What I Heard Through the Hotel Wall

It had been a long day, one of those that digs into your shoulders. Meeting after meeting, miles of road, and a schedule that gave me no respite until after nine. The only thing I wanted when the day was over was to get to the hotel where I had a reservation, collapse onto the bed, and sleep long enough to get back home the next day.

I’ll admit I like to give myself little pleasures from time to time. I’m single, and that allows me certain lapses, the occasional flirtation, some cheeky insinuation with the wrong woman. I’m not the type to turn around when I find out she’s wearing a ring. But that night I wasn’t in the mood for any of that. I was drained.

When I entered the hotel, I went straight to the desk and asked for my room key card. The receptionist was a girl who could be described as ordinary, neither pretty nor ugly, dressed in a navy-blue pantsuit. The neckline was low enough to suggest that her breasts, while not large, promised something. I had time to look at her properly because she turned and bent down to look for a paper for me to sign, and then I noticed that her ass was outlining a thong beneath the fabric.

At another time I might have played my cards. That night I could barely meet her eyes. I thanked her, took the card, and headed for the elevator thinking only about the shower.

I went up, left my suitcase in a corner, and didn’t hesitate: I got under the hot water and stayed there for more than ten minutes, letting the stream untie the knots in my back. When I got out, I dried myself halfway and wrapped the towel around my waist. The room had the perfect temperature, that warm spot that makes you not want to move. I stretched out on the bed ready to watch some television before sleeping.

I flipped through channels until I stopped on a film already in progress that seemed intriguing. I set the remote aside, took a deep breath, and paid attention. Dialogues, a chase, and in the middle of it all an erotic scene: the girl was making herself available, the camera ended on a nice breast that he stroked with his hand before turning her over and getting down to business. Nothing I hadn’t seen before, but it didn’t disgust me either. Something stirred lazily beneath the towel.

And it was then, during that scene, that I started hearing noises that weren’t coming from the television. They were coming from the room next door. They were rhythmic, dry knocks, unmistakable: the kind of thud a bed makes when someone is fucking on it.

And what did I do? Exactly what you’re thinking. I turned the TV volume down and pressed my ear to the wall.

I hadn’t been mistaken. The mattress and the headboard against the wall were clearly bearing witness to the pounding they were giving it. Between each thump came voices, mostly hers, moans that stopped and started again like a tide. I was getting hard without doing anything, and my hand went on its own down to stroke over the towel something that was growing fast.

The mmmms and aaahhhs were textbook, the usual. But there was a moment that made me open my eyes wide.

—Don’t come, baby —she said, in a low, commanding voice—. Don’t come yet.

I stayed waiting for the answer, holding my breath so I wouldn’t miss a word.

—I’m almost there —he answered, his voice tight.

And then there was silence. A creak from the mattress broke the rhythm, and I figured she had taken it out to stop him from orgasming. Or so he could come somewhere else. My imagination was already running wild.

—Shhh —she whispered again—. Don’t come. Don’t stop squeezing.

—If you keep that up I’m going to fill you completely —he replied—. Do you feel how hard it is?

—Yes —she said, and a low laugh slipped out of her—. It’s dying to let it all go.

I understood everything in an instant. She had grabbed his cock and was squeezing it with her hand so he wouldn’t finish. That whispering way of talking, that way of giving orders without raising her voice, made me hard as a rock. I pulled the towel away and lay naked on the bed, my ear pressed to the wall and my other hand already around myself.

—I want you to eat my pussy —she told him— and empty me into your mouth while I jerk you off.

There were no more words. The mattress started making noise again and the movements began once more, harder, faster. The moans ran parallel to each thump. I spit on my hand and started stroking myself slowly, pacing myself, as if I were inside that room, a foot away from them, seeing everything.

It hadn’t even been half a minute when she started.

—Now, now, now —she kept repeating, and the thuds grew more intense—. Now, now, nowwww.

The thumps stopped all at once. And then my surprise was even greater, because in addition to the restrained panting of someone who’s coming, I heard another sound, unmistakable, the pressure of someone peeing. She was pissing and coming at the same time.

—Do you like it? —she said, her voice breaking—. Do you like it when I soak you like this?

He couldn’t get anything out. Just a muffled grunt.

—Open your mouth and don’t stop until I’ve emptied myself —she ordered him.

God. I couldn’t stop touching myself, and my movements were coming faster and rougher than usual. I was a step away from coming and had to squeeze the base to hold off. I didn’t want it to end yet.

The rhythm slowed. She was gasping, exhausted, getting her breath back. But it didn’t end there. She said something I didn’t quite catch, a half-finished sentence where I only made out “...swallow you whole.” I deciphered it at once, because a guttural sound, thick and deep, told me she was taking him all the way down her throat. The pauses and broken breathing confirmed it every few seconds.

He had trouble finishing. He told her so, that he couldn’t, I suppose because of all the back-and-forth before, the times she’d cut off his orgasm halfway up. But it didn’t seem to matter to her in the least. She was too horny to stop.

—A cock this hard has to give me everything it’s got —she told him, and now I heard her clearly—. And I’m going to suck you until I get the last drop out of you. And since I want to keep as hot as I am, you’re also going to tell me what a filthy whore I look like doing this to you.

There was a brief silence, and then he answered, hoarse.

—You’re definitely a slut. And you get even worse when you suck it like that. The only thing I can do is make it harder so you swallow it whole. And that’s what you like best, isn’t it?

I was on the edge. I felt the first warning spasms, that current rising from below and allowing no turning back. A few seconds later I came into my own hand, a white, hot discharge slipping between my fingers while I kept holding my cock, still hard, accompanying what was happening on the other side of the wall with a stifled gasp.

But they weren’t done. I heard a couple of dry slaps against skin, against an ass, and I figured she was on top of him now.

—Keep going —he told her after the spanking—, it’s coming.

She gasped harder.

—Run your tongue over my pussy so I can come too —she begged.

He, who was already about to explode, must have done something else, because she suddenly replied, surprised.

—Fuck, I wasn’t expecting that finger there —she said, and the “mmmmm” that came after left no doubt that she was coming again.

—Open your mouth —he ordered, his voice broken.

A couple more thumps from the mattress, and then silence. Both of them. And mine.

I lay there in the darkness, chest rising and falling, my hand sticky, my ear still close to the wall, as if I were waiting for a continuation that wasn’t going to come. On the other side, all that could be heard now was the occasional low laugh, the rustle of sheets, the murmur of two people slowly returning to the world.

I never knew who they were. In the morning, at breakfast, I looked at every couple in the dining room wondering if it was them, searching for a clue, a conspiratorial gesture, a way of looking at each other. I didn’t recognize anyone. Maybe they had already left, maybe we never crossed paths.

They were the ones fucking, that’s true. But the wank I gave myself that night, listening to two strangers through a hotel wall, without seeing them, imagining everything, I’ve never felt it so real again. And sometimes, when I travel and have to sleep alone in some random room, I catch myself listening to the wall, waiting.