The girl got up and went into the bathroom. In a few minutes, she came back all dressed. Tom put his clothes on and walked out of the house to his car. Doreen was terrified that she would be discovered, but she wasn't seen. Tom was taking her home, or at least most of the way. She wondered if he would keep his door unlocked. If so, she would enter his house and beg, plead, implore that he fuck her. She needed a good hard cock in her pussy more now than ever before in her life.
CHAPTER SIX
Doreen crept to the front door, carefully looking behind her to see if Tom was really gone. He was, and she gently pushed the door. She was pleasantly surprised and relieved to discover that he had not bothered to lock his door. Presumably that meant that the girl didn't live too far away and that he would return quite soon, so she shut the door behind her, and sat down on the living room sofa.
She kept her fingers between her legs. Her mind was still seeing Tom with that teen. His hard penis was something that she craved now. Thinking of what he did with that girl, and what he could do with her own pussy was driving the itchy feeling in her cunt to maddeningly new heights. She rubbed her cunt over and over, desperately hoping that he would return and see her, and instantly want to fuck her.
She didn't see him come in. Her mind was on her sexual needs, and she was in the midst of sliding a finger into her slit when Tom slammed the front door.
"What the fuck!" he cried, seeing Doreen in his house, uninvited, on his sofa, and plugging up her pussy hole.
"Oh, Tom, I just had to see you," she said, startled that he interrupted her.
"What for?" he asked nastily. "Whaddaya want?"
"I need you, Tom," she said. "Please hold me. I'm sorry for what I said before. You're not queer, I know that now."
There was a long silent pause. Finally, Tom glowered at her. "How do you know?" he asked. "You been spyin' on me?"
"No, Tom, I just…" she was at a loss for words. How else would she know except that she was indeed spying on him.
"Yeah, you was spyin' on me. You watched me. Well, I ain't gonna lie to you. I was fuckin' that piece of ass 'cause I like cunt."
"But what difference does it make if you and I can have sex after marriage?"
"'Cause I didn't intend to fuck you after we was married. I told you, I like young pussy, and you ain't no spring chicken. I don't like no cunt what's more'n twenty."
"But, b-but why did you want to marry me?" she asked, now feeling all alone, now that her whole world seemed to be crumbling in front of her eyes.
Tom was silent. "I'm gonna get me a drink," he announced. "You want a drink?"
"Yes," she replied. "I sure could use one now." He brought out a bottle of scotch and poured two stiff drinks. "Here," he said. "Drink it and go."
"But please tell me," she implored. "Why were you going to marry me if you didn't want to fuck me?"
"Oh, I dunno, I guess it don't look too good nowadays for a guy not to be married. The boss likes to have married men around, 'cause he says they're more stable or somethin'. Anyway, I figgered that you bein' a spinster not wantin' all that sex and wantin' to get married yourself, it would've been okay. You didn't want no husband neither. You wanted to be married so the folks in town'll stop whisperin' about you."
Doreen was shocked. Not so much from the brutality of what Tom had said, but because it was true. She didn't really want to get married. She was tired of everyone calling her a spinster. The trouble was that she had grown to like Tom and wanted to have sex with him.
"But why should that change now?" she asked. "Okay, so we both have other reasons to get married. Why is that changed now?"
"'Cause you fuck around that's why," he said.
"I dunno," he said. "That's why we can't get married now. I'm tired, and I wanna go to sleep."
Doreen felt limp. Her pussy had become so frustrated that she had lost all desire for sex with him. She was oversexed, and had tired herself out wanting to be fucked.
She gathered herself up slowly. It was the second time she was destined not to marry. Maybe that was her fate. Maybe she would remain a spinster the rest of her life.
As she left, her thoughts turned to those two teens she had made her so happy, if for only an instant. Perhaps that was all she could expect out of life. Some people were happy all of the time, and others were happy none of the time. Doreen felt that she was somewhere in the middle. She could be happy for a few brief but glorious moments.
Doreen headed towards home, but as she approached her house, she suddenly felt that she couldn't enter it. She needed a change. She needed to think thing over, and she couldn't do it looking at the same four walls that she had seen for years.
Out of a job, and split with her fiance, Doreen walked down Main Street in search of peace of mind. It was late at night, and she was getting tired. She know she should go home, but she still needed to think thing over. As she turned a corner, wondering what to do, a lane sign seemed to beckon her. "Hotel Parker" flashed on and off in red neon. She would stay in a hotel for the night. She could have a chance to think things over. In the morning she would make up her mind what to do.
The Hotel Parker is a sleazy place, and when she entered, she was greeted by two very dirty old men who leered at her and a desk clerk whose nose was running and who looked as if he had syphilis, with sores all over his mouth. She turned to go.
She couldn't stay in a hell-hole like this. She walked out, and two large gray rats scurried by her as if to accompany her flight.
At least the idea of a hotel appealed to her. There was another hotel in town, a first class reputable hotel. It was expensive, but she needed to treat herself. The Simpson House was the place for her.
"Yes, Madam?" was the query at the front desk.
"A room please."
"Name?"
"Miller. Doreen Miller."
"Just a moment," said the clerk. He consulted a large file at the desk. "I'm sorry, but I don't seem to have a reservation in your name. Could it have been placed in another name?"
"No," she said. "I don't have a reservation."
"Oh I'm terribly sorry," said the man, "but we're all full up for the night. This is the busy season."
"Please!" she exclaimed. "I must have a room. I cannot go home tonight. You must help me! Please!"
"Madam, I would love to rent a room to you, but I cannot. Now if you'll excuse me…"
Doreen hated him at sight. His manner was so haughty and affected, she wanted to spit.
She began to sob quietly. She turned to go, and as she darted to walk out of the hotel, she noticed the bell-hop whispering to the desk clerk and pointing to her.
The desk clerk laughed and poked the bellboy in the ribs. "Madam!" he called out. "Madam, come back please."
Doreen turned. Something was odd about that, but she needed a room. Perhaps he had changed his mind.
"Yes?"
"I'm so sorry," he apologized sweetly, "but I was quite mistaken. Yes, I have a room for you. I over looked it before. How careless of me!"
She signed the register. He handed her a key for room 1002, and she slowly made her way towards the elevators.
She pushed the button for the tenth floor, and got out when the door opened. She unlocked the room and quickly closed the door again.
She checked the number on the key. 1002. She opened the door again. Room 1002 was occupied.
Just at that moment, the bellboy appeared. "This room isn't vacant," she said. "There's been a mistake."
"Ohh, my goodness!" exclaimed the bellboy. "Mr. Smith left his stuff here. He left town for a week, and said we could rent his room out. The hotel was told he would store his belongings. This is the room that we realized was vacant. There are no other rooms tonight."