Buy the Hour

The light of the streetlights penetrated the windows of the Mercedes Benz as it headed out of town and caught the four caret diamond as her left hand rested on her husband's shoulder. She hated the weight and protrusion of the rock when it snagged her silk stockings or banged against the granite of every counter in their house, but she loved how it shone in the right light. And like the shoulder of her husband, sometimes something that well cut and solid was worth the trouble.

She gave him a squeeze, but he was lost in today business meeting or tomorrow's teleconference or next week's deposition. Had she not had a Harvard Degree she might have thought "Mo Money; Mo Problems," but instead she pondered the beginning of their marriage seven years earlier and how at least part of his drive was directed towards her before his practice had taken off. She left her hand on his shoulder but turned her head away towards the window. The rehearsal dinner was at an upscale bed and breakfast outside the city, and they had to cut through the slums before hitting the highway that would take them to the outskirts of civilized society. The classical music was juxtaposing the rawness of the streets as she watched a homeless man with a shopping cart digging for his dinner in a dumpster outside a pizza joint and two men who wouldn't know Beethoven from Bach exchange more than handshakes in an alleyway between a bail bonds shop and a liquor shop. She felt his shoulder tense as the light turned yellow; he hated getting stopped in this part of town. She turned back to give him an understanding smile, but his head was fixed ahead towards their future destination. She turned back in time to see the black Mini Copper stop at the next corner and the woman who approached the driver's side from out of nowhere. Her skirt matched his car, and she had to lean over so far to speak to the driver that it rode up her ass enough to expose a hint of thong from between the fishnet covered cheeks. She might have gotten the four carets but this woman of the night seemed to have a life of freedom and adventure that she immediately envied.

He took off as soon as the light changed green, so she didn't get to see if the woman was going to get into the car or take her client into one of the many dark alleys. She couldn't get the thought of the hooker out of her head, and by the time they had pulled onto the highway her own thong was wet. She had wanted to wear her red sari, but he had suggested she wear something...else. Something more like what the other women at the dinner would be wearing; something to help them fit in to the crowd of people they had never and always met. She wondered what he would have thought of the hot pink mini skirt and fishnets; wondered if that would be enough to make his see past the seven years of marriage, the two kids she had birthed, the last three sexless months.

Her hand had moved absentmindedly from his shoulder to his thigh as she imagined that she was in the car of a man she didn't know, heading to a place she had never been, to get fucked like she had never been fucked before. They had both been virgins when they had married; and their lovemaking had gone from new and awkward to routine and rehearsed far too quickly. Not to say he wasn't an attentive lover; he was. He always touched her until she was wet before entering her, he never went too hard or too fast and he always treated her with the respect and manners one treats a complete stranger. She felt his thigh tighten as he applied the break. "I'm just like this car" she thought. "This car wants to be opened up and driven hard and here he is, putting the brakes on, playing by the rules. He's got the best money can buy and instead of enjoying it, he's riding on auto-pilot." She stole another glance at her silent partner as he made money in his head and closed her eyes to indulge in a fantasy about him using that money to buy her services for the night.

His thoughts of work were interrupted by a single fear. "If she keeps grabbing my leg like that I'm going to bust." He was wearing jeans as it was a Friday night affair and the other men would be wearing jeans that cost more than the dress shirts and Blazers they had paired them with. He shifted in the leather seat; the denim was stiff against his stiffy. How long had it been since...weeks? Months? She was squeezing again. He sneaked a peak and saw her eyes were shut, so he looked longer. Her hair was in a tight up-do, and her body was enclosed in a last season Gucci dress, form fitting but covering everything. He shouldn't have talked her out of the sari; it would have showed more of her skin. A bit of shoulder goes a long way, and her olive brown skin was as smooth as when they married. He smiled at this thought, but then remembered the road and the fact that the sari would have drawn too much attention to her and how uncomfortable that would make her feel with the other women staring and judging.

He was always protecting her, keeping her safe up on her pedestal. Every hour of overtime was devoted to making sure his wife and kids had everything they ever wanted. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, and his platinum wedding band dug into his finger. He tried to remember at what point he had begun to see her as a responsibility. After almost a decade of building a life together, he loved her, but he wasn't really sure if he really enjoyed her. The thought crossed his mind that maybe she didn't really enjoy him either. He brought in the money, but she managed all the finances. She ran their house; scheduling his hours along with the kids. He had come home today and had been about to suggest ordering out when she had reminded him about the dinner tonight as soon as he walked in the door. She had laid out his clothes, but didn't even bother to watch him dress. Apparently it wasn't in the plan to admire the body he spent every lunch hour working on with his personal trainer.

