Airport Hotel

Eyes never lie. I kept telling myself this over and over, leaning against the bathroom sink, trying to focus, trying to piss. Eyes never lie. But being half-hard made it a challenge, as if my body itself was conflicted. I just needed time—a moment to think, to figure out what the hell to do next. Maybe if I wanked off, I’d get some clarity, let the haze of desire lift. She can't be real. I have to end it now. I could go back, thank her for the evening, and leave it at that. Simple. Done.

But the image of her lingered, cutting through the alcohol fog. Those eyes. She had to be a pro, right? Too smooth, too perfect. And yet, the way she looked at me... There was something raw, something real. The two bottles of sparkling wine we’d polished off at the hotel bar weren’t helping my judgment. What was her name again? Jen? Gen? We’d struck up a conversation waiting to check in at the airport hotel, killing time in the shared monotony of travel. When we parted ways, I’d meant to wish her good night, but instead, some part of me—a tipsy, reckless part—mentioned needing a drink. And just like that, she joined me. That was an hour ago.

Now, I was supposed to go back out there and take her upstairs. That was clearly the play. But every fiber of my being told me to stop. Walk away. Remember the good evening, have a wank, and try to get a few hours of sleep before my early flight.

When I returned to the bar, I tried for nonchalance. “You’re still here,” I said, acting surprised. I wasn’t. Of course, she was still here. Women always know what they want, and they rarely leave without getting it. I decided to go for a quick good bye.

"Of course," she replied smoothly, her hand casually trailing along her thigh, the movement deliberate, suggestive. "Some things are better not done alone." I tried to deflect, to reel things in before they went too far. "We should get some sleep," I said, keeping my tone firm but polite. "I settled the bill on my way back here." "Obviously," she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips as she stood, collecting her handbag with an effortless grace. "Thank you for the drinks." And then, as naturally as if it were the most ordinary gesture in the world, she extended her hand. For a split second, it looked like she was offering a handshake, a farewell after the good night. But the moment I reached out, I realized it was something else entirely. Her panties. The silk was cool and smooth in my palm, unmistakable. My breath caught as the implications sank in. Complete. Change. Of. Plans.

Waiting for the lift was agony, a slow, pulsing torment that throbbed with every heartbeat. But there was no pretense, no masks left to wear. Just two strangers in an unfamiliar place, the air between us thick with intent. My erection was pressing hard against my jeans, and I knew her body was already waiting for mine, her wetness all but palpable in the charged silence.

The lift arrived, a ding that barely registered over the rush of blood in my ears. She stepped in first, pressing her floor number with calm precision, but the door wasn’t even fully closed before I moved. I kissed her, hard and insistent. Her lips were tight at first, resisting just a moment before she melted into the hunger of it, kissing me back with the same raw need.

My hand shot up, tangling in her hair, feeling the softness of it between my fingers as I gripped her firmly. I pushed her back against the lift wall, harder than I intended, but she didn’t protest—if anything, she pulled me closer. The scent of her perfume hit me as I moved to her neck, my mouth brushing against her skin, my nose drinking her in. She gasped, low and breathless, her body arching toward mine. The lift dinged again, the doors opening, though I could barely remember pressing a button. Somehow, we stumbled out, all hands and heat, and before I could fully process it, we were in her room. How we got there? I couldn’t say. All I knew was that the night was far from over. I let her walk in front of me (we were on the way to her room anyway), but I was really fascinated by her boots, legs and arse. That combination I was always dreaming about.

As soon as doors closed behind us, I grabbed her waist, hearing the hand bag falling down to the floor. My right hand found it's way below the skirt, to one place I wanted to feel. Thumb slid in, while other fingers masseged from outside. She sighed deeply.

"Fuck me hard," she begged, her voice raw with need. But I knew my limits, the sharp edge of my arousal threatening to undo me too quickly. I needed control, needed to pace this, savor her. The room felt suffocating, the air heavy with heat and lust. Fresh air was what I needed.

