Dennis Inn

"You are a fucking goddess, Julie," he growls, and his eyes pierce into mine so deeply that the truth of his words sinks in.

I start to sit up, to reach for him, but he pushes me back down. "Don't move," he commands. "It's my turn to play."

He lowers his face to my pussy and his mouth hovers just short of contact so I can feel the heat of his breath on my sensitive skin. He inhales deeply, holds the breath, exhales unsteadily. "Fuck, you smell good," he murmurs. He plants a close-lipped kiss where my swollen clit emerges from between my lips and I arch my pelvis into his face, aching for more. Instead of obliging he feathers soft kisses along my inner thighs, left and then right, skipping over my pussy entirely. I fight the urge to pull his head into me and rub myself against his face.

"Fuck, Tom," I groan. "Stop fucking teasing me and eat me already."

"Patience, Julie," he chides, voice muffled with his mouth barely touching my pussy. Just that light contact is enough to send a bolt of sensation up my spine and draw a moan from my lips. He chuckles and the low, throaty sound of it is so goddamn sexy that I reach down to grasp his hair and push his head into me.

Immediately, his hands clamp around my wrists. He raises his head and fixes me with a dark glare. I know I've displeased him and anxiety flutters in my belly. Swiftly, he climbs on top of me and pins my wrists against the headboard. "Wrap your fists around the bars," he hisses in my ear, "and don't you fucking move."

Whimpering, I comply. Tom slides back down, electrifying every sensitized nerve ending where his bare skin brushes mine. Instead of returning his attention to my pussy, he carefully undoes my garters and slips off my stockings and then my thong. He drops the thong to the floor but keeps the stockings in his hands as he reaches toward the headboard again. When I realize what he means to do, I gasp and my pussy clenches, adding another trickle of moisture to the flood between my legs. I don't think I've ever been this wet, this needy. He wraps a stocking around each of my wrists where they meet the metal slats, tying them securely. I pull against the makeshift restraints, testing, and they hold fast.

"Don't struggle," he says softly in my ear while his fingers give my clit a hard, sudden pinch. My hips jerk at the unexpected pleasure enhanced by the hint of pain. He rolls my clit back and forth between his fingers as he speaks. "You'll only make the punishment worse for yourself. And I will punish you, believe me. But not now. Now it's time for me to show you what you've been missing, what only I can give you."

His fingers on my clit are pure bliss and it's almost painful when he removes them, but then his mouth replaces them and dear God, nothing could have prepared me for the intensity of the pleasure he's giving me with the warm, wet caress of his tongue and the gentle suction of his lips. I bite my lip on a moan, not wanting to let on how close I already am to cumming lest he retreat and resume the slow tease. But my trembling thighs betray me and his tongue leaves my clit to drift downward, tracing slowly up and down my slit. It's good, so fucking good, but it's not what I need and he knows it.

Without warning, I feel the slippery warmth of his tongue on my anus. My first shocked reaction is to clamp my thighs together and block his access, but he holds them firmly open and continues licking, varying the motion of his tongue - circling, up and down, back and forth - and then slipping two fingers into my pussy to rub against my front wall. The unfamiliar tingles build toward something new and unpredictable and I hear myself mewling incoherently, not sure if I mean to protest or encourage him. But soon pleasure overwhelms uncertainty and I lose all sense of self-consciousness, rolling my hips in wide, desperate arcs and panting raggedly.

His fingers and mouth withdraw and I groan in frustration, my pussy clutching at the emptiness. My eyes fly open when I feel something thicker and cooler than his fingers push into me. He meets my eyes and grins as he slides the dildo easily inside my well-lubricated pussy. He begins to work it in and out, slowly, watching my face. The fullness feels amazing and I rock into it, matching his rhythm, fucking myself onto the dildo while he pumps it into me. He reads the silent plea in my eyes and his answer is merciful. He knows exactly what I need. His tongue descends to my clit and he resumes the licking and sucking that undid me so quickly earlier.

Almost instantly I feel the first delicious shivers of impending orgasm and my eyes drift shut as sparks dance behind the lids. The warm, wet back and forth pressure of his tongue coalesces with the soft up and down pull of his lips into an indescribably exquisite sensation. I hover on the brink of orgasm, writhing with anticipation, for an endless moment. The waves build, rising and cresting one after the other until they finally crash over me in an explosive rush. The sparks flickering behind my eyes erupt into colorful fireworks. My pussy convulses around the dildo and my hips buck wildly. I'm barely aware of my own voice crying out an incoherent stream of "oh my god!" and "ohhhh no!" and "ohhhh FUCK YES!" The waves crash on and on and I can hardly tell when one orgasm stops and the next begins. By the time I fall back, breathless and spent, I've lost count.

