This is a short one, with just foreplay and lots of conversation.
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We were in a two-bed hotel room. I was tired. What were we both doing again? I could barely remember. And why did I let him tag along again? He's such a cockblock. Such a goody-two-shoes. So harmless. So annoying.
I rolled out of bed in the most unflattering way. I'd always behave so femininely around guys if I'd ever see the potential to fuck. He was different. I wanted to piss him off. It was exhausting to be around him.
I knew I would never fall for the right guy. I didn't want to. I never dreamed of a happy married life and waking up in the arms of a lover. I liked my sex mindless and my relationships cold. His affection suffocated me, poor guy. It was pitiful.
"What am I doing here with you?"
His voice was cold. He looked indifferent, bored. His eyes were sunken. My moroseness was rubbing off on him. I hadn't noticed how much he had changed since the day we met.
"I should be the one asking questions. Why did you tag along this time?"
He shook his head.
"It was you this time. You called me."
I looked him in the eyes. He wasn't bluffing. It felt like a contest to see who'd lose their composure first.
I sighed and fell back into my bed. He sat up instead.
"I called you, and you came running?"
"As I always do."
I was turned on. I stared at the ceiling. I knew I had already made up my mind. I wanted to fuck him. My head hung back from my bed. The sun was rising. It was too early for me to be up. I didn't know why I was up. Maybe it was the lights in the room. We hadn't turned it off. Hotel lighting always gave me the creeps.
I craned my neck to look at him. He wasn't looking at me. He was staring out the window, not blinking. He had grown comfortable around me, no longer a jittery, red-faced fool.
He looked at his watch. He'd probably be leaving for work soon. It outraged me.
"Do you want to fuck?" I asked him for the third time since I had known him.
He had refused the first time, claiming it was too soon. The second time, he was worried. He had tried to comfort me. I had been repulsed by his rejection instead.
"Yes, actually."
It was finally going to happen. We would fuck, and this would come to an end. We would never see each other again. Or maybe I'd give him a call if I were to get too desperate.
I propped myself up on my elbows. I did not let him catch my surprise. But I'm sure he was aware of it.
My nipples were hard. My pussy was wet. I wasn't sure if it was him or if I just needed a good fuck.
We stared at each other for a while. I did not know how to initiate. It felt awkward. I did not feel like putting on a show for him. I waited for him to move, or say something, but he didn't.
I sat up, and started taking my trousers off. I was already in a tank top. I couldn't see where my blouse was. I wondered if he had fantasized about me. He ought to. He was obsessed with me.
I slid my hand inside my panties. I was a little taken back when I realised just how wet I was. Foreplay was not needed.
I knelt on the bed, the way I would if I were alone, just touching myself. It hurt my ego, the thought of asking for his dick. I shoved a finger in myself before realising how much it hurt. My nails were a little too long for it be enjoyable.
I sat on my bed kneeling, with a finger in my pussy, wondering what to do next. I kept looking down at my hand for a tad too long. Looking up at him would mean asking for help. Maybe I could just rub one out while he watched.
"You're too stubborn for your own good. Will you never grow out of it?"
It was humiliating. I didn't look up still.
"You can come fuck yourself on my fingers."
