The hotel

No microphone. I told Craig that at the door of the hotel room so he would not think every night with me becomes a file. Craig is forty-nine, another app, another city evening, a plain room and a window full of dusk. I stood there in the black turtleneck, silver bob neat, and looked at the glass instead of performing. He asked what I wanted. I said I want you to fuck my cunt while I tell you about a booth, and I want you to cum in me, and I do not want a recording of any of it. He said yes. That was enough.

I told him about Lowell while Craig's cock was already in his hand. Fifty-six, blankets, the red light, the way I sucked a cock close to the mic until the wet sound was the point. Craig groaned. I bent over the dresser and reached back to guide his cock into my cunt. He filled me in one slow push. I kept talking. I told him I had fucked myself on that other cock in a chair and came with my mouth near the microphone, and that I had swallowed after. Craig fucked me harder. I wanted the story to turn into this fuck, not a recital. My cunt was dripping. I braced my hands and pushed back on his cock and told him not to be gentle unless I said the word gentle, which I was not going to say.

The window went darker. I rubbed my clit and came with my forehead on my wrist, voice nothing like the warm one clients book, just a woman getting fucked and liking the sound of her own mess. He started to ease off and I told him to keep fucking me. I was not done using his cock. I came a second time, smaller, meaner, cunt gripping him while I laughed at how good a stranger can be when he follows. I told Craig to stay inside. Cum in my cunt. He did, pressed deep, a long pulse I could feel, and I squeezed around his cock until he swore and laughed. No file. The only record was my body and the ridiculous smile I caught in the black glass.

He left before I fixed my hair. I washed my face, not my mood. I had an evening session booked, a clean mouth, a dirty secret under the turtleneck performance. I read the lines perfectly. Nobody who paid for the voice got the hotel. My cunt was still full of the fact of him on the walk to the booth, and then it was work again, blankets and all, microphone on for money and not for the fuck.