The Ghost in Room 69
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2016 by harry lime

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The Lakeside Motel was located at the end of a lonely street with no sign of a lake anywhere. Room 69 was the crime scene of a long-forgotten murder. Now Roberto Mancha is meeting his "date" for an evening of lust and happy ending.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Ghost   Spanking   Interracial   Black Female   Hispanic Male   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Exhibitionism   Voyeurism   Analingus   Violent   Prostitution  

In all honesty, it has to be said right up front that room 69 of the Lakeside Motel was haunted. Of course, you want to know right away what I mean by “Haunted”. In the simplest terms possible, I am telling you,

“There is a ghost in room 69”.

No need to panic, because the ghost can’t leave the room for reasons that even I can’t explain properly. I am not certain if it is a religious thing or something linked to revenge or anger or fear or, perhaps, even a combination of all of them.

I guess I should start at the beginning.

My name is Roberto Mancha, but my friends all call me simply “Rob”. My parents came to this fantastic country from the beautiful country of Spain many years ago, long before I was born in a fifth floor apartment on the east side of Manhattan on a rainy spring day of no consequence. Obviously, I have no memory of the occasion, due to the fact I was zero years old and could barely open my eyes. We were lucky because we shared the apartment with a young couple from Puerto Rico who spoke Spanish with a strange accent. I only say we were lucky because my stingy father often remarked just that with my mother frowning nearby with that look that she got whenever she felt like hitting him on top of his head with her spatula that she used for almost everything except stirring.

I never got into trouble growing up in the big city.

That was unusual for a boy like me born to parents that spoke poor English and lived in what could only be called a “Barrio”. I think it was my teachers in the Catholic elementary school that gave me a good foundation in my education that made me more of a bookish young man and not some gang member with crime on my mind.

The high school was a Public one and suddenly I was thrown up in the mix of the “melting pot” of big city demographics. For the first time, I was talking to black people and not running to find a place to hide. In fact, I met a pretty black girl called Candy who introduced me to the world of oral sex in a way that would stay always in my memory. She was super intelligent and told me point blank that she would never consider me for a husband, because I was more like a typical “white boy” rather than her preferred pool of black and brown male selectees. I had no thought of getting married anytime soon, but I felt a bit slighted and hoped it wasn’t the size of my pathetic dick.

My love life after high school improved somewhat, but I found it difficult to sustain a sexual relationship without some sort of commitment of everlasting love. I found that impossible to declare, since I was having too much fun being free as a bird.

I discovered one early Saturday morning that I had neglected my “slap and tickle” agenda for over a month. Since I was not one to take a solo route to happiness, I immediately called a convenient number garnered from a bathroom wall for “escort services”. I was directed to the Lakeside Motel in a seamier part of the city.

There was no plausible reason why the seedy-looking place was called “Lakeside” because it was at the end of lonely street visited only by transients and people of ill repute. There was no body of water in sight in any direction and the owners must have been drinking when they decided on that name. The desk clerk was an older female with a look of having seen it all. A tired-looking cigarette hung forlornly from her barely moving lips stuck there by some glue of cosmic design. The sign behind her stated, “No Smoking” making a mockery of any sense of authority.

I accepted the key to room 69 and made my way down the never-ending hallway to the very last room on the left. All of the odd numbered rooms were on the left and all the evens were on the right. There was an exit door right next to the last rooms. I noticed that the release bar was taped down so that outside visitors could enter without having to produce a key or a card. My thought was that these last two rooms must be very popular with the “by the hour” clientele and the sheets needed to be changed often.

My hand was a bit shaky as I picked up the house phone and called the number given to me by the “date” assignor at the other end. She only promised that my new friend would be there in fifteen minutes and that her name was Doreen. I took that with a grain of salt because I had found out that girls of this breed mostly used throw-away names for purposes of remaining hidden in the shadows. It made no difference to me just as long as she delivered the goods at the right time with a certain amount of enthusiasm, pretended or not.

Just as promised, the hot-looking Doreen knocked on my door within the allotted time frame and whisked inside with a practiced look over her shoulder to make certain she wasn’t observed. Once inside, I looked her over.

She was a little out of breath. I assumed she had run from the car that delivered her across the parking lot and straight to the unlocked back door to the Lakeside Motel. Her hair was a bit mussed up but still sexy with rich black tones that looked more natural than artificial. She had one of those huge bags that could hide everything including a hair dryer.

Her dress was too tight to which I had no complaint at all.

