Selma at the Motel

Selma was a really proper American wife. She ironed his shirts on Monday, her Thursday apple pie was the envy of the neigbors and her sunset dress was always on point. She was a really proper American Mother. Her kids were always present for Wednesday chorus practice and Tuesday´s charity gather. She was a really proper American woman, on Saturdays she was perfectly presentable to be showed around in the theater or talk about very proper subjects in any party. But above all, Selma was a very proper American Lover.

Fridays were for meting John in his motel room. Fridays were to pretend her husband wasn’t getting late home because “You know how Fridays are honey, we have to close the week”. Friday s was to leave the kids with Betty and choosing the right perfume.

Selma dressed up for the occasion. She did her hair on an elegant hair band easy to rearrange. She took a navy blue dress that went really good with her fair skin and strawberry hair. It was A shaped, it accentuated her waist and the buttons on the front diverted from her petite blossom. She was wearing her fake pearls that made her just as elegant on John’s eyes as the real ones did.  She took her simplest coat to get out of her house and drove off the city to Palmeton Motel.

As always, the parking lot was almost deserted. The only noises were of the vending machine in the entrance and most rooms had the lights of. Se lighted a cigarrete and waited for John to appear. Half way on finishing her cigar John was reclaining in one of the second floor railings.

He was freshly showered, with his short hair wet and skin shining. HE was using one of his brown pants and suspenders, with simple T shirt under it marking his glorious abs. He was smiling while drying his head with a towel. Selma was smiling too.

She got out of her car, killed her cigar and went for the stairs. She could have run if not for her heels. When she reached the second floor she was out of breathe John had a laughter trapped between his hand and the knob of the door. He made way for her and she rolled a shoulder when entering the room.

It was dark, the room smelled of old carpet and cleansing products. The bed was unmade and his stuff was all over the place. John was here only for a couple of months and she planned on taking the best of it. She dropped the coat right where she was standing and did a pose before John could say a thing. He closed the door behind him and gave her an appreciative look with his hands in his pockets.

“You look like a proper lady tonight Selma” he said.

“That is the only proper thing about me I think” they both smiled at the response and John went after her. She gave a little scream and pretended to run before John caught her and kissed her silent. Selma melted in her strong arms and held his jaw in her fingers. She loved the way his shaved beard felt in her fingers, she loved feeling trapped in his arms.

He was reaming feeling her all over with his hands, her back, her ass, her legs, her shoulders. She loved the animalistic way in which he made love to her. All instincts and need, none of the mind. She was firm in his embrace, anchoring herself in his mouth, breathing in his colony like it was oxygen. She was unbuttoning her dress while he jumped out of his pants, all without breaking the kiss.  He touched her stomach and that made her giggle like a girl. He grabbed her ass and in an effortless move he had her wrapped around his waist. HE was strong and being held at this height sent a trill down her spine. Being supported by those strong arms and having him looking at her from her chest was all she needed to survive another week of proper façade.

She kissed his face, his eye brows, his masculine jaw; she ran her hands through his hair and felt his hands grab her ass, impatient for not being able to wonder over her. He went for the bed and placed her there; hovering onto her he kissed her neck and her chest. He played with the band or her socks. He sat on his heels and pealed her socks of, one and then the other. She was drinking on that image, on John kissing the inside of her ankle, on his hand in the back of her tight, dangerously close. She took her bra off and went on her knees to meet him for a hungry kiss. HE was hard against her stomach and his hands were going restless over her skin, tugging at her underwear and whispering to her ear to touch him. 

She went for his cock while his hand slipped down her ass to find wetness. It was delightful, it was too much, and it wasn’t enough.  He pressed her head against his chess while his other hand explored down there. She could feel his fingers everywhere, spreading her out, rushing her on fire. She was losing control of her breathing and he was smiling on her hair.

“How many fingers do you want Selma?”

He was being impossible so she muttered “Three” not believing he would do it, but he did. She opened her mouth on his shoulder as three fingers went insider her without mercy. She whimpered inside his arms catching on on her breath. He went very still, and with delicate movements he put her hair behind her ear. “I like that face, are you good darling”

“I´m … I´m good” Selma said as she held herself on his shoulders”

“Good” said John, and then his other hand pushed down her panties to tease at her clit. She was moaning his name before she knew. Jon nuzzled at her face like he wasn’t doing anything. She went for his mouth to kiss him senseless like he was making her. The rhythm augmented and his fingers stretched out inside her testing her wall. She came right there, on his hands, clinging to dear life on his shoulders.

John laughed softly and liked his fingers. “Did you like it darling?” Selma was still riding that horse when she opened her eyes to see him getting out of his clothes.  He climbed back to bed and hovered over her to kiss her neck, to pull her waist up to him, to spread her legs and have her right there where she was. He stroked his cock a couple of times before sliding inside her and filling her completely.

Selma kissed him like he was the last spoonful of apple pie, the one she should left for her husband like a good wife was. But she wasn’t a good wife tonight. She pushed John on his back and straddled him wearing the lustful look that gained her a place in this bed. John touched her all over, cupped her breasts, pulled at her hips to bring mercy on him and descend on his erection. She complied.

Selma rode him like a horse when she was a little girl back in Arkansas. Up and down, filling her up. He held her in place and bumped up hard one, two three times before finishing. She cried his name out loud. “Come with me baby!” and came she did. She collapsed on top of him, forehead on his pec, breathing heavy and shivering while he caressed her back carefully. “You are awesome baby”.

She rolled on her side and he accommodated her in the crook of his shoulder. She felt like there could not be a better pillow anywhere. He lighted a smoke and gave her a pull from it. They both stayed there, enjoying the afterglow. Selma was trying to memorize his smell after sex: chlorite cum, smoke, sweat, his minty breath on her face. Every time she thought she had it another layer uncovered. Her orgasms weren’t as intense without this smell around her, without his arms holding her.

They both talked about meaningless things. The TV show, her apple pie, the vending machine. He gave her a different towel to take a shower, and reluctantly she cleaned herself. This fragrance wasn’t something she could take home, that’s why she memorized it.

She went into her dress, her socks, and her shoes. They didn’t fit as well as his arms but they would do. They parted with a kiss and a scan of the parking lot. She took the wheel and smoked another one on the way home. She picked up the children, sent them to bed and prepared something light in case her husband hadn’t eaten with his mistress. This was a fun and terrible game.