Nothing was going to surprise him at this point. And it's not like he could really be over modest, after everything she'd just shown him.
He slid his swimsuit down to his upper thighs. There was his member. Fully extended. In the course of all the tattoo viewing, he'd completely lost any and all thought of trying to control matters.
"Oh my god! Mm, mm mm! You wanna see what a long, intense, squirting female orgasm feels like to your bare penis shoved all the way in to the hilt?"
"Oh my god. You bet I do."
He was careful with his smile and his body language, he wasn't just slapping fun at her, he genuinely meant every word. She smiled, and without ever breaking eye contact, pulled her bottoms off her ankles and tossed them away, moved over to the nightstand, used the remote to turned the TV on nice and loud and put a rag in her mouth.
Yeah. A rag. Which just happened to be sitting handy.
He did suffer yet another very brief involuntary pause, at that point. This girl was just full of surprises. Apparently if it hadn't been him, to happen along and stand in the shower out by the pool, it would definitely have been someone else. He supposed that conclusion was one he might've reached some time before that point. He supposed he had, but hadn't been as accutely conscious of it.
He wondered at his lucky stars, as he slid his bathing suit the rest of the way off, dried himself a little more with the towel, and sat back down on the edge of the bed. She once again stood on her knees in the middle of the bed, facing him, slathered some kind of lubricant or something around and then into her glory hole, spread her legs a little more and fingered herself to the edge of climax in the space of about 20 seconds, and then in one smooth, surging motion, moved to him, shoved him on his back, straddled him, slid herself luxuriously all the way down over him, and squeezed the entire length of him in a vice-like grip for a moment as a few little preliminary drops of gizm came out of her. Then she eased her grip just a little and started going for it hard.
They say a certain percentage of women can't climax during intercourse. She wasn't one of them. The TV and the rag turned out to be very good ideas. Without them, he wasn't sure but what they'd have been hearing her down at the lobby desk. Maybe even the teens out at the pool would've heard. If there were any doubt about the authenticity of it all, her spastic, vibrating contractions and the squirting gizm flowing out around his penis in gushing pulses that came in ragged counterpoint with her gasping, breathless yelling, completely eliminated it. The sensation was indeed quite an experience to behold. It was nothing like anything he'd ever felt or imagined.
By the time she was done showing it to him, he'd long since finished showing her what his own incredibly intense squirting orgasm felt like to the parts of her that were involved, but he was pretty sure she hadn't noticed. Or if she had, she'd pretty much taken it entirely for granted.
She was showing him something else that was news to him - it was possible for him to still be hard even after cumming his guts out. She was so hot, so luscious, that his dick just wouldn't quit, with her exquisite naked form right there with him, doing all that she was doing. She wasn't showing any sign of thinking anything was out of the ordinary. He shook his head in amazement. Maybe she thought that's just how penises always were.
She herself seemed to have limitless vitality. Without saying a word, she shifted positions, and went for it again, and then quite a few more times after that. He lost count in the frenzy. The passing positions afforded his hands all kinds of access to every part of her body. They went all over it, practically of their own accord. Her full, preternaturally soft, luscious breasts, with their periodically stiffening nipples were like heaven, as was her neck, thighs and rear. At one point, when she was on her hands and knees, and he was going after it from behind, she grabbed his hand and held it firm on her vagina as she gasped and yelled into the rag and gushed gizm through his fingers. Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. It was like holding your hand over a little broken sprinkler on a hot summer day.
When he was having his own fourth or fifth pulse pounding orgasm (which he also hadn't known was possible), the room had started to darken around the edges of his vision. He felt momentarily dizzy and his body went involuntarily limp for a few seconds, as though he were in the process of passing out. Fortunately, he was back on his back at that point. She'd put him there, seemingly knowing that his body was about give out, but unwilling to pause for a rest.
When she'd finally had her fill (or at least all she thought she'd be able to get out of him, anyway) she wiped up what she could of their combined fluid mess with the rag, shut the TV off with the remote, then got off the bed and quickly went to pull on some clothes.
Even after all that had just happened, he still strained to catch one last glimpse of her glorious naked body before it got covered up. As if reading his mind, she mercifully (or had it been merciless?) faced him, showing him everything, briefly, as she dressed. He half grunted, half moaned, under his breath, as a final little squeeze of semen spilled and then dripped out of him, unbidden, onto the bed beside him, like the last vestiges of warm milk from a tumped over glass that was basically empty.
