"He's leaving now"

"Yep," I answered, watching the Senator myself as he strode briskly out of the hotel, making an unobtrusive early-morning getaway, "And I'm coming in."

Room 113 was on a long curving hall just to the left of the main entrance. Nobody gave me a second glance when I turned the corner. Just act like you belong where you are and nobody ever will.

Even at seven in the morning there were two housekeepers trolling the halls, but they just nodded, said "good morning," and kept on walking. That I was knocking on a room door at that hour didn't phase them in the slightest. Fortunately they were out of sight around the curve when Stacey answered the door naked, though that might not have phased them either.

It flustered me though. Always does. Especially when she looks likes she's just come and yet still needs more. Remembering that the hall probably wasn't the best place to be standing right that second I recomposed myself and slid inside, locking the door carefully behind me.

The room was a trip. Almost as much a trip as Stacey. All hard black marble, giant mirrors, sensuous curves and dramatic angles. There was something incredibly appropriate about it, a reflection of her hard-ass, two men the same morning, "fuck me" side.

But she wasn't giving me much of an opportunity to admire the room or consider the spiritual confluences of the architecture and our sex lives. Her hands were on my belt buckle, and then my zipper, as she leaned into me needing to be kissed as much as I needed to kiss her.

Since there was nothing to take off her I just grabbed her by the ass and pulled her in, our mouths open wide, no need for preliminaries. She was hot and ready to be fucked hard, and the mirror-surrounded bed was right behind her. I guided her over to it, threw her back on to it and finished undressing myself as I watched her watch me, her hands on her clit and her nipples, rubbing and pinching herself violently, daring me to hurry up and take her.

I was only too happy to oblige, to make up for the Senator's need for legally exact plausible deniability, to mount her as she needed to be mounted, to fuck her as she needed to be fucked, to supply her with all the cock and all the me she desperately craved inside her.

In a minute I was slipping on a condom, kneeling over her between her legs, watching her grab my cock and pull me down into her. She was tight and warm and pulsing and ready and I held there, above her, not wanting that incredible moment of penetration to ever end.

But all good things as I have since learned, end, and I plunged unknowing into her, hips forward, holding, holding, and back, holding again, teasing her, then in and out in rapid succession, plunging, bucking, pounding, fucking her for all she was worth, faster and harder as she moved beneath me mewing in the ecstasy of delayed and transferred gratification.

Usually she is in the moment, with me, eyes locked, but I know where she is, that I am merely serving the role I normally play with my wife, the body double for the real object of desire and this once, just this once, it is all completely, completely coming, completely her coming, completely my coming, yes, yes, yes, yes completely, completely, OK.