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Mrs. Mower hit Send on her phone and then waited, purse in hand, for her Uber ride. She constantly glanced out of the front window, hoping the driver would arrive faster than his pace shown on her the Uber app. She was tapping her foot, walking back and forth in the foyer of her house, and peeking out of the window, all in that order.
Her body was tight. Her heart was beating fast. Her mind was spinning. Her pussy was wet. She had become ill at ease being alone at home this evening.
Her husband had gone to his third-shift duties at the Sheriff’s Department and she decided it was time for excitement. She had texted Mr. Rungard a few minutes after Mr. Mower had flashed his reds and blues, his special way of saying goodbye and goodnight.
Unlike in times past, Mrs. Mower had become straightforward in her texts. She and Mr. Rungard by now knew what each other wanted and both were clear about that one thing.
The message tonight was to the point.
“Motel 6 Rm 9 Calhoun Street 12 Want you”
Mr. Rungard had been a here-and-now kind of guy. He was always willing and would seemingly drop anything at her whim. Ever since that night at the parent-teacher conference at school, when they were supposed to be talking about his son’s math grades and instead had not talked for more than a minute about grades, the two of them had continued their meet-and-greet connection in the late, late hours of the nights. More importantly, he had performed to Mrs. Mower’s standards each time, even rising above her expectations. Few things are as good as on-demand lovers who are well-qualified to do the job. They are a rare commodity, she would say with a soft laugh to follow. Mr. Rungard was worth what she gave him in return. She was no slacker either when it came to taking men to their brinks and letting them release that pent-up frustration. Mower women, more precisely Washington women, did not shirk their duties to let the man linger without his relief. Each man came to his end in unique and varied ways, but Washington women, and now Mower women, always did what was necessary to reach conclusion. “Everything’s better with a strong ending, from relationships to sleep,” Mrs. Washington had told her daughter when she was younger. She now agreed.
Headlights appeared in the driveway. Mrs. Mower locked the door behind her and climbed in the four-door Nissan.
“Motel 6 on Calhoun, please,” she told the twenty-something driver.
“Just need to pick up one other person on the way there.”
“No problem.” It would delay her by a few minutes, but she already had most of the logistics in place.
She exhaled her jittery excitement and worked to corral her wild sexual impulses. Without those checks, she might have a few more lovers added to her collection. Then a man crammed himself into the backseat next to her. His knees pressed far into the front passenger seat, even after sliding it forward. Mrs. Mower noticed how obviously large his hands were, resting on his knees. He had nicely trimmed fingernails and no rings.
He smelled of cool cologne and wore a simple polo shirt and jeans. To her delight, his jaw line was well-defined and clean-shaven. His dark hair was cropped tight. If nothing else, he was worth simply staring at, soaking him in.
“Pretty tight in here,” she said with a smile.
“To say the least. I hope you don’t have an aversion to touching strangers because I can’t stop. There’s absolutely no way, this car is so small,” he said.
“I have no problem with touching.” Then she added, with little forethought or the message it would convey, “I’ve touched many strangers in my life and it’s never been bad.”
He grinned but his eyebrows spoke. He patted her knee.
The driver was not one for safe driving. Along the bumpy ride, she and he were rocked together, bumping shoulders, since the roads were pocked with potholes.
At one turn, Mrs. Mower braced herself by inadvertently grabbing his thigh. She held on until the tires seemed to have touch the road again.
Once letting go, she said embarrassed, “Sorry about that.”
He laughed in the fun of the situation, and soon she was whooping too. “Since we’re getting to know each other so well,” she said, “I guess I should ask your name.”
“Damian Gilmore. You?”
“Karen Mower.”
“Nice to meet you. Out late tonight, aren’t you?”
“Appointment. No other time to do it.”
He merely nodded. She could tell he was questioning the statement. There was too little time to think about it though.
“Hang on,” the driver said and yanked the wheel to the right.
Mrs. Mower was sure about the driver’s poor skills, as two wheels had left the pavement again. Her hand missed his thigh during this turn. She tried to balance herself and her hand slid into his lap.
She yanked out her hand.
“Oh sorry, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean, I was just trying to, the turn, you know,” she fumbled.
He put his hand on her knee to try to calm her. “It’s gaziantep escort okay. Like I said, I have no problem with strangers touching me.”
