The Business Trip 45

Sam and I have been married for 21 years and three months. And not once in that time had I ever considered cheating.

My new job was going to be something great for us. They doubled my salary at the hospital, gave me stock and sent me on the road as a travel-nurse supervisor. It was the job of a lifetime.

The offer came at a perfect time since we were getting ready to send our girls off to school. Sam and I would be able to travel together for some of the trips. It was a dream come true.

He was a little leery of it, and could understand that. But I think there was some jealousy and maybe a hint of suspicion. Sam and I had a past, and no one knows about it. We were in the lifestlye for a few years before marriage and then again for a few years when the girls were a little older.

We stopped because Sam was getting uneasy. I'd fallen in love with it. And when we stopped, cold-turkey after a particularly incredible night out of town, well let's just say I never got it out of my system.

So yes, he had reason to expect the worst.

Our sex life was still good, don't get me wrong. But the truth is, I've stayed in shape all these years, and Sam has put on a few pounds. Nothing out of the oridinary but he's gone soft.

Golf is not exercise.

I spent most of my time getting ready for the new job trying to avoid having a real conversation about it with Sam. Instead, I shopped for new clothes, new everything, a new life really.

I was beyond excited about it. But I tried to keep an even attitude around Sam. Maybe to ease his mind, and certainly to sate my deepest need before leaving the night before my first trip, I pulled out a new pair of hose, a garter belt, crotchless panties and a new toy. Sam and I fucked late into the night.

The next morning I walked softly. We barely spoke. I cooked breakfast, put on a new suit, kissed my husband good-bye and walked out on my own. It was as if I was leaving my old life behind me.

The flight was to Atlanta, where I had reservations in the Marriott Marquis downtown.

I was treated like royalty. My bosses had given me the keys to traveling in style. I drank coffee in the private lounge, had a fruit plate in first class and a text from Hertz letting me know a car would be waiting for me outside baggage claim.

I lay back and closed my eyes. The flight was just over and hour. I dreamed of my past, which I often do. I dreamed of our nights out of town, when we were swingers and living a life no one knew of.

The voice of the pilot woke me, letting us know we were landing. I sat up in my seat and adjusted myself. I had the sensation that I was wet. I put a blanket in my lap and slid my hand under my skirt. I was soaked.

I glanced to my left and saw a young man looking at me. He smiled and nodded. I didn't react. But for the first time in years, I felt alive. Funny how a mere glance can change everything.

I looked back at the young man and smiled.

He looked to be in his 30s, impeccably dressed and groomed, impossibly good looking, tanned and fit. When we landed, he took my bag out of the overhead for me, reaching up and revealing a slim body, long legs, toned ass and a distinct bulge in his pants.

"Here you go," he said in a lilting Southern accent. "Nice luggage, by the way. You travel in style."

I blushed and admitted it was my first trip alone, and that I was a little out of my element.

He held out his hand.

"My name's Jack," he said.

"Sara," I said, blushing again. "Nice to meet you."

We stood face to face for several minutes as people scurried around us, gathering bags and waiting for the doors to open. I took a deep breath.

"I really don't even know what to do next," I said. "I have a car waiting, but I've never been here before."

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

I was a little alarmed. It was a daring question from a man I'd never seen in my life. I had no business telling Jack where I was staying.

"The Marquis," I said.

Jack smiled.

"Then you can follow me or I can log it into your phone," he said. "I'm staying across the street at the Ritz."

I looked into his eyes, which seemed to be burning a hole in me. I was actually getting wetter. I unlocked my phone and handed it to him.

Jack fiddled with it for a few seconds, telling me he was putting the address into the GPS, then handed it back to me.

"Just go where she tells you," he said, pushing an app that suddenly came to life.

"Hello Sara," my phone suddenly spoke to me. "My name is Siri. You are at Gate 28 in Terminal A at Atlanta-Hartsfield. You are currently 4.6 miles from the Marriott Marquis."

People had started to move when I took my eyes off my phone. I felt a hand in the small of my back.

"Call me if you need anything," Jack said. "I left you my number."

I called Sam from the baggage claim, telling him about the flight, the nice crew, the local people, who were all so nice.

I tried to sound cheery as I made it to the hotel in no time.

Still, the ride was crazy. Traffic was impossible. Without the GPS, there would be no way I would ever have been able to go from the airport to the hotel.

But not once was I concerned. I stopped at the entrance, handed my keys to a valet and followed a bellman into the hotel. They all seemed to know me. They'd been expecting me. The concierge knew my name and a bottle of wine was in my room, two glasses and a note.

"Welcome to Atlanta," it read. "Let me know if you need anything. I'm close by, and I would love to buy you a drink."

It was from Jack.

I immediately dropped the note. How could he know? How did this happen in less than an hour?

I felt violated. I felt anxious. I felt horny as hell.

I slipped out of my skirt and fell onto the bed, breathing hard, my head swirling. Who was this guy? What should I do? Call the desk? Call the cops? Call Sam?

I took off my panties. They were soaked. I felt every nerve end. I was on fire.

I put my panties in my mouth and opened my lags. I fucked myself with the wine bottle.

