Hotel Room Sex

There were a couple of minutes, right after we’d stepped into that room and shut the door, where I wondered if I was really brave enough to do what I was doing. It was just sex, yes… but it also wasn’t. I wanted Grey in ways that felt dangerous, in ways that completely consumed me. I’d dreamed of being alone with and close to him since the very first moment that I caught him looking at me across the pub. And now, there I was, right in the middle of the exact fantasy that I had wished for. It felt too good to be true.

Grey kissed me, and I didn’t have another thought for the rest of the night. For the rest of the weekend, actually. Of all the men that I’ve ever kissed, Grey’s have suited me the most, have fit me the most. They’re the kind of kisses that weave fantasy into reality. Firm, but also gentle. Dominant, but also compromising. Fast, but also slow. Deep, then barely there. It was every good kiss I’d ever had, all wrapped into one, and I never wanted it to stop. Ever.

He lifted me, our mouths not separating for a second, and carried me to the bed. It made me feel tiny, in the absolute best ways. Oh, this man can throw me around. I half-moaned, half-giggled into his mouth, just like he’d done to me on our first-ish date; and I felt him smile into mine. God damn, that man had some moves. I was so completely out of my depth, incapable of guessing what might happen next. I think he knew that. Those were the joys of sleeping with older men, I suppose.

Muse’s Origin of Symmetry album quietly played in the background. It seemed an odd album for the occasion at first, but the beats of the music seemed to dictate the pace of our night. New Born was for kissing. Bliss was for roaming hands. Space Dementia was for… well, my dress it seemed.

“This is very pretty. Did I tell you that?” he murmured, running his fingers along where the hem met my skin.

“You did,” I replied.

He shifted to the edge of the bed. “Stand up and give me a twirl.”

I didn’t want to twirl, nor did I want to stand up; I wanted to go back to the kissing. Still, I did just as he’d demanded. Truth be told, him telling me what do, instead of asking, was winding me up in both good and bad ways. I wanted to say something like, “What if I don’t want to?” But I also didn’t want to say anything at all. I didn’t want it to stop; I wanted him to keep doing it until he’d run out of things to demand.

“Good girl.” Grey took my hand and gently pulled me between his legs. “What are you wearing under this?” he said, stroking my thighs under the dress. “Tell me. Don’t show me.”

Ummm, that wasn’t how it worked; he was meant to do the talking, not me. I’d never been very good at that. Sex is the one time that it’s okay to not say stuff, you know? Aside from the obvious, yes, mmhmm, just like that, kiss me, fuck me, harder, deeper…

We didn’t need to have a whole conversation about it, did we?  

“What colour are you wearing?” Grey said, clearly sensing how I was faltering. He’d started stroking my thighs and getting a little higher, higher, higher. It was very distracting.

“White,” I answered.

“Material?”

“Lace.”

“Matching?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Well, he had me there. What was I meant to say? Ummm, yeah, it’s coz I thought you’d like it more than once-white, now-grey granny panties?

Grey was testing my boundaries, but I didn’t know that yet. He was seeing what I liked and didn’t like. Testing to see what worked. Trying to pull me out of whatever comfortable shell that I’d put myself in. It was clever, really. The questions, the talking, it was all getting inside my head much more than regular, dive-in-bed sex, especially with him. If he’d have slipped his hand inside my lace, he’d have felt just how wet I already was – and he’d barely even touched me. Grey’s foreplay was mind-fuck foreplay… and I didn’t know the half of it yet.

But why did I wear white lace under that pretty summer dress? I could’ve picked any number of other pieces from my drawer, but I chose those. Why?

“I like lace,” I said. “The way it feels on my skin.”

Oh, check me out! I could pull it together and form a sentence during foreplay-slash-sex. I tried not to smile, but a little grin got away from me.

He saw it, then threw me a not-so-little grin right back. “I like lace, too. White is an interesting colour.”

“It is?”

“Very innocent,” he said, with a face that was anything but.