She certainly seemed to be enjoying the feel of his thigh muscles now though. "My wife, the Cock Tease," he thought as his erection filled the tight gap between his leg and the unforgiving jeans. "Just once" he thought as he realized the irony of the fact that their scheduled sex was the only appointment they routinely missed. "Fuck it" he thought as he often did before deciding to drop his carefully planned notes and wing the closing speech. He took his right hand off the wheel and placed it over his wife's and slowly but firmly led it up his leg until their hands were cupping the rigid bulge in his jeans. Her eyes flew open.

The Mercedes Benz was speeding down the highway. With his left hand gripping the wheel at the 12 o'clock position, his right hand was free to slide down the top of her dress and pinch one of her already hard nipples. Her eyes were closed again, but she was moaning as she worked him over his pants. All he could think about was freeing himself from the stiffness of the confining jeans. They had passed a sign for an exit in 2 miles with a Waffle House and a nameless motel. She didn't comment as he hit the turn signal and took the exit. The annoying woman on the GPS was telling him to make U-turn, but he ignored her whining and turned into the parking lot.

She waited in the car as he untucked his shirt to hide his erection before heading into the lobby which was just another room at the end of a long row of single floor efficiencies. Check-in took less than three minutes; he had paid less than the cost of his dry cleaning to rent a room in which to enjoy his wife for an hour. He opened her door and their eyes locked. He grabbed her around the waist as she stood and pulled her in for a kiss. The hand holding the key chain pushed on the back of her head, forcing her mouth into his as his tongue penetrated her lips, but the urgency in his crotch cut it short. No words were said as he led her by the arm to Room 6 which matched the tag attached to the key chain. Opening the door, he allowed her to walk in first. The polite gesture was ruined as he slapped her on the ass as she walked through. She stumbled a bit and went to take the four inch stilettos off as he closed the door, but he removed her hand from the left pump and turned her around to face the bed. Hand on the middle of her upper back, he pushed until she was bent in half with her hands on the coverlet.

She exhaled deeply and trembled a bit and he slid his hands up her thighs, forcing the hem up over her ass. He loved the sight of her dress around her waist; the sight of her black lace thong and matching garter belt made him forget all about the stale cigarette smell that clung to every surface of the room or the 70s decor which came standard in motels that rent by the hour. As small as the strip of fabric was between him and her sweet pussy, the removal of such was a logistical nightmare. A porn star would have put the panties on last for easy removal, but his wife hadn't know she was going to be face down on a cheap motel bed so she had put them on first. He smiled at her ignorance, but it slowly fell into something deeper as he realized she still wore such fineries after this many years of marriage in the hope that one day he would notice her. Not as his wife, or the mother of his children, or his partner and friend, but as his lover. His eyes were opened to his own ignorance, and he decided not to spend one more second in that state of mind.

Before she had time to allow the fear and embarrassment to force her to stand and cover her naked rear, she heard his zipper drop; it seemed to echo through the small room. As time stood still she had a moment to notice the room was abnormally bright for having no lights on. "The curtains are completely open," she thought as a lifetime of operating under the views and opinions of others caused momentary panic. But then she felt him slip a finger between her cheeks and catch the black lace; tugging her waistband halfway down her plump cheeks allowed him to pull the minute crotch off to the side. There was another pause and then he was inside her in one thrust; her mouth gaped wide and she echoed his grunt. Her pre cum had lubed her enough for him to enter, but it was a tight fit. Three more hard thrusts came, and she could feel the rough denim on the back of her thighs. He pulled out suddenly and rubbed his tip up and down her wetness and then plunged back.

He had never done that to her before, but she was enjoying the sensation too much to question where he had learned that trick. A few more minutes pounding and he slowed up as he removed the pins and elastic from the up-do she had spent an hour on. He pulled out yet again and forcing her legs together. His leather loafers were kicked to the side so he could finally discard the hated jeans to the no-pile, stained carpeting. His right leg stepped onto the bed, and he gathered her long black hair in his fist. He entered her pussy slowly which had tightened since her legs were no longer spread apart. His frantic, hard stroked had been replaced with a slow, deep massage of her insides. Her back was arched and her head was pulled back by his grip on her hair. Smack...his free hand made contact with her exposed cheek. She cried out deep inside herself and he started speeding up. Another slap and he was riding her even harder. They were both grunting now in perfect rhythm with the thrusts. With a final slap he released her hair and pulled out.

His dick was visibly throbbing; he looked down to watch it bounce as he caught his breath. He didn't want to come yet; he'd paid for the full hour and he intended to use it. She was also panting in front of him; her body slick with sweat. He dropped to his knees. Since the mattress was a decades old spring variety sans pillow top, it put her holes at mouth level. Her pussy was still gaping from where his cock had been. He grabbed her by the hips and buried his face in her wet cunt. His tongue buried deep inside and he started reaming her as she put her head down and presented her sex to his hungry mouth. Without her Blackberry to tell her what she should be doing or social media to tell her what she should be thinking, she gave into the moment. Her hands became fists around the paisley print of the comforter. Her hips started bucking on his face, and she was making noises she had never made before.