I become aware of Tom beside me, untying my wrists and murmuring soothing words in my ear between kisses. I turn on my side and curl into him while I slowly drift back down to earth.

"I've never cum like that before," I tell him when I'm capable of speech.

"What can I say?" he says, rubbing my back in slow, circular strokes. "I'm a god."

I laugh and wiggle closer, nuzzling at his neck. Languidly, my fingers explore his body. They trace the lines of his chest, circling his nipples. They skim over his ribcage to his belly, which tenses with his hitched breath when I suck his earlobe into my mouth. My hand dips lower to find his cock semi-hard. Idly, I stroke him up and down with a loose fist, sweeping my thumb over the tip with each pass to spread the precum. Despite the playful and unhurried nature of my attentions, he is soon fully erect and breathing hard against my neck.

I nip at his neck and whisper, "Do you want to fuck me, Tom?"

He groans. "Shit, Julie. You know I do. But-"

"It's too late for 'but,' Tom."

Swiftly, I wrap my leg around his side and use the leverage to push him onto his back and straddle him. He looks up at me, sharp eyes meeting the challenge in mine. "Fuck," he says softly. He exhales shakily and reaches up to cup one of my breasts in each hand, squeezing as he thumbs my nipples. I shift above him and use a hand to guide his cock between my slick pussy lips, rubbing the head up and down my slit. He raises his hips, seeking entry, but I deny him a moment longer, smacking his cock against my clit while I smile down at him. He twists my nipples hard in response and I yelp. We both laugh, but any humor fades when I lower myself onto him in earnest and the head of his cock penetrates my opening.

I take a breath and hold there, adjusting, before I sink down to envelop him all the way. I move slowly, swirling my hips so that his hard length activates every pleasure point lining my inner walls. His fingers pinch and pull at my nipples, sending twinges straight to my clit. I pick up speed, riding him with abandon as I work toward my own pleasure. Our gazes lock and I know my own eyes mirror the heat and depth of passion in his.

"You look so fucking hot bouncing on my cock, Julie," hisses Tom. "Tell me how it feels." His fingers on my nipples pinch a little tighter, twist a little harder.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Tom," I moan. I fuck him faster, rocking into the building pressure where his cockhead rubs against exactly the right spot inside me. His answering thrusts are subtle but angled perfectly to maximize contact where I need it most. "It feels amazing. So deep, so full."

My head falls back and my eyes close and soon I'm conscious of nothing but the pure fluid pleasure of my movements. I pause when I feel Tom's fingers working at the hook closures along the front of my bustier. My eyes snap open.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I want to see all of you."

I shake my head and place my hands over his, guiding them back to my bare breasts. "You can see these," I say, resuming my grinding rhythm on his cock. "You can see all the good parts. You don't need to see my flabby belly."

Tom frowns. I barely have time to register the sudden gleam in his eyes before he surges upward, flipping me facedown with my knees bent and my ass in the air, my shriek of surprise muffled against the pillow. I feel his firm grasp on my hips and the pressure of his cock between my ass cheeks, and I squirm back into him, desperate to have him inside of me again. He obliges and enters me in one sure stroke. The depth of the angle makes me groan and clench my fists in the sheets. But he doesn't move, doesn't thrust; just holds there with his cock buried in my throbbing pussy.

"Fuck me, Tom!"

I squeal when he wraps his fist in my hair and jerks my head upward, forcing me to arch my back. He leans over me to speak directly into my ear.

"I'm going to fuck you, Julie," he says softly. "Like you've never been fucked before. I'm going to pound you until you scream. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"God, yes," I whimper.

"You want me to take you, don't you?"

"Yessss..."

"You want me to fucking own you, don't you?"

"Yes! Fuck!"

It's all too much, too overwhelming. His body is implacable iron, all hardness and heat with his chest crushed against my back and his cock molding my pussy around its unyielding form. He's invading and reshaping me, and to accommodate is everything I want. His voice is molten steel, words and breath sizzling in my ear, their power smoldering in my mind. I wriggle helplessly against his motionless pelvis, wild for relief.

