Stop it (part 6)


She smiled, blushing, turning away from me to look at the wall.  I wanted to
laugh.  She's being contemplative.  She's seen it in some movie, that
one looks blankly into the air when one's thinking about something serious.

"Different strokes for different folks, I guess," she sighed.

I was silent, looking at her matted hair and a couple of pimples on her neck.
How long ago was it hubby fucked you, toots?  It must have been non-eventful
-- otherwise you'd be sleeping like a baby.  That's why  the two of you came
to this old hotel, right?  Trying to stir things up.  Probably read it in
some ridiculous magazine.  Go to a romantic, old hotel to revive the passion
that's been missing.  She turned to me, again.

"Are you thinking about her, in there?"

With him, I wanted to finish it for her, loving her feigned propriety, even
though half her massive jugs were showing.  I shook my head.

"No, just relaxing."

"Oh," she murmered, turning back to the wall.

We were silent.

"Does it go both ways?"

I stifled a laugh.  Keep pathetic, idiot, don't come on to her.  Get her
sympathy.  It worked for Sue, right?

"No, I love her too much."

"But why . . .  I mean, I don't know.  I mean, look at you.  You're good
looking, probably have a great job.  Why do you . . .?"

I turned to her, putting my best sincere face on.  "Sometimes, a man can be so
infatuated with a woman that he'll do anything to keep her."

"I guess."

Her cigarette was at its end.  I took if from her and put in on the ground.

"You're going to burn the place down," she laughed.

"And where would we be, then, naked like we are?"

She blushed, and I noticed the red extending down her throat onto her chest.

"Yeah, it's kind of weird."

"Skin,"  I smiled.

She took a deep breath, swelling her chest, her robe very losely wrapped.
"Well, I should be going, you know."

I nodded, looking as sad as possible.

"You're going to be okay?"

I nodded.

She shook her head.  "You don't look like you're going to be okay."

I waived her off.  "I'll be fine.  You have a good night."

"Okay," she said, standing up.	I watched her, her creamy, soft thighs
eveything and smiled.

"Thanks for talking."

She nodded and then smiled, shaking her head.  "Just one question, okay?"

"Of course."

"You don't actually believe making love is nothing more than skin on skin, do
you?"

I nodded.  Come on.  Come on, sweetheart.  Get it out of your system.

She bent forward, her legs fixed, to look into my face.  I could feel her
breath.

"It's not," she whispered.  "I know."  She had lovely, warm eyes and a round,
small face, tiny lips.	Her two, sloping breasts were hanging, the pink,
round nipples obvious.	I stared into her eyes.  I felt myself stirring,
hardening.

"It is," I whispered back and reached forward and lightly kissed her.  "See?"

She smiled, licking her lips.  "I shouldn't let you do that?"

"Why not?"

"I just shouldn't."

"Was that skin on skin, or wasn't it?"

"I don't even know you."

"That's why it was nothing more than the skin on my lips against yours."

She shook her head, and reached forward and kissed me, her tits now almost
completely out of the robe and pressing against my neck.  They felt warm,
soft and heavy.  So heavy after Sue's firm little things.  Our kiss lasted
longer and she opened her mouth.  I let her tongue, tasting the bitterness of
the tobacco and nicotine, let it slip inside and it flicked across my teeth,
searching, darting.  I was almost there, as I felt myself stretching to full
length.  She stopped.

She stepped back and away and tried to smile.

"Skin on skin," I said.

She shook her head.  "I proved my point."

She looked down and could see my excitement under the robe.  "I'd better get
back."

"Nope.  You've not convinced me.  Not of anything."

"I convinced, myself, and that's all that matters."

Good.  That should be the only thing that matters.  That's it.

"I'll grant you that kissing is perhaps more, you know, intimate, but . . .w
well, whatever.  Good night."

She smiled and nodded and was about to turn around and away when more moaning
could be heard from behind the walls.  Sue to the rescue.  Round two, I
thought.  Was Sue getting hers this time?

She was frozen, standing, listening, flushed, frightened.  No doubt, the
realization she'd kissed me was bothering her.  The adrenaline of the game was
receding.  The moaning reminded her how awful people could be, how perverse.
She was trying to register why she'd let it happen.  She was horrified it
happened so easily.   Was she sick too?   That's right, baby.  I'm right.
You're wrong.

I reached forward.  "Come here."

She shook here head.

"Please."

"Why?"

"Come here."  And she stepped forward.  It rarely happened.  Most of the time
the women were overly eager or overly resigned, with absolutely no mystery.
Too, most of the times, they were bored, slabs of meat.  Sometimes, they were
great, broncos, most of the time not.  But this.  Never.  Someone so confused,
so caught in the moment, transfixed, frightened, but unable to stop . . .

