Going All The Way

Sam waited patiently in the hotel room. It was bland, nondescript, anonymous. Perfect. He didn't want anything fancy, anything to coo about, anything to elicit an "ooh" or an "aah" as he walked in through the plain pine door. It had to be a nowhere place, a place that he could disappear in.

His watch sat on the bedside table, ticking away the seconds. He was early, too early, and he feared his anticipation might become more than he could control. How many months had it been of e-mails and websites, chat rooms and bulletin boards, before he had had the courage to pick up the phone and call her? How many nights had he spent, gazing at her photo on his computer's monitor, his penis twitching in his hand? How many gasping, thrashing orgasms into tissue paper had it taken to bring him here?

But it had all been worth it. With every message passed between them, his confidence had grown. The old Sam was gone, and whilst his back was wet with sweat and his heart was pounding in his chest, the new Same knew that he would not, could not, turn back now.

A soft knock at the door. It was time.

Sam's knees trembled as he walked to door, and opened it with a sweaty hand. She was real, and she was here.

"Hello handsome," she said, stepping past him into the room. "Close the door honey, this skirt leaves a girl a little chilly in the breeze."

Sam closed the door, the same hand that had been wet with sweat a moment ago now perfectly dry and totally numb.

"Hello," he said. "Hi. I mean, hello."

She smiled kindly at him, the same perfect smile that he had seen a thousand times on her website, the same smile that he had splattered with his semen in his waking-dreams. Jennifer, his dream girl. She was wearing exactly what she had promised; a short, sheer black backless dress slit to the waist, stockings and high heels. Her blond hair was down, hanging across the flash of bare skin left exposed by the dress. She ran a hand down her thigh, smoothing out the spot where her dress rode up on her suspenders.

"Well, you look good enough to eat," she said, her eyes focusing on the straining bulge at the front of Sam's trousers. "Hope you haven't been getting overexcited while you've been waiting."

Sam swallowed, and felt his cheeks flush.

"I don't mind, so long as you've left some for me," said Jennifer. She dropped onto the edge of the bed, hooking her legs up beside her. Sam licked his lips as he caught sight of the top of Jennifer's thigh, and the start of the elegant, marble flesh of her ass.

He advanced towards her, his entire body alive with tension.

She held up a finger. "Before we get started sweetie, why don't we get our business out of the way?"

Sam stopped dead. "Oh," he said, "Of course. It's just there, next to my watch."

Jennifer picked up the envelope and quickly counted the contents. Sam watched her, his mind reeling. This was it. It was real. He was paying her to fuck him. After every fantasy, that was the one thing that was inescapable about all of this. It was business, her business, and he was just a customer. Sam felt his penis press painfully against the inside of his trousers. Of all the things that he had come to love about Jennifer, real and imagined, the fact that she fucked for money was his favorite.

Folding the envelope, Jennifer slipped it down into her dress.

"That's perfect," she said. "Now, do you want to see what your money gets you?"

Sam nodded numbly.

Jennifer stood again, and smoothed her dress down. Sam watched as he rubbed her hands up and down her body, dipping and swaying as she did so, dancing to a music that only she could hear. Impossibly, he grew harder, and he fought desperately the urge to pull out his cock and start masturbating at the very sight of her.

Slowly, the dancing stopped, and Jennifer's hands rested at the hem of her dress. "Come closer," she said.

Sam stumbled forwards, his hands reaching for his belt. He fell to his knees in front of her, his penis already in his hand.

"Baby," whispered Jennifer, "I'll do that for you later if you like."

Sam looked up, his eyes glazed. It had all become a dream, a dream with a willing, desperate, sleeper.

Jennifer began to slowly raise her skirt. Inch by inch, she exposed the delicate flesh of her thighs, thinly covered in the gauzy fabric of her stockings. Sam's hands found their way to her calves and began to gently stroke and kneed the firm muscles that they found there. Sam moved his hands upwards, past Jennifer's knees, to the soft warm pleasure of her thighs.

But nothing, no touch, no taste, could prepare Sam for what Jennifer was about to show him. Her dress had already reached its zenith, rubbing up against a muscular mound nestled between her legs. Jennifer lifted the dress higher, pulling the elastic fabric away from her body, and her perfect penis dropped into view.

Sam gasped, and felt one hand flutter at this chest. Inches from his face it was bigger than he had imagined, a long veiny shaft of turgid flesh that twitched and throbbed as he looked at it. Jennifer's balls hung low beneath it, two shaven orbs that moved in subtle reciprocation to her cock. Sam had seen it before of course, in those long nights, with only the soft hum of his computer to keep him company, when he would masturbate himself to exhaustion looking at it, looking at her. But here, in front of him, it was something else entirely.

"It's ... beautiful," he whispered, his voice tinged with awe. "You're beautiful."

Jennifer didn't reply. She just placed one hand gently onto the top of Sam's head, and with the other guided her cock to his lips. He opened his mouth willingly, letting his lips run over Jennifer's cock as it slid onto his warm tongue. His nose was filled with the heady musk of it as he rolled his tongue around, gathering sweet moisture from the tip of Jennifer's pulsing shaft. He had tasted his own pre-cum before, but the thought of hers in his mouth, the thought of his mouth urging her to such arousal ...

"Suck my cock baby," said Jennifer softly.

And in a bland, nondescript, anonymous hotel room, a bland, anonymous man became the very thing that he had always dreamt of being.