Still holding her firmly, my fingers deep inside her, I guided her to the small hotel room balcony. The cold autumn air hit us like a shock, but she didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into me, her movements slow and deliberate, her hips rolling in rhythm with my hand, guiding me deeper. We both inhaled sharply, the chill mixing with the heat between us. Her body arched against me, pressing harder as I slid my fingers out. Without a word, I brought them to her lips. She took them eagerly, tasting herself while I ground the hardness in my jeans against her.

The scene beyond the railing was surreal. The airport loomed in the distance, a patchwork of lights and movement. Cars came and went, shadows darted among the lit-up windows of other hotels, distant figures living their own stories. Here we were, in the open, exposed to the world but utterly consumed by each other. I was hoping somebody there is watching us.

"You cold?" I asked, my voice more habit than concern. She didn’t answer, only tried to turn toward me, but I kept her as she was, pinned to the railing by the weight of my body. My right hand found her again, sliding up her thigh, hiking her skirt higher until it bunched around her waist. The scent of her hit me as I knelt, raw and intoxicating—a mix of arousal, sweat, and something uniquely hers. She shifted slightly, giving me better access, a silent invitation. My mouth found her, my tongue working its way over every inch, tasting her deeply. She was incredible—sweet, salty, alive with desire. Whatever her age, her body felt like it belonged to someone in their prime, her tightness, her flavor, the way she quivered with every flick of my tongue. Gen moaned, her hands gripping the cold metal railing as she trembled beneath me, each sound she made urging me to devour her more completely.

When I was finally done with her, I slowed down, letting her catch the breath. She turned to me, and our mouths met in a kiss that felt both desperate and tender. I knew I must have tasted of her, but if anything, it only seemed to make her kiss me harder. We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, lips locked, her hands weaving through my hair, mine cradling her head as if she might disappear if I let go.

As the kiss deepened, her hands began their journey downward. She worked her way to my pants with deliberate determination, and I deeply exhaled when she finally reached me. Her fingers found my hardness, stroking me through the fabric, her touch maddeningly skilled. But I couldn’t let her take control. Each time she tried to go further, I stopped her, pushing her hands away despite her whispered pleas. "Please, let me," she said, her voice soft but insistent. I refused, over and over, enjoying the teasing push and pull, the way it made her crave more.

The chill of the night got to us as we stepped back into the warmth of the room, the air thick with unspoken tension. She stood there, her cheeks flushed and her hair wild, her eyes full of lust as she met my gaze. “Come on,” she said, her voice firm and insistent. “Take me now.” Her boldness drew a low laugh from me, a sound that rumbled between us. I leaned in close, my lips brushing her ear as I murmured, “Not yet. You’re not in charge here.”

I stepped back slightly, then brought my hand down firmly on her backside, the sound sharp in the stillness. She gasped, a mix of surprise and something deeper. I leaned in again, my voice a low whisper, “Do you want more?”

She gave the smallest nod, and I struck again, the sensation a careful balance between firmness and restraint. Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into me, her body speaking what words couldn’t.

I pulled back, letting the moment settle before instructing her to undress. She hesitated, just for a beat, as if expecting me to take over, to guide her through it. But I didn’t. This was her task. My eyes stayed on her, intent and firm, as she stripped away her clothes. There was no performance in her movements, just a raw submission that drew me in even more.

Now bare, she stood before me, exposed in every sense of the word. I reached out, letting my fingertips trail lightly over her skin—a brush along her arm, a gentle press on her belly, a slow circle around her nipple. She trembled under my touch, the silence between us electric. I stepped closer, my body brushing against hers, our faces so close that she leaned in for a kiss. But I held back, letting the anticipation build. Instead, I began to guide her toward the bed, the tension mounting with every step. When her legs hit the edge, I gave her a push, and she fell back onto the pristine white duvet.

What I wanted to say was how much I had tried to resist, but by that point, it was impossible. Stripping off my clothes, I joined her, feeling the heat radiating from her skin as our bodies met. That warmth was intoxicating, pulling me toward her. I want to feel more and more of it. We began kissing agian, deeply, hungrily, messily, our bodies tangled together. My erection rubbed against her skin, and she responded instinctively, trying to guide herself on top of me.

