywhere, do you?” He breaths into my ear between grunts. Oh, Christ, saywhatnow?
“What do you mean?”
“I could fuck you all night.”
Fuck! Fuck that!
A laugh, a smile. “Hang on a sec, need the bathroom.” Scamper out from under him. Run the tap. Clean up a bit. Run the tap some more. God I hate the smell of condoms. Eventually flush the chain. Damnit, I have to go back in, don’t I?
“Bit sore, actually.” Should have fucking listened to me about the lube you stingy cunt.
“Oh, sorry. C’mere.”
He’s half laid back on the bed, still stroking his cock. It’s a nice cock, I’ll give him that, but it’s as if he thinks he is just a cock. He doesn’t know what to do with it, or what to do with the rest of his body for that matter. He still smells of rubber and sweat.
I crawl back onto the bed, between his legs, stroking, and purr, “I’m close, are you?”
“No, I take a while. Where you wanna shoot?”
A laugh. “Where do you want me to shoot?”
I do. We clean up. My sweat kinda smells like cum. I like it.
We laugh. I try not to bare my teeth too much.
“Next time, use a bit more lube.” I smile. I decide against the lesson in arse play, I just wanna get out of here now.
He wants to cuddle me after. One minute he’s biting the back of my neck and slapping my arse, the next he’s kissing my nose and forehead. Fuckin’ weird.
Job done, I’m getting dressed but he keeps pouncing on me, pawing at me, kissing me. I’m finally fully clothed (even though I’m burning up in my jumper) and a last quick kiss and then I’m gone.