So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie)

I knew it was a bad idea as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. Of course, I’d known all along that it was a bad idea. But now I knew for sure that it was a really bad idea.

There was only one other car in the parking lot, and it was not a baby blue Honda. There was a couple sitting inside it, and while it was unclear to me just what they were doing in there, I was reasonably sure it was nothing wholesome.

He texted me to let me know he was running late. I was still a little early. I was brought up to believe that ten minutes early was ‘right on time’.

It was called the Lenape Queen Hotel, but the big nicotine-yellow sign out front only said ‘Hotel’, and sported a softball-sized hole in the lower left corner through which you could see bare fluorescent tubes.

I checked the contents of my purse: condoms, lube, breath mints, Ativan, vibrator, bear spray. Set? All set. I stepped out into the night, the parking lot glittering with the reflected, refracted light of a million shards of broken glass.

The front desk girl at the Lenape Queen Hotel had her tooth pierced. Two of them, actually. Both her front teeth were conjoined with a narrow gauge steel loop with something that looked like a diamond but certainly was not, hanging from the ring on a short chain. There’s not a lot that will make me step back and say ‘Whoa’, but that did the trick.

She had full Egyptian cat eye makeup with huge eyelashes, pink hair, all black clothes, slasher pink lipstick. Her earrings were also remarkable, they were a character from horror films, like the Demigorgon or something from Dead by Daylight.

She gave me the key to room 237, and up I went. When I locked the door, I felt like the people outside were safer than I was. I didn’t dare check under the bed.

Nobody had broken into my car yet, and there was still no light blue Honda in the parking lot, although the couple who were ‘sitting’ in the car next to mine were still there. It was nine o’clock.

The couple in the room next door were arguing shrilly. I turned on the TV, it was boys high school wrestling. I sat by the window, at my double cheeseburger from Wendy’s, and drank a complimentary water. I didn’t change the channel, not because there was nothing else on; but because I’m a pervert.

I turned up the volume of the TV, but that didn’t drown out the antics from the next room. It was unclear to me whether those ‘antics’ were consensual or not. From somewhere nearby, the acrid scent of crystal meth seeped into my room. I pulled back the comforter. There were cigarette burns on the sheets.

The woman next door was now getting either vigorously murdered, or fucked, or both. I looked out the window. My car was still intact. No new messages on my phone. I decided to cut my losses and check out.

Mouthful of Metal at the front desk accepted my key back without comment or apparent interest. Her pupils were pin pricks, and Dr. Phil chattered mutely on the TV set in the lobby.

No blue Hondas pulled in as I traversed the parking lot, past the smoke-filled sedan, and into the safety of my own vehicle. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed a lonely aria.

Disappointment has a bitter aftertaste. I had really been looking forward to getting some illicit dick tonight. As I navigated unlit, unfamiliar secondary roads, I fumbled with my cell phone and dialed Ali.

Ali is a taxi driver, and one of the most beautiful male persons I have ever met. He is slender, lithe as a willow, with dark skin that is almost translucent, eyes like a doe, soft and brown, and a mop of soft black hair. His dick is perfect in every way, and tastes of Persian spice.

He loves getting his dick sucked, which works out pretty well, because I love sucking it. The first time I saw his cock, I thought it was shaved bare, but it turns out that cock and balls have an almost invisible pelt of very soft, fine, well-coiffed black hair.

Ali’s cock is the absolute perfect size for fucking, but I will never find out, because he considers fucking, or in fact any kind of reciprocation, adultery. I am, however, welcome to suck him off whenever the opportunity arises, and when I’m on my knees with a mouth full of Ali’s dick, listening to the moans I am making him make, playing with his balls  tickling his tight little anus, I am a very happy girl indeed.

His phone rang six times, and then a woman answered. His wife. I hung up, and concentrated on navigation.

One time Ali and a friend of his got a hotel room together, a lot closer to home. His friend really wanted to fuck me up the ass, and I was quite willing. Slightly less enthusiastic when I saw the size of friend’s monster cock, but I was still willing to give it a go.

I played with Ali’s dick while his friend played with my butt. His tongue felt absolutely amazing, and his slippery fingers felt nice too, as he probed my ass. I could have used a little attention paid to my clit and/or cunt, but I certainly wasn’t complaining, and I was thoroughly enjoying licking Ali’s beautiful erection, and the look of pleasure on his face: watching me getting my ass eaten out really turned his crank. And mine too, for that matter.

Actual penetration, however, was just not happening. Even drenched in lube, even after two or three fingers up my ass as a warm-up, that thing was not going in. The trying felt really nice, I gotta say, feeling that monster log bumping urgently up against my anus like a baseball bat, doing the slippery slide between my butt cheeks, up and down my ass crack, that made me gurgle with pleasure. It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying, I was grinding back against him just as hard as he was attempting to spear me, but it wouldn’t even start to go in.

I wouldn’t have been opposed to giving my cunt a chance to try, although I was a little dubious on that front as well, but apparently Ali’s friend had ethical qualms about fucking vaginas that didn’t belong to his wife. So I ended up giving him an old-fashioned white trash titty fuck, and had the pleasure of him coming all over my neck and chin, while Ali jerked off into my open mouth. And that, my friends, was the closest I have ever come to a bona fide threesome.

