The service elevator

Night off, which is the only kind of night I do this. I was not in my uniform from work. I was in a white shirt and a plain black vest with no mark on it, hair in a dark bun, olive skin warm under the lobby lamps of a hotel that has never paid me. Tomas was a guest. He is forty-five. We agreed by the check-in desk the way adults agree, with a sentence and a yes, not a tab. I told him I wanted his cock in my cunt and I wanted him to cum there, and then I would show him and leave. He looked delighted and a little stunned, which is my favorite combination. I am funny until the plan is real. Then I stop joking. We took the service elevator because the guest one had a wedding in it.

In the elevator I kissed him once, enough to feel that he wanted it, and I laughed against his mouth and told him not to get tender. His room was on six. The key was his. I am good at rooms I can leave. I unbuttoned the vest, left the shirt, and sat on the edge of the bed and told him to show me his cock. He did. I sucked him until he was fully hard and cursing in a polite register, then I pulled off and said I wanted to fuck, not finish in my mouth. I got on my hands and knees and told him to put his cock in my cunt. He pushed in slow. I told him he did not have to be careful past the first inch. He fucked me deeper. I dropped my chest to the duvet and reached under to rub my clit, and the joke I had been holding finally died.

I came first, cunt tight around his cock, a loud unpretty sound I did not apologize for. Then I told him to cum in me. Not on my back. In my cunt. He groaned and fucked through it and came inside, hips flush, holding still because I told him to stay. I eased off his cock and turned over and reached down and showed him. Cum slick at my cunt, leaking onto my fingers. I watched it. I made him watch it. That is the part I want as much as the fuck. He looked wrecked in a grateful way. I wiped my hand on the hotel tissue, buttoned up, and found my shoes.

I kissed his cheek, not his mouth. I said he had done it right and that I was leaving. The service elevator smelled like linens. The lobby did not know me. I walked to the train with a wet cunt and a good mood and no plan to see Tomas again. My shade at home was still taped down. I slept alone, which is not a lack. It is the design.