The lobby chair

City one. I sat in the lobby chair with my heels crossed, long black coat, silver pixie, red lipstick, fine lines I have earned and do not hide. Seymour is fifty-eight. He is not a husband and I do not have one. He bought a drink he did not need to buy. I told him my room was not the plan. His room was, if he had a towel and an hour and no idea that this would become a standing appointment. I fuck strangers. I leave. I am fifty-five and I am not auditioning.

We talked for twenty minutes because I am unhurried. I said I wanted his cock in my cunt, slow and then hard, and I wanted him to cum inside me, and I wanted a towel under my hips after so I could leak and talk and not ruin a hotel mattress I did not book. He repeated it back. Clear men are the only men I go upstairs with. The lobby stayed a lobby. I was still fully dressed when we stood, coat buttoned, lipstick still exact. The chair kept the shape of me for a minute. Then it was just a chair.

His room was ordinary and clean. I took the coat off like a decision, then the turtleneck, then the trousers. I kept the heels until I was on the bed and then I kicked them off myself. He fucked me slow first, cock thick, my knees up, his eyes on my face. I told him when the slow had done its work. Harder. He fucked my cunt harder, the headboard polite enough not to knock, my clit under my own fingers. I came unhurried even at the peak, a long deep orgasm, cunt gripping his cock, red mouth open, no performance of youth. I do not need to be quick to be filthy. I told him to cum in me. He did, pressed close, a heavy pulse, his mouth at my cheek. I held him there until I was finished feeling it. I am not in a hurry after I cum. I like the minute where his cock is still in my cunt and the decision to keep him there is mine. I squeezed around him and told him he had fucked me well. He said thank you like a guest in his own room, which was accurate. I am the one who hunts the lobby. He was only a room number.

I sent him for the towel. I sat on it and we talked for ten minutes about nothing important, his cum leaking out of my cunt onto the cotton, my coat already over my shoulders again. Then I stood, dressed, and left. No number. No second city with him. He can have the lobby. I had the fuck. I slept in my own room down the hall with the towel idea still pleasing me, and in the morning I was gone.