The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

Doing It at the Donna

Previously: "Bullying the Bullies" 

"You know where the Donna is?" Yumi asks.

"Huh?" You're feeling distracted. "Oh, yeah, sure."

"'Cos you didn't answer me." She walks her fingers up your leg.

"I, uh, was trying to remember where it is."

"Mmm." She drags a fingernail lightly across your thigh. "South Twentieth," she says. "There's a sign out front so you can't miss it."

You nod, and don't argue any further.

Because Gary Chen wouldn't argue with Yumi Saito about checking in for the afternoon at the Donna, even at the risk of running into Kim Walsh.

Hell, Gary Chen would probably dig it if Kim saw him and Yumi checking into her family's sleazy motel for the afternoon.

And you're Gary Chen.

* * * * *

The Donna Motor Court is a dump, almost a dive. The low-slung motel half-encloses a barren asphalt parking lot with a closed-up swimming pool, and its cinder-block units have all the charm and character of the storage units at Top S(h)elf. It was probably a cheap place even back when it was built, before the interstate went through on the other side of town. Now, gray and weather-spotted, it only survives by catering to a different kind of traffic and clientele.

There's a cop behind the front desk when you go in. At least, you have to assume he's an ex-cop: burly and barrel-chested, with a dome skull that's shaved and scared, and a gristly moustache that's passing through gray on its way to white. His gray eyes glint like steel.

"Afternoon, sport," he says—almost shouts. "What can you do me for?"

Almost you turn on your heel; you hate cops that much. "You got a room you can rent me?" you grind out at him.

"We got rooms, we got ice, we got a soda machine even. We got a diner down the street if you're feeling peckish," he barks. "And it can all be yours for four-eighty a night," he adds.

Jesus! You suck in a cheek. "I'll be right back." The fucker follows you with his eyes and a grin as you slink out.

"Fucker wants five hundred dollars," you tell Yumi out in the Jeep.

"It's prorated by the hour, Gary," she sighs. "Twenty dollars an hour. We check out early and they refund the balance."

How does she know all this? Not even Chen knows that. "You have a credit card?" you ask her.

"What? No!"

"Because I don't—"

"Don't you have that kind of cash?"

You give her a look. "Not here, not on me. I'd have to go get some." She stares at you. You hesitate, then give it to her bluntly. "Go wait in the office while I go get it. I'll be back in thirty minutes."

Still she stares at you. Then—stiffly, frigidly—she gets out of the Jeep. You follow her back into the office. "My, uh, friend's going to wait here while I go find an ATM," you tell the cop.

"We take debit cards," he says. His face is a mask, except for the satirical twinkle in his eye. You return him a brief glower, and stalk back out.

* * * * *

You expect Yumi to be frosty when you return an hour later with twenty-four twenty-dollar bills, but she's actually quite relaxed and merry. Still, you feel the need to give her an excuse as you lead her to the room. "I had to go see my banker," you explain. "He wouldn't like it if someone else came along."

"That's okay." She nuzzles the side of your face. "I talked to Kim while I was waiting."

"Kim?" You stiffen. "Is she here?"

"Mm-hmm. She was in a back office or something, studying. Turns out her family owns this place." She titters. "Can you imagine?"

"Not really," you admit. "Was that her dad?"

"No, just a guy who works for them. She introduced us, but I don't remember his name."

The room is at the far corner of the lot, and when you open the door, a musty odor washes out. But it's a clean kind of must, as of a room that was vacuumed and scrubbed and then shut up for a very long time.

There's a double-size bed with a lime-green coverlet, and a small table flanked by two chairs. A cheap flat-screen TV hangs on a wall, maybe as an enticement to linger and run up the bill.

Yumi hops onto the bed and splays herself out on it, grinning at you from between her knees. "You know what I want to pretend?" she says.

"What?"

"That we're up at the school. That there's a secret room up at the school like this one, that's hidden away, and that we found it, and that you took me up into it to—" She sucks in her lower lip and lifts her hips from the coverlet. "We could get in a lot of trouble if they heard us, Gary," she says.

"Oh, they're gonna hear us," you promise as you push yourself between her knees and balance yourself over her. "They're gonna hear you." She sucks harder on her lower lip and lifts her hips again to touch your crotch with hers.

You throw off your jacket and peel off your shirt while she works at your belt buckle. You rub and stroke the side of her hip before searching out the zipper to her skirt, but she grabs your hand and forces it up under to touch the front of her stockings and panties.

"Oh, God," she moans. "Is it soaked through? I am so hot, Gary, so wet." You peel back the top of her stockings and push your fingers in. Her bush is damp. She arches her back as you plunge your fingers inside her.

There's a tangle of limb—almost a wrestling match—as the two of you fight to peel the stockings off her and the pants off you. You pull open her blouse, and lift and hold her with one arm as with your free hand you frantically search out the stays of her bra; she titters and giggles into your neck as you wrench and pry without success. Eventually you get it loose and hurl it away. Her breasts, fat and firm like grapefruit, pop out. You goggle at them, then lower face between them, to rub and kiss and caress with your tongue. Down below, your cock—self-sculpted into a bone-hard shaft—slides up her taut tummy.

* * * * *

For ten minutes—or is it ten hours?—you kiss and gnaw and bite and thrust at each other. You roll onto your back while Yumi grapples with the box of condoms, and you tamp back the gathering explosion while she rolls one onto you. But you lose it—and loose it—when she goes down to caress your sheathed member with her cheek.

But not even that can slow you down. You throw her onto her back so you can stroke and pinch and bite at her calves and legs before putting your face down into her bush. She groans and pants as you eat her out, and hangs off your torso with her hands and legs when you clamber up to grind your face into the side of hers. By an unspoken agreement you break off awhile to husband your strengths, but you're restless, and pull her to you as you lay on your side, to rub at her gently (as she does you) while you stare past her head at the wall behind and wonder at the implausibility of it all.

I'm here and this is me, but I'm wearing the skin of Gary Chen, I'm sheathed inside his legs and hips and crotch and face, and I'm doing it as him, I'm Gary Chen who is fucking Yumi Saito, only it isn't Yumi, it's Chelsea Cooper sheathed inside Yumi's face and hips and legs and skin. God, I want to prick her hard and deep, I want to prick her and blow myself into her so hard her skin rips open and Chelsea herself pops out, and then I'll fuck Chelsea so hard it'll rip a tear in Chen's skin and I'll pop out. And then—!

Fantasy and desire both waver a little. You and Chelsea in bed together? Things would quickly peter out. You stroke the back of her head and kiss her on the forehead. You wonder what she's thinking about.

Eventually you feel yourself stiffening again, and Yumi slides another condom onto you. This time you roll her over immediately and seek out her nest. She's tight but wet, and she throws her head back as you push in. Up and in you push; down and on you pull her. She throws her legs around your hips and grips. You push and grind, push and grind; she squeaks and squeals. Harder you thrust, ramming yourself home. Fuck, fuck, God, Jesus, fuck, fuck FUCK! There's an overtoppling moment of suspense, and then you are falling into her like a shaft of hard granite into soft and loamy ground. Someone is screaming nearby, and you can't rule out that one of the screamers might be you.

Next: "The Businessman" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 4)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)"