Bobbing for Dildos

Tyler: Hows the signal in your rm

I grabbed a screenshot of the full peacock tail of WIFI signal and sent it to him.

Tyler: I can't load my photos

year in Nevada, I had to stand outside at the top of the stairs to get enough to send mine.

router is outside your door

stand by my door, dummy

Tyler: Don't you have a suite? I could work there.

I had so many points with Best Western that I did, in fact, have a suite. He had only been working for about a year, and one of the many reasons that we were still teamed up on this job was that he was still too young--under 25--to rent his own car. At 38, I had been living in hotels and rental cars for the last 15 years. Normal state of affairs for me.

But now, I adjusted the position of my discarded bra and panties on the couch, got up and backed myself to the door and took a pic of the room. I made sure the lingerie was visible, and identifiable, just to mess with my married coworker, with my bourbon and rocks centered on the coffee table next to my laptop, and sent the pic with the caption: "Nope. No room for you here."

No response for a long time, then my phone rang.

"I had to examine that pic for viruses... So, I think I can sit on the couch right alongside you."

"No way. It's hot as balls in here. I can't get the heat to go any lower, so I have to have the door propped open to cool off the room."

"O Kaaaay, I don't see what that has to do with me working there?"

"Oh, I don't want your sweaty ass next to me on the couch... and I'm wearing as little as possible."

"Really, now I HAVE to come over!"

"Goodbye, Tyler. Hanging up now."

I went back to the couch, having thoroughly baited the hook. We had this cougar/cub banter going for the year that we had been teamed up. I wasn't sure that 38 was really old enough to be a proper cougar, but it was a running joke. Right? Just a joke.

I didn't even look up when he pushed into the room. He closed the door, and when I started to protest, he came over and showed me that the wall unit was plugged into a 220 outlet. Duh. Unplugged it. Overheating problem solved.

"Gonna offer me a drink?"

"You're not staying that long."

"You're mean."

But I rose, and carrying the ice bucket, made to get him some ice from the icemaker by the elevator.

"Wait, you're going to the ice machine dressed like that?"

I looked at him. Then down at my sleep shirt, which was a stretched-out wife beater, long enough to fall mid-thigh.

"Oh, you're right. I am missing something."

I went to the closet nook and slipped on a pair of pumps. Then out the door.

I heard him scramble to follow....

"Since you invited yourself over, you could have gotten your own damn ice," I grumbled without looking at him.

As the ice rattled into the bucket, I was aware that he was filming me. Perv.

"What are you ever going to do with that video, pray tell?"

"Probably whack to it daily."

"Really? Given that you married a perfect little china doll, I find it hard to believe that a chunky monkey like me would do it for you, but whatever."

"Trust me, Samira, I whack to you all the time."

I gaped at him. Sure, we always flirted, but let's face it, he was the pretty one. I wasn't one of those "every eye on me" when I stepped into a room, girls. I was maybe a six, possibly a bit higher with makeup, enough booze, and enough desperation on the part of the viewer. Construction sites like the water management system we were working on now, were almost all male, so the mere suggestion of breasts was enough to capture some attention. And I did have boobs, at least.

"I think you look kinda like a young Salma Hayek."

I snorted. "Yeah, if Hayek wore a size 12 dress..." I muttered. Then mused, "Well, she is a tribal member. She's got Levantine blood too."

"What do you mean?"

"She's Lebanese via Mexico. I'm Lebanese via North Carolina."

Just then, I heard the elevator chime behind me, and a man wrestling a wheelie-bag emerge. The newcomer gave me a thorough visual inspection, then nodded and ambled down the hall. Tyler and I locked eyes and tried to suppress our laughter and my embarrassment at my exposure.

We made our way back to my room, I pointed at the bourbon, then slid behind the alcove to pull on a pair of yoga pants. I stepped into full view, turned my back to him, pulled off my sleep shirt, and pulled on a lightweight hoodie. Feeling a bit more presentable, I collected my lappie and decamped to the big recliner opposite the loveseat, put on my headphones and got back to work.

When he had finally uploaded all of his photos, and I'd updated my tracking sheets, I pulled off my headphones and regarded him critically.