Then it happened. I felt it—the warmth, the wetness, the welcome as she took me in. She gasped softly, her body tight, only allowing a little of me in at a time before moving up again. It was a careful rhythm as we adjusted, finding the right angle, and after a few tries, we both settled into a perfect rhythm. Her movements grew more fluid, and I kissed her repeatedly, unable to get enough of the way her body melded with mine. Despite usually preferring to take the lead, I relished how she moved—deliberate, inviting, her body radiating a warmth that felt both genuine and electrifying.

She moved her hips slowly, sometimes up and down, other times shifting forward and back. Each motion sent jolts of pleasure through me, my penis rubbing against her in ways that made my head spin. It was almost too much—I knew I needed to pull out before I lost control.

Sliding out of her, I lowered myself to taste her. My lips pressed against her, sucking and kissing her tenderly, yet with a fierce hunger. I licked her again and again, savouring the taste as I used my fingers to find her clitoris, teasing her until her body began to shiver. Her hips bucked, and she tried to pull away, a clear sign she was close. But I held her firmly, licking and sucking until she tensed completely, her cries filling the room as her release washed over her.

I gave her a moment to catch her breath, though I wasn’t about to let her have too much time. Moving up, I kissed her, her lips soft and warm against mine. Then, on my knees, I guided her hand to my erection before pressing myself deep into her mouth. Like a starved animal, she took me in eagerly, but I maintained control, holding her head as I pushed deeper. I held her there briefly, savoring the sensation before pulling back and repeating. Each time, she gasped for air, her enthusiasm and submission making the moment all the more intense.

After several repetitions, I finally let her relax, though her whispered comment caught me off guard. “Now that’s a surprise,” she said, her tone lighter, almost teasing. It was a voice that made the world beyond this room feel insignificant.

“You tell me,” I replied with a wink. “Getting all pushy at the bar—do you know how difficult that was?”

“Show me,” she said simply, her challenge impossible to ignore.

I leaned over her, kissing every inch of her face—her chin, her nose, her cheeks, her earlobes—before moving lower. As I entered her again, we locked eyes, and for a moment, the world fell away. It was just us, two bodies intertwined, two minds free of worry. My movements grew harder and faster, and I told her I wouldn’t last long. Her response was a whisper, hot against my ear: “Put your hands on my neck and be ruthless.”

Without hesitation, I complied. She raised her legs to give me full control as I tightened my hands around her neck, pushing deeper and harder. Each push felt like a release of everything pent up inside me, and the growing intensity was undeniable. As I neared the edge, I tried to pull out, about cum on her belly. But she hissed, “No, inside me.” That was all it took. I did not have think twice, giving in fully as I felt my release as I felt her warmth, the sensation overwhelming as I slowed, catching my breath and letting the ecstasy to take over me.

I collapsed next to her, both of us silent for a while, not wanting to break the moment. A glance at my watch told me I had less than six hours until I needed to wake up. Thirsty and exhausted, I suggested a shower. The warm water washed over us as I gently kissed her, complimenting her body, enjoying the rare intimacy of the moment.

We agreed to set alarms and sleep in her bed. At least, I did. Around 3 a.m., I awoke to her hands on me, her touch slowly but surely returning erection. She took me in her mouth, working her magic until I fully had-on. This time, it was her turn to take control, riding me relentlessly until we both collapsed in a heap, tangled together in shared exhaustion.

The alarm was merciless. My body screamed with fatigue, but Gen’s curves beside me sparked a different kind of energy. Sliding into her from behind, we let lust take over one last time. It was raw and fast, driven by pure instinct, both of us gripping every last minute we had together.

At the terminal, as we said goodbye, she asked for my number. I hesitated, unsure of where this would lead, but I couldn’t refuse. As I was about to turn on flight mode my WhatsApp showed new message "I want to play that evening game of submission, Mister. Next time. XXX Gen".

Her number burned in my mind for weeks before we managed to agree if and how possible is to meet again. Writing this, I finished the check-in and this time the meeting is not going to be sheer luck.