Another Motel Room

I sat in the car waiting. The long row of motel room door stretched to my left and right. I waited for my cell to ring and my husband's voice to tell me which room. He had gone ahead to check out the room meet the guy and see that it was safe. I shivered a little anticipating the rush through the piled up snow either side of the icy concrete paths dressed, as I was, in only a short black skirt, stockings, heels and a tight black stretch top. I hardly ever smoked but tonight I did hoping to quiet my hammering heart. It wasn't the hammering heart of excitement. No not that. It was partly fear and partly anger. My husband, Paul, forced me into this. Yes, I can say it, forced me. Not physically but the cost of not going along with his schemes and plans was too great. Don't get me wrong I love him, but that's the problem; the cost of love for me was this, meeting strangers in motels and having sex with them while Paul photographed and filmed.

It wasn't always like this. It started out as fun, sharing fantasies in bed. Then we started chatting to guys on the net eventually Paul persuaded me to have phone sex with a guy while he watched. I confess I too found this exciting; being watched doing something "forbidden" with a stranger. Soon he was taking photographs of me, posing me like a porno model. I realized though that he wasn't concerned with me anymore but with the men who he sent the pictures to; it was their satisfaction that he wanted not mine. Then we agreed to meet someone at a local porn video shop. I jerked him off in the back of our minivan and I could see from the look in Paul's eyes that this was drug more powerful than anything I could provide. If I wanted him and our life together I would have to submit to this overwhelming desire of his.

I knocked on the door of the motel room and Paul let me in. It was a mid-range motel room with the usual furniture – king-size bed, TV, small table and chairs with the bathroom tucked away at the back. Paul had set up his tripod for filming and the table was covered with his camera equipment. The TV was already tuned to the motel porn channel and Paul had poured generous portions of whisky into to the motel water glasses. The guy – his name was Bob – stood nervously beside the bed. He was not my type at all; he had a large belly, a moustache, and from the moment he opened his mouth I could tell he had never gone to college. It gave Paul an extra thrill to choose men who I found unattractive, not because he feared I would like them and want to form a relationship with them, but because it made my submission all the more complete. "Whores don't choose," he said to me.

Bob had already seen many digitals of me and I could feel his eyes travel quickly over my body comparing the photos with the reality. I was a 5.6 brunette, 39 years old, weighing 123 lbs. I spent money on my hair which was cut quite short with subtle blond highlights and I regularly went to the gym to keep my shape. I looked down at the carpet, the thick glass of whisky trembling in my hands. I knew Paul would be angry with me. He wanted me to flirt and play but I felt like lead had replaced my blood, heavy and cold. I downed the whisky, feeling it first sting and then heat the back of my throat.

"Hi, I'm Monique," I said, extending my hand.

Bob stepped forward, wiping his hand against his pants first before awkwardly grasping my hand in his. I could smell alcohol on his breath. The sound of the porno on the TV filled the room.

"Tell Bob the last time you masturbated," Paul said. I shot him a warning look but he already had that fierceness in his eyes. "Go on tell him," he demanded.

Paul knew the answer to the question. He had asked me in the car in playful way on the way to the motel. In that moment of closeness I had told him the truth.

"You fucked yourself this morning didn't you?"

"Yes," I replied, quietly.

"With what? Tell him with what."

"Please, Paul, no."

"Tell him," he said.

"No," I whispered.

"She fucks herself with the handle of her hairbrush. Says she prefers it to the dildo I bought her."

I saw Bob smile, sharing with Paul the pleasure of my humiliation.

"She's a nice piece of pussy isn't she?" Paul asked.

"You bet!" Bob replied, his eyes beginning to glaze with desire.

Paul walked around to our side of the room. "You can do what you want with her Bob, no questions asked. Would you like her to bend over and lift her skirt?"

"Sure," Bob replied.

"Tell her," Paul insisted.