"Please," I beg.

Then, slowly, he begins to thrust. It's good, so good, but I want more. I want it fast and deep and hard, and he knows it.

"Tell me you're mine," he says. He releases my hair and I twist my neck to look at him. His dark eyes sear into mine, daring me to object as he reaches for the ribbon running up the back of my bustier and unties the bow at the bottom. He unlaces it inch by inch, finally drawing out the ribbon in one long pull and discarding it before parting the sides of the bustier and lowering it away from my body.

"I'm yours," I breathe, and his eyes flare in satisfaction. He drops the bustier to the floor and returns his grip to my hair and his mouth to my ear.

"Don't you fucking forget it," he growls. I can only shudder and moan in response.

Tom begins to thrust like he means it then, plunging into me balls-deep and withdrawing, again and again in a rough, punishing rhythm. His hands release my hair and roam freely over my now fully naked body.

"These tits are mine," he rasps, reaching around to cup and squeeze my breasts, pinching my nipples hard enough to make me quiver.

His hands travel down my torso, tightening on the flesh of my belly. "This belly is mine."

His hands slide up my sides and to my shoulders, then skim the length of my back. "This back is mine."

His hands move apart to clasp my hips and he pulls me back toward him, controlling my body's movements to synchronize with his so perfectly that his cock seems to penetrate me more deeply still. "These hips are mine."

I am pliant in his grasp, surrendering control and losing myself to the rhythm he sets, conscious thought fading until all I can do is feel and respond instinctively. My words flow unplanned and uncensored in a breathy, keening voice. "Yes, Tom, I'm fucking yours...fuck me hard, baby...oh yeah, you fuck me just right, so good..."

"This ass is mine." A sudden, stinging slap to my right buttock makes me cry out as my pussy contracts around his cock. Another slap follows rapidly, this time on the left. The sensation is not painful, but rather electric, jolting my nervous system and sharpening the intensity of my pleasure. I moan and tighten my pussy around him encouragingly.

"You feel so fucking good, Julie. So fucking perfect." His voice is strained and the rhythm of his thrusts becomes increasingly erratic. I'm close, so close to that edge, and I want him to tumble over it with me.

Two more swift, hard slaps to my ass and then his hand slips around my waist to rub my clit.

"This pussy is mine," Tom grates. "Now cum for me, Julie."

And the moment he tells me to cum, I do. I shatter into a thousand shimmering, tinkling shards of glass, screaming and shaking as he pounds into me relentlessly, until my throat is hoarse. I collapse finally, face-down on the bed, senseless.

Tom rolls me gently onto my back and settles his weight on top of me. My eyes find his, drawn like magnets to his warm gaze. Brown, the color of comforting things - tea, milk chocolate, coffee, whiskey. I see the turmoil, the lust, the tenderness, and I see him, the man I've come to know over these past six months - mind, body, and soul. I feel his hard cock prodding the sensitive lips of my well-used pussy.

"You didn't cum yet," I whisper, shifting to position him at my entrance.

"Not yet." His cock pushes into me easily, soaked and stretched as I am. His eyes stay locked to mine as we rock together in this most primal and sensual of dances. I wrap my legs around his waist to draw him in tighter. We're so deeply, perfectly connected and attuned that we move together effortlessly. Slow, fluid undulations, rising and falling as one in a rhythm so natural, so intuitive, it's as if we've done it every day of our lives.

Tom groans. "How is it so good with you?"

"We knew it would be like this." I reach up to rest my palms on the sides of his face, stroking softly before pulling his head down to taste his mouth. He sinks into the kiss and we both open wide, caressing tongue to tongue, simultaneously filling and engulfing each other's mouths as his cock fills my engulfing pussy. We're all wetness and warmth and sweat-slicked skin gliding together as one, the seamlessness of our joining a promise of euphoria. His breath shudders unsteadily into my mouth and the rotation of his hips widens. I can feel the building tension in his muscles. I tighten my embrace around him as my body's responses mirror his.

I tear my mouth from his to whisper in his ear, "Cum with me this time, Tom."

A tremor runs through his body. His breath pants against my neck, hot and frantic. I know he is fighting for control and I want to rip it away. I lick a bead of sweat at the base of his neck and retrace its path with my tongue up to his forehead, savoring his tangy musk. He trembles again, harder this time, and moans.

