The motel room was small but it was clean (since it was clean enough for Becky, it was certainly clean enough for me) and it fit our limited budget. The show at the casino (an additional twenty miles down the road) was not going to be anything spectacular, but it was away from work, home, children, in-laws... We were somewhat worried about leaving the thirteen-year-old in charge of her siblings for the first time overnight, but Grandma and Grandpa were on speed dial and live nearby. 

To be honest, it was Becky who was somewhat worried. I would have left them locked in the basement for this chance at some old-time rock and roll and uninterrupted sex. For the record, I never formally suggested locking them up. I just would have. 

I nabbed Becky by the waist as she squeezed past me, and I went in for the kiss.  

“Don’t mess up my Face!” 

I’ll give her that one. I did not intend to peck her gently on her lips; those glossy, freshly-painted lips. I intended on kissing her so hard that her hands would shake too much for her to put her lipstick back on. I don’t know what exactly, but there was something about her face, all made up for a night out, poised above that old, worn t-shirt. Maybe it’s the transformation from girl-next-door to woman-about-town. And at thirty-eight (shit, thirty-eight or thirty-nine?), she still had that girl-next-door quality. 

I pulled us hip-to-hip. “Wanna fool around first? No kissing required.” 

“Yes, always, but no. We need to get ready.” 

I kept one hand around her waist and unlocked her bra with the other. One-handed. Over the shirt. I still got it. 

“Lucky for you I was going to change my bra anyway.” 

She tried to move past me but I wouldn’t let her go. She gave me that impatient, annoyed look she gives me when I’m annoying. I didn’t care. I looked at those beautiful eyes of hers. They were blue like the sky, only better; blue like the sky wants to be. She has naturally long, long eyelashes anyway, but she really knows how to make them stand out, jet-black and curled up. I kept my eyes locked into hers and reached into her shirt sleeve. I lifted the strap off her shoulder, shifted my hold so she couldn’t escape, and lifted the other one, so that I could draw her bra out through the sleeve. It didn't work. 

Now, I think that women pulling their bras through their sleeves is the sexiest thing ever. I swear Becky comes up with little ways to make it even sexier so I was quite pleased when she finished the job for me.  

“I said I was changing my bra anyway. Will you let me take my shirt off now, please?” 

I was holding tight onto the hem of her shirt. Eventually, she said, “ugh!” and raised her arms above her head. I slowly lifted her shirt up, brushing my fingertips along her sides; okay, along the sides of her boobs. But she shouted at me and grabbed the neck at the last second. 

“I told you to watch my Face!” 

Dramatic pause. “I am.” 

She sighed like she always does when I say something sweet at the wrong time. She carefully lifted her shirt away from her face, and smiled at me through the tunnel it made. I maintained eye contact, because even though I’ve seen those amazing breasts every day for years, I still wanted to look at them again. But what I didn’t want was to be told, yet again, that, “my eyes are up here,” so I stared right down the middle of her pupils. Well, except for that brief second when the shirt was blocking her eyes. Then I looked. 

Becky had that crooked smile she gets when she’s plotting something. She casually brushed her fingers down my torso, grasped my shirt, and jerked it up and off me like she was trying to start my lawn mower. I glared at her when one of her nails dug a furrow in my flesh, but I refused to flinch. 

“There. We’re even. Can I finish getting ready now?” 

“There’s nothing stopping you,” I replied. She tried to turn away but I had already slid my fingers in the front of her jeans. 

“Nothing stopping me?” 

“I’m not stopping, I’m helping.” I unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, wormed my fingers through the belt loops at her hips, and gave them a yank. They didn’t get far. “A little assistance, please?” 

She wiggled her hips as I shimmied her pants down as far as I could and still be looking eye-to-eye. When I stood, she whined that this would go so much faster if she undressed herself. She tilted her head down, but I lifted her chin to direct her eyes back up to mine. “My eyes are up here,” I scolded. She pursed her lips. The game was on. 

Becky undid my jeans and gave them a tug. I’m sure she noticed that I had more than a chubby, well on its way to my usual throbbing rod of Valyrian steel. However, we had reached a disrobing impasse, since our pants had only fallen down as far as our knees. She solved the problem when she shook one pant leg enough to get it over her foot, and did that thing where you step on one pant leg with the other foot, back and forth, until you can kick them off. I followed suit, and, grinning face-to-face, we gave each other double high-fives. 

I quickly drove my palms under the back of her panties to caress her smooth, rounded backside. She has these teeny-tiny dimples that are only visible by touch. Her panties fell to the floor with a little help. “Again, you’re lucky I was going to change those anyway.” 

Then she gave my boxers an unceremonious tug, but my (ahem) towering manhood was sticking through the fly. 

“Really?” 

I think she might have peeked, but I wasn’t sure so I let it go. She pulled the waist band up and over, and then let it snap back onto the middle of my shaft. I still refused to flinch. I gave her my best smug, stoic look, but dammit if she didn’t just flick the tip, and without even looking. And dammit, this time I flinched. Even Valyrian steel is no match for a well-aimed flick. 

