Decadence

Taking a seat at the bar I gaze across the crowded, smoky hotel lounge, my eyes searching. In the dim light I see a couple seated on high stools at a high table over in a corner.

I make eye contact with the bartender.

"Manhattan, please," I say, throwing a $20 bill on the bar.

Returning to the couple, I focus on the woman. She is striking. I always notice beautiful women. I wish they'd notice me a bit more.

She is in her mid-40s, but he is older. She is a brunette, elegant in her tight-fitting green dress, younger than the graying man in the business suit at her side.

They sit close, like lovers, her hand in his, her hand on his shoulder, then his hand on her knee. She is playful. He is reserved. I look at their hands for a glint of gold or silver, but I see none. Neither wears a wedding ring. Reflexively glancing down, my eyes catch the sparkle of gold on my left hand.

The bartender plops a cylindrical glass down in front of me and grabs the $20. I take a long swig and admire my reflection in the mirror behind the whiskey shelves. The alcohol hits my gut, almost immediately flushing my face and sending out orders for my body to relax. The sweet embrace of alcohol.

Turning back to the lovers, I wonder how recently they met.

The brunette turns to him and I examine her face. High cheek bones and a slender nose. Her chin ends in a dimple.

A pianist behind me plays a soft love melody from a 70s movie. For a moment she stops talking and just looks into his eyes. The look speaks volumes and my cock stirs in my suit pants, despite the alcohol that has begun to dim my senses and reactions.

I turn away, feeling like a voyeur, like I've invaded a private moment between the lovers.

Yes, that's me. A voyeur. It's my favorite pastime.

Sitting at a bar oogling women as they appear and disappear, stopping occasionally to chat a few up while I get liquored up. It makes no difference where they're from or whether they are married.

The bottom of my glass is visible through the amber liquid. I'll be needing another drink soon.

I turn back to the man and woman at the high table.

I have to look. I want to look.

The gray-haired man leans over and whispers something in her ear. She laughs and her round breasts sway gently under the dress.

She's wearing no bra and her nipples press the material.

In a smooth motion, she reaches for a small gold case and pulls a long cigarette from it, tapping the filter end three times on the table surface then sticking the filter end into her mouth. He fishes a lighter from a coat pocket, flicks it and puts the flame to the end of the cig.

As the brunette inhales deeply, she turns her head and simultaneously blows smoke out of her mouth and nose. My cock raises further, straining against the material. A woman exhaling smoke that way is very sensual.

The brunette turns and our eyes meet, but she seems to look right through me. She doesn't notice me at all. Her mind is on him.

I sip my drink and watch them, the high table offering a great view. Soon his hand is again on her knee, and she spreads her legs a bit, invitingly. Her dress has ridden up her slender legs to mid-thigh.

Giving myself over to voyeurism, I watch expectantly, hoping for a glimpse of what's up there. When his right hand gets halfway to her crotch, she playfully slaps that arm and says something that elicits a raunchy laugh from him. I can hear it over the music. Both swig from their glasses. They are getting inebriated.

A short time later, she is whispering into his ear, and her right hand is under the table and on his crotch. She's breathing heavily -- her breasts rise and fall -- and her face is suddenly serious.

The brunette is still whispering while her hand wraps around a bulge that runs down the inside of a pant leg. I wonder what salacious words she is saying. She strokes the bulge a few times. She slips her tongue into his ear and it lingers for a moment. A grin spreads across his face.

I swallow hard, my own breathing suddenly heavy.

"Whoa," I mutter, with an audible exhale, my member engorging in my pants.

The bartender, a short, stocky fellow with a New England accent, walks by.

"I couldn't hear you. Do you want another drink?" he asks.

I stop and study his features for a moment, then shrug.

"Sure, why not," I tell him.

I force myself to not look back at the couple, hoping to deflate the hard-on beginning to pitch a tent in my pants.

I again catch a look at myself in the mirror on the back wall of the booze rack. My complexion is becoming more ruddy and my eyes are beginning to get a glazed, drunken look. I decide that the drink I just ordered should be my last.