She grabbed a wide bristled brush and started in on her hair with it while walking to the hallway door. Reluctantly taking his cue, he pulled his swim trunks back on and picked up his towel. She beckoned him to the door, opened it for him, pressed herself against him for a hot second and gave him another quick kiss.
"I have to call my friend, we're supposed to go to a party tonight and we need to get ready. It was so nice meeting you! Thanks for letting me show you that stuff. We'll have to hook up again! Definitely! Bye!"
He stared, slack jawed, at the closed hotel room door for a moment. No phone number, no name, nothing. He tried to remember the name and the state that had been on her driver's license, but it eluded him. It hadn't been a priority at the time, but apparently there wasn't even going to be a string bikini attached to this little episode. Horny teen chick makes a quick, random, fly by booty call with a complete stranger and rushes off to rejoin the rest of her life. He marveled at the oh-so-smooth way he'd been handled. She'd known from the moment he saw her in the pool that he hadn't stood a chance. Neither to resist her, nor to hold her interest. His "penis" had been a briefly borrowed tool, chosen solely for its convenience.
The elevator had a curious key sticking out, under the array of round, off-white floor buttons surrounded by thin silvery metal plating. He wondered, idly, if it could be used to stop it between floors. He toyed with the idea of testing that theory, and maybe sticking around for another day or two. Maybe if he played his cards right, he'd get lucky again, and have an even more brief and intense encounter with the girl up against that elevator wall.
He laughed and shook his head in wonder once again, imagining how it might go.
"Oh hi! How was the party? ... Hey come in here for a second, just you, I wanna show you something. ... Check this out, you can stop the elevator between floors with this key! ... Say, have you ever seen silk boxers? Wanna see what they feel like to your bare inner thigh? ... Hey, could I see that little honey bee again? ... Have you ever tried wiping you vagina with one of these disinfecting towelettes? ... Wanna feel what my licking tongue feels like on your clitoris? ... Have you ever done it up against an elevator wall? Me either. Shall we see what it's like?"
But the yelling. What would they do about that gasping yelling of hers? No one could mistake that for anything other than what it was. A rag by itself would not be nearly sufficient, in the elevator, to prevent the world outside from being made aware of their activity. And, as he thought of it, he knew that when the second or third climax she would give him took him, there was no way he'd be able to stay standing. He knew very well what climaxing into her that third time would be like for him. His legs would fold right under him like so much spaghetti. She'd be standing over him, straddling and dripping down on his fallen form, and there he'd be, writhing on the elevator floor like a stoned epileptic, spewing what remained of his goo.
Anyway, who was he kidding? She clearly wasn't planning on anything more with him. And the practically debilitating pain in his groin from what she'd already put him through wasn't going to let him do anything sexual for at least a couple of weeks, and there was no way either of them would still be there by then.
No, there was nothing for it but to go ahead and take the taxi to the airport. Leaving behind even the non-prospect of further encounters with the incredible girl felt like jumping off a cliff, but it had to happen eventually, so when the time came, he took a breath, stole himself, got out of the lobby chair and headed for the taxi.
He tipped his hat to the travelling professional, who, looking not too unlike himself two days prior, stepped out of it. He thought idly about clueing the guy in to the presence of the unbelievably adventurous teen, but he didn't even have a picture to show the man.
He let out a breath as he sat down in the rear passenger seat, and tried, unsuccessfully, to set tempestuously torrid thoughts aside. Those breasts! Oh my god, thoses heavenly breasts. At one point, she'd shown him how to find some kind of special spot she had inside her vagina, with his middle and index fingers, and he'd rested his face on her chest between her breasts as she clenched one breast with one hand and the bed with the other and humped his fingers and yelled and squirted. How many times could that girl squirt? She'd seemed to have a limitless supply. He hadn't even known that women could squirt at all! He'd thought it was just a silly, fake, Internet thing.
As the miles clicked by, a heavy, claustrophobic feeling crept in and laid itself over and around him like a wet sleeping bag on a warm, muggy day. It wrapped itself around his head and neck and threatened to strangle him as the voice of his aunt with her misunderstood and unheeded warning finally connected, and he realized the scale of his predicament:
