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By AimTwoPlease (aimtwoplease@yahoo.com)

It was our first real vacation together, six days driving from Newport Beach to Santa Cruz and back, almost all of it scenic along the Pacific Coast. The official rationale was to visit one of Terry's college friends who was doing graduate work at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo. The unofficial rationale was just to get some private time together -Hotel Sex -thanks to Terry's mother, who agreed to baby-sit Terry's threeyear-old son and let us be a twosome.
Our first experience with Hotel Sex happened six months before, shortly after Terry separated from her husband. Our time together had been fragmented and interruptible. A Saturday night away at a bed-and-breakfast down the coast, planned three weeks prior by the tricky coordination of babysitting and room availability wasn't perturbed by the untimely arrival of Terry's period. I left a twenty-dollar tip for the housekeeper, hoping she wouldn't be too shocked by how we left the bed sheets. We fucked twice that night, twice the next morning. Orgasms seemed to help her cramps.
On this trip our halfway stop was Morro Bay and a Travelodge. First showers and fresh clothes, then fried clams and a shared pitcher for dinner overlooking the water. Finally, shortly after nine, we walked back to the motel, fell into bed, and did what came naturally. Blessed be a quiet room, comfortable bed, and a mother who now doesn't fear being overheard by her three-year old sleeping in the next room.
Terry came once from my mouth, her soft moans rising in tempo and pitch to gasping acknowledgments of a deity. Her pussy ended up sloppy wet and rudely engorged and ready to be fucked. This time she wanted it from the rear, her ass held high, her face pressed against the mattress, her arms outstretched and her hands pressed flat against the headboard to steady herself. Her cunt was an inflamed fiery red of slick folds as I moved up behind her and teased her opening with my stiff cock. Terry murmured noises of frustration and pushed herself back at me, trying to impale herself on me.
I have to say, doggie-style isn't my favorite position. It doesn't give me the eye contact and snugger cunt of Missionary, or the eye contact and freedom for my wandering hands of her being on top. During doggie, a woman's aroused cunt seems more billowing, more spacious, with friction more "grazing" than "gripping". I also have to take more care not to pound against her cervix. And often I feel precariously balanced, unsure whether to hold onto her raised hips and perch upright and thrust carefully, or whether to lean my upper body forward, using my weight to press her body downward toward the mattress, using my hands to fondle breasts or clit as my cock drives into her.
Still, doggie-style gives me that sense of control and domination, of having my lover just simply submitting to my onslaught. Tonight, that is all that Terry seemed to want. To be taken. To be possessed. To be fucked.
I clung onto her hips, assured myself of my aim, and drove forward to bury my cock with one sharp, juicy thrust that made her exhale a throaty grunt. Back out I slid, then slammed in again, even harder this time, causing an even louder squeal. Terry's juices were flowing, pumped out by my sharp upward stabs. I looked down to see my cock shiny. That's another advantage of doggie. It's easier for me to see those big, luscious labia kissing against my shaft, drawing out when I withdraw, tucking in when I stroke inward.
I tried to be slow, but Terry wanted no part of that. "Harder!" she groaned. "Faster!" I found a rhythm and Terry followed, her hands pushing on the headboard to press her hips back to meet mine coming forward. Deep, juicy fuck-noises filled the room, sounds of two aroused bodies slapping together, of a cock relentlessly pistoning in a well lubricated cunt, of a woman and her animal sounds that emerged from deep in her chest, of a man grunting with his efforts and his pleasure.
"Gonna come," I groaned my warning.
"Do it!" she hissed. Her cunt blossomed its readiness, clutching wetly around my cock with the thinnest of grips at its entrance, and I stabbed into her with angled variations to eke out the final friction I needed.
And then I was there. I drove forward, my cock a steel pole of flesh that burrowed as deep as humanly possible and then strained to get deeper. Terry's legs straightened, collapsing her body to the bed in total, complete submission. My hands slid up her back and around momentarily to her breasts, then moved higher, one palm on the tip of each shoulder. I held her tight in that state of paralyzed pure pleasure, my woman, mine.
The first long spurt began my release. I groaned, loudly, and Terry's body stiffened in her own orgasm and she cried out in an echo. I only held her tighter against my body. My second spurt was almost as long as the first. I tried to bury myself deeper into her cunt. Terry cried out again. Before the third spurt, my hips began to thrust again. Her cunt was creamier, smoother, snugger from this lower angle. Each shuddering ejaculation was preceded by a straining inward push, an instinctive urge to nestle my spitting cockhead next to her cervix. We were both straining and stretching against the other, both moaning, both equally noisy. Both far from satiated.
Hotel Sex. There's really nothing quite like it.