But I can't help myself. I must watch the couple. I want to see what happens next. I haven't had this much fun since my neighbors left their blinds open and I watched them fuck, holding binoculars to my face with one hand while pumping my dick with another.

Looking back at the high table, the guy has managed to get his hand up the inside of her thigh. There's a quick tantalizing flash of her black thong, vivid against her pale flesh, then the brunette laughingly pushes his hand away. My aching hard-on presses painfully against my underwear as it swells further.

I shouldn't have worn underwear.

In a few moments, the man and woman lift their drinks, each draining their glass in one motion. She pulls out another cigarette, which he lights. After the brunette exhales, he leans over and says something in her ear and she nods.

The lovers slide out from behind the table. He pulls her chair away and she looks over her shoulder and mouthes "thank you." Soon the graying man's arm is around the brunette's waist. He pulls her to him as they stand next to the table.

The man kisses her roughly on the mouth, but seeming to resent the intimacy, she pulls her face away, then looks around briefly in embarrassment, taking a deep drag on her cigarette, exhaling smoke through her nostrils.

The lovers walk out of the lounge. His arm is around her waist. A hand slides down to her ass and lightly rubs it. I think he's going to get some tonight. They reach the elevator in the hotel foyer. The man, ever the gentleman even in a pick-up, hits a button.

During the wait for the elevator, the brunette continues to smoke. He makes a bit of nervous small talk and they exchange a laugh or two.

It's easy to see that their minds are off small talk and onto sex, apparently, for they say little. As the doors open, she stubs out her cig in the ashtray mounted on the wall between the elevator shafts.

He walks into the elevator, but the brunette doesn't.

I see his arm waiting to pull her inside with him. She turns and looks back toward the bar. Her eyes search. They meet mine again, but they are just as expressionless as before. She steps into the elevator.

The doors close.

I couldn't read her expression. I couldn't tell what she was looking for. Maybe she was just in an emotional battle. She may not have quite made up her mind about getting picked up.

In the end, she did.

I exhale deeply and watch the lights above the elevator doors as the lift hits floor after floor. I cannot tell which floor it stops at.

"I can just imagine what's going to happen," I say.

The bartender comes back.

"What do ya want buddy?"

"No, no. I don't want anything," I tell him.

He grumbles and turns away.

Glancing at my watch, I see it's about 1 a.m.

I stare at the elevator door.

*****************

A short time later I finish my last Manhattan and stagger out to the elevators in the lobby and ride up to my room, my cock no longer stiff, but instead going limp from the alcohol.

On the ride, I smell a faint scent of perfume in the elevator and I wonder if it is hers. I see mirrors on the ceiling and look closely into them, believing they might reveal what may have unfolded in the moving car a half-hour ago or so.

As I look upward my mind's eye sees the man groping the brunette's ass under her dress. She pulls down his zipper and deftly slides a hand through the opening. Her hand pumps what she finds in there. He pulls her head down toward his crotch and she tugs at what lies beneath the cotton. The bell rings and her brunette's hand and head jerk away from his crotch, away from what she was about to do in public. The man quickly pulls up his zipper as the doors open.

"C'mon buddy, get out," a male voice says.

My head twitches and I look away from the mirrors to find that the doors to my elevator have opened. Two young couples are standing there, looking anxious.

"Yeah, sure," I mutter and slip past them into the carpeted hallway.

The vivid images in the elevator have made the alcohol haze diminish a bit.

Soon I'm in the hotel room, throwing clothes around the room, then laying naked in bed, thinking about the beautiful brunette, wondering what she's doing.

Wondering about the sex going on somewhere in the hotel.

As I lay, my dong springs to life. Drawing up one knee I take the flesh pole in my right hand and begin to pump it. It springs into action while I again visualize the lovers' elevator ride.

I close my eyes.

