Incident in Room 232

'Back up your arse up, come on.'

He leaned to the side to watch her cunt lips approaching the tip of his cock. The slapped flesh of her arse swarmed with gooseflesh as she swallowed the first inch of him. He focused on the Hollywood O of her arsehole above his vanishing cock, finding the bullseye it marked with a payload of spit.

'Move your hips. Fuck me.'

She groaned inquisitively in a thick voice and whispered, 'Don't hurt me. Please. I'll fuck you good. How are you so fucking hard?'

'Give it here.'

He took her arm and guided it between her legs, placing her hand on his balls. Mike felt for her breasts before starting to thrust. Each stroke of his cock was marked by a click, like that of a disapproving tongue. But she was tight and soft and he told her so. She accepted his body in hers with what seemed to be increasing enthusiasm.

'Say, fuck me Mike.'

'Fuck me. Fuck it.'

Fook it...Her gentrified facade was starting to crumble.

He upped the pace of his fucking, dipping his finger into the saliva pooled upon her anus, now mouthing an incredulous grimace at each insertion of his cock into her pussy. The hot leather of her boots clung to either of his thighs, creaking furiously. His body slapped against hers, a fist pummelling a side of meat. She bucked her hips in response to his onslaught, absorbing the best he could muster with professional ease. He felt a familiar tightness in his chest but, in his delirium, he contrived to eroticize it and incorporate it into his realm of outlandish sensation. But it was hard to breathe...he pulled himself out of her and lay back on the bed.

'Are you ok?'

She turned on to her side and crawled towards him, her fake lashes twitching in shallow concern.

Mike battled against a light-headedness that threatened, with ever increasing assertiveness, to pull the shutters down upon his consciousness. He grabbed his cock and told her to suck it but his voice sounded like someone else's, someone who understands that the words ought to be uttered with urgency but who can't be arsed to do so. 'Why?' said the same voice, somewhere inside his head. 'What's the point?' Each thing that mere seconds ago had seemed so important now was subjected to an audit of motivation and revealed in its futility. The pain in his chest tightened its rope a further few notches until he found himself unable to focus on anything else.

'Mike...'

It was Gill's voice, coming out of Mandy's mouth. And just as the room swooped upwards and away from him for the last time, he saw Gill and Greg among the faces watching on from a gallery in the corner of the room; all now shifting restlessly in their seats, eager for the next act to commence...

*

...Appraisals. Pronto.

Mike tore the green post-it bearing the message from the frame of his laptop screen and picked up the TV remote. In the kitchen, he could hear Gill talking on her phone. The flat screen came to life on Sky Sports News where tributes were being paid to a Formula One driver who'd lost his battle with Hodgkin's. Although it was still light, it was hard to make out the garden and the street beyond the living room window.

'Their house is over there,' he thought. 'The bedroom where he gets to fuck her...Corporate fucking leisure. Men work for a living.'

His suit emitted a breath of dankness, the stench of prolonged closeting, even though it was just back from the dry cleaners. He needed look sharp when he went into the field. Southend tomorrow. Stevenage the day after. But for now, appraisals. First, the appraisals...

The screen saver on his laptop gave way to his secret e-mail account. One new message, from tiffxxx; one line only: 'I said I was serious.' Beneath this, a link for him to click that led to a clip on a porn tube site: 'Drk milf gets cock hardly in hotel room.' He waited for it to buffer with a familiar sense of anticipation shot through with weird melancholy, the latter more pronounced than usual. Porn promised so much and invariably failed to deliver. But that room seemed familiar...

The footage had been shot from a static camera situated at a poor angle some distance away from the bed. All that could be seen was the bottom half of a corpulent man being sucked off by the titular dark milf. Her red halter neck dress was ripped apart at the front...

'The handbag,' he thought, oddly calm. 'She must have had the camera in the handbag...'

Dirty. Little. Face. Fuck. Cunt...

'Mandy's sent me a link of some stuff she says I have to see,' said Gill, coming through from the kitchen. 'My computer's upstairs. Can I have a look on yours?'

CC: gilldobbs...

The obscurity that reigned outside had made its way into the room. Now all that was visible was the computer screen in front of him and the TV screen in the corner on which Mike watched himself arriving at the hotel an hour before the scheduled meeting time and checking in, paunch, greying hair, suit by Autograph, laptop bag slung over the shoulder; just another middle-class, middle-management drone in transit...