Landed in Montreal for a 12-hour layover. Dragged my roller suitcase off the shuttle to a bland downtown hotel. Magnetic keycard beeped at room 412. City lights flickered through the window, distant runway glow on the horizon. No one knows me here. Total anonymity. Perfect for my secret cravings.
I’d been lurking on chat sites, straight guy at 22 but obsessed with trans pics. Jerked off to wild scenarios. Then Alice appeared online. Local downtown. We swapped fantasies. She invited me over that night. Heart slamming, showered quick, threw on jeans hiding my half-chub. Locked room door, heard elevator ding and corridor chatter. Left suitcase propped by bed. Taxi dropped me blocks away. Sweating bullets, cock twitching visibly. Buzzed her apartment. Anguish waiting. Door swung open.
The Layover
Not disappointed. Alice matched her pics: long straight black hair, flawless makeup, bustier pushing up fake tits, mid-thigh skirt curving killer hips, black nylons sheathing legs, heels elevating it all. Saw my nerves, grabbed my arm, pulled me stumbling inside. Door locked with a click. Street noise faded. She led to the living room, sweet perfume hitting like lust bait. I sank on the couch. She slid beside me. Casual chat, her hand stroking my thigh.
“You’re cute. Relax, virgin boy. Tonight I’ll show you new worlds…” Grabbed my hand, kissed it, placed on her nyloned thigh. Locked eyes. Leaned in. Lips met, tongues danced hot and wet. Tasted like sin. Still kissing, she straddled me, yanked my shirt off. Fears vanished. Rock hard, painful erection. Noticed her bulge tenting the skirt.
“Come. Bedroom’s comfier.” Took my hand, led down the hall. Couldn’t resist palming her ass through the skirt fabric. Stood by the bed, city hum outside window. “Unzip my skirt slow.” Fingers trembled on the zipper, caressing down. Skirt pooled at heels. Lingerie stunning. She dropped my jeans and boxers. Naked, cock pointing at her. She gripped it soft, pulled me onto sheets. Tongues battled again, hands roaming twisting bodies.
On my back now, her riding. Mouth trailed neck, chest. Licked nipples, bit gentle. First time they hardened. Moaning lost control. Her lips journeyed south. Tongue dragged my shaft, engulfed head deep throat. Hands massaged balls heavy with load. Edged me insane. Released, sucked balls, then lower.
The Transit
Legs spread wide. Lifted ass without thinking. Whimpered like a bitch. Precum beaded my tip. “Love it like a slut, my little pussy…” Legs over shoulders, folded back, ass up. Kissed me deep, her hard cock nudged my cheeks. Saliva lubed from before.
“Yes, fuck me like a girl…”
“You’ll love it, baby.” Her 8-inch cock slid between cheeks. Glans peeked under my balls. She aimed, pressed. “Relax…” Hurt at first, resistance. Deep breath, pushed out. Popped in. Slow thrust, balls slapped mine. Full, hot pulsing inside. No pain now. Pulled back, ring gripped her. Yelped, then full plunge. Slow rhythm built. Felt like a whore getting railed. “Take it, slut,” she panted, pounding.
She sped up, buried deep, exploded cum flooding my guts. My cock erupted ropes on my abs. Stayed plugged, then slipped out. Collapsed kissing. “Good girl. Rest, night’s young…”
Clock ticked. Layover ending soon. We flipped, I rimmed her briefly, she sucked me hard again. Fucked missionary style, her heels digging my back. Came mutual, sweaty heap. Taxi back at dawn. Hotel corridor empty, keycard beeped. Packed suitcase, rumpled sheets scented her. Checked out, shuttle to airport. Runway views blurred, ass still tingling, her cum leaking. Ultimate naughty stopover memory.