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Motel Bar Romance

It was our 7th dance, but this was our 3rd slow one. As he pulled my hips closer, he pulled his face back. Still unsure, I spoke rather than giving in to a kiss.

"What do you do?"

He smiled at my obvious evasion. "Think of me as a truck driver."

"Is that fun?"

"It's what I do best."

"Have you been a lot of places?"

"Yeah. I've explored a lot of territory."

"Do you have a favorite?"

"What I like best is teaching locals about areas they've never visited." Then, deciding that the conversation was over, he pulled me back in, and we danced in silence.

The next song, a faster one, didn't fit our particular drama, so I was pleased when he took my hand and led me to the bar. "What do you want?"

"What did I want?" I thought to myself. The bar's mirror, rarely a girl's friend, hinted at the answer. Although simple, my black skirt and purple blouse was a bit upscale for this dump, but the tightness of my outfit fit in perfectly. And my heels, if not for their price, hinted at desperation.

"Just some water, with a little lemon."

"Sure you're not looking for something harder?" His glare made clear the real intent behind his words.

"Everyone's looking for something." I replied, trying to be clever, but only egging him on in the process.

"I was - that's for sure. Then I saw you walk in and figured my search was over."

The dark red lipstick stain on my glass suggested an answer, but I asked anyway. "What do you mean?"

"Look in the mirror, girl. What do you see?" What I saw was a tall, powerfully built man with piercing brown-black eyes. His dark hair had hints of grey, but there was nothing in his behavior that seemed old.

"I see two new friends." I lied.

"No you don't." He replied. "You see a man and a woman pausing in a motel bar."

"Pausing?"

"Yeah, pausing. This shit is transient, just a short break while you make up your mind."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, your thumb has touched your finger enough to let me know that you find it strange not wearing rings."

My God, I had no idea I was so transparent. "You notice a lot, don't you?"

"I do." His eyes, now fixed on me, began to make me uncomfortable.

"I should go."

"Probably should, but I don't think you want to." He paused long enough to let me speak, but I couldn't talk. He smiled, took my hand, and said, "Come with me."

He led me, quickly, across the dance floor and out of the bar. The night's cold air was welcome, but we weren't outside long. He pushed through a series of doors, almost dragging me in the process, to a lounge outside the manager's office.

Before I could speak, he kissed me. The passion was undeniable, and I gave myself to it. I had been imagining this moment since our first dance, but nothing prepared me for this.

He broke our embrace, looked me in the eyes, and spoke. "You're so fucking hot. I want to own you." Then he grabbed my blouse with both hands, and ripped it open. I heard the buttons strike the wall, but my attention was focused on his powerful hands. I had never been touched with such power, or passion.

"You like that, don't you?" I panted a non-answer, and he was on me again. My blouse and bra now lay on the floor, and my panties were soon to join them: while sucking my nipples he pulled them from me.

"Fuck, girl, you're wet. I'm gonna love this." And with that he pushed me back toward a couch. "Lay down," he commanded. I watched him pull his shirt from his powerful torso as I lay down.

He took his pants off when he was already between my legs, so I was left to imagine what I knew I'd soon experience. My imagination fell far short of reality.

He positioned himself perfectly, and applied an ungodly amount of pressure, but my body resisted. He, however, would not be denied. Pain ripped through my body when my resistance failed.

"Goddamn you're tight! Girl, I'm gonna own this pussy." Initially fearful about the assault, he surprised me with tenderness. With slow, short thrusts he taught my body to accept his.

The pleasure I was beginning to feel was unimaginable, and he stared into my eyes as my first orgasm struck. "Don't worry, baby, it won't be your last." But it was the end of the short thrusts. He pushed deeply into my body, deeper than I knew existed, and then pulled back until he was almost out of me. He smiled as drove back into me. And then again, and again, and again.

My soft moans had become grunts of passion, and of communication. Each time he pressed too deeply, I grunted and he retreated. Once he understood my physical limits, the fucking really began.

And he would not stop. Like a machine he powered into my body. My own orgasms -- more powerful than ever before -- didn't even slow him. Unconsciously, I wrapped my legs around him when he drew near. With his last trust he ignored my limits and drove impossibly deep into me. I responded to my pain, and the immense pressure of his release, with a powerful orgasm.

I held him close as I replayed in my mind the most amazing sexual experience in my life. When it seemed that he was getting ready to move, I begged. "Please, not yet."

"No. Now's the time. Trust me." As he pulled from me I felt empty, my body holding a fleeting memory of the pleasure he gave me.

"Sit up, girl." As I did I was aware that I -- that we -- were soiling the couch. He stood before me, his penis dangling dangerously close to my face. "Take it in your hand and rest it on the tip of your tongue."

I did as instructed. "Now take your thumb, press it at the base of my cock, and pull it forward until the rest of my cum is in your mouth." I cherished every moment of this process. It was simply the sexiest thing I had ever done.

"That's good, girl. I like that respect. I'm gonna show you one more thing. Take both hands and wrap them around my cock starting at the base. Do you see that?"

"Yes."

"What do you see?"

"I can barely get them around you, and you're longer than both my hands placed together."

"That's right. Now leave your hands there and pull the rest into your mouth." Staring up at him, with him in my mouth, and my hands wrapped around him, felt amazing. It was somehow perfect.

"Good girl. Don't forget this. You still can't cover it all, and your lips can barely stretch around it. Do you know what that means?"

I didn't, but I didn't break eye contact as I waited for him to tell me.

"It means that you can handle a lot more cock than you're getting anywhere else. Think about that the next time to take your husband into your mouth, or allow him to fuck you. Just remember that."

He pulled from me, quickly dressed, and without a word, left the room. He left me with his taste, with a throbbing below, with a memory that won't fade, and with a simple card that read, "Here's my email address, Brian."

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