I touched the robe on her stomach and slowly pressed my fingers into her, as
she watched and then placed her hand over mine.  She was soft, warm.  I
tugged her down, opening my thighs and she kneeled in front of me.  I could
feel my cock released into the air, the robe opening.  I leaned forward, her
eyes wide, glassy and kissed her small mouth.  The stifled moaning behind us
continued.  It would have to be quick work.  She tried to turn away as
pressed my tongue into her mouth, but I held her tight and reached under her
robe to hold one left tit.  It lay heavy, down, drooping and she pushed my
mouth off moaning as I pinched her nipple.

"Don't," she sighed, eyes closed, her head tilted back, hands on my shoulders.
"Please."

I sucked on her throat, her lovely sweaty neck, as I meaded and squeezed the
massive tit, raising, lifting it up and out of her robe.  It was lovely pink,
the veins showing under the skin, flared skin, baby skin holding, stretched
tight.  I was in the window, the last stage, I thought, before the more skin
would start to sag unpleasantly, wrinkling, losing its life and vitality.   I
sucked on its top-side, lowering my mouth to get at her pink nipple.

She was squirming, trying to escape, not very hard, and I reached with my free
hand down, grazing my straining cock pressed against her abdomen.  I had to
touch her.  She felt me on her thigh and jerked down her hand trying to stop
mine.

"No, you don't understand," she hissed.  "Don't do that."

"What?" I whispered.  I wanted to hear her say it.  "What?"

She looked at me, breathing heavy, flushed, her small fingers quivering
wrapped around my hand between her legs.  "I just had . . .just made love
with my husband, tonight.  Please, don't touch me there."

I nodded.  Alright, fine.  I won't touch you there.  I pulled my hand out and
released her monster tit with my other.

"You're free," I said.  "You can go.  I'm sorry."

She looked at me and down at my cock up at her and kissed me again, softly, a
good bye kiss, a make up kiss.  I didn't know.  I didn't kiss her back.

Fuck it.  This is ridiculous.  This little dough-girl isn't worth all this
pleading, for Christ's sake.  I've got Irene waiting for me in there.  To be
sure, a little tired, worn out, but my cock would not mind.  This, I knew.
My cock would love it all the same.  No more charity cases, I vowed.  Christ.
 She continued to kiss me on her knees between my legs.  Oh, but it would be
so easy.  Why not?  Fuck it.  Just. . .  There.  I reached around with my
hands behind her thigh and gripped them, lifting her, pushing her forward
into me.  I could see she was surprised, but I shoved my tongue deep into her
mouth, in the back and she pushed away.

"W. . . wh . . .what are you doing," she stuttered, as I opened up her
thighs, lifting her onto, straddling, my lap, my cock pressed against her wet
inner thigh..  Okay, sweetheart.  What are you going to do now?  Come on.  My
hand reached up and gripped her soft ass.  "Don't.  Please," she moaned as I
pried my fingers into her warm, flabby flesh and lifted her up higher.

"Skin on skin," I hissed, freeing my cock from her thigh, higher until it
came into contact with her whispy-haired, wetness, covered by little fatty
rolls of skin.	Like the hair on her eyebrows, I emagined, soft, sparse.  I
prodded and searched and felt it.  Like her drooling lips, I thought as I
lodged at her small opening.  I looked into her frightened, unbelieving eyes.
 You have been breached, madame, I wanted to tell her, but kept silent.  No
more games.  I pushed her down, entering her wetness and heat.	I closed my
eyes as I pushed up into her.  I moaned, surprised it was gripping, grasping,
grudging releasing wet, not slippery, airy wet.  And then I stopped,
throbbing, half accomplished, and let her go.  She continued to sink on top
of me and then realized she was free and stopped, or at least, tried to.  She
looked at me, confused, quivering shaking.

I smiled, and kissed her softly.  Her chin looked raw from the rubbing against
my day's growth.  How are you going to explain that one, sweetie?

"Skin on skin, right?"

She nodded, moaning, closing her eyes, letting everything snuggle deep inside
and as she rocked against me, soaked sparse hair against curly hair, getting
comfortable, she laughed when she heard the moans from behind commenced for
the third time, triumphant.

                                 ****

I bumped into her the next afternoon, with her normal-looking husband, as Sue
and I left the hotel.  She looked panicked and turned away from us.  When I
told Sue what had happened, she laughed, telling me I could have had the
divine Irene  at about three in the morning if I hadn't fallen asleep in the
other bedroom.	She would've woken me up, but I looked tired.