"Dammit, I wanted to fuck you in that tent," you complain, grabbing me with one hand while the other rings the bell. You're dripping rainwater all over me, but it doesn't matter. We're both drenched.
"Well, now you get to fuck me in a sleazy motel," I say. You grope my ass through my pajamas, soaked from our dash from the campsite to the car, then shove me toward the check-in counter, pinning me against it. Your hands continue their assault. You know that being manhandled like this makes me hot.
"Quit it!" I hiss, anticipating company, but you keep going. You kick at my foot, knocking me off balance, and I widen my stance to compensate. You take the opportunity to slip a hand between my legs and I stifle a gasp. You twist one nipple through wet fabric until I groan, "Stop."
But my back's arching and you know I'm close. You spin me around and wrap your lips around the other nipple, then push pajamas aside and slide a finger into me, my moans suddenly loud in the empty room as I start to come. You thrust again, again, propelling me higher - another finger, deeper, faster - until my cries turn into a wail. You urge me on, making me come harder...
Then there's a movement in my peripheral vision and I realize the room wasn't empty at all. I look and there's the clerk, watching, rapt. And that makes me come the hardest of all.
[written for Alison Tyler's "motel sex" contest]
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