She was flustered in the awkward circumstance. She tried to brush the situation off and defuse it. “Do I owe you a free feel-up to make things even?”
He was surprised by her joke, and his laugh caught up into a choke. He gathered himself though. She was electrified by his reply. “I would not mind at all.”
He confidently eyed her chest and legs, and she didn’t deter him from looking, nor did she react when he raised his hand. She didn’t stop him as his large, warm hand gripped her knee. In fact, she, little by little, spread her knees.
Damian’s face brightened as his hand moved up her thigh. His desire to pounce covered his face like a mask. For her, the excitement was there, the exact excitement she wanted since the moment her husband left for his shift. A stranger, handsome and willing, a stranger making her tingle and her pussy heat up and horniness flood her veins, a stranger who understood her messages and her own willingness, a stranger without fear of overstepping courtesies.
Damian reached farther up, and her head laid back against the headrest. She looked to be in silent prayer with flashes of intensity crossing her countenance.
Mrs. Mower’s body was encouraging him to continue, but his hand stopped.
“Why … Why’d you stop?”
“We’re at the Motel 6,” the driver said, fumbling over his words.
Through shortened breathes, she asked, “Where are you headed, Damian?”
“I’m following you.”
“Good, then we’re here.”
With her pussy on fire, she quickly got the key card from the front desk for Room 7 and led him in. Damian didn’t wait for small talk or a surveying of the quality of the room. He snaked his right hand to the back of her neck, taking a tight clutch, and his left hand ran up her thighs, lifting the dress. His stern, domineering eyes held her spellbound. She wanted to stare into those eyes, wondering what might be beyond their darkness. What man lurked behind those eyes? He silently answered her. His left hand grabbed her ass in a gorilla grip. She winced, but in the flourishing excitement, pain didn’t matter. In fact, she wanted more pain, she wanted to be put in her place, she wanted to be held there, against her will even. She wanted him to take advantage of his size over hers.
To foster their romp, she entwined her fingers at the back of his neck. She leaned her weight back to pull him onto her onto the bed. He was Samson-strong though and remained steadfast. Instead, her fingers unlocked and she fell back onto the bouncy bed alone. She looked up, astounded by what she witnessed. His eyes had already enraptured her, now his beastly shoulders captured her. His torso narrowed into a thin waist. And his bulky arms matched his body size. He was a giant man.
He flipped up her skirt, so her pussy was in sight. A cold rush of air made her shiver. She had recently shaved her pussy clean, because Mr. Rungard once had briefly mentioned his fondness for seeing a cunt without interference.
Mrs. Mower remembered her original intent for the Motel 6 rendezvous was Mr. Rungard. She was trying to think how to square the logistics when her mind was stopped from squaring. Damian slid his finger into her wet pussy. It came out and then two fingers went in. She forgot Mr. Rungard.
“Yes, yes,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “In and out, come on.” She wooed him as if wooing a wild animal. She did not fully grasp this animal though.
His fingers dug into her mouth. “Suck that off, bitch.”
The fingers unexpectedly thrust into her mouth and the demand to suck made her fearful for a split second. But she did suck and sucked exuberantly. He fingered her pussy again but with three fingers and brought the three to her mouth and shoved them in. She sucked off all the juiciness.
Tonight, she was relishing in the intensity. Her mind was spinning and was soaking up all the attention.
Then through the torrent of her mind and body, there was a simple jangle of metal and a quick zip. She leaned up and saw an erect fat cock, one like she hadn’t seen before, except in the porn she’d watched and in odd erotica stories she’d read. She had been led like a lamb into the den of a lion, a beast who was ready to tear her apart in all his strength.
Damian grabbed the monster and thwapped it against her pussy. “Hey, slut, put this dick in your mouth and suck the hell out of it.”
She sat up before he made any further moves. She took as much of the dick as possible in her mouth. Her cheeks ballooned, as though she had taken in too much food at once. She moved her head slowly as she quelled the gagging sensation that constricted her throat. Damian, however, was not appeased. He started to pull her head back and forth, shoving his dick in deep, gyrating in rhythm. Saliva began to drool down Karen’s chin and she retched herself on the length and girth of Damian. She had to pull off of the dick several times to regain her composure.