Welcome to Atlanta.

I came in waves, thinking of the man on the plane, seeing the bulge in his pants feeling his hand on the small of my back, hearing his Southern accent. I picked up the note and read it again.

I looked at my watch. It was 5:30.

I picked up the phone and saw the message Jack had left. His number was underlined. With my hand shaking, I touched it.

After one ring, he answered.

"Hey Sara," he said, making my knees weak hearing him speak my name. "Hope you got the wine. Don't worry, the concierge is a friend. I have no idea where your room is, but I do know what floor it's on. I stay there myself sometime."

I just listened and swooned as he talked. I was standing with no panties, rubbing my pussy absent-mindedly when he finally broke me from my reverie.

"So what do you think?" he said.

I had no idea what he was talking about. I really hadn't heard a word he said.

"Um, what?" I answered. "What do I think?"

"About a drink," he said.

"Jack, I'm a married woman," I said.

"You're a business woman in a strange city," he said. "Meet me for a drink. I promise to be a perfect gentleman. 6:30, my place."

"Your place?" I asked, a little too harshly.

He laughed.

"The Ritz," he said. "The bar is better here."

I don't even know if I answered. It was just sort of understood. I showered, changed into a casual sundress, fixed my hair and put on my best bracelet and necklace.

I put on a pair of sandals and walked out of the room. Janet, the concierge, greeted me as I walked toward the elevator.

"Hey Sara," she said. "Hope you liked the wine."

I smiled and thanked her. My pussy ached just a little. But it felt great.

"It was great," I said. "Thank you so much."

I walked to the elevator. I wasn't wearing panties.

Jack was at the bar when I walked into the Ritz across the street. The walls were dark and wooded, covered in paintings and orginal art. The mirror behind the bar was covered in bottles.

Jack stood as I walked in slowly, looking around in awe as glasses clinked and people laughed around me.

"You look great," he said, taking my hand and pulling a bar stool out for me.

He looked like Jay Gatsby. I felt like I was in a movie.

I really don't recall the pleasantries. It wasn't until after a couple of drinks that my ears stopped ringing. I snapped to when he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said. "I have to take this call."

He started talking to someone as he stood, and for the first time I looked at his ring finger. There was nothing.

He seemed to be talking to business associate or a client, speaking forcefully and in a different tone than he spoke to me.

"Just do it," he said. "I don't have time for this."

Then he clicked his phone and apologized. Without sitting down or saying a word, he motioned to the bartender and two more drinks appeared. He held out his hand and offered it to me.

"C'mon, Sara," he said. "Let me show you the Ritz-Carlton Atlanta."

He held my hand as we walked slowly. He pointed out works of art and we stood at the chocolate bar for a few minutes. His hand was on the small of my back again, rubbing slightly we walked and he talked.

Jack was 10 years younger than me, best I could tell. He'd changed into khakis and a button-down Oxford inside a navy sportcoat, and he wore penny loafers and no socks, which I found curious.

People nodded to him as we walked. They seemed to know him and respect him. We walked up a long stairway into a ballroom, walked down carpeted hallways with meeting rooms and party rooms all along the walls. Then we turned a corner and walked through a glass door.

We were on a balcony looking out over mid-town Atlanta.

"This is a nice view," I said.

"It's better from up there," he said, pointing above us. "Want to see?"

Without answering, I found myself walking toward an elevator that required a key. Jack took a card and swept it over a lock, and the door slid open. Inside, the elevator seemed impossibly small.

"Why is this so cramped?" I asked.

It's private," Jack said. "It's mine."

I was speechless as he shrugged.

The elevator sped up 30 stories in an instant, taking my breath away as it stopped without a sound. There were two buttons on the elevator, a black one and a red one with the little fireman hat on it. It went from the third floor to the 33rd floor, and that was it.

The door opened to a magnificent view of the city, an incredible private balcony with a table, two chairs, a candle and a bucket of ice on it. There was a bottle of vodka and a bottle of tonic with a lemon and a lime.

It took a few seconds to realize it was for me. Or us. I was too busy looking at all the lights of the city.

A door slid open behind me, and Jack walked inside.

"Excuse me," he said, taking his jacket off as he disappeared into the darkness.

I peered in and my heart almost stopped. I was looking into a bedroom, an impossibly big room with a huge bed, massive dressers on thick carpet. Works of art adorned the walls.

I heard a door open, so I went back outside and leaned over the edge of the balcony, letting the updraft blow my hair in billows, my sundress riding up, revealing my bare ass.

Jack cleared his throat. He'd seen it all.

"Do you know how beautifully sexy you are?" he asked, picking up a glass and filling it with vodka, splashing some tonic water and cutting a lime quarter. He was beautiful.

He handed it to me and began to make one for himself.

"So what do you think of the place?" he asked.

"Well, all I've seen is this," I said.

We clinked glasses and he took my other hand.

"C'mon," he said. "I'll give you a tour."

We walked through the bedroom without saying a word. He opened a door and we were in a dining area, a long table with a dozen or more chairs. And then we were in a living area, a sunken floor, all wood, with a modern decor, glass and chrome everywhere, a massive television on one wall and a gas fireplace at the other end. Over the mantle was a portrait of a man and a woman looking like something out Pebble Beach.