"Do what he says," Bob said, the first hint of harshness in his voice.

"That's it Bob," Paul exclaimed encouragingly and returned to his cameras.

I turned, faced the bed and rested my chin on the bedcovers. I flipped my skirt to reveal my skimpy black lace panties as Bob maneuvered himself behind me.

"Maybe Bob would like to see some cunt. Pull your panties aside, Monique."

I reached around and slid my panties aside exposing myself to his gaze. But before he could reach me with his stubby fingers I stood up and stepped into his arms. I've always loved kissing, the gentleness of it, the humanity of it. I also knew that this annoyed Paul, this unnecessary interlude. I reached for the back of his neck and pulled his face down to meet mine. His breath smelled of beer and fried foods but I coaxed his mouth open with my tongue and he responded with his own. His hand reached down underneath my skirt breaching the elastic of my panties.

I felt the scratchy carpet beneath my knees as drew his semi-erect cock from his pants. I slid my hand under his balls cupping them as I ran my tongue along his stiffening shaft. My eyes were closed but the flashes of Paul's camera intruded into my darkness. Most of the men we meet lie about their size but Bob had clearly told the truth. His big cock now filled my mouth, his hands holding my head steady as his shaft searched for my throat. It was hard to block out what was happening to me – my ears were full of the sound of the porno on the TV, the camera flashed and the complex tastes of cock overwhelmed my senses. Soon I was struggling to breathe as he forced himself further into my throat. My eyes started watering and I struggled against him. Eventually he let go of my head and I collapsed on the carpet breathing heavily.

"Tell her to take her clothes off," Bob said, himself breathing heavily.

"You heard him, fucking cocksucking slut," Paul said.

I escaped to the bathroom and sat a moment on the edge of the bath trembling before stripping off as ordered. I squeezed a generous measure of lube onto my fingers providing what nature was withholding.

I returned to the room. I looked up into his face as he pushed his length into me, his meaty arms framing me as his big belly eased down, touching my own. I searched for some tenderness or kindness in his eyes but there was only a fiery, brutal desire. I could see tiny crumbs from his dinner still attached to the hairs of his moustache. His skin was blotchy this close up and his teeth yellowy. With each thrust his greasy breath smothered me. On the wall opposite the bed, in view behind his head was a print of a painting of a deserted beach with the sea stretched out to the horizon. I could tell that the beach was stony, good for walking. As he pounded harder, faster, I thought of myself walking that beach, a warm breeze ruffling my hair, the sun bright on my skin. I could hear the sound of the waves raking the stones along the shore and squawk of gull wheeling about in the sky above. His finger found my ass, pressing against my tight entrance. I looked across at Paul. One hand steadied the video camera the other furiously stroked his cock. I heard my own cry as his finger penetrated my ass. His sweat dripped on me from his armpits. I tried to return to the beach but instead I remembered something else, another beach, another time: My uncle finding me alone reading late one afternoon on a beach on the Cape; me, a shy adolescent girl ashamed and embarrassed by my very existence. I was a good girl, I followed him the abandoned beach hut. Afterwards he said it was my fault; leaving my panties lying around the vacation house we were renting; prancing about in my bikini.

Then I felt my skin tighten and heard my first moan escape my mouth like an escaped prisoner. Bob's huge cock had smashed its way into my secret place of desire. Now my desire escaped in a gush of wetness, my hips now seeking to match his pounding rhythm. I reached round and pulled his ass hard, forcing his cock even deeper. He paused, his weight pressing me into the mattress. I looked up and whispered breathlessly.

"Fuck me, God, please fuck me." I felt his cock twitch inside me. I craned my neck so that my lips touched his ear. "I'm your pussy, your cunt, your good little girl." He thrust hard, resuming his brutal rhythm. I looked across to Paul, his cum already splattered across the bedspread. He smiled as I sunk into my desperate need, the first distant flash of my orgasm on the horizon my narrowing mind.