End in Itself

“Hey, babe.”

“Adrianna” let me into her budget hotel room. Her long bleached blonde hair didn’t hide her Italian ancestry. All she had on was a leopard print bra and panties. She invited me to sit down next to her on the bed. An empty Starbucks cup sat on the nightstand.

I had arranged the engagement just a few hours before. I sought the remedy of sexual release. For the next hour, I didn’t half to worry about my pending dissertation proposal or running the parish’s education ministry.

“So what do you like, babe?”

I whispered in her ear that I wanted her to suck my cock.

Soon my pants were undone, and she was pleasuring me with her mouth. Sighs I couldn’t suppress escaped my lips. All of my commitments melted from my consciousness as I luxuriated in her blowjob.

Then her bra and panties came off. The condom came on. She got on the bed and seductively positioned herself on her hands and knees. I stripped off my shirt and joined her on the bed.

Then I was fucking her shamelessly.

My unsanctioned sexual desires had found an outlet. As the sound of our bodies smacking together echoed throughout the room, I had, for the moment, escaped from external tensions. The flesh is an end in itself.