"The boss said that you requested this gig. Out of town, living out of a duffel bag, with me, the biggest bitch, knowing that it was going to last, like a year, at least. What the fuck is wrong with you? You're newly married, we hate each other. What, you're masochistic, or something?"

"I like working under you...."

He let it hang there, me blushing at the double entendre, until he doubled down to clarify.

"I'd love to work over you."

I decided to try and defuse the bomb in the room.

"Oh, so you could boss me around like I boss you? Nag me about my expense reports, or my unreadable field notes?"

"You're being deliberately obtuse. You know exactly what I mean. And it has nothing to do with corporate hierarchy... all three of us class of 2012 new-hires wanted to be assigned to you. You get that, right? The guys, and not just the 'young' ones, the old engineers, too all want to get their hands on you."

This was news to me.

"No way. Don't I have a rep for being a horrible bitch? I mean I thought we were both being punished--Management is still pissed about how I treated the last trainee I had, and they know I hate having trainees, and they don't like you just because you're an arrogant little twat, so I figured they linked us to kill two birds with one buddy system."

"Yeah, you do have a rep. For sure. But for whatever reason, I... like it. And there's no doubt that you are the one to learn from for all field ops."

The conversation was making me a little uncomfortable, but I was saved by the chirp of an incoming text on my phone.

I read it, placed my phone on the little kitchenette counter and said "Well, I'm meeting a friend for a bite. So, you're dismissed from service."

I went into the bathroom and added mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick. When I emerged, he was still there, now sitting on the couch so he was facing the bathroom door.

"Why are you still here?"

"Sam's meeting a man!" he accused.

"So, what if I am, Tyler? I'm not the one who's married, remember?"

My field bag was on the floor by his feet, right where I had left it when I came home this afternoon. I bent to root through the front zippered pocket and extract my last three condoms.

"You're taking condoms to dinner? Seriously?"

~

The next day, Tyler asked if he could work in my room again, which I appreciated. Asking in advance is better than barging in unannounced.

I had settled into the recliner again, the door propped open so that he could come in whenever he got here.

He greeted me by saying, "I got you a present."

"Really? Whatever for?"

"For my birthday. Or for Halloween, whichever you prefer."

I looked at him suspiciously. "When's your birthday?"

"Today. Ten thirty-one." He flipped his wallet open, displaying his ID like a cop on an old TV show.

"No shit? So, you're telling me that in hopes that I'll offer you a birthday BJ, I suppose? Anyway, what a bad-ass day to be born. Remind me how young you are again?"

"Birthday BJ? Is that a thing? I'm 25, and you're only, like, 10 years older, so don't even play that old lady card. But here," he said, holding his hand out to me, with something clenched in his fist.

I was glad he hadn't pressed the BJ issue. I gave him a puzzled look, but dutifully held out my hand for him to drop the item into it.

It was a one-piece. A swimsuit, bright red and gossamer thin. Like the whole thing weighed about as much as a pack of rolling papers.

I held it up to look at it. It had a high neck, an open back, and was cut high on the thighs to give the illusion of longer legs. It looked like it would be a great suit for me.

"Tyler, it's beautiful. I fucking love the color!"

"I hoped you would--I tried to match it to that lipstick you wore to the Christmas party. And those fucking shoes. I got it 'cause it'll make me very happy if I ever get to see you in it. Like we could go to the hot tub after work, maybe...."

"That's very thoughtful of you, amigo. Um, would you like to see it on? On me? Do you want me to, uh, model it for you?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

I went into the bathroom, stripped, and pulled it on. To wear something this narrow in front, I would need to do some extensive landscaping. I hadn't jumped on the "wax it all, let god sort it out" train that a lot of girls seemed to be riding, and I was pretty bushy. And, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, it was also apparent that I might need to shave my legs, too.

I sighed, applied the red lipstick that he had mentioned, then wrapped a towel around my waist and emerged.

"Does your Leatherman have scissors?"

"Yeah, why?"

I held out my hand, "Give 'em to me. I'm going to need to trim before you see me without the towel. Lucky that there's a complimentary razor..."

I locked myself in the bathroom and trimmed until nothing was poking out. Happily, even though it was narrow in front and cut high on thighs, it had a reasonably full back. So, my ass wasn't peeking out, and I didn't need to go into contortionist mode to shave around my own asshole! My legs, though, they would need some attention if I were ever to wear this to the hot tub. Which I probably wouldn't. But, I had to admit, the idea of him, of Tyler, watching me walk in front of him, following me into the elevator made my breathing hitch. Get a grip, Sam!

