It Happened at a Desert Hotel

It Happened at a Desert Hotel

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


They stopped at a desert hotel to escape the heat and found another kind of heat. . .


They stopped at a desert hotel to escape the heat and found another kind of heat. . .

Chapter1 (v.1) - In the bar

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 11, 2016

Reads: 2027

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 11, 2016



I was pretty pissed off to be honest. Here we were stuck in the middle of freaking nowhere at this dump of a hotel. We never stay in places like that. My husband is an executive for Christ’s sake. But it was the only place for miles that had air-conditioning and cable TV. At least there was a pool. Not that I brought my swimsuit. My husband just had to stop, that’s all. He was sick as hell, and he just wanted to get off the road. I guess I could have driven, but that wouldn’t have helped him any, so we just bit the bullet.


The room was decent enough, I guess. But I just couldn’t stay in there. First of all, I can’t stand vomiting. I wish I could handle it, but I just can’t. People tell me when you get to be a mother, that all changes. Well, I’m not there yet. So, I had to make an exit. My hubby didn’t mind, really. He just wanted to be left alone.


“I’m sorry, babe. You’re just gonna have to find something for yourself. Maybe they have something down in the lobby,” he suggested.


I gave the matter some thought. Nothing for miles but cactus, desert sand, blacktop, and buzzards. Yep, the lobby.


“So, honey, do you mind if I go sit at the bar?” That was a totally innocent question on my part.


“No, babe, do what you like. I’m really sorry. I just can’t leave the room. Just be careful, OK?”


I trotted down two flights of stairs into the meet and greet section – check in, chairs, plants, swinging doors, total calamity. Bar to the right. Check. Here we go. Well, it’s small, it’s empty, and it’s early. There appears to be alcohol on the shelves. Let’s have a seat…maybe up here on a stool by the bar, so I can watch some TV. Football. Lots of tight ends. Nice.


“What will you have, Miss?”


“Whiskey Sour.”


“Whiskey Sour coming up…”


This is the kind of place that the more you drink, the more it grows on you. Well, at least that was what I was thinking, anyway. I put one drink down in a hurry and ordered up a second. I took another sip. It was about that time when this guy came waltzing through the door…very cute, kind of quiet, unassuming, and inappropriately well dressed. He plopped his ass down right next to me and ordered up a ice tea, sweet. He glanced over at me. He took a sip. He glanced over again.


“Megan,” I mumbled, almost under my breath. I couldn’t believe I actually did that, but the alcohol was already dimming my brake lights.


“I’m sorry?” He inquired, entirely too eloquently for the region or circumstance.


“Megan,” I repeated, turning to look right into his beautiful browns. “You were going to ask.”


He smiled, flashing those pearly whites, almost blinding me off my perch. I couldn’t help but smile back with a giggle. “Sorry, not trying to be forward….just saw you looking over, that’s all.” He kept his eyes on me, pausing intensely and holding that sexy grin intact.


“Derek,” he responded calmly, reaching his hand over for a quick shake. I softly placed mine in his palm, feeling his heat.


“Nice to meet you, Derek.” I made a point of letting my eyes travel up and down his frame. Even though he was in a coat and tie, I could tell he had an athletic build. He was significantly older than me, my guess was early 40’s, but all the same very attractive. I have a thing for older guys, ones with experience. Of course, the whole thing was just flirting. I wasn’t available. By the look of his finger, neither was he. We both had on our rings. Derek took a sip of tea, his gaze never drifting, steadily fixed on my face.


“So, Derek, are you alone or did you bring the whole family to the resort?”


He spewed his drink half way across the bar, coughing and wheezing. I patted him on the back symbolically, only giggling when I realized he was finally alright. By then, we were both laughing and leaning into each other. The tension, what little I could feel over the whiskey induced numbness, had completely subsided.


“I left the family back at the Ponderosa.”


“You don’t look like a cowboy,” I interrupted. “More like a lawyer or something.”


“Maybe something,” he replied with the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen. “And how about you? I see you’re married. Where is your other half? Or is this some sort of lady’s night out?”


“I guess it is of sorts,” I managed. “My husband is sick upstairs, so I’m letting him sleep it off. Ordinarily we don’t stop at places like this – not to suggest it’s all that bad…” I caught myself, realizing he might be a regular, though somehow I doubted it.


“I know what you’re saying.” Derek loosened his tie and took a quick look at his phone.


“You don’t really look like you belong here either,” I mentioned, hoping his Ponderosa was somewhere in the next galaxy.


“Yea, first time for me here as well. A lot to take in, though, don’t you think?”


“Oh, definitely.” I smiled, rim on the verge of my lips. “So, designated driving tonight? I mean the ice tea…” I pointed with my eyes. “You’re a southern gentleman perhaps?”


“Perhaps – I actually don’t drink.” Derrick seemed preoccupied with a text, which momentarily detracted from his charm. “Sorry,” he said, clicking and dropping his phone in his jacket. “I had to check in.”


“With the wife?” Derek nodded with a smile. “That’s so sweet,” I admitted compassionately. “You’re just a regular choir boy aren’t you…although I don’t detect much of a southern accent.”


“You certainly have one,” he noted, drifting his glass towards his cute little mouth and intentionally ignoring my less than direct inquiry.


“Does it bother you?”


“No, I rather like it. I have southern roots. But, I’ve been traveling most of my life. Still, I do like southern girls. I find the accent very sexy.”


“Oh?” I shifted on my stool, my black spandex skirt riding up my creamy thighs. How I wished I had made a few more trips to the tanning bed before the trip. Then I caught myself. Why should I even care? But, a girl always likes to look her best. It’s nice to be desired and desirable, even if you’re not on the market.