I'm sure the brunette would have been on her knees within a few seconds, her mouth working the graying man's cock. It would be slick with her saliva as she sucked and pumped, seeking to quickly get him off before they are discovered there in the elevator. She would be worried that a security guard or other guests would find her in such a compromising position -- on her knees, head bobbing -- as the doors open. She would suck hard and fast, then he would throw his head back and moan as his spunk surged into her mouth, firing into her throat. Her cheeks would bloat with his sauce, then she'd swallow and wait for the next mouthful as he discharged his semen into her stomach. She couldn't spit it out. What else could she do, but swallow his seed? The brunette would stand and wipe her mouth with the back of a hand as the doors opened and people were standing there waiting to get in. She would smile at them as she passed, tugging the hand of the graying man, who is still breathing heavily, over the carpeted hallway. None of those waiting to board the elevator would notice that his zipper was still down as the lovers hurried past.

I open my eyes.

My balls tense as my hand becomes a flurry of motion. A few more strokes and my juice would burst from them. My pole is straining, my balls aching for release, but I don't finish. I won't finish. Not now. Not yet.

Maybe I shouldn't wait. Maybe I'm just punishing myself.

I toss and turn, then reach for a pillow and throw it over my head. There are several unused pillows in the queen-sized bed built to sleep two. I can't lie on my stomach. My stiff prick makes the position uncomfortable.

Before falling asleep, I see the clock reads 2:30.

My cock is still hard.

*****************

My eyes open slowly at the sound of a card being inserted in the card reader on the wall outside the room door. Someone fumbles with the latch, then the door swings open. I sit up quickly, my body infused with adrenaline, throwing back the covers as a woman walks into the room.

She throws her purse on a chair, a black thong flies out onto the floor after the purse's impact with the chair back. She reaches behind her head to the back of her neck, quickly unzipping her green dress.

She is wearing nothing under it. The woman meticulously pulls a hanger from the closet and arranges the dress on it.

I blink and squint, my eyes focusing on her body.

The sun is streaming in the windows, highlighting her form. As the sunlight displays her silhouette, I admire her upturned erect nipples. My eyes run down her curves, in awe of those familiar shapely legs. I check her face for signs of emotion, maybe regret.

There are no such signs in her high cheek bones and slender nose, and the chin that ends in a dimple.

I look at the clock.

It reads 7:40. I blink several more times, then wipe the dirt from my eyes.

Propping up my head, my elbow digging into the mattress, I am aware that my cock is again hard, or maybe the organ has remained hard.

The woman turns toward the bed.

It's the brunette.

It's my wife.

"Sylvia," I stammer.

My voice is raspy from the booze.

My wife crosses the short distance to the bed slowly.

She's been giving me the pleasure of looking over her body after it's been handled all night by another man.

She lifts a leg and a foot lands on the bed.

Her shaved cunt is inches from my face. I see it in every detail. It's slick, shiny. Her labia are puffy. A trickle of sperm has escaped her hole, mixing with her own juices and the mess is dribbling down a thigh.

"Clean me up?" she says sweetly.

I don't respond.

Sylvia guides my head to the bottom of the trickle just above her knee. I hesitate briefly, then stick out my tongue and in one down-to-up motion I lick it up, running my tongue up her silky thigh, tasting the salty sweetness of her insides mixed with another man's cum. Her body shudders at the decadence of my action.

Sylvia's been used and used a lot, my instincts tell me.

She again reaches for the back of my head.

"I have more for you," she says softly and pulls my face toward her gash.

"He just fucked me again," she says. "He is so good. What a cock he has on him."

The smell of the mix of her juices and his cum drive me. Suddenly, I'm so horny.

I dig into her creampie, as I always do, wanting to pleasure her as if it was my last act on the Earth, worshipping her body with every bit of my being.

My tongue lashes up inside her. I suck her clit, my nostrils taking in the odor of her unclean, unwashed and thoroughly used pussy. It's a smell I have come to know so well.

It's a mix of Sylvia's perfume, her dried sweat and cunt juice, mingled with the aroma of another man's leavings. I groan in ecstasy as I lap up the mix.