I decided to give him a little more of a show, so, careful to keep my hair out of the spray, I stepped into the shower, ran the water on cold--for obvious reasons, and once the suit was properly plastered to my curves, I turned off the water and stepped out. I wrapped a towel around my waist and opened the bathroom door.

I stepped out of the bathroom and saw him eyeballing me expectantly.

I watched his eyes as they drank in my prominent nipples, poking out high and proud, then drift downward.

"I don't really have a waist, you know. It's just like, legs, butt and then tits. I'm self-conscious about it so I never wear shit like this..." I trailed off, looking down at the floor.

"You're magnificent. Way better than I imagined. But, seriously, drop the towel, Samira. Habibiti!"

"Don't you dare 'darling' me. And nope. No way. You can ogle my top, I guess, but my mid-section, no... and anyway, see how furry my calves and shit are? We Levanters are so fuckin' hirsute."

"Ok, how about a compromise. You let me shave your legs..."

I sputtered, "No way, pervo."

"... Just from the knees down. Pretty please, Muriel won't let me..."

I sighed theatrically, already planning to give in. Already excited to be in a small space with this gorgeous man paying attention to me. Touching me.

"OK, but under one condition. Lose the shirt and the pants. If I'm this exposed, then you need to be, too!"

He unbuttoned his shirt off matter-of-factly. No stripper artifice, just a guy disrobing in the locker room. Then undid his jeans, dropped them.

His torso was a work of art. Carrera marble came to mind, and I said as much.

He shrugged. No big deal.

I stepped back into the bathroom, bending to stopper the tub once the water had warmed up. Once I had a reservoir of warm, soapy water, and I contemplated how to let him "help" in the least ergonomically awkward way I could figure. The foot of the tub, away from the inflow, had a nice wide tiled shelf where I would leave my shampoo bottle and stuff, so that's where I sat. Legs in the tub, towel across my upper thighs and lap. He perched on the side and started to soap up my right leg. His hands felt good on my slippery skin. And the kiss of the razor as he worked down from my knee was subtly erotic.

"This is the most fun I've ever had on my birthday/Halloween," he murmured, his voice a little thick.

"Oh, man, bro, that is SO sad. I'm so sorry that this--shaving your hairy ass Lebanese coworker is a high point for you!"

"Why are you so mean to me?" He had stopped midway down my left calf, and was just lightly stroking my legs with the warm soapy water, looking at me intently.

"Oh Tyler, it's just that you're so fucking pretty. I'm probably just jealous. I hate that you just automatically know all this shit that I never learned. How to dress, how to eat properly, which fork to use. You went to grad school. I still get fucked up on English pronouns and articles and shit, even though I've been living in America, speaking English, for twenty years! You got a decent job as soon as you got out of school, and you're all accessorized with perfect little Muriel and who weighs less than my fucking thighs. 'Miss Anorexia 2012.' And any day now you'll announce that she's pregnant and I'm going to try to act happy for you. I'm sorry, but I'm probably a little jealous. I am jealous. The only reason I'm employed is that I grew up around equipment, and I happen to speak French and Arabic, which was useful for that gig in Mali. That's what got me hired. The only picture I have of my childhood is me on my dad's lap driving a D-6. They were a bitch to shift, incidentally. At the same age, you have that pic on your desk. You're all adorable with your fucking blonde hair in a yachting cap. On an actual yacht. OK? I'm a bitch because that is the script I can run to keep you in a safe box. Now finish the job you started and then I'll kick you out and you can go have phone sex with your wife or whatever."

Silently he finished the lower left leg. Rinsed it off.

"Tell me about... your best Halloween then... if this is so unremarkable to you."

"Honey, it's not unremarkable. I love ordering you around, you know that. Having a handsome lad like you to attend to me is lovely. Really."

"Well, OK, but still. What's a kinky Halloween memory for you?"