Unlike before, he gently cupped her chin in his palm, grinning at her. In an instant though he shoved her head back. She flopped onto the bed.
“Give it to me,” she tried to say, but Damian’s hand clamped down on her mouth, barely allowing for breath. Her eyes widened in a strange mix of fear and felicity and light asphyxiation. She stared up at his handsome, yet fierce, face. She hadn’t felt this much sexual dominance for years, before Brad at the gym, before Mr. Rungard, before Mr. Mower. A guy in college she dated briefly loved to force her to appease him sexually. As a Washington woman, at the time, she allowed him. He would spread her legs apart and keep them wide by handcuffing her ankles to the head and foot of their bed. From there, he could do what he wanted, follow his own desires. In addition to his cock, he used dildos, multiple at a time. He also had a fuck machine run for long periods of time. During that relationship, she learned to enjoy anal sex.
She felt Damian’s dick press against her cunt. She tried to sit up, worried about its size versus her size. He would not allow her to sit up though. He drove his cock into her pussy. Her lips and pinkness were stretched tight. He then rammed her hard. She screamed and twisted her head with each of his thrusts.
“Oh fuck, your dick is so big,” she wailed. She tugged on the bed cover until she was holding onto only the hem of it. She clenched her teeth as he changed tactics. No more fast fuck but a deep fuck. He pushed hard into her, deep into her, squishing her body under his weight. He force-fed her pussy.
On the last vestige of her bodily control, Damain pulled out. He stood over her for a moment. She was like a sore lamb. He had no concern though. He rolled her over on the bed, raising her to all fours. He lifted her ass and smacked it, leaving a red hand print. She questioned why she said it but out came the request: “Give it to me again.”
He entered, from behind, into her well-worn pussy. He began to fuck her again, ramming her hard enough to make her whole body move, her stomach, her asscheeks, her thighs and her upper arms. She took out her tits from her shirt and started massaging and pinching her nipples. As her tits teeter-tottered back and forth, her nipples rubbed against the rough bed cover, which added to all the other hot spots around her body. She again held tight to the bed cover as an attempt at control.
He began to grunt and moan. She felt his wrenching hips and his strong grip on her ass got tighter. She could tell he was nearing his culmination. It was her turn to take over, to be the woman she was, generationally. But he pulled out before she had a chance. He turned her onto her back. Suddenly, the huge cock was inches from her face, his hand stroking so fast it was only a blur. She waited for the jolt of his manness. Her tongue rolled out and flicked up, anticipating him. Following a guttural groan, warm cum shot into her right eye, smattered onto her forehead, covered the right side of her face. She opened her left eye as he rubbed the remaining drizzle on her lips like gloss. Then he patted her cheek with the head of his dick.
She scraped the cum from her cheek and licked it off her fingers. He wiped cum off her face and then shoved his fingers in her mouth. She continued to relish everything.
In a few minutes, the beast slumped into the chair by the curtained window. At rest. His cock was plastered against his left thigh and his pants were around his ankles. She laid on her back, exhausted, yet toying with her clit and enjoying the remenants of orgasm.
While still on her back, she asked, “By the way, where were you headed before?”
With no more gusto than a hello to a neighbor, he answered. “My fiancee’s place.”
Mrs. Mower flung herself upright on the bed. “Your fiancee? Won’t she wonder where you are, why you’re late?”
“Does it look like I care if she asks?”
“Are you going to say that you had sex with another woman?”
“Maybe not that blunt.”
“Good god, what did I do?”
“I’ll tell you what you did. You got fucked, just like you needed. And I know you’ve never had a dick that large.” He smirked. “And you loved being domineered.”
This man, who was a beast on multiple levels, was also one who could read people. She had a hard time believing that being a beast, confident and daunting, and, concurrently, astute and couth were compatible in the same human. This guy was a rare specimen. He was also engaged, soon to be married. She thought of a young girl at home perusing through catalogs and websites for gowns, invitations, catering, and chatting with girlfriends about hairdos and jewlery, rambling on about the excitement of being a bride, something girls want to be all their lives. And here the groom-to-be had fucked her. No coercion on her part or second-guessing on his. They met randomly in an Uber ride.
