The Silent Fuck

I may never experience the pleasure of a plush-carpeted orgy, but I will confess to once having sex in a room with other people in it.

Back in my University years, I had a friend who went to graduate school in the US. One weekend my boyfriend and I picked up her boyfriend for a road trip down there. Being the cheap kids that we were, we of course all shared the same room. Off and on we had separated from each other all weekend. My boyfriend and I found ourselves alone in the room for a while.

What is it about hotels that make one automatically frisky? Is it the novelty? The fact that so many others had had sex in that same room? In that same bed? Countless other naked strangers had found the same allure in that cheap room. Seduced by the talentless artwork and barely tolerable linens.

How many other college girlfriends teasingly rubbed their boyfriends’ cocks through their jeans there? How many sips of cheap wine had induced adolescent girls to strip off their tops and pinch their own nipples temptingly as their boyfriends grew hard in appreciation of the show?

The ghosts of a thousand sexual encounters encouraged us as we lay on the bed half-dressed, his fingers in my panties rubbing my clit while I nibbled on his earlobe and reached to unfasten his belt.

But he stopped me. The thought that the other couple could walk in at any moment didn’t energize him with the same level of dangerous eroticism that it did me. The heightened excitement in the possibility of getting caught that heated my blood and quickened my breath only made him nervous.

We readjusted out clothes, and as it happened, the other couple did walk in a few minutes later. We all watched a movie together then settled down to sleep.

But our previous activities didn’t leave my boyfriend completely untouched. I was content to go to sleep, but he had other ideas. While the thought of being walked in on a few hours earlier turned him off, the thought of fucking me with another couple just a few feet away in the bed next to us seemed to create the opposite reaction.

It suddenly struck me as unfathomable that such a scenario had not occurred thousands of times before. Two couples sharing a hotel room. Two double beds. How could it be possible that not once before in that very room had both couples not simultaneously succumbed to temptation?

That never before had two young girls found themselves mirroring each other in the same sensual movements? How erotic would they find it – to glance over and see another woman straddling her boyfriend the same as her? To begin unconsciously grinding her hips in the same rhythm as the other. To arch their backs at the same moment. To have both men’s cocks thrusting into their wet cunts at the same time, with the same movements.

Would the men find it equally arousing, or would they become competitive? Which one could make their partner moan louder? Orgasm faster? Who could last longer?

Would the girls begin looking at each other differently? Would the sexually charged current in the air cause them to become curious? Would they suddenly long to touch the other’s breasts? Taste each other’s tongues? Pull each other’s hair and bit the other’s nipples?

Of course none of this happened that night. As it became clear to me what my boyfriend had in mind, my only concern was stealth and quiet. I think my partner took perverse pleasure in how hard it was for me to remain silent.

I slung my leg over his, and felt him enter me – his thrusts were hard but short as we attempted to prevent the bed from betraying our movement. I glanced over and whispered that I thought that the other couple’s breathing implied they were asleep. He grew more bold and dirty- thrusting harder and faster while I bit his shoulder in an attempt to release what I couldn’t vocalize.

For all I knew the other couple was doing the same thing in the pitch blackness a few feet away. Perhaps they weren’t asleep at all, both of them with their underwear bunched around their ankles like mine and my partners. Perhaps he was under the covers plunging his fingers in and out of her wet pussy. Maybe he was biting her nipples and rubbing his hard cock against her cunt in equally limited movements like ours, while she clutched the blankets and buried her face against her pillow.

Perhaps her boyfriend was fucking her even as mine was thrusting into me. I know that my encounter was intense but brief. The situation allowed for limited creativity and eventually the need for discretion caused us to finish up quickly.

I wonder how it was for them?

Old Boyfriends…

I dated him when I was 21. He’s the one who liked to watch me masturbate – have I ever mentioned him? A completely different person than I was accustomed to spending time with. I was in university in an honours program. I rarely drank and never gave my family any cause to worry about me. I was surrounded by friends on their way to becoming doctors, lawyers, psychologists and a menu of other white-collar professionals.

His world? Well, the collars in his world were mostly blue. His friends got together in someone’s basement every weekend and drank. No one went to University. When we got together with my friends, his friends called it a “tea and crumpets party.” A comment like that was so surprisingly clever and witty for them that I couldn’t even get offended.

But we got along well. He was proud and encouraging of my education. He actually didn’t drink much and often we left the beer parties early- by his choice.

He didn’t always want sex either. We could sometimes end up going a month between sessions due to scheduling and not being alone and one other curiosity. Occasionally he would simply tell me that he didn’t want sex that night.

Generally this announcement came out of left field, and rarely when I was attempting to initiate any kind of physical activity. It was so odd that the thought never occurred to me to feel hurt or insecure by it. Although in retrospect, that seems like it would be the natural response for a girl that age.

I think it’s because he never gave me reason to doubt that I was sexy. The night we met was at a bar. He told me that we were dancing without even asking. He simply took my hand and stated it like a fact. The thought never occurred to me to say no.

As we swayed together he asked me if I knew the most sensitive part of a woman’s body. I arched my eyebrow and wondered how risqué he was going to be. I ventured a guess at the nape of the neck, but he insisted that it was the earlobe.

I disagreed with him and was shocked to find myself longing for him to demonstrate that he was correct. I was much shyer back then, and stopped myself from asking him to prove it.

New Year’s Eve that year I was staying at his place. It had been a while since we’d had sex and I went all out (or so I felt at the time) with the stockings and little chemise. He was quite entranced and spent a long time stroking my legs through the lace and nylon. It was almost too much for him and the sex was over quickly and he confessed that he nearly came when I emerged in the outfit.

He more than made up for it later though. The second time always lasts much longer and he fucked me hard and raw. So hard and raw that when he tried to initiate more the next day I protested that I was too sore. I was confident that such a statement would be a balm to any bruising that he ego might take at being turned down.

However, he simply smiled and slowly started removing my jeans and underwear. Wanting to be a good sport I complied and mentally decided to make the best of it.

It was unnecessary. He lay me down and proceeded to lick and suck on my clit. At that time of my life I was rather uncomfortable when anyone went down on me, but that day it was precisely what I needed. In very short order he had me moaning and clawing at his belt buckle, demanding that he fuck me.

Such was the pattern of our almost year together. We would have persiouds of no sex at all, and then when we finally did, it was as if al that time made us irresistable to each other. I’ve occasionally wondered if he saved it all up like that on purpose so it would be more phenomenal (and numerous) each time we actually did get together.

Even after we broke up and he married, he still told me how I did it for him more than any other girl. He even asked me for a striptetase once. Perhaps I should have complied….