"Kinky? Is this kinky? Honestly, I don't think I do anything kinky. You know, I just have sex with adult men and sometimes women. Pretty normal shit. But, I'll try to play your game... Hmm... well last year I did a rugby team in Las Vegas. I mean it wasn't the whole team, it was just five of them and their physical therapist/trainer gal. She looked a lot like your wife, actually. Petite. Beautiful big blue eyes. So that was fun. It was a case of mistaken identity, though. I was wearing my only 'hunting' outfit, a small stretchy dress with the red heels, and they thought I was the call girl that they had hired, so they handed me 1000 bucks when they pulled me in to their hotel room and then another 1000 when I was done. So, I walked out of there with 2000 bucks... and a bunch of bruises and hickeys. But that's not the most memorable. And, maybe this would be considered kinky? I slept with my boyfriend's family while he was passed out at a Halloween party in college. Does that qualify as kinky?"

"Oh, that's fucking hot! Tell me about that. Then I want to circle back to the rugby team... Oh, and the birthday BJ!"

I gathered myself. I hadn't ever told anyone about this episode.

"OK, the most memorable, and maybe kinky thing, was when I was a sophomore in college. I was dating this guy, the first guy I'd had sex with, named Gordon Gibson. He went to Duke, but his mom introduced us. She was a doctor, and had installed my IUD, and then said--kind of unbelievable, really, that she thought I'd be perfect for her son, Gordon, and especially now that I had birth control!"

Tyler interjected, "Go Mom! My mother just did her best to cock block me at every turn!"

"Anyway, they were pretty rich, lived in a big-ass mansion in Chapel Hill, right by campus, and Gordon would come home most weekends to see me, and you, know, get his laundry done. Anyway, he invited me to his parent's place as they always did a small Halloween party. It wasn't one of those, you know "who can dress the sluttiest" kind of parties. It was a little bit classier than that. Well, maybe it was. It started classier at least, with nice cocktails, the men all his parent's age, in suits. As I mentioned, their last name was Gibson, and that was what they served. Only they made them very Halloweeny by scooping out part of the cocktail onion, and inserting a pimento-stuffed olive, so the whole thing looked like an eyeball!"

"I wore this bright orange, long sleeved body suit. High neck, high on the thighs, basically a thong back, with a short pleated black skirt, that flared out nicely for dancing... Oh, and these ridiculous thigh-high orange and black striped stockings. Like witchy leg warmers, almost. And chunky black heels... Well, his dad served me three of the martinis, on an empty stomach. So, I was pretty rocked. Gordon fared even worse, but I think that was because his dad drugged him to put him out. Seriously. He was a pharmacist and when the two of us walked Gordon into his own bed, rolled him on his side, the dad made some comment like, 'He'll be out until after midnight.' Like he knew. From dosage tables, or something."

While I was reminiscing, Tyler had lathered up my thighs and had proceeded to shave higher and higher. It felt amazing, to be honest. I tried not to squirm.

"Raise this leg up," he commanded swinging my right leg wide so that he had room to shave right to the edge of the fabric.

There was a little tremor of arousal in my voice as I recounted how first his mom, and then his dad and some of the other old farts danced with me. How his dad had spun me so that my skirt flared out, my ass basically exposed to the room. How he faced his wife, pulling my ass hard against his erection, his fingers under my skirt's waistband, low on my belly...

The back of Tyler's hand was resting against my mound as he shaved the very top of my thighs.

Shakily, I continued, "They had a big tub of water on the front porch and all these lights shining down on it. Weird colors to make kind of a spooky effect and inside the tub were all these floating eyeballs and dildos. So, it looked like these dismembered penises floating in the water, and painted ping pong balls for the eyes. Everyone was laughing and I realized then that his mom, Sara, and I were the only two women. His little brother, Matt, showed up then and he was dressed as a storm trooper. Matt was a year younger, a freshman, and we had Psych together. He was cool. I liked him. He was the only one in a conventional costume. Anyway, Sara was all happy to see him and she goes 'Look who's here, baby, Its Samira! She's about to start bobbing for dicks with me!'

