Only there

She has this archetypical business-woman-in-her-mid-thirties-married-with-kids look, with the impeccable clothes she wears, the heavy make-up, the many shoes that she doesn't ever seem to repeat, the quick fucks with me at lunch time, while her kids are still in school and her husband is either working or fucking his secretary--probably working, I guess, though I have never met him and I hope I never will.

She is as ready as always, her ass swaying in the air, her head buried on the pillow, the hands ready to claw the sheets, as I lubricate her asshole. I have tried to take her elsewhere, a normal fuck for a change, but she won't. Since the first time, when I found her getting something at the storage room--God knows what, now that I think about it, because she is not the sort of person you expect to see in a storage room, or even to know where the storage room is--and we found ourselves in one of those awkward moments, which are almost sexual, but limited by the social conventions. I didn't mind, I got closer to her, we chatted and finally, I'm not sure why or how, though I wish I did, she was bending over while I put a condom on, and I heard for the first time the “do my ass” phrase that I now have grown used to. Since then, all it takes is a side glance and I'll follow her to wherever she wants to do it, lately this hotel that could as well be rented by the hour. She takes her clothes off, carefully to avoid wrinkles, all of them to avoid stains, then bends over and says the phrase again, and asks me to be rough. Well, I don't complain much, these quick escapades are better than nothing, and I am smarter than asking why. I don't know if her husband doesn't like doing this, or any sex at all, or--well, my guess is that she does this to feel a sort of guilt, to punish herself for the pleasure she gets at the same time.

Whatever, I'm no psychiatrist, I'm just an intern. Yeah, scream, bitch.