At last I saw a sign for the Turnpike. God Damn. Navigating the onramp one-handed and distracted, I sent a quick text to my friend Lisa in Minnesota: “Hi”.

I didn’t really expect to hear back, and I didn’t. Lisa and I had been friends in college, nigh onto twenty years ago, and had reconnected through Facebook, and six months ago we had a brief but extremely torrid sexting affair. Admittedly, I had done most of the heavy lifting, but she had engaged just enough to keep me interested, and to let me know that she was into it. I spent many happy hours on my phone, typing with sticky, slippery fingers, telling her in great detail all the things I had wanted to do to her in college, and a few that I didn’t even know about at the time. I told her how I had jealously lusted after her breasts from the first time I saw her, and how I always used to barge into her dorm room in the hopes of catching her in her underwear. I confessed that I had always wanted to join her in the semi-public dorm shower. I told her how I had fantasized about sneaking into her dorm room at night and joining her in the bunkbed beneath her oblivious, sleeping roomie. I told her how I masturbated at night, dreaming of licking her pussy, licking her clit, licking her asshole. I told her that I imagined sucking her tits, with two fingers in her cunt and two in her ass, feeling her shake and listening to her moan as I made her come. I told her my fantasy about fucking her, deep and hard, by moonlight in the middle of the quadrangle. I told her how I wanted to pull out her tampon with my teeth, taste her period blood, how I wanted her to grind her swollen, menstrual cunt all over my face until she orgasmed all over me. I confided in her how I wished I could suck fresh semen out of her cunt, her mouth, her asshole. I told her how I wanted her to piss into my mouth, and I would kiss it back to her, our wet tits pressed together like a foursome of slippery otters.

At some point I must have taken it too far, because she mostly stopped answering my texts. Not completely though, because occasionally I got a ‘hey’ or a ‘hi there sexy’ back, and that was enough for me to keep on trying.

On the Thruway, I pulled down my jeans and set the cruise control for 74mph. I probably should have done that in the opposite order, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight at this point. In any event, my car found its lane, and as the road was straight and there was not traffic, I was able to shimmy out of my one and only pair of sexy black lace panties that I had worn special for the night’s festivities.

I fished the vibrator out of my bag. I had plenty of joy juice going on, so I didn’t need to apply lube, which was good, because that was one less complication that might well end up in a fiery heap of twisted metal on the side of the highway. I held the steering wheel between my knees, and pressed the buzzing toy up against my swollen clit, half closing my eyes, and moaning into the night.

There is something about a moving car, a running engine, that seriously turns my crank. I had jerked off to the idea of me and Lisa doing a 69 in the driver’s seat while doing 85 down the freeway, a fantasy that ain’t happening until I can afford a Tesla. Or, upon reflection, probably not at all. I had once sucked Ali off while he was driving his taxi in heavy city traffic, but while enjoyable, it really wasn’t really the same rush at all. Perhaps, however, he’d be willing to drive while I 69’d some willing individual next to him in the passenger seat; now there was an idea worth exploring.

The night was pitch black except for the occasional glare of oncoming headlights. My clit felt ready to explode. Maintaining enough concentration on driving with my knees while keeping the business end of the toy right on my clit, all without swerving into the guardrail and crashing and dying was a huge component of the thrill.

I flipped down the vanity mirror, further obstructing my view of the road, and adjusted it so I could see my own cunt. The labia were purple and swollen, pouting out like a rosebud. I pulled back the hood, exposing my engorged clitoris. Everything gleamed with slippery wetness. I tugged my lips wide open, until I could see all the way up the entrance of my own vagina. I don’t know about the rest of me, but my pussy is extremely pretty. I should have been a fucking porn star.

I blew past a speed trap, but I either wasn’t driving fast enough or erratically enough to catch the trooper’s attention, thus avoiding possibly the most embarrassing traffic ticket in history: “…and, er, what seems to be the problem, officer?”

Still I couldn’t quite push myself over the edge, not without shutting my eyes and humping my hips and completely losing control of the vehicle, so I dangled on the precipice of orgasm for fifteen or twenty pleasure-filled miles.

My cunt was famished though. Digging with one hand through the random junk in the console bin between the seats, I came up with a pair of candy canes left over from Christmas. How jolly! They were still shrink-wrapped, thank goodness, no yeast infections for me, though truth be told in my current state I would have jammed their naked sugary goodness straight up my twat anyway, consequences be damned.

In any event, the festive and hygienically sealed sugar sticks slipped easily up my cunt, and my pussy purred with pleasure. With my left hand I fucked myself, my right hand buzzed away at my clit, my knees somehow kept us on the road, and that combination was just enough to trigger the most intense, screaming, blinding, earth-shattering orgasm I had had in a long time!

I settled down and got my hands on the wheel just in time to swerve violently and make my exit. The driver’s seat was soaked through, but honestly I liked that it was stained with my pussy juice, and next time I drove my car, I would stop and sniff it before I got in, and that would get me turned on all over again. I didn’t bother pulling up my pants until I had pulled into the driveway and come to a complete stop.

I could hear my husband’s irregular gurgling snore as soon as I entered the house. I took a quick half-shower, popped an Ativan, and a couple Benadryl too for good measure, and slipped into bed next to him. The snoring paused, he grunted contentedly, and squeezed me with one hefty arm, kissing me clumsily on the forehead. I rolled over, closed my eyes, and let sleep wash over me like a rising tide.

END