Jet-lagged from Paris, I drag my roller suitcase into the sleek lounge bar at my Aix-en-Provence transit hotel. Early meeting tomorrow on real estate investments, then back on a flight. Anonymity hits hard—no one knows me here. I sip a cocktail, chatting property with a buddy on the phone. A silver-templed guy in his 50s, Rodolphe, overhears. Sharp dresser: jeans, Italian shoes, sky-blue shirt. With a thirtysomething couple, the Parissés. He slides over, opportunistic charm. ‘Investing in luxe rentals? I’m VP at DRK Immobilier.’ We talk shop. They buy me a drink. My friends bail; night deepens.
Sonia Parissé, stunning tall métisse, catches my eye in the dim light. Black-gold jumpsuit hugs her curves. They insist I see their new place. Rodolphe dips for an early call. Xavier nods; Sonia smiles wicked. Elevator dings—hotel card key beeps. No, wait: they lead to a gritty street, roll up a metal shutter. Freight elevator groans up. They kiss fiercely inside, hands lost in her white rabbit jacket fur. I stare, pulse racing. Anonymity fuels it—I’m gone by dawn.
The Stopover
Shutter clanks open to a blinding white loft: lacquered furniture, marble statues, fur rugs everywhere. Magnum pops; we toast. Xavier nuzzles Sonia’s neck. She slips away, returns drowned in white fox coat, heels clicking. ‘Xavier says you like fur.’ Spins, fur swirling against her caramel skin. Crimson lips part. Xavier presses behind, hands roaming her tits through fur. Tension crackles. She fingers herself under the coat, licks her wet digits. ‘I love tasting my juices when horny.’ Belt loosens; coat falls open. Red lingerie, garters, no panties. Nipples harden. Rules: watch only, jerk off. I nod, throbbing.
The Transit
Xavier covers furniture in chinchilla throws. They devour on marble table fur-draped. Sonia on all fours, coat pooling. She teases his bulge, spits, sucks deep. Thumb rims his ass. I strip, bury face in fur, stroke through boxers. We cum together—he in her mouth, me on floor. Shower mutual handjob, soapy cocks harden again. Beaver coats for us. Catch her riding fur pile, fingering clit. Back to table: Xavier eats her gaping ass—plug’s been in all night. Fucks pussy, then fists her hole while she squirts fountains. I jerk him off into her wrecked anus, cum floods out.
She collapses, shivering. He wraps her, baths her. I tidy, dress. Cold street bites as I wheel suitcase back to hotel. Keycard beeps goodbye at desk. Plane waits at Marseille airport. Loft echoes: fur whispers, her screams, that fist-deep stretch. No numbers exchanged. Perfect anonymous fuck before wheels up. Cock twitches replaying it mid-flight.