Pennsylvania


We stop in PA, at a motel where a clerk takes my credit card behind bullet-proof glass and a sign informs us that if we stay for more than 20 minutes, the room is ours for the night and no refunds will be provided.

We leave the warm lobby and walk through the frigid night to 2B. Lucy pulls her suitcase from the trunk, tosses me my duffel bag.

Inside, one the overhead lights is out. The room is lined with cheap particleboard. When I wander close to the vanity, which shares a wall with the next room, I can smell the redolence of pot and hear the murmur of voices.

“This actually might be the shadiest place I’ve ever stayed,” Lucy says. She walks into the bathroom and flips on the light, then flips it off again. She pulls the blankets down and examines the sheets. “Let’s fuck on top of them,” she says.

“Sure,” I say.

“After all, you only have me for an hour.” She pushes me down onto the mattress, which has more spring than I was expecting. She straddles me and grinds her pelvis into my cunt. I gasp.

“But since you’ve paid for the hour,” she says, “you can do whatever you need to do.”

I don’t know what to do. I feel floppy. The fantasy is adjusting in my head. “I don’t—”

“You must need something,” she purrs into ear. “Do it.”

I sit up. She slides off her pants, her underwear, pulls her shirt over her head. She undoes her bra. I reach out and touch one breast and then another. The pout of her lips beneath her pubic hair is so sensuous that I bite my lip to numbness. I get undressed.

“K-kneel on the bed,” I say, though it feels weird in my mouth.

She crawls onto the bed on all fours, baring her cunt to me all the while. She waggles her ass a bit. I slide toward her, pressing down on her back, and then lean down and begin to lick her.

She moans and squirms beneath my tongue. Her slit is red and swollen. I press my tongue to it, and press in a little. Lucy buries her face in the bedspread, and I can feel a scream of pleasure radiating through her body and getting sucked up in the mattress.

In the middle of this, she slides away from my mouth.

“This isn’t right,” she says. “You paid for me.”

“I—”

“May I suck your cock?” she asks.

I am nodding, even as I’m confused, and turning over, and she is down beneath my legs and stroking my clit. She jerks it with one hand and is licking it, too, but the motion of her head is familiar from my pre-lesbian days—the bobbing head motion of a cock in the mouth of some pretty young thing in the earliest part of a porn movie.

I had sucked so much cock back then, and I had loved it, the salt and sweat of it, the heat and firmness. And now I was watching her do it, even as she licked and pulled my clit, sliding it around.

I come inside of her mouth, feel the jerk of pleasure pulling me up and deeper into her mouth, emptying, her mouth still around me as I soften. She looks up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“May I pay you for more?” I ask. “I have the room for the night.”

“Yes,” she says. “Yes.”

This story comes from the universe of Five Stages of Grief by Olivia Glass.  The full story can (and simply MUST) be purchased through Fleshbot Fiction.


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