I hadn't really known that that was what we were going to be doing.... They had me kneel at the edge and then Matt held my hands behind my back with one hand and then pushed me forward until my face was underwater. I tried to thrash. Panicky. But managed to get one of the floating dicks in my mouth and they let me back up. I was drenched and drunk and cold, my top plastered to my chest, and I was hyperventilating. I hadn't had anyone do that to me before, no breathplay, but before I could do more than grab a breath, he repeated the process. And then again. Somewhere in there, I became aware that my skirt had been pushed up over my hips, so everyone behind me could see all of my butt. And the view from the front would have been equally-revealing. I remember sobbing, terrified that they were going to drown me, or something, some kind of fucked-up country club sacrifice, so when it turned out that they just wanted to gangrape me, I was actually relieved. Matt pulled me to my feet, then, and I looked down at Ted, the dad, forcing Sara through the same ordeal. Her top was white, and she was equally drenched, but she was laughing. Seeing her in the same predicament settled me a bit. Matt practically carried me back inside, as Richard carried Sara, and they dumped us both on the rug in front of the fireplace. Matt fumbled with the snaps at my crotch, then he and another old guy undressed me. My tall socks were fairly dry, and they left me in my shoes and the thigh highs."

Meanwhile, in my hotel room, Tyler had finished shaving my legs, all the way up, and now held out his hand for me to stand, leaving my perch at the back of the tub.

I stood before him, and allowed him to dry my legs with a fresh towel.

"OK," I said breezily, "So that was probably the kinkiest Halloween I've had. Happy birthday, Tyler, you're dismissed."

"No, no, no. You still haven't said what happened. You can't throw out 'gangrape' and then just walk away. That's some Chekov's gun bullshit."

"Oh, you really want all the details? Details about how a fairly innocent girl wound up with about a dozen dicks and her first sapphic experience all in about six hours?"

"Yep. I do." He hoisted me into his arms and carried me back to the recliner in the living room, setting me crosswise on his lap. I was wearing a swimsuit made of material thin as a condom, and he was rocking these silky black boxers. There was no hiding his response to the story. He moved me around a bit until his erection was safely stowed for takeoff, and I resumed my account.

"OK, fine. But it isn't very clear, in my memory, really. Um, Matt pulled me up onto my knees, and just like that his dick was in my face. In case it wasn't clear what he wanted, he parted my lips with his fingers, pinching off my nose until I took him down my throat. I'd never tried to deep throat before, had only given two guys blow jobs before, but by morning I guess I had learned how to be a decent cocksucker. Nowadays, I love sucking dick. I actively love making a guy hard, making him crave my attention... but at that point, I was pretty reluctant. Hence the need to pinch my nostrils closed. Matt forced himself in, as I said, then a few of the old men got impatient and tossed me on my back on the coffee table. That worked better, and as I could take it deeper with my head flopped down like that, and that's when Sara started to eat me out. I didn't know that was who it was, at first. But I had never been eaten before... and she kept me just on the boil. It was torture. Someone was sucking my tits, pulling on my nipples. Matt was thrusting, then coming all over my face and he was replaced by a suit-clad stranger, and then Richard started fucking me and I remember coming like I never had. Just a toe-curling orgasm, I would have screamed except some other dick was in my throat now, and someone else was jacking off on me, and well, you get the picture. So, I had my first anal, bukkake, gangbang, and lesbian experience all during that same Halloween... Plus, it felt naughty to be fucking Matt, and Richard, and Sara. All while my actual boyfriend, who had gotten exactly one mediocre BJ and fucked me once in his car, slept in a room 50 feet away..."

By now, I could really feel Tyler's excitement pressing up against me from below. He had been caressing my newly-smooth legs from my knees, up to the crease of my hip. Deliciously. The old tale was having a similar effect on both of us. I really had revisited that night, much, and had certainly not said any of this aloud, to another. I hadn't realized the power of recounting a true thing as a form of titillation. Of foreplay.

Hoarsely he asked, "Do you think you can drop that left leg to the floor?"

I did.

He pulled my right leg closer to him and now his hand was fully between my legs, pressing against me, finding me, stroking the crease, then moving the gusset to the side and, sliding his fingers all over my slick and soaking sex. Parting the folds, finding the nub.

I gasped and grabbed his wrist.

"Just... there. Like that. You don't need to go inside. At all. This will, OH FUCK!" and I came undone.

He switched his focus to my breasts then, pulling the nipples out, asking without words what amount of pulling (rather a lot) and pinching (absolutely none) was good for me. I trained him there, in that chair, how to satisfy this me.

While I caught my breath, he resumed his interrogation.

"OK, so you were on the coffee table, on your back, right?"