I reached between her legs, not to retaliate, but to signal a truce. She swatted my hand away and repeated, “We don’t have time.” I was a little upset, since I really wanted to know whether she had shaved off her landing strip before we left home. I got my hands back onto her butt and pulled us together. I ground against her slit for a second until she shoved some space between us again. Her eyes were still aimed at mine, but I don’t think she was looking at them. We made contact down there long enough for me to know that she was more than a little moist. And shaved. 

Becky leaned forward and brushed her very stiff nipples against my chest; first up and down, then side to side. “We.” Brush. “Don’t.” Brush. “Have.” Brush-brush. “Time.” Those nipples and her blush suggested otherwise, though. 

After that, the only thing that touched was our gaze. My hand kept my cock stiff, not that it needed much encouragement. She was going to give in and I was going to be ready. I mopped the pre-cum from my hole and fingered it around my glans. I stopped that soon enough. I didn’t want to finish. I refused to finish.  I mean, I could’ve finished in no time if I wanted because I had been practicing since I was like twelve. I slowed down and fantasized about my naked wife in front of me - who I refused to look at. How stupid was that? Becky was always better than any fantasy, or, at least, she was always included in my fantasies. 

Still, I made a show of spitting into my hand and dropping it out of her line of sight, just in case she wasn’t fully aware of what I was doing down there. 

I wasn’t sure at first, but I suspected that she was doing what I was doing. Her breathing was getting labored, and sometimes her head would nod a bit. I had seen that little nod before. It was usually followed by, “Uh, huh. Right there.” Then I caught her shoulder bouncing up and down, and then stopping. It happened again, and she swallowed hard. Sometimes our knuckles bumped. Sometimes she’d shy away, other times she’d intentionally bump against me. 

We never lost eye contact. I matched my left eye to her right, my right to her left. My vision blurred and I refocused on just one eye. Like, when, sometimes I’d dwell on one breast, and then the other. I wondered what she was thinking about between blinks. 

“We're going to be late. You should put that thing away.” 

“I'd like nothing better.” 

In my head, I had already thrown her onto the bed. In my head, I had already bent her over the bed. She was blowing me in the car, her tits were bouncing against my shoulders as she jumped up and down on my lap at seventy miles an hour. 

Who needs fantasies when you have memories? 

A fresh memory worked its way to the front. Drunk Becky in the passenger seat had hiked her dress up and stroked the wet spot on her panties, telling me I’d have to hurry to get us home before it was too late. Damn, what was she thinking about then? What would have happened if I had slowed down? Would she have gone through with her threat? Or was it a promise? Did she want me to slow down? 

I massaged myself under my balls, something I never would have known to do until Becky first did it for me, to encourage another bead of lube to form. Waiting for her might have taken a while, and I didn’t want to rub myself raw. I paused for a bit. I needed to be careful. 

I had never masturbated in front of Becky, or anyone, before. There never seemed to be a point to it. Her eyes closed to slits for a second as I saw both of her shoulders spring up and down. She huff-huff-huffed a little before settling back to a slower pace. This time I was the one who swallowed hard. 

I wondered whether women got off watching guys get themselves off. My eyes asked hers if she did, but the answer wasn’t clear. I’ve enjoyed a few videos of women pleasuring themselves; more than a few. Yet, I’d never asked Becky to do it for me. And here she was, and I was too stubborn to watch. I rubbed myself harder and faster. I had fallen back into my old wanking patterns. The only things that felt better than this was Becky’s hand, or her pussy, or her mouth – those red, painted lips. As if imagining all that wasn’t enough, Becky pushed a pussy-coated finger into my mouth. 

That did it. 

My hand involuntarily locked as the first spurt flew into the air and back onto my fist. I used it to rub-rub-rub my cock during the second and following ejections. I saw in Becky’s eyes that she knew she won.  

This wasn’t the first time I came before she did, so my duty was clear. I had to pay homage to the winner. I knelt before her and she pushed me away. 

“Don’t.” 

My eyes widened as hers closed. She had a finger or two thrusting in and out, as she kneaded a breast with the other hand, stopping now and then to stroke a nipple. I had no idea girls really did that. Then both hands were working down there, some fingers inside, another finger tapping morse code on her clit. She was huffing and puffing again, leaning forward and rocking. 

Soon, her eyes shot wide open, and she looked up at the ceiling. She cupped both hands over her pussy and she grunted a series of deep alto grunts before she bent over and faced the floor again, with her knees spread as far apart as she could get them and still keep standing. She whimpered as her shoulders jerked. 

She was so hot that my cock had no problem getting ready for round two. I let her recover a bit before I leaned in to kiss her. 

“The. FACE!” 

I watched slack-jawed as she marched into the bathroom like nothing happened and washed her hands. She threw on a sundress and jean jacket. Bra and panties were noticeably absent, but I didn’t say anything. 

She sat on the bed and I washed up quickly. She was putting on her second ankle-boot and said to hurry, we had to leave. I reached for my boxers and she said, “Leave them off. We don’t have time.”