"This is what a woman should smell like," he thought as he went to town on her pussy. He breathed in her salty, sweet scent as he ate her like he was starving. None of the expensive lotions or washes she used on a daily basis could ever compare to this raw, undiluted essence which was covering his face and dick. She was bucking so hard he had to use both his hands to grab her hips, but eventually her legs starting shaking so much she collapsed on the musty coverlet. He reached up and lowered the zipper of her dress and unhooked her bra. Once topless, she flipped over on her back with her head and heaving chest near the foot of the bed, so he moved that way and gave her a long passionate kiss.

Standing put his now half hard erection near her face, so she arched her neck up to put him in her mouth and started sucking. This position left him free to fondle her tits and admire the rest of her form. He surveyed the C-section scar from their second child and the birthmark under her left breast that was shaped like a crescent moon; her body was a living map of their years together. Every inch of her brought back a time and place of things forgotten. Seeing how her neck was craning, he moved her neck to the edge of the bed. This new position took her by surprise and she gaged slightly as his stiffness slid down her throat. He paused as if he were going to pull away so she reached her hand back to grab his tight buttocks and pull him deeper into her.

This invitation was all he needed. His hips started thrusting and grinding with more urgency. Her hips started lifting off the bed every time he gagged her with his rod, but he kept going. She was a strong woman, a fact which he often forgot; and she could take this. He leaned over her form and leaning his weight on one hand, he began assaulting her pussy with his other. Her bent legs opened like a clam in boiling water as he ran his fingers side to side over her clit. Then he stopped and slapped her mount twice. He had thrust deep into her face at the same time and a small steam of piss squirted past the dam and onto the bed spread. A younger couple might have paused in embarrassment, but they had been married too long to be unfamiliar with each other bodily functions. His hand was back rubbing the golden puddle into all the other fluids rushing through her folds.

No longer able to support his whole weight on one hand, he pulled up and worked his slick fingers around her breasts. Every time he tugged on her nipples she moaned around his cock. He could have come then, but chose to take his husbands prerogative and snaked his prick past her throat and lips. Looking down he saw her smeared lipstick and spit covered chin, and something stirred within him. He made his way to the headboard and grabbed her ankles to pull her up to him. She let out a squeal as she slid across the paisley print, but fell silent when she saw the look in his eyes. His whole being was focused on her, from his unwavering stare to the cock he was holding at the base and pointing straight at her. He used his hand to guide his prick straight into her waiting pussy. She was expecting him to lean over her and finish in the missionary style that had always been the extent of their lovemaking, but instead he grabbed her thighs and positioned her ankles at his shoulders. This caused her to slide closer to him and allowed him deeper access as his thrusts made her hips to come up off the bed. The hour was almost up.

As if their bodies could sense this, he started pounding into her while one of her hands slid down to work the button that was the release to her own orgasm. He felt her body tense as she came, her legs locking and her mouth shaped in a silent "oh." Her frozen outsides contrasted against the shuttering and clenching of her insides. Before he had the chance to wonder why this had never happened during their seven years of marriage, the pull of her climax around his cock triggered his own release. A few minutes later their bodies were still save for the heaving of their chests.

He kissed her leg before pulling his now spent manhood out of her slit. She could feel the cum and juices spilling out her hole and down her ass crack. He silently headed for the bathroom as she lay on the stained bed with a satiated smiled. He was back before she could regain thought and helped her stand by the bed while he kneeled before her and cleaned the collective cum now running down her thighs with a warm, wet yet still scratchy hotel washcloth. He kissed her belly and she smiled down at him.

They exited the room hand in hand. She looked like the same woman who had left their house except for the smile on her face and the tousled hair framing it. He held the door open for her as he always did, and she only had to wait a minute for him to return the key until they were heading off to the nights scheduled events.

Back on the highway, they were both thinking about the night's events. Neither was fool enough to think that one incident in a cheap motel would change seven years of practiced monotony, but it was a step towards where they wanted to be. With their work and commitments to the kids they could never afford to behave the way they did tonight on a regular basis, but without conscious effort on both their parts they realized they would soon slip back into their old roles of ignorance and apathy. He hit the gas as he navigated the curvy road, not so much trying to make up for lost time as much as he was trying to enjoy the moment. Their hands squeezed together in a silent promise that even if they could not afford to own the whole life of freedom and enjoyment they could always afford to buy the hour.