It accentuated her tempting ass shelf with a rousing success. All I wanted to do was to bend her over and take her from behind without further delay. I could tell she knew exactly what I was thinking because she told me to put my “donation” in her handbag and get undressed. I followed her instructions and we were doing the happy bump Olympics naked on top of the sheets in record time. I liked the way she left her open crotch pantyhose on her legs along with the high black leather boots with six inch heels. I looked in the mirror at the vision of me riding her slim heart-shaped bottom with the skill of bronc-buster pausing only to spank her juicy cheeks with pure abandon. I suspected she was Puerto Rican because I could understand her choice selection of filthy words using that dialect from my old neighborhood. It only made me hump her harder, because I had always had a thing for the young bride of our apartment sharers in my formative years.

It was right in the middle of my eager spurting of seeds into my anonymous “date” that I saw the reflection of a rather pretty young lady watching us intently from the direction of the hallway mirror. Initially, I was put off, but that was because I feared we were being set up for a robbery of convenience. Then, I realized it was filling me with depraved enthusiasm to show her how nasty I could be with my assigned partner’s ass behind a locked motel room’s door.

“Not so hard, my horny friend, it will cost you extra for the privilege of entering my rear door paradise.”

I heard the words and agreed with a simple,

“Spread them, baby, it’s worth every penny.”

I swore I could hear our witness giggling from down the dark hallway. I was so focused on the escort girl’s backside that I lost all sense of my surroundings until I reached that peak of release that had me seeing stars on the faded wallpaper.

The sheets, the escort girl’s legs, and my happy private parts were all wet with my copious spunk and I rested on my back hoping our uninvited voyeur had gotten a good eyeful of a memorable ass pounding in good old room 69.

The girl on the bed was up and dressed and out the door before I could even thank her for her efforts. It was an expensive date but I had that satisfaction of knowing I could shout out,

“Mission Completed!” without much fear of contradiction.

I peered down the dark hallway leading out to the locked door. I thought I saw something moving and I invited the unpaid guest of room 69 to have a drink from my bottle of whiskey on the desk. It was sitting innocently between the telephone and the bucket of ice that was mostly melted but still effective for a pair of mixed drinks.

She came into the light and I noticed right away that she was not a stunning facial beauty but that everything from the neck down was first rate and glowing with the blush of youthful nobility.

“What are you doing in my room?”

It wasn’t I that spoke those words.

It was the petite female with the huge boobs and nicely drooping ass perched on the end of the bed. She didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was stark naked and with a limp soldier between my legs resting up from a battle of immense proportions.

“I paid for the room, honey; I should be asking you that question.”

She giggled and primped her hair in that way that young girls do when they want you to know that a fuck would be nice if I had that sort of thing on my mind. I reached out like a boy in a candy store and cupped her delicious boob with utter inappropriate greed.

The girl giggled again and covered my hand with hers letting me know she was ready to play and willing to show me her submissive side as soon as she got her clothes removed. My suddenly awakened boy scout was standing up like a flagpole in need of attention.

“My name is Carmen Cordero. This room is sort of mine because I sleep in it all the time. I don’t mind you using it with your pretty little puta but cover up those messy sheets with the cover and we can do it on top of that.”

After hearing all the stories about the spunk-stained covers in cheap motel rooms, I hesitated to follow her instructions. The fact that her clothes started hitting the carpet inspired me to do just what she said and she straddled me with her perfectly toned legs right away. This was a bonus in room 69 that was completely unexpected. I was still a little fearful that it was some sort of scam but when her feminine folds gobbled me up, I knew it was the real thing and just relaxed as she did all the work. Fortunately, she went slowly and gave me plenty of time to recover. Eventually, things built up to that sweet point in time when all of my thoughts centered on my thrusting shaft and her pretty naked bottom bouncing like a ball of fire between my legs.

I was almost ready to fire a salvo up her naughty cave of delight and was disappointed when she dismounted and turned around to drop her delectable ass right on top of my willing face. It was only inches from my mouth and searching tongue. The feel of her soft red lips and searching tongue on my jolly roger caused me to skirt dangerously close to losing my load before I could savor the moment of truth.

Her pretty crack dropped down those final few inches and we had contact with lips, tongue and puckered entry. I rimmed her sloppily and then she shook her cheeks in that way that told me she wanted me to push inside. I accommodated her without complaint because she was doing such a dedicated job at the other end that I felt it was only fair for me to repay the favor in the depths of her heated crack and red-gashed slit.

We both reached the finish line at the same time and I held her tightly not wanting her to move an inch as I drained into her pretty mouth and she quivered with orgasm on top of my face.

It all seemed so appropriate for room 69.

“That was really nice; Mister, but I don’t understand how you are able to see me at all. I have been in this room for almost twenty years and they have never been able to solve my murder.”

I have thought about those words for a long time, but it didn’t stop me from arranging another little assignment with the agency and booking room 69 for the following Saturday night. I was ready to get better acquainted with the occupant of room 69 of the Lakeside Motel on a lonely street with no Lake.

It was a place where murdered young ladies love to dwell in a limbo of their own making.

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