I love it. I crave it. I adore my woman's body, especially after it's been used by another man.

Sylvia tells me all the salacious details of her adulterous rendezvous as she grinds her cunt into my face, yanking my hair so my mouth is positioned directly onto her hole.

In fact, she did stroke his cock in the elevator. She also sucked his tongue during the ride, exchanging salvia with a man she had just met in a bar.

And I thought she had mixed emotions?

"When we got up to his room, we fucked fast and furious. He lasted for ages. He made me beg for more, teasing my clit on and off until I was pleading for him to make me cum. I screamed when he finally stroked my clit to the bursting point," Sylvia says breathlessly, driving her slippery snatch harder against my mouth.

"He laughed, then fucked me like an animal until he shot his cream into me. He had offered to use a condom, but I told him to forget it. 'I want it bareback, I need the silky cock skin against my cunt walls.' After that we dozed off in each other's arms. His dripping dick lay against my ass he whole time.

"Ohhhh. Ohhhhhhh. Suck my cunt, Jon!

"He woke up a few hours later and I sucked him off. His cock smelled of my pussy. Then I drank his load. I didn't miss a drop. We fell asleep again.

"Mmmm, mmmmm, come on, Jon, I want to cum! I woke him up about a half-hour ago and sucked his cock back to life, then he fucked me missionary-style. I didn't cum, but he drained more of his sauce into me. Now it's yours, Jon. I knew you would suck it out of me. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. I want you to taste him."

I am unable to speak as she writhes against my face, I grip her hips and drink her like the thirsty and desperate man that I am.

Unable to speak anymore, Sylvia begins grunting as my tongue and lips work on her. Her legs tremble and her snatch grinds harder against my mouth.

Sylvia screams just like she did with the other man, only this time, it's me bringing her to it, not that gray-haired bastard.

I suck out as much creamy juice as I can as she pulls my face and tongue against her leaking hole while it spasms in orgasm. She writes and moans for nearly a minute as her hand holds my head in place, her pussy expelling its contents into my mouth. Soon her spasms subside and she collapses next to me on the bed.

Muttering a "thanks," she reaches into my loins and grabs my hard cock and starts to stroke it slowly.

"You sure are hard, Jon. Thinking of me?" she says and laughs.

"Now you can cum," she continues. "You do it. Pop it off while you think of me with that guy. I had a great time, you know. He was good, very good. Very, very good. It's what you like, isn't it? I know it's what I like. That's why you sent me down to the bar an hour ahead of you, isn't it? See, we're both happy now, aren't we, Jon?"

I lay on my back and Sylvia watches as I pump my shaft. She props up her head and opens her legs. I slip a couple fingers into her slick hole and use the last of her juices and his leavings as lubrication. I lie back and picture the older guy driving my wife wild as his fat cock fills her, and his thumb tantalizes her stiff clit as she moans like the slut she is, urging him on.

It's not long before the whole night's scene and my earlier insistence to stop jerking off before cumming overwhelms me and I finally shoot my load. My balls explode and warm, thick bursts of semen splash across my body and the bed as I flail at my cock. The gobs of cum hit my chest, face, stomach and Sylvia's leg.

The last several spurts run over my fingers as my balls finish their discharge.

I finish shooting.

My wife casually scoops up a pile of cream from my chest with an index finger, then licks it clean. Her finger comes to my chin where I feel warmth from where a shot of sperm had landed. She drags the finger over my lower lip, giving me a taste of my own residue.

It is salty and warm.

I am exhausted from the few hours sleep and the alcohol; my eyes close after the sweet release, wanting to do nothing but return to sleep.

But Sylvia is speaking again:

"That was nice. Get cleaned up, Jon. I told him I'd be meeting him for lunch, then we're coming back to this room to fuck all afternoon. I don't want you here. There's money in my purse."

I feel her push against my shoulder, then she rolls over me and stands next to the bed. With my eyes closed, I can tell the voice is coming from above me.

"You need to go down to the desk, Jon. You need to get another room for the rest of the week. You hear me? Are you listening?"