Wheeled my suitcase through the airport terminal. Twelve-hour stopover in this faceless city. No one knows me here. Perfect. Beeped the keycard at the transit hotel. Room 312. Impersonal bed, minibar hum, window overlooking runways. Planes roared off into dusk. I’m gone at dawn. Freshened up quick. Taxi to Alyzee’s gallery nearby—my photo exhibit, mom’s idea. Passion project, shots of everyday women. Gertrude’s series: casual, sexy poses. Natural tits spilling from blouses, legs akimbo on swings.
Crowd buzzed. Heart raced. Then: ‘Lucille?’ Turned. Gabriel Montiers. Silver temples, sharp jaw, ten years older. Art critic kingmaker. Smiled easy. ‘Your photos… stunning.’ Legs jelly. He scanned my body, unashamed. ‘Dinner? Discuss your work. That reclining shot—Gertrude’s cleavage, enigmatic.’ Fans milled. I nodded, stunned. Handed his card. ‘Call me.’ Vanished. Alyzee and mom grilled me. ‘He’s huge! Say yes!’ Pride swelled. Curiosity too. Fingered the card all night, suitcase open, passport glaring.
The Layover
Called next day. Midweek dinner spot. Arrived late, heels clicking pavement. He waited casual—jeans, shirt hugging chest. Table intimate. Wine flowed. ‘Four shots hooked me. Gertrude’s raw beauty. Spontaneous. Fuckable.’ Blushed. Heat built. ‘See originals?’ Blurted it. ‘My hotel room. Close.’ His eyes lit. ‘Lead on.’ Taxi back. Runway lights blinked below.
Elevator dinged. Third floor. Corridor echoes—doors slamming, carts rattling. Fingers shook on keycard. Beep. Door swung. Dim lamp, king bed, city glow outside. Laptop out, prints from suitcase. He pored over them. Finger traced Gertrude’s curves. Then me. Eyes locked. Legs parted accidental—white panties damp, visible. He smirked. Leaned in. Lips crashed. Tongues tangled, wet, urgent. Hands roamed. Peeled my blazer, skirt hiked. Bra snapped free. Tits bounced out—he sucked nipples hard, teeth grazing.
The Transit
Pushed me to bed. Sheets cool. Yanked panties aside. Fingers plunged pussy—slick, throbbing. ‘Wet for me already.’ Growled. Cock out—thick, veined, leaking pre-cum. No words. Rode him reverse first. Ass grinding, his hands spanking cheeks red. Moaned loud—corridor muffled it. Flipped. Legs over shoulders, pounded deep. Balls slapped clit. Sweaty, grunting. ‘Fuck, your cunt’s tight.’ Came screaming, walls pulsing. He pulled out, ropes on my belly. Collapsed, panting.
Dawn glow. Runway jets screamed departure. Woke tangled. Morning wood stiff. Sucked him sloppy—gagged, drool dripping. Bent over desk, fucked doggy. Mirror view: tits swinging, face slutty. Filled me raw, creampie dripping thighs. No promises. Kissed lazy. ‘Article incoming.’ Winked.
Keycard surrendered at desk. Suitcase zipped. Taxi to terminal. Body ached sweet—pussy tender, lips bruised. Anonymous night scorched memory. Boarded plane, Gertrude’s photos fading. His cum lingered inside. Perfect transit fuck. Gone forever.