Derek gave my legs a quick glance and suggested we move to a table in the corner, well away from the incoming activity. “Don’t you want to watch the game?” I asked curiously, as we grabbed our glasses and strolled through the building crowd.


“No, I don’t care for professional football.” Derek took the seat with his back to the bar. I sat with my back to the corner, about as isolated as we could get given the floor arrangement. I crossed my legs, my sandal dangling from my hanging foot, toes sparkling with a fresh coat of cherry-licious toenail polish.


“Let’s see. You don’t drink. You don’t watch football. You’re happily married, and you sing in a choir. So, how is it you ended up on a bar stool next to me up there?”


Derek settled into his chair, leaning back ostentatiously, hands behind his head. “I don’t sing in a choir.” He cocked his head to the side and raised one eyebrow. “Do you?”


For the first time, I felt a bit uncomfortable. Derek seemed almost overly confident. Maybe it was the new seating. “I was just trying to be funny.” I adjusted my position, pulling slightly on my skirt to cover myself.


“No need for modesty,” his hand reaching under the table to rest on my knee. Derek leaned in. “You didn’t answer the question.”


“The question…” I was so rattled, I couldn’t remember. “Oh, singing. No, not in a choir. Maybe Karaoke on Saturday night.” Derek’s hand began to massage my knee. I couldn’t decide what to do. Should I put my hand over his? Should I try to brush him off? Something about him suddenly had me uneasy.


Before I could completely consider my options, his hand began to move, sliding up my thigh as he edged even closer. His beautiful face was nearly next to mine, and the scent of his cologne was intoxicating. I love a man who smells good. “I’m sure you’re quite amazing at that.”


“At what?” I stammered. I was totally losing it.


“Singing Karaoke,” Derek calmly replied, his hand continuing to search its way up under my skirt. I could feel his breath against my cheek as he pulled his chair forward. “You seem nervous.”


“Derek, I don’t…”


“You don’t what?” He interrupted, although almost politely. “You don’t like me?”


“No, I really like you….I mean I really, really like you, Derek. But I thought…”


“You thought I was happily married and sang in a choir.” Derek’s advance had finally reached pay dirt. I could feel his fingers against the tiny triangle of my silky nylon thong. My awkwardly moist condition didn’t disappoint, and his expression was one of satisfaction. Victory.


I leaned over the table with my hand on his forearm. “Derek, we’re in public,” I panted, gasping intermittently as he continued his assault. He had no trouble at all locating my very swollen clit, and circled it with his fingertip as he examined the degree of my drench. I made every attempt not to scream, but the slightest groan escaped my mouth. Judging by Derek’s expression, it must have been musical.


“I know where we are…and I know you like what I’m doing, Megan. I can feel it. I can feel how sopping wet you are. I can see it in your face…how much you want this.” I couldn’t deny any of it.


“Derek, we shouldn’t be doing this.”


“Doing what?” He mocked. “Doing this?” He swept my nylon barrier aside with his trigger finger, then buried his middle one deep into my hidden passage.


“Jesus, Derek!” I couldn’t hold back the words or even the lascivious leap that I took out of my chair, slamming my leg up under the table. I didn’t look around. I couldn’t. I buried my head into the cusp of my arm as I flexed in agonizing ecstasy. All I could imagine was a room full of people focused on me, drink in hand, delirious at the site of my incapacitation.


“You didn’t cum did you?”


“On God…no, not yet, Derek…” I groaned, grimacing and writhing in my chair, draped over the tiny circular table. “Please don’t make me…”


“Oh, but you must!” Derek explained, his quiet voice so completely self assured. “Everybody needs to see it. I need to see it. I need to hear it. I want to feel it…feel you gurgling and gushing in my palm.”


“Damn it, Derek….” my head still buried, my legs quivering with anticipation and every ounce of energy I so unsuccessfully mustered to close them. “You better not make me…..FUUUUCCCCK!” As if on cue, he plowed yet another digit into my miniature opening, his thumb firmly planted on my hood, massaging and penetrating, pulling and pushing, twisting and grinding.


I stretched my hands out across the table, grasping the ledges, somehow avoiding knocking off the glasses. Grabbing a handful of my long brown mane, Derek forced my face into his shoulder where my screaming could be more successfully muffled, then proceeded to ravage my pussy raw – fingers raking and rotating like a turbine.


So strong he was that he lifted me by the crotch from my seat with one hand and suspended my ass in mid air, hovering over his lap. My arms curved naturally around his shoulders, face buried into the sweet scent of his neck. I could hear the applause in the background, the cat calls and whistles. With his other hand, he wiggled my skirt up over my hips until it bundled like a long black rope around my waste, leaving my butt completely exposed with its little string creasing between the cheeks, up my crack."


I couldn’t even speak. He had found my G-Spot, maybe by accident, but I doubt it. He had found it, and he was working it. Everyone there was going to watch me explode. It was going to be messy. But I was beyond caring.


“Let it go, Megan.” His voice was soft and innocent, just as he appeared so many minutes ago when he waltzed through the door. “Let it go, baby.” He was licking my ear and fisting my hair. Of course I would let it go…like a river. Of course I would do whatever he wanted. Of course.


In an instant it was happening, and the world went deaf. I heard nothing. I felt everything. My body into orbit, totally outside myself, I was flailing in muscular spasms and convulsions…chaos. My hair whipped back and forth, slapping against my back, then over his shoulder in utter disarray. My cunt splattered against his hand, his fingers still buried to the hilt inside. It all came thundering down in torrential downpour, rain on painted tile.


Derek threw me over his shoulder and carried me out…out of the bar, out of the lobby…my ass still shining white as a strobe light in the middle of the dance floor. “Where are you taking me?” I can barely remember asking.


“Up to my room, sweet, slutty Megan.”




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