There’s no sex like hotel sex.

On my knees, on the edge of the bed. It’s higher than the one we have at home, so high that I almost have to climb up and into posi­tion. It’s per­fect for you though, the per­fect height to grab my hips and pull me onto your hard length.

I beg you to use me, to fuck me while you pic­ture me on another bed, in a stranger’s home. Imag­ine a din­ner party, I tell you. Imag­ine me tied to the bed in the mas­ter bed­room, on my knees, bound in rough rope, ass in the air, head up and thrown back, mouth fixed open with a gag, wait­ing to serve the first guest. You told them not to blind­fold me, you wanted me to see every sin­gle man and woman who used me that night.

While you pound your cock in and out of me, I tell you to think of the sce­nario that meets the first guest’s eyes. My lus­cious thighs spread open, bare pussy glis­ten­ing and ready to take his cock. You know the noise I’ll make when he pushes into me, that lit­tle cry I’ll make, and how I’ll groan until the sec­ond guest takes his place in front of my face. The muf­fled moans that will escape from my filled mouth as the first guest fin­ishes and is replaced by the next.

You fuck into me harder, some­thing vora­cious within you excited by my words. You fist your hand into my hair, grab­bing the base of my pony­tail and pull my head back, arch­ing my back to a cruel extreme as you work my body back and forth on your cock, using me to plea­sure your­self, to push your­self towards orgasm.

Your orgasms come right before I reach mine, and you bury your full length inside me as I clench and spasm around you. You pull out, but when my knees would give out and drop me to the bed below, you slap my ass and tell me to stay still, to stay put.

I stay there, thigh mus­cle quiv­er­ing with effort, want­ing noth­ing more to sink to the bed and relieve the ache in my legs. But the growl in your voice warns me to keep still, and I stay there, feel­ing your gaze on me, your eyes burn­ing into me. Even­tu­ally I feel that warm stream of your come as it trick­les out of me, your sticky white cream against the smooth brown of my flesh, run­ning down the crack of my bot­tom to drip on the bed below. I can hear sat­is­fac­tion in your throaty chuckle that fills the silence. With­out even look­ing, I can see the smile on your face, and I col­lapse, at last, to the mat­tress beneath me, so aroused, so turned out, and more than ready for what will come next.