As Harriet Filscher simultaneously took hold of the cock, pulled her lips apart and then guided the purplish knob of the head into her body, she wondered if it was all really worth it. Certainly, even with a modicum of self-control, the guy might bring her to orgasm and with perhaps a bit of inspiration she might even feed the poor sot's ego and come more than once, but she had a hidden drawer full of various appliances that could do the same for her. So what could possibly be special about what was happening?
Okay sure, the sound of his balls slapping on her ass accompanied with the intermittent deep, guttural moans he made as he thrust himself in and out of her was interesting and the simple thought that she could turn a proud, self-respecting, successful head of the business community into a trembling, sweating, drooling, self-abased piece of flesh interested only in a wet and messy union leading to a few seconds of white hot ecstatic intensity followed by a quick, limp and damp withdrawal did give her an immense feeling of power.
She could feel his weight as his body moved above her and the sensations as he repeatedly filled her and then withdrew began to intensify. Breathing harder, she began to respond, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. The slapping sound of their flesh got louder and wetter as she lost herself in his arms. No longer doting on the philosophy of it all, she gave herself to the pure, animal passion, lifting her ass off the bed and driving herself around him, grinding her clit onto him.
It was her moans that she now heard between the slapping beat of their bodies. Her muscles tensed as she drew him to her, fingernails pressing into his flesh as she wrapped her legs around his ass for more leverage. "Yes, yes," she heard herself groan in a voice she almost didn't recognize. Suddenly it then overtook her as she squeezed him tight and then relaxed as she felt her pussy convulse over him, tightening around his shaft and then releasing.
Mercifully he paused his thrusting, leaving himself burrowed deep inside her as she enjoyed the ecstasy of her release. Slowly, the intense sensitivity of her clit and pussy subsided some and she thrust her hips against her lover. Harriet then felt him move back into his thrusting rhythm.
"Lover?" she asked herself. Perhaps, for want of another word, he was her lover, but love had nothing to do with this. They weren't making love, no it was simple fornication, a late afternoon indulgence in comfort and pleasure. The hotel room was all about comfort, a comfortable bed, a comfortable chair, and her, the comfortable woman. That was what it was all about comfort -- fornication and furniture. Harriet realized that, in the end, that was all she was, comfort -- fornication and furniture... forniture. Harriet was forniture.
Feeling the rhythm quicken, she could feel the man's body begin to tighten as the intensity of he breathing increased. She had already climaxed and now it was his turn. It seemed fair, he apparently had nothing to prove, unlike the last guy she was with who spent half the night driving her to orgasm after orgasm. She had lost count at five, but when they finished the guy informed her of the correct count, seven. Damn, he must have wanted a trophy to take home and show the frigid wife.
The man suddenly arched his back and gasped loudly as Harriet, thankful he was wearing a condom, whispered, "Oh yes give it to me." His body then relaxed and the tension that wrapped around her slackened as she felt his weight ooze over her. Her breasts flattened to his weight, a feeling she actually liked. They remained joined until his cock slipped out of her and he jumped to rush into the bathroom, sliding the latex sheath off his soft cock.
In the quiet she heard the wet splash of the rubber in the toilet and then watched as he emerged from the bathroom, his once massive, angry member but a limp vestige of manhood. She had taken his best and was ready for more, but only waited silently as he moved about. Some of the guys might show a hint of romance at this point, climbing back into bed to cuddle more, perhaps kiss her, gently knead her breasts. Others simply started getting dressed, apparently sufficiently comforted with the forniture.
Tonight Harriet sullenly watched the man slowly dress while he talked about how busy he was at work, delicately avoiding discussing anything about his home life. She didn't mind that part, but the talk of work did bore her. Some of the guys graciously told her how good it was with her, others talked of what they wanted to do the next time they met.
She'd meet them again, and again, all of them. Not wanting love, she'd tried that once, no, she simply wanted company, no, not really even that, she wanted comfort nothing more. She wanted a night, a hotel room and just a piece of forniture to use for an hour or two, nothing more.