I sighed. Back to this. OK.

"Well, I was, then they decided to take me to the bed where Gordon was drooling in his sleep. They wanted me airtight, which also was a first for me. By then Matt had recovered, and he lay on his back, kind of slonchwise across the corner of the foot of the bed. Sara threaded me onto his dick, then someone started to prep my ass. First with their tongue, then fingers and lube. Which felt wonderful by the way. I have come to love that aspect of ass play, even though I can take or leave anal."

"Really...," Tyler interjected, "... you don't really like anal?"

"If the guy is small enough, skinny enough, and If I'm well prepped, then it's OK. A lot of dudes love the DP fantasy, especially brothers, it seems, so you, know, I'll allow it...."

"Wait, how many times have you fucked brothers?"

"Jeez, Tyler, I don't know. The condition of brotherhood is not rare. Sometimes I find myself, oh, I don't know, at a resort, maybe, where there's a family on holiday. Sometimes those include brothers. Sometimes I fuck them, if they're funny enough and halfway fit...."

"Well, how many guys have you slept with?"

"Fuck if I know. I don't have a fucking spreadsheet!" I thought a minute, "I bet not more than 100, though. Why not ask an easier one, like how many women I've been with?"

"OK, how many?"

"Under 10."

"Fuck. I'm so jealous."

"Tyler, baby, my generational subset was a lot more into sex than your generation appears to be. We did drugs, we drank, we jumped off cliffs... Beirut was crazy, because it was in or out of war for my entire life. It changes your perspective. We grabbed pleasure wherever we could find it. We'd smoke tar and then go skinny dipping in the sea, Israeli and militia missiles whistling overhead. We all knew we could die at anytime. So, we were maybe a little more risk-positive than you guys. Try to figure out how to have a little fun when you can. And that my young friend, is my birthday gift to you. Anyway, are we done?"

I moved to try to climb off of his lap, but he was having none of it, both of his arms locked around me, his hand fully under my top, and his right hand once again stroking my sex.

"We're not done... you were about to describe getting airtight."

"So tedious. Watch a video. It's awkward. It's always harder to pull off than you might think. And, anyway, it's like... well, for me, this, what you're doing now is perfect. I couldn't ask for more. Even just one more person takes it out of the realm of 'Oh isn't this lovely,' to like, performance, to work. I have trouble keeping track of appendages and who's on first... So, back to Halloween in Chapel Hill, Richard took my anal cherry, Matt fucked me from beneath, and the mom arranged herself so I could try to eat her. An all in the family deal. Then there was a lot of trading, as Richard didn't last at all, and someone else took a turn, and someone else wanted to trade with Matt, which sucked, because they had to rebuild the whole fucking pyramid, and finally, after everyone had used me as much as they wanted to, they rolled me into bed with Gordon. He woke up and fucked me sometime way after midnight--which I knew because he had one of those super-bright digital clocks that used to be common before the fucking iPhone ruined the whole world...."

I paused then, feeling like I had talked enough to last a lifetime.

"So, Tyler, old pal, are, are you going to let me go now? Or do you really want to fuck such a promiscuous creature as me, when you have such a lovely, pristine wife waiting for you at home?"

"I want your mouth. I want a birthday blowjob, from you. I've imagined those lips around my dick since I met you... Then your pussy. Then, if you'll let me, I really want to fuck your ass. Which I've wanted to say to you since the moment I climbed in your truck that very first day."

"Really?"

"Really. You're the only girl I've met who makes Carharts look sexy...."

"Flatterer. Ok, let me get off you then."

As I got into position, kneeling between his legs, he asked me if birthday BJs were just something I'd made up.

I took him in my hand, enjoying the heft of him, and told him about when I was young, early 20's, and had given a sad older engineer one. A BBJ. My coworker had driven to collect me at my hotel, and by the time I came downstairs to the truck, he had answered a call from his wife. It was on Bluetooth, so I could hear everything. Not a word like "Happy Birthday," she was just berating him for some silly oversight... I felt so sorry for him that I set the latte and scone I'd gotten him on the floor, moved the cupholder/console back and slid next to him on the resultant bench. I fished him out, opened my shirt to give him some cleavage, and bent to the task.

After he hung up, I finished him off, kissed him on the lips, and he had a smile on his face the rest of the day.