I remember looking at him in that hotel room, scanning his face, taking in the mischievous glint in his eye and slight turn-up on the right side of his mouth, and thinking, this man is going to eat me alive. I just knew that I was out of my depth. He didn’t just have age-years ahead of me; he had sex-years ahead of me, too. The way he chased me, pursued me, seduced me was entirely different to anyone else before or since. Same locations, sure. Same date styles. Maybe even same lots of other stuff, too. But completely, entirely, utterly different, all at the same time.

It was then, that he dropped to his knees in front of me, kissing the tops of my feet, then my ankles, stroking his hands along the backs of my legs along the way. Was he worshipping me?! It sure felt like it, and I sure loved it. I giggled when his hands hit the back of my knees.

“Ticklish?” he asked.

“Apparently so,” I laughed.

And then, he carried on: the front of my thighs, the back of my thighs, my hands, my wrists, back down to my thighs again after that. I don’t think there’s a millimetre of my legs that he didn’t kiss, nibble on, or lick. He pushed the front of my dress up, but only on one side, and only just enough to kiss right up to my thong before dropping the hem and moving to the other leg. It was the politest, most respectful form of foreplay that ever could exist. I hated it. I also loved it. But I hated it. I think?

“May I unzip you?” Grey asked, and I nodded.

I don’t think he could’ve moved that damn zip any slower. It was enough to make me want to tap my foot impatiently, but I figured that it would probably ruin the mood a bit. Eventually, he hooked his fingers under the shoulders and lifted them away. It was so cool, so effortless, so easy. My dress slipped to the floor after that, like water. And there I was, standing in front of him, in nothing but a white lace bra and thong, plus some really cute jewellery.

“Well, look at you,” he said quietly.

I didn’t know if it was the nerves, the anticipation, the lust, or the fact that I was almost naked in front of a man that I was very quickly starting to like, but my whole body started to tremble. Very noticeably, too. I was basically vibrating, which I’m sure was all very attractive [or not] to Grey.

I might’ve been pretty slutty for a girl of my age, but I clearly hadn’t learned a damn thing from all of those notches on my bedpost.

He dropped to his knees once again, shuffling us both backwards until my legs were against the bed and could go no further. I started to lower myself down onto it, but Grey shook his head. It confused me, but I knew much better than to ask at that point. Things would become clear in due time, just as they always did with him – before, during, and after this particular night.

He ran his hands up the insides of my legs, pushing them apart slowly, but firmly. “Do you know what a safe word is?”

I nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“What’s yours?” he asked next, tiptoeing his fingers dangerously close to my cunt.

“I’m going to make it… Mazda,” I grinned.

Maybe I was growing more comfortable with the idea of dirty talking, after all? It was a good job, as he was now running his fingers over the leg hems of my thong… and I just knew that he would stop if I stopped talking. He was touching everywhere but where I wanted him to touch, seemingly waiting for me to do as he’d asked, dangling sex in front of me like the carrot on a stick.

“What’s yours?” I asked. I thought that he might say something similar to what Goth Boy had said, just a couple of years before.

Grey winked at me. I would’ve hated it from anyone else, but it was just hornily endearing from him. “Mazda,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

His demand took me by surprise, but my response fell from my lips in an instant. “Taste me.”

Grey started by kissing the hem of my thong, exploring the spots where his fingers had just been, mumbling “good girl” into my skin. His fingers had already moved on, hooking under the waistband and waiting for permission to take them off. Like he even had to ask; I was practically begging him to do it at that point. I nodded enthusiastically. Yes, fucking, please.

I lifted each leg to assist him with my thong, then spread them a little wider. It was a brave move for me, but he made me want to be brave. He made me want to grab him, kiss him, hop on top of him, and never fuck another man ever again. If there was any such thing as lust soulmates, Grey was most definitely that. Maybe he still is? To be confirmed, I suppose.

He explored my labia first, sucking one into his mouth, then the other. My knees almost buckled right there and then, but I somehow held it together as he wandered and played. It wasn’t just his mouth, either; his hands were roaming wild, grasping the flesh of my hips one minute, then reaching up and caressing my nipples through my bra the next. Never predictable. Never guessable. Always keeping me on my toes. It was intoxicating. Addictive. Intriguing. He seemed to understand my body immediately, knowing where to suck and nibble, where to bite and tease, and exactly what to do to wake up the feral side of me.