Mrs. Mower laid back on the bed. She had not second-guessed herself in years. She had long ago concluded that marriage and engagement are two very different aspects of a relationship. When the relationship is fresh and young, faithfulness on both partners’ part would strengthen their bonds. Once married and, as sad as she was to admit it, entrenched with the other person, faithfulness was less important. In fact it could, or might, spice up the relationship. Summing it up, openness was fine in marriage, but not in courtship.
“Mrs. Mower.” She glanced up when he said her name. He was dressed and ready to leave. “Mrs. Mower, I know Mr. Mower has a great wife to fuck. You know what you’re doing, and I only got a small taste of what you’re capable of. Whoever taught you things, he should be given a medal of honor. Hell, maybe one day he will be.”
“Oh, please,” she huffed, waving off his comment. “You sound like you wish you were in a movie with a classic line. ‘Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time,'” she said dramatically.
“Maybe someday we’ll meet again.” He smiled and she fell back, making the well-worn mattress creak, like an old woman complaining.
She felt a rush of cool wind run up her body when the door opened and then the door closed. Damian Gilmore was gone, and Mrs. Mower was alone. She noticed the surrounding silence. Only her thoughts were there. She thought of Mr. Rungard and their rendezvous. Would he notice what she’d just done?
Mrs. Mower tidied up in the mirror under the yellowish vanity lights. Her hair was frizzy and her makeup was ruined because of the cum and her red lipstick was smeared down the side her mouth from his heavy handidness. Her lips, both sets, were plump and sore from all the action. Should she lie about why she needed to cancel? She had the key card for Room 9 with her though, so when he came he would know she had been there. The front desk guy too would tell him she’d picked up the key already.
She decided to go to Room 9 and wait. “I’ll give him some head, jerk him off and let the night be” was her conclusion. “We, Washington women, don’t let our men go unfulfilled.”
She glanced out of the door of Room 7, like a spy, and, seeing no one in the parking lot or by the front entry, she dashed two doors down. She quickly slid the card in the slot and then slipped inside. She sighed her relief.
Suddenly, she was wrapped from behind by two strong arms, trapping both of her arms at her sides.
She jumped and struggled in fear, having not expected anyone.
“Hey, calm down,” the familiar voice steadied her. She felt stubble nuzzle into her neck and two lips kiss her.
Mrs. Mower gathered herself and her bearings with several deep breathes. “Mr. Rungard, I wasn’t expecting you …”
“To be early?”
“Yes, early.”
Seeing him, she recognized the distinct differences between Damian Gilmore’s fierocity and Roger Rungard’s gentlemanliness. She wondered for a moment whether Damian and his authoritarianism in bed had turned Mr. Rungard into sexual—the image that came to mind oddly was—cottage cheese.
Mr. Rungard kissed her like she had wanted to be kiss in their previous get-togethers. This time though, it didn’t tickle her. It was bland. She told herself that she couldn’t go through with this, either for herself or for him. She pulled out of his kiss. “I don’t have a lot of time. Take your pants off, I want you to enjoy yourself.”
He didn’t hesitate. His pants fell to his ankles and she to her knees. She took his dick into her mouth and flicked it with her tongue, pressing her tongue onto the tip of his cock and then swirled the width of her tongue around the head. She licked up and down his engorged shaft, then stroked his length while she licked his balls. She shoved her face deep between his legs to get to all the right places fast. She knew he loved it. He always had. Again tonight, she heard his panting. She returned to his dickhead and sucked fiercely. She took down her blouse and exposed her tits to him, tits that had been exposed to another man less than an hour before. Mr. Rungard fondled them. She worked harder, more sucking and faster bobbing and louder groans on her part, to get this done.
“Wait, wait,” he said, trying to ease her pace.
She paused for a moment. “Just cum on me, I’ve wanted it all night, don’t hold back. Tonight’s about you.”
He didn’t respond but only thrust his cock into her mouth and pulled her hair toward his dick, making her gag. His grip tightened and his body tensed into a statue. A second later, his juice shot to the back of her throat. She swallowed it.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Mr. Rungard admonished. “You Washington women do what you do good, just like you said.”
“It’s now the Mower women who do it well.”
“How many sisters do you have anyway?” He lay on his back on the corner of the bed in Room 9. Mrs. Mower got up from the floor and cleaned up at the sink.
Then wailing sirens echoed into the room. She turned to see Mr. Rungard already peeking through the curtain.