I Could Be Anyonebyrebecca_mcphearson©
I pushed him back on the bed and sat astride his stomach and he put his hands on my thighs. He stroked his fingertips over my newly shaved legs, smooth and soft. I rocked my hips a little, just to tease him; I could feel his dick getting hard, a lump in front of his jeans. I lay on top of him, my mouth by his ear. I gripped his hips with my legs and I rubbed my body up against him, enjoying the way his clothes brushed my clean skin.
In the half light of a single bedside lamp his eyes glinted with passion and lust. I kissed him, long and hot as I pulled at his shirt. A couple of buttons pinged off, one tinkled across the little table. I caressed his chest, moving my hands along his lines. He was tense and strong, hard and smooth. I kissed his collar bone, nibbling at his skin.
His jeans were pressing hard between my legs and I rubbed myself on the coarse denim. I could see he wanted to get them off, but he couldn't get his hands to them. I whispered in his ear. I asked him to do something for me. I knew he would, I could have asked anything of him in that moment. I told him I wanted his mouth on me. I wanted him to make me cum with his tongue. Then, I told him, I wanted him to cum on my tits. It wasn't so arduous a request that he needed time to consider it.
I let him roll me over onto my back, sideways across the bed, and I crossed my ankles, heels on his ass. I used my legs to pull him tight and cupped his head with my hands, drawing him in to kiss me. Gently, I told him. Slowly.
My body unfolded as I relaxed. My legs dangled off one side of the bed and my head rocked back over the opposite edge, the alcohol swirling in my brain. He worked his way down my body with his mouth, his lips kissing all the way, a hungry tongue licking out round my breasts and over my nipples. He held my waist with firm hands and put his mouth over my belly button. I wriggled, my heels on his back urging him down. I found my mouth filled with dirty words that escaped on my breath.
He knelt on the floor beside the bed, my legs over his shoulders. He pushed my legs apart and they fell to either side of him. For endless seconds he held my thighs apart and his mouth away. I wanted him to kiss me. It burned in me. I put my hands on his head, running my fingers in his hair, dragging my nails on his scalp. I rocked my hips gently, willing him to touch.
When he did, it was just the gentlest brush with the tip of his tongue, yet it lit a fire right through me and up into my throat. I trembled at his touch and gripped his hair in my fists. In the moments that followed I let my whole body relax completely and my mind became blank. The only things left in the world were his hands holding me still and his mouth making me twitch. I thought of nothing.
He guided me gracefully towards that inevitable rush of orgasm, painting his tongue in soft strokes, hemming me in, urging me on and then letting me circle back, until at last I was on the edge and had nowhere to turn. Then he pushed into me, relentless and hungry, shoving me over. My legs kicked and I grabbed at the sheets as my body wrenched out of my control.
For a moment I could do nothing but wrap myself around, curling up my body to grab his hair. Then I dragged him off me and fell back to the bed and the air rushed out of my mouth. I wiggled on the bed, enjoying the feel of the sheets on my back. He remained kneeling between my legs watching me with hungry eyes.
Sitting up on the edge of the bed I encouraged him to stand. I unfastened his jeans and pulled them down. I ran my hand over his briefs, feeling his hard cock twitching at my touch. I pulled his briefs down too and caressed his cock with my hand. I licked the tip as I curled my fingers around the shaft. Kissing it softly I let my lips part and he pushed the head of his cock into my mouth. I kept stroking with my fingers and teased his tip with my tongue.
He might have just finished right there, but I pulled back and lay across the bed again. He kicked off his jeans and sat astride my hips. He made to caress my breasts but I caught his wrist and pulled his hand away. For fuck's sake, don't touch me now. Look, sure, but don't touch.
My fingers took his cock again and I began to gently massage the end with one hand while stroking the length with the other. I watched him. I let dirty words escape my lips as I arched my back. Relax, just do it. I want you to. Cum on me. Do it.
The first spurt traced up between my breasts to my throat. I milked the rest between my fingers, dripping down on my stomach. I bit hard on my lower lip as watched him finish. He looked to vulnerable then, so lost in the moment that I wondered if he even knew where he was.
He rolled off and lay on his back beside me. He mumbled something about being fucking amazing. I climbed on top of him. I kissed his neck, his wet leavings smeared between our bodies. His fingertips traced patterns on my back and I collected my hair out of his face and rested my head on his shoulder. For a while, nothing else mattered.
Eventually I peeled myself off him and went to the bathroom to clean myself up. I had a quick, hot, shower and dried myself with the last fresh towel. By the time I returned to the bedroom Hector was asleep, curled half under the blanket, his cock still on display. I rummaged through his suitcase and found a t-shirt. It was a too large for me, coming down almost to me knee, and it had a kangaroo on it. I put it on anyway.
The window opened outwards, but only by about two inches, and so I held my cigarette outside and drew on it with my face pressed against the cold glass. The bed looked so tempting, Hector strewn across it, warm and senseless. I was so tired and I could have just curled up there and slept. But I didn't.
I retrieved my clothes from the bathroom and checked them over. The jeans were fine, but the vest had a stain on it and the panties smelled of sex. I picked through his suitcase and found a pair of boxer shorts and put them on. They were plain enough. I caught sight of my reflection in the window and paused to mock myself. I looked like a dork, like Samuel L Jackson in Pulp Fiction. What could I say? Ha ha motherfucker, they're your clothes.
I dragged my jeans on and stuffed my feet into my boots. A quick check in the pockets of his discarded jeans turned up his wallet. I thumbed through and counted about ninety Euros in folding money. I paused, a five Euro bill between my fingers. I looked at Hector, sleeping blissfully replete and probably still drunk. He'd not miss one, I was sure. Perhaps even if he did, he'd not begrudge me it. It was breakfast with a coffee. I tucked the bill into my pocket and dropped his wallet on the floor.
Easing the door closed behind me, I made my way out along the weary corridor to the elevator. I knew he wouldn't remember me. He'd probably remember the night for a while; it would just be part of his holiday, the part with an elusive blonde, bad driving and drunken sex. He wouldn't remember me though. I could have been anyone and I would easily be replaced in his memory by some generic blonde, probably with fuller lips and bigger tits.
Although even then, as I walked out of the hotel into the night, I knew it cut both ways. Now I really can't remember who he was. His name might not even have been Hector. He could have been anyone.