“Like this?” he mumbled, his voice vibrating through me.

My answer was more of a breath than a real word: “Yes.”

“Do you want to know how you taste?” he said, pulling away.

I made a half-ooomph, half-no sound that was full of disappointment, but I waited patiently for him to tell me.

Except… he didn’t.

Grey stood up, held my face with both hands, then kissed me. Deeply. The kind of kiss that makes a leg ‘pop’ in the movies – delightfully romantic, but utterly filthy at the same time. He fiddled with my bra for a second, then threw it to the side, still kissing me. And then, he pushed one finger – the middle one – inside me.

“A real taste?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, or what he was about to do, but I nodded anyway. He slowly pulled his finger away, gliding across my clit in the process, then raised it to my lips. “Open your mouth.”

My mouth opened regardless of what I wanted it to do, and he slid his finger in. Slowly. Grazing across my tongue. And I did what all good girls do: I closed my mouth, sucked, and swirled my tongue around it.

“Such a good, good girl,” he said. “How do you taste?”

How was I meant to answer that? I wasn’t a proper writer yet, and certainly not a smutty one; I had none of those words in my vocabulary. How did I even taste? Salty didn’t seem to work, nor did sweet. It was something in-between those, but still, different entirely.

I tasted like one thing only, which I told him: “Sex.”

And that, was that: the end of the question-and-answer potion of the event. He didn’t need more words, and neither did I. Grey picked me up and put me on the bed as we both scrambled to shed his clothes. Our frantic kisses kept getting in the way, but we didn’t care; we just muttered fuck instead of asking the other for help, which did the job just as well. Then, he was naked. Above me. Hovering. Millimetres away and silently asking for permission. I gave it by wrapping my legs around his waist and doing the job myself.

He was the perfect fit.

Our first fuck was exactly like those horny little fucks in the movies: hot, sticky, mouths searching for mouths, and hands reaching for hands. A beam from the streetlight outside peered through a crack in the curtains, hitting right between us, like a sign that we were meant to come together that night. Meant to be. Written in the stars. All of the other cliches that, somehow, always ring true when you’re with someone that you really, really like.

He muttered “good girl” into my mouth, into my ear, into my hair. I tried to talk, but nothing came out. Just moans and groans and harshly exhaled breaths, spat out between gritted teeth. He’d bring himself to the brink before grunting “fuck” and slowing down, and I kept wondering why. The reason became all too clear when he lifted one leg over his shoulder and moved one hand towards my clit.

“I want to feel you come,” he said.

Without thinking, I reached down and guided his fingers in circles around my clit. Together, not too long after that, we made his want come true: I came. Saying that, though – I came – doesn’t do it justice. It was a toe-curling, fireworks in the eyes, can’t breathe or think or move for a while, remember for the rest of your life kinda orgasm. And I really, really do think that I’m going to remember it for the rest of my life. Forever.

I wanted him to come inside me more than anything else in the universe, but he pulled out and unloaded all over my stomach instead. It was the best consolation prize in the world, especially when his eyes lit up as I scooped up his offering and enthusiastically sucked my fingers clean.

“You really are a good girl,” he smirked, holding out one hand and helping me stand. “Do you want a shower?”

“A drink,” I croaked back.

Grey lowered me back down to the bed, then covered me in the top sheet. One quick kiss on the forehead later, and he threw on some shorts and left the hotel room. I didn’t realise it back then, but he was doing “aftercare.” Another thing I didn’t realise back then was, he was my very first Dom, but I was probably not his very first sub. He set one hell of a standard, though; I can tell you that much for free. Not one Dom has ever come close to him, and I don’t think they ever will.

Filthy hotel room sex, though? It’ll be a firm favourite until the day I die, I reckon. Grey definitely unlocked a little kink, that night.

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Scars.