The keycard beeped open the door to room 164. Transit hotel near the airport, anonymous as fuck. My suitcase slumped by the bed, wheels scarred from endless flights. City lights flickered outside, runways glowing like veins in the night. Nouria slammed the door, eyes hungry. We’d met hours ago in the lounge bar—strangers in limbo, tomorrow’s flight erasing all traces. Her hand grabbed my crotch. No names needed. Pure urgency.
She shoved me against the wall, yanked my belt. Pants dropped. Her mouth engulfed my cock, hot and sloppy. Gland sucked hard, tongue swirling the tip, balls cupped and tugged. I groaned, fingers in her hair. She deepthroated, gagging wet, spit dripping. Pussy fire already—I smelled it. Ripped her clothes off. Tits full, nipples stiff. Pushed her on the bed, spread legs wide. Dove in, tongue lashing her clit, fingers plunging deep. She bucked, juices flooding my face. ‘Fuck me now!’ she gasped.
The Stopover
Cock slammed home. Tight, wet grip. Missionary brutal—hips pistoning, balls slapping ass. She clawed my back, legs locked. Flipped to doggy, pounded savage. Ass cheeks rippling, hair pulled tight. She came screaming, pussy clenching. I exploded inside, grunting like an animal. Collapsed naked, sweat-slick, hearts racing. Hotel corridor noises filtered in—doors slamming, carts rumbling. Anonymity fueled it all.
Then hell broke. Door splintered. The pale fucker from the stadium lounge—eyes dead, fangs glinting. He lunged. No time for clothes. Nouria snatched her jacket, buttoned over bare tits and dripping pussy. I bolted after, cock swinging, grabbed pants en route. Down stairs, heart hammering. Into the car. Semblance of escape. But he tracked us.
The Transit
Nouria floored it to her sister’s building—another transit pitstop, elevator humming like ours. Parked. Amel rushed down, tee and panties only, sore from David’s savage pounding earlier. Courbatures everywhere, she said later. Handed clothes. Young punks catcalled: ‘Hey, hot chicks!’ Hauled inside, hall light harsh. Elevator up. Amel’s place: divan soft, but tension thick. David, pissed prick, tossed socks. We called cops, voices shaky. Lights on bright. My neck bruised from the first scrape—proof.
David bitched, hid his weed stash behind the bed. Fucker. Amel snapped at him. Then—crash from ceiling. He tumbled through, white as corpse, fangs buried in David’s throat. Blood gushed. Amel screamed. I yanked the girls. Door shattered behind. Ran blind through the apartment, pulses exploding. Out to the car. Nouria behind wheel, Amel sobbing rear seat. Tires screeched. City blurred, airport lights mocking. Dawn creeping. We’d drive till light killed him.
Keycards abandoned, suitcases lost. That carnal blur—her mouth, pussy, screams—etched forever. Transit done. Road ahead endless. Night not over.