I concluded, "So that was my first BBJ."

Later, after Tyler had come and I'd swallowed, and I'd rebuilt his erection, I told him that it was time for a condom. I looked at him expectantly.

"What happened to the ones you had last night? I'm married. I don't have condoms. Surely, you still have condoms!"

He sounded exasperated.

"Uh, I only brought three with me on this trip. I meant to buy a box today, but I forgot. And I used the ones I brought last night... and before breakfast this morning."

"Samira Ganim! You've got to be kidding!"

"No," I said miserably, "I'm afraid not."

"Who? Who did you..."

"Sergio, the liner contractor, who asked me to meet for a drink last night."

"Wait. That guy who was eye-fucking you at site yesterday?"

"Tyler, please. We've already been over this. You aren't my guardian, or husband, or boss. And that wasn't eye-fucking. That was merely his acknowledgment that I am a Sam/Samira with tits instead of a Sam/Samuel with a dick. He was surprised, that's all, because we had been emailing about this impoundment, this contract for like, a year. And he just had me firmly in the he/him pronoun camp.

He had a nice hand shake. And he smelled good. So yeah, drinks. And then I went up to his room..." I gestured overhead, "... and came back down to change and meet you for breakfast."

Tyler was still gawping at me when his phone pinged.

He fumbled for it, swore, swiped, and then showed the screen to me. It was a door cam. The timestamp showing that it was a live feed. A guy who looked kind of familiar waiting expectantly, a goofy grin on his face, then the door opened and the guy stepped inside.

Tyler looked at me and I thought he looked like he might throw up.

"Tyler, I need some context. What are we looking at? Is that your house? Is Muriel entertaining tonight? Maybe the guy is a late trick or treater... He looks kind of familiar, though. Do you know him?"

"Yeah, Samira, I know him. He's my fucking kid brother. He still lives at home, works part time and college part time... and I guess, he does my wife part time, too."

We were both silent for a long beat.

"Well shit." I finally muttered. I stood and slithered completely out of the swimsuit. I looked to see if there was any ice in the fridge, but of course not. I picked up his button-down shirt and made to slide it on, but Tyler stayed my hand. As I watched his eyes taking me in, I realized that this was his first time seeing all of me, completely uncovered. It made me feel self-conscious, insecure. But I tracked where he was looking and saw that he was staring at the various bites and bruises and abrasions left from last night's entertainment. My left tit was particularly damaged-looking. I gave him a moment, turning so that he could see the bruise on my back from where Sergio had slammed me back against his own kitchen counter, then slid the shirt on. With a couple buttons fastened in the middle, it would do. I went out to the deserted ice machine, grabbed some, and then returned and made us each a drink.

Indicating his state of continued semi-turgidity, I said, "I want to be whatever you need me to be, right now. You want me to get dressed, drive you to Denny's eat some greasy food, we'll do it. If you want me to shut up and just hold you, I'll do that. If you want me face down on the bed and want to rage fuck me, go right ahead."

"No condoms." He said miserably.

"True. We are condomless. But you just found out that your wife is very likely fucking your brother even as we speak. Which ---I'm no relationship expert--seems like it would be an unwelcome bit of news... So, I'll make allowances, because of the unusual circumstances. There is low STD risk for you--I'm actually pretty careful. And the pregnancy risk is non-zero, but... that's my worry, not yours. And, now that I think of it..." I had picked up my travel bottle of olive oil from the counter "... you could go anal first, which would further deplete your sperm count, then if you still had gas in the tank we could finish up vaginally. After a thorough, dick-decon obviously...."

"I don't want a pity fuck. Much as I'd love to tap this!" he said, his hand on my butt.

"Well, I know I give you a lot of shit, and you could get the impression that I hate you, but that's really not the way I feel about you. I'm dangerously attracted to you, and I always have been. So maybe we can both get a little something out of this night, and get the desire out of our systems. I wouldn't be fucking you out of pity, honestly. If you want to go another round, I'd love to!"

I pulled him, olive oil in hand, into my bedroom, lay face down with my legs spread wide.

He took the time to pull his shirt, the one I was half-wearing, down and back, so that it bared my upper back and was tangled around my elbows. I knew that he was staring at the bite mark on my left shoulder blade, another memento from my night with Sergio.

