The Hotel Room

The digital key clicked the heavy door unlocked. It was a room like any other in a big hotel in a big city. Warm, the aircon already running on a moderate heat. The TV gives a little jingle to welcome me into the room - my name displayed on the screen. A nice touch but my hand reaches for the remote immediately to switch it off. My bags down by the couch as I gaze around the hotel room.

Have you ever felt that way in a new room as you look around and take it in? Ever wondered what the room has seen?

The couch appears spotless, but if you turn the cushion will there be a slight stain left from the married woman who was here the week before - naked from the waist down, legs spread, frantically fingering her pussy while looking at the Linked-in profile of her silver-haired boss. Days spent together at a conference in wild frustration. Her juices covering her busy fingers, running down her arse and into the fibres of the couch. Her boss a few doors down with his cock in his hand unable to get out of his mind the image of her bent over the stall to reach for a distant flyer, skirt raising above the band of her thigh-high stockings.

The desk in the corner of the room with some hotel stationary neatly piled under the desk lamp that hasn’t been switched on once in the last six months. The same stationary and lamp that was pushed to the side when the young couple were staying in the room for their friends’ wedding. Her, bent over the table as he roughly pulls down her panties and enters her from behind. The gasp as she feels him fill her up and stretch her out. She reaches behind to push him into her as deep as possible. Their moans drowning out the rhythmic sound of the desk slapping against the wall with every thrust.

The bed that the hotwife was tied to. Sheets and pillows thrown to the floor on the side. Wrists and ankles bound to the legs of the bed. Blindfolded as the three new men in the room took turns with her. A birthday fantasy finally fulfilled. She can’t remember how many times she’s cum. Each wave of pleasure merging with the next. The ecstasy of the night exactly what she dreamed of.

And look, the husband in the cuck chair with his cock in his hand. Struggling to keep the cum in his balls, watching his wife take new cock (his fantasy too, a shared pleasure). One hand on his balls the other gently stroking the tip of his cock. Slowly now. He wants to be the last one to fuck her tonight. To reclaim his bride, a sea of foreign cum coating her tits, her belly. A fantasy they will reminisce about for years to come, a fantasy relived in other hotel rooms from time to time only, when their busy schedules allow.

Finally the bath, just big enough for two. A middle-aged man, handsome and distinguished sits in the warm soapy water, his arms around his prize for the night - the young bartender downstairs. Her bright eyes locking with his as he orders his red wine, then later, drinking slowly answering emails on his phone, alone. His deep voice, his intensity so unlike a young man, as he asked her how her night was, their hands touching as he offers her his empty glass to collect. He waits for her shift to end and they make their way up to his room a tangle of hands and passionate kisses. And now, in the bath, both spent and satisfied, his fingers tracing long lines across her wet skin. They talk, and get to know each other. Both aware that this will last one night only. The twitch in his cock signalling to her that soon he’ll be ready for round two.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe everyone else sees just the room, a little sterile but pleasant, a warm bed for the night. I fill up a glass of water when my phone buzzes. A message from a new friend in a new city. She’ll be in the lobby soon. If the walls could speak I wonder what they’d say about tonight.