I’m in transit, killing time in this unfamiliar city. Paul’s away on a job site, kids with mom. Anonymity hits hard—no one knows me here. I drive up to Antoine’s upscale villa, heart pounding. Park the car, grab my tiny purse like a traveler’s kit. No panties under my tight red dress, the one that drives guys crazy. Ring the bell. He opens the door in shorts and a half-open shirt, bare feet, tanned abs gleaming. Heat wave vibes. Quick glance back at the street—empty. Safe. He pulls me in, no words. His mouth crashes on mine. Soft, tastes like mint and desire. Body heat surges. Coffee offered, but fuck that. “Skip the chit-chat,” I say. Hand in hand, we head to the bedroom. Huge white bed, floor-to-ceiling mirror reflecting city skyline haze. Impersonal luxury, like a high-end transit hotel. Corridor echoes faint, distant traffic hum. Everything permitted—I’m gone tomorrow.
His strong arms wrap me. Feel his cock throb against my belly through thin fabric—huge, like Sophie bragged. We drop to the bed. Tongues tangle, hungry. Hands everywhere. He peels my dress straps, sucks my hard nipples through lace—no lace, bare. Wet already, thighs slick. Fingers tease my pussy lips, dip in. I’m soaked. Mirror shows it: legs spread, dress hiked, his digits parting me. First orgasm hits fast—sharp, clenching. “Yes, more.” I flip him, rip off his shirt. Perfect torso, ripped. Hand on his bulge—thick, pulsing. Yank shorts down. Cock springs out, long, veiny, hitting his navel. Grip it, stroke slow. Salty pre-cum. Suck the fat head, stretch my lips. Two hands to jerk it. He groans, hips buck. Stop before he blows. “Fuck me. All of you.”
The Layover
He flips me on back. Gland nudges my slit, rubs clit. I gush more. Pushes in—slow burn, stretching walls. Inch by inch, fills me deep. Never felt so full. Gasp, claw his back. He thrusts steady, then pounds. “Harder, fuck me! Your cock’s perfect.” Orgasms crash—wave after wave, screaming. Doggy next. Tongue on my ass, clit sucked. Cum again, shaking. Beg: “Cum inside.” He slams home from behind. Balls slap. Grunts build. Buries deep, floods me—hot jets pulsing. Collapse, his seed dripping thighs. Tender kisses after. Reality buzzes—phone vibrates, Paul’s call ignored.
Water break. He slips on wet spot by door—my squirt? Giggle. Chat fades. Check time. Smooth dress, no shower—keep his scent. Kiss at door, promise more. Drive off, city blurring. Key fob beeps car locked. Head in clouds, pussy throbbing. Back to Paul, kids, life. But this stopover? Burned in. Urgent departure fuels the rush. Next transit, who knows.