I felt his fingers, oily with our culinary grade, extra virgin lube, rubbing all over my ass. Then the tentative pass of his thumb over my rosebud, circling, then probing then, past the ring, and deeper, fully inserted. I grunted and he froze.

"No, it's fine. Keep going."

He used two fingers now, going deeper and I breathed deeply, settling into the unwelcome penetration.

When he inserted his dick, finally, it was fine. He had oiled me up thoroughly, and it was merely uncomfortable, not painful.

Once he had come, this time spraying on my back, I washed him off with warm, soapy water. I oiled my hands and started to work on him again. For some reason, it had become a source of pride with me when he had mentioned that he had never come more than twice in an evening with a woman: I was determined to get him to spill once more tonight. I wanted to give him a Halloween and a birthday that he would never forget.

I took a chance--this could backfire spectacularly--but tentatively said, "You know, if you ever wanted to invite your brother to drive down here and spend the weekend or something..." I made sure his eyes were locked on mine and continued, "You could check the DP fantasy off your list. You know, brothers seem to like that shit...."

He pulsed back to full readiness with my suggestion, pushed me back onto the carpet and proceeded to give us both rug burns.

Later, we were spooned in my bed, when I awoke to feel him gently bumping against me. He had an erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger and an erect penis probing against my butt.

I undulated back against him in the signal, as old as time, that conveys "I'm down if you are!"

We had showered together last night and then fallen, exhausted, into bed around midnight. I spit into my hand and then reached down to part, and moisten, my puffy labia. More saliva and then I helped guide him inside. I scooted my upper body forward a little and that improved the angle. I liked that he reached for my clit without coaching and gave me November's first orgasm, popping out as I thrashed through it.

I rolled onto my tummy, placed a pillow under my hips and invited him back inside.

He resumed a slow, measured pace until my moans incited him to speed up. He pressed down on the small of my back and with a bellow came again.

Inside.

Again.

Unprotected.

Again.

He subsided, draped over me like a comforter with a heartbeat. Into my ear, he growled, "We gotta get a case of condoms as soon as Walmart opens."

"Oh," I replied drowsily, "... ya think we'll have a use for them? Or are you thinking about me and Sergio... "

"Bitch."

Six months later

Pregnancy agreed with me. I know not everyone feels that way, but I had always wanted a kid, and at 39, had given up on that ever happening for me. The Halloween trick or treat with Tyler had proven to be truly life-changing. We were still teamed up on this water management job, but the main difference was that he never even visited the room that was held in his name. We kept the standing hotel reservation unchanged as cover, but we just lived together in my suite.

My boobs had gotten even bigger, and paired with my enormous belly, I received more attention than I ever had. I learned that there is a pregnancy fetish that infects some people--men and women-- and Tyler couldn't keep his hands off me. I could no longer see his blonde hair when he went down on me, my belly rising proudly above it all, but I had allowed his continued devotion when I nailed down some behavioral dos and don'ts. And thus tonight, I would be back in Sergio's room. Tomorrow, Alex, Tyler's little brother, was coming down and the three of us always had a good time, too. I had come to love how the two of them worked together, worked to bring me off. I'd lie on my back and Tyler would be clamped like a lamprey to my tits while Alex ate me. Or I'd be on my side, with Alex fucking me from behind, while Tyler kissed me like I was a work of art....

Also, Tyler had developed a kink, maybe, where he loved to see another man's hands on me. So, often we would invite someone back to the room, a tradesman, typically, a man with calloused hands, and Tyler would watch us make out, the man sliding those deliciously work-rough hands under my top, between my legs. Tyler always wanted me to let him film these encounters, but so far, I had resisted.

Last night had been an HVAC guy who was working at the new Honeywell plant that was going up on the edge of town. We had kissed and groped on the sofa with Tyler stroking himself in the recliner, when I abruptly said, "Let's go!" and pulled the man (Brad? Bob?) into my room. I pulled my dress off overhead revealing my complete lack of under garments. The guy pushed me back onto the bed, standing between my legs, then pulled my butt right to the edge. He filled his hands with my tits, while Tyler stroked him back to fullness, then guided him into me. This had been a newish wrinkle--Tyler's newfound "BiNess," but I loved it.

Now, if we could just get Muriel on board....