Clarissa slipped into the room when he opened the door, almost giddy with anticipation. She had come from sunbathing at the pool, her body oiled and tanned, looking much younger than her forty years.

“I almost didn't come,” she said, reaching her hands to him.

“I'm glad you did,” he said. He touched his lips to her fingertips, and took her in his arms. She could feel the stiffness of his cock, wondering if he'd taken something to prepare himself for her, or if he was really excited by her body.

Her terrycloth robe fell to the floor, almost as if she'd wished it off. She knew that she still looked good in a bikini. It took a stringent diet and plenty of exercise to keep the body she had, but it was always worth it.

He pressed his lips to hers, and she felt his tongue touch the tip of her own. He tasted like peppermint and reefer, a college boy taste. What age was he? Twenty, twenty one?

She turned in his arms, putting her back to him, feeling him kiss the back of her neck. She moaned softly, seeing the shadow of a man fall across the window through the half pulled shade. She moved the night clerk's hands up to her breasts, letting him feel her stiff nipples, dressed now only in three tiny triangles of cloth.

The glimmer of a man's eyes outside the glass, a silent audience of one watching her breasts revealed as he scooped her from her top, she leaned back against him, smiling toward the window, toward the person watching.

He pulled the bow at the side of her bikini bottom, pulling it loose, then yanked the other, letting the wisp of cloth and ribbon fall to her feet. Above her vagina was a small tattoo of a purple butterfly.

Like a stallion in rut, he spun her toward him, his lips heavier now, his kiss more insistent. She sensed his hungering libido. His hands scooped her ass, lifting and carrying her to the bed.

Just outside the room, the voyeur touched his own stiff cock, letting his fingers on the tip, feeling the drop of pre-cum, spreading it over his tip. His weakened knees and shortness of breath would have betrayed him to any passerby, but it wasn't the kind of motel where anyone would care. A place for clandestine lovers and fallen angels, the Peterson Inn was mostly empty this early in the evening.

It wasn't sleazy by any stretch, but it had the reputation of having choice accommodations for those wishing a picnic.

Inside the small room, the night clerk lets his shorts slide down, revealing his cock, smooth, long and thick. His new Price Albert piercing, was difficult to miss. The voyeur wanted to touch it, wanted to see if it was as perfect as it looked, wanted to kiss Clarissa's tattoo, to feel the softness of her butterfly, feel it flutter.

The woman, naked now, her nipples standing taut on her well formed breasts, her shaven pussy wet with a desire that the man outside the window could almost smell, whispered something in her lover's ear. The watcher wants her too, wants them both, naked, to do as they will with him, whatever they will.

The night clerk lifted Clarissa up in his arms, spun her around as if dancing, nibbling her ear, her neck, as she whispered her desire. “Fuck me,” she whispered. “Fuck me.”

The man outside the window squeezed himself as the night clerk spun Clarissa to the bed, lifting her to her knees. He couldn't hear the sound of the smack to Clarissa's pretty ass, nor what the man said, but he could see her lips as she turned her head back to him, knew that she was saying, “Fuck me.

Fuck me hard.”

The words exploded in the voyeur's mind, and in moments, he felt the spasms as his balls emptied themselves against the cinder-block walls. He gasped in pleasure, then blushed in embarrassment and shame, whispering to himself, “Too soon. Always too soon.” Still he could not turn his eyes away, couldn't make himself stop watching.

Clarissa felt the man's cock opening the doors of her treasure, felt the tip of his cock spread the tender lips of her cunt and enter her. He slid himself in and out of her in a soft rhythm, his speed and intensity increasing as she urged him, “Fuck me hard. Fuck me hard.”

He became like a driving piston inside her, driving her almost to madness. “Fuck me harder,” she urged him. “Fuck me raw.”

He slammed in and out of her, his cock driving deeply inside her with each thrust. Her cries of pleasure were audible even through the door.

The voyeur felt himself stiffening again. Wanting, but unsure exactly what he wanted, the young man's cock driven deep into his own ass or the deliciousness of Clarissa's pussy wrapped around his dick.

Both, he wanted both.

Clarissa was coming, her body moving back against her lover. The night clerk tensed, pumping his come into Clarissa, then withdrew his still hard cock, offering it to her lips like a peppermint stick. She took his cock into her mouth, tasting their mingled juices, cleaning him. He took more juices from her, using his fingers like a soup spoon, nourishing her appetite.

There was movement outside the room, a bump against the window.

“I have to run,” Clarissa said. “The hubby is probably getting antsy.”

She picked her robe up off the floor, put it over her shoulders, then grabbed up her swimsuit.

“Again tomorrow?” the night clerk asked.

“I wish,” she said. “We'll be checking out tonight.” She kissed him softly on the lips, then walked out the door.

The voyeur leaned against the rail, his breath still ragged, his come still wet against the wall.

“Have fun?” she asked him.

“Yes. Did you?”

“Always,” she said. “All I want to do is make you happy.”

She took his hand and led him back to their room, where the air conditioning was turned so low it gave her goosebumps. She turned to her husband, letting the robe fall off, and letting him take her chilled body into his arms.

Three hours later they stood together at the motel desk, checking out.

“Hope you enjoyed your stay,” the night clerk said. “We'll be looking forward to your next visit.”

“Thank you,” Clarissa's husband said, handing the night clerk two one hundred dollar bills.

Clarissa winked at the clerk, and squeezed her husband's hand.

Only when they were gone did the clerk fold the bills and tuck them into his shirt pocket. It had been a good day. Two hundred dollars for less than half an hours work, not as much as he'd make from the gentleman in room 205 after his shift at the desk was over, but still fine money.

He turned back toward the TV, wondering how much money Congressmen made. Surely he'd be good for five, discretion being a bit more expensive than having a husband watch.