Adjoining Bath — Kris Winter

The small town hotel had stood on the street corner for well over a hundred years. It offered vacancy every night except for the weekend of the folk festival. Young and young at heart traveled from all over the country to attend the musical celebration that put the town on the map.

Melissa opened the lobby door and stepped in, her guitar case in one hand and her hemp overnight bag in the other. When her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness after the mid afternoon summer sun, she proceeded to the door beside the stairway. She paused before entering, and noticed that the acoustic guitar she heard was live and coming from inside the bar.

She pulled the door open in time to hear the final chord of an instrumental piece. Spontaneous applause erupted from the dozen people nursing their pitchers of beer in the corner of the bar. She looked at the man behind the bar and saw the pigeon-hole storage system for the upstairs room keys.

Melissa got her key from the bartender, picked up her guitar and bag and made her way to the stairs. They creaked, the hallway was dim but roughing it wasn’t bad if it meant being able to live a weekend that her former hippie parents raved about.

She opened the door, revealing her room with a bed, a chair and a sink. A door was ajar at the other end of the room, leading to a crude bathroom with an old claw foot bath tub.  She closed the door, and rummaged through her bag till she found bubble bath and clean underpants. She was looking forward to soaking away the fatigue of the bus trip.

She went into the bathroom, plugged the tub drain, turned on the hot water and pulled her T-shirt over her blonde curls. Her nipples became erect from the friction of the T. She turned to hang it with her towels when her gaze held on another door beside the towel rack. She put her hand on the knob, turned it and the door swung into a room symmetrically opposite to hers.

“Adjoining rooms” she whispered to herself. She closed the door and put the little hook into the eyelet to prevent someone entering from the other room. She poured a generous amount of bubble soap into the bath, adjusted the hot and cold, and stepped out of her jeans. Next she lowered her panties, exposing her blonde pubic hair to the afternoon sunlight from the window.

She gingerly stepped into the hot water, waiting for her feet and ankles to adjust, then slowly squatted her shapely backside into the bath, savoring the heat on her loins. Finally she sat down, leaned back facing the adjoining door and agitated the water to make the most of the soap. As happened many times, her flicking fingers of both hands eventually found their way between her legs. Several deep breaths later, she heard a door open from beyond the adjoining door. She held her breath and froze.

Somebody had opened the hall door to the next room. She tensed up. It closed. There were footsteps, a couple of clasps opening and the squeak of ancient mattress springs. She then heard an acoustic guitar reprising the tune she’d heard in the bar downstairs.

She looked down at her hands between her thighs in the sudsy water and relaxed a little. This was her bath and she had the right to use this room. On the other side of the door, the guitar began the bridge, modulating into a higher key. The guitarist played with a passion she hadn’t noticed downstairs. Slowly her fingers returned to their rhythm beneath the surface of the water. Several bars later, the instrumental ended, leaving only the sound of her breath.

There was a moment of silence before the mattress springs released their tension. There were footsteps before she heard water running in the adjoining room’s sink, then more footsteps made their way toward the bathroom. The knob turned, the door opened half an inch before being stopped by the hook. The door then jerked open, ripping the rusted screw from the ancient wood of the door jam. In the doorway stood a sun-baked six foot biker with dripping wet hands. He was in black leathers, had a kerchief over his head and a freshly trimmed goatee. Melissa turned red and took one hand from between her legs and put her forearm across her soapy boobs. The dude looked from Melissa’s body to the splintered doorjamb.

“Whoa, sorry!” he said. “I didn’t know it was adjoining.”

“Neither did I, before I checked in.” For long moments Melissa looked at his weathered face, his biceps, and his leather clad thighs. He watched the color of her face return to normal. It became significant to both of them that Melissa hadn’t suggested that he look away, and he hadn’t of his own accord.

“You here for the festival, too?” he looked her in the eye.

“Yes.” She took both hands and pulled her hair back out of her face, exposing the suds on her pubic hair and boobs.  He smiled gently and put his hands to his belt buckle.

She returned his smile. “Are you here with someone?”

“I have to go back and get my old lady from the fairgrounds right now. We kind of do our own thing” he said as he loosened his buckle.

“I see” she said, putting her fingers on her breasts.

“Excuse me for saying, you look fucking great” he confided. He unzipped his leather pants, exposing a mat of black pubic hair. His erect penis popped out, trailing a strand of clear fluid from the zipper teeth to its tip.

Melissa licked her lips and reached for her pussy. She extended her middle finger, massaging her clit as she stared at his dick.

His eyes sparkled. “Would you mind if I?…”

“Be my guest” she whispered.

He cupped his balls out of the pants past the zipper, licked the fingers of his hand, smearing them into the pre-cum fluid on his head and closed his fist over his prick, circling with his wrist.

She parted her legs as much as the tub would allow, continuing the rubbing of her clit, thrusting two fingers of her other hand into herself, stroking as a delicious tingling grew deep below her stomach.

He’d moved on to working his shaft in time to her finger thrusts. He watched her arch her back, raising her ass from the hot water, allowing him full view of her finger fucking. As his strokes became faster, he felt himself about to go over the edge. She saw this about to happen.

Breathlessly, her passion still rising, she whispered fiercely “No! In my mouth!”

He urgently stepped beside the tub, bending his knees and bracing himself with his hand on the wall to guide his red cock to her pouting mouth. She engulfed the tip of his prick as he reached between her legs. She withdrew her fingers, and grabbed his wrist. He inserted his forefinger past her silky pussy lips, then his middle finger. Holding his wrist, she jerked his hand into her twat, splashing them both with hot soapy water.

He uttered a slow triumphant grunt as he ejaculated into the back of her throat, bucking his hips, relishing the occasional scrape of her teeth.

As she swallowed, her pleasure built, washing over her in waves from her aching pussy to her hard nipples. He continued plunging his fingers into her, till she reached her peak from which she would plunge.

She released his cock from her mouth, replacing it with a guttural moan. She felt the waves of pleasure rush over her as her pussy contracted around his coarse fingers. He took his other hand from the wall and gently pinched her nipples, newly sensitive to her delicious orgasm. She gasped as her muscles relaxed into a satisfied afterglow. He slowly pulled his fingers from her, and placing a hand on either side of her head, leaned into her face.

She could smell coconut suntan lotion baked by a dog day sun. He could smell himself on her sweet breath. He put his lips to hers, rolling his jaw gently, feeling her teeth beyond her lips and parting them with his tongue, in sincere and exhausted gratitude.

When their kiss reluctantly ended, he drew back to look her in the eye.

“I was wondering. How’d you like to sleep with us tonight?”

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Read Kris’ other sexy stories published on Every Night Erotica here.