The Word

For a Sunday morning, the hallway of the Marriott was quieter than I expected. I’d anticipated a hustle and bustle of patrons eager to make their way down to breakfast, or wrestling with their luggage in an effort to make a flight. Instead, the hotel’s fourth floor was silent, save for the rattle and hum of the ice machine near the elevators. I padded down the hall’s thick carpeting until I reached room 437.

The door was cracked, as I’d told the man it should be. The security bar had been flipped around. Its round end poked between the door and its frame, as if the occupant had stepped out for a moment to fetch a soft drink from the vending machines. I pushed the door open, and slipped into the darkness.

The man had done his best to get the room as dark as possible. He’d crushed the bottom of the drapes to prevent the morning sun from squeaking through the cracks, and turned out every lamp in the room. The only light came from a glowing laptop on the table across from the bed. On the mattress itself lay the man I’d be fucking. His legs were spread, his knees bent, like the upside-down opening of a vase of black glass. Though his waist was narrow and his torso trim, his ass was large and muscular. His profile said he was twenty-five; I might have suspected he was a good seven years younger, just from the leanness of his hips and the tautness of his skin. Two twin globes of dark flesh, quivering and grinding in the laptop's blue glow, waiting for me to make my move.

I was in no hurry. Around the edge of the bed I stalked, taking slow and deliberate steps. His head was cropped close, and he kept his face buried in the bedspread. The bed was so neatly made I wondered if he’d slept in it at all, the night before. I didn’t say a word.

Both the bottom and the bed sighed in unison when finally I knelt with one knee on the edge. My index and middle finger, upturned and curled, entered the cleft of his dark-skinned ass and dug for the hole. I didn’t raise my eyebrows to find he’d already slathered his ass with lube, inside and out. What did surprise me was the sheer heat rising from inside. Perhaps the air conditioning made the difference more electric, but he felt as if he could burn me.

I placed my other knee on the bed, and shoved my legs up against his so that the groin of my camo shorts was close to his ass. “You want my white dick, don’t you?” I asked into the silence. He immediately began to reposition himself, trying to turn so he could face me, but I shoved him back down. “I didn’t say you could look at me.” He paused for a moment, as if he might try again. Then he subsided, burrowing his forehead into the blanket, submissive and obedient. “That’s better,” I told him. Then I unzipped.

When he’d emailed me the day before, the man had gotten right to the point in one of his early emails. I have two things to ask, he said. The first is I ask that you stay completely clothed the whole time, including shoes. You can leave off the underwear to make it easier to pull out your big cock, but otherwise totally clothed...I want to be the only one naked and exposed, i find it makes me feel more sub. I would also ask that you fuck me from behind. I fantasize about a big-cocked stranger simply walking in, puling his cock out of his fly, and staring fucking my throat and ass, without even bothering to get undressed....HUGE thrill for me. Please. I need to be totally sub.

What’s the second thing? I'd written back.

When he had told me, I hadn't been surprised.

I left on my high-top Converse and my camo shorts. I’d worn a gray athletic T-shirt that hung around my hips. My dick was already rock-hard from the sight of the man’s muscular body. The sight of my stiff rod parting his charcoal-black ass and sliding on in made me pump pre-cum like a spigot. He gasped at the invasion; his head reared back so that I could see his high forehead and the almost-straight hairline defining it. His eyes remained closed, though. I pushed down between his shoulder blades and pinned him to the bed as I slid all the way in.

My zipper raked against his ass as I reached the base. I knew he could feel the cold teeth biting and nipping, because I made sure to grind and catch the sensitive flesh. Once I was in, I rammed a little harder, just to make sure he felt it, and I forced my dick to swell. The cotton of my clothes pressed against his naked skin as I lay atop him so that my lips pressed against his ear. He smelled of soap, and the mildest of sweats. “Do you feel it?”

He said something muffled into the pillows.

“I didn’t hear you,” I growled, and shoved in again, hard. “I said, do you feel it?”

Then I used the word, just as he’d asked. His second thing.

He reacted violently and submissively. At the sound of the two guttural syllables, his back arched. His ass rose into the air, and seemed to deepen. His hips swiveled, and tried to shoulder the burden of my weight and take me in past the root. He groaned. “Oh god,” he said. He buried his face in his elbow. Then, at a pianissimo, “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You like this dick?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You like this big white strange dick up your shitter?”

“I love your big white dick.” The words came out haltingly. “I need your big white dick. I need your cum. I need it so bad.”

I slapped him with the word again as I rose to my knees and started to thrust. He cried out as if he were cumming, so I reached down to see if fluid was gushing from his dick. He was thick, and his meat was hot in my hand, but as slick as it was from pre-cum, he hadn’t shot yet.

For a good ten minutes I fucked him, thrusting in and out and putting him through his paces. I knelt on one knee and positioned my right foot so that it was planted on the mattress, and forced him to lick and kiss my sneakers. I used the word like a cudgel, striking him with it again and again, beating him with it on the most sensitive parts of his body in order to watch the flesh pimple and rise. I battered him with it as I worked his hole into a raw pulp surrounded by skin chewed by my open zipper.

Just as he’d asked.

When I shot, I held my head at the back of his head and thrust it violently into the mattress, rough enough that it should have left the blanket’s stitching impressed on his cheek. “Take it,” I ordered him, using the word liberally. “Take my cum. It’s what you wanted.” He responded with gasps and chokes.

My dick flopped out of his ass when I was done, slapping against my shorts before I tucked it back inside. Still face down, he murmured, “I didn’t cum yet.”

“That’s not my fucking fault,” I snapped, faking unconcern. “All I give a shit about is getting my nut. You want to come, get your own fucking self off.”

I didn’t need to complete my thought. Because I’d peppered my speech with the word some more, he’d shot before I’d finished my first sentence. His ass hung in the air as if suspended from invisible wires. Ropes of sperm dripped down onto the bedspread. He remained motionless, as if trying to halt time so he could capture it forever. I kept a mental snapshot of the sight for myself.

And then I walked out, a long streak of cum dripping down my thigh.

He texted me a half hour later on my phone. You really understand, said the message. Thank you.

I didn’t message back. There was no need.