"Let go," I breathe in his ear.

And he does. His body seizes in ecstasy and his cock swells and pulses inside me as he slams himself deep.

"Oh, fuck! Julie!" He gasps, then groans long and low.

I churn my hips beneath him, moaning his name over and over as my own orgasm sets me ablaze. My pussy clamps and contracts on his spurting cock, milking him for the seed that floods my hungry womb.

I have no idea how long we stay locked together like that, his sweaty body crushed to mine as our chests rise and fall in unison. Finally his softening cock slips out of me and he rolls onto his back beside me.

Knowing what would please him most now, I force movement into my heavy limbs and climb on top of him, straddling him on all fours with my ass in his face. I take his flaccid cock in my hand, caressing it tenderly before lowering my mouth and suckling gently at the tip. I devote myself to the task of cleaning him, licking slowly up and down to remove the sticky sheen of our combined juices. Our taste is rich, salty, musky, earthy - all the heady flavors of frank, unashamed lust. His hands grasp and spread my buttocks while his tongue laps my crevices. The post-orgasmic sensitivity makes me jerk, but he holds me firmly and doesn't let go until his tongue has made repeated and thorough sweeps through my folds.

Still shuddering, I fall back beside him and we turn toward each other to share a long, lingering kiss. Savoring the sweetness and the piquancy of our fluids, our union. We stay connected as our heartbeats slow, our breathing steadies, and our sweat evaporates.

At last we recover enough to rise and clean up in the more standard way, in the shower. The spray is weak and somewhat fitful, but the water is hot as we lather each other with the unscented cleanser I brought from home. We tease and jostle one another in the cramped space, our laughter echoing off the tile.

By the time we emerge from the steamy bathroom, still toweling off, the sun has set and the bright glare of streetlights flickers between the slats of the blinds. As I return the bottle of skin cleanser to my duffel bag, Tom asks, "Why did you bring your own soap?"

"We don't want to go home to our spouses smelling like whatever cloying floral shit they put in the hotel soap," I pointed out. "You might want to use the hair dryer before you go so she doesn't wonder why your hair is wet."

I can see the sobering effect of my words reminding him of the reality of what we're doing here. His eyes dim and his shoulders slump. "Shit, it's late," he grumbles. He grabs his pants from the floor and pulls his wallet from the pocket. I come up behind him, rubbing his shoulders. "How much do I owe you for the room?"

"You can get it next time." I kiss the back of his neck.

"Julie..." Tom sighs and turns to face me. Pain and regret well in his eyes. "We can't keep doing this. Someone will get hurt. Whether or not we get caught, that much is a certainty."

"I won't try to convince you otherwise, Tom," I say gently. "I've played my part. I seduced you and devoured you the way you wanted. Now it's your move. If you want me again, all you have to do is say so and I'll be there."

Tom cups my face and kisses me softly, then sighs against my mouth before he pulls back to look into my eyes. I read a tumult of emotions - pain and regret, yes, but also need and desire and tenderness. Only time will tell which of those will guide his decisions.

The back of his hand brushes my cheek. "Thank you, Julie."

Tom leaves first. Before I go, I cast a final look around the room. No evidence of what happened here today except the disheveled bed and the keycard on the dresser alongside a few crumpled dollar bills for housekeeping. Lights out. Quiet snick of the door closing, the lock engaging.

Boots crunch on gravel. Each step deliberate, stiffness through hips and thighs. I will be sore tomorrow. Will the soreness be delicious, I wonder, or merely uncomfortable? Will this strange numbness finally, inevitably, give way to unbearable guilt? Or will I seamlessly adjust to a fragmented life, neatly stowing pieces of myself out of sight and mind when I'm not using them?

And Tom. Will the venom of guilt trace its destructive path through his veins, slowly but surely, until it consumes him? If so, I am the viper that bit him. I cast myself in the role of the temptress luring him into my den of sin. It was what he wanted, a modicum of absolution. A copout, of course, and a pretext I won't offer him again. I won't book a room unless and until he asks me to. I'll open the door for him, but I won't reach out to pull him inside.

Or perhaps I won't need to open the door at all because he won't show. I'll hold a restless vigil on the bed or in the chair or pacing back and forth in front of the window, waiting for the knock that will never come. And long after I understand that it's not coming, that this is a doomed cause, still I'll wait.