"Who are they?" I asked, breaking the silence as he moved pillows and picked up magazines.

"Oh, that's my parents," Jack said. "Sorry this place is a mess. I had no idea I would have a visitor."

I didn't respond. I just walked closer to the portrait and stared. The couple was striking.

"That's Mr. and Mrs. George Wilkes Johnson," Jack said. "They came here from Maryland."

"What did he do?" I asked, still staring into the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.

"Hotels," Jack said. "My dad owned hotels."

"Which hotels?" I asked, lowering my tone.

Jack laughed.

"Well, this one for starters," he said.

I turned around to face him, wide-eyed with my mouth open.

"And yours, too," he said, shrugging.

A million things were running through my mind as we continued to tour the 33rd floor. There was a huge kitchen and guest rooms and an office. There was a basketball court and a sauna and a whirlpool and bathrooms everywhere, some with showers, some with tubs. There were closets the size of my bedroom back home, lined with blue blazer, white Oxford shirts, pants and shoes and two tuxedos, one white, one black.

I was speechless. Jack was casually showing me the entire floor of the nicest hotel in Atlanta. This was his house.

We walked past a huge wooden door with a small window. I glanced at it as we walked past, curious why he wasn't showing it to me. What I saw inside took my breath away.

I only saw it for a brief second or two, but I clearly saw a massage table in the middle of the room, chains and whips hanging from the ceiling and a huge X-shaped bondage rack against the wall.

If he noticed that I saw inside, he didn't say a word. I felt something inside me stir. My pussy warmed and I was light-headed. I stopped and leaned against the wall, feeling my heart beat wildly. I was flushed. When Jack turned, I gathered my senses and took a deep breath.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"Y, yes," I stammered, still breathing heavily.

Jack came toward me, put his hands on my bare shoulders and massaged them as he looked into my eyes. I could feel his strength, I could see something in his eyes I'd never seen before.

He leaned in to kiss me. I closed my eyes and melted in his arms. We kissed for more than a minute, his hands sliding all over me, down my back, over my ass, lifting my dress to expose it. I lifted a leg and he ran his hand under my thigh, sliding it all the way to my crotch.

We stood there looking at each other, neither knowing what to say, what to do next.

"Show it to me," I whispered.

Jack furrowed his brow, and tilted his head, a coy smile as he looked into my eyes.

"The room," I said. "Take me to your room."

It was the alcohol talking. It was my pussy talking. It was the old Sara from years ago, longing for something taken from me, something I still dreamed about, still masturbated to.

I wanted to submit to him. Totally.

Jack didn't say a word, just turned me around forcefully, almost pushing me toward the giant oak door. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked it, pushing me into the room the locking the door behind us.

I stood and stared at the scene. It was like a dungeon. A sex cave. I felt my knees weaken. Then I felt the zipper on the back of my dress opening. My dress fell off, revealing my naked body. Goosebumps covered me as his hands slid over me.

Again, I felt him push me toward the center of the room, where a cusioned table sat, objects hanging from it. Jack led me to the edge of the table then put his hands on my shoulders, sliding them down to my breasts, massaging me from behind as I moaned and he kissed my neck.

"God yes," I whispered as his hands explored my tingling body.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice even and masculine.

I sucked in a breath as his finger probed my ass. The words came out on their own. It was if I was another person.

"Take me," I said. "Own me."

I felt my legs rise from the floor as he grabbed my hips and lay me over the edge of the table. My ass was sticking up as he opened my legs and put his face in my crack. I felt his tongue licking me probing me, making my hole wet.

I lay there shaking as he had his way with my ass while moving around under the table. I felt him move away from my ass and lean over me, sliding a blindfold around my head. The darkness was profound.

I was led from the table to the wall, where my arms were lifted and cuffed, outstetched over me. Then my ankles were cuffed, spread eagle. I had the sensation that I was levitated, hanging in the air.

My chest heaved as I waited in silence, hearing noises as Jack moved about the room. I heard him pull something under me, something powerful and machine-like. Then it came to life, humming, rhythmically pulsing. I felt something warm being poured onto me, running down my stomach and over my pussy. I felt Jack's fingers sliding into my molten pussy, opening me, prying aprt the walls of my flaming cunt.

The object entered from below, long and thick, ribbed and studded. It took my breath away. Then the cross I was cuffed to began to move. I felt my legs spreading farther apart, opening my pussy to the machine, which began to plunge deeper in me, faster and noisier.

I was screaming. I was afraid. I was completely overpowered. I was in a hellish experience but it was like heaven. Only painful.

The first slap of soft leather hit my stomach, playfully almost. The second, slightly harder was across my tits. They became harder as I struggled, being fucked mercilessly by a machine and whipped indiscriminantly by Jack and some sort of flogger.

I begged for more.

Jack whipped me from head to toe, burning my flesh and making me squirm and cry and beg for more and more.

And then suddenly it was over.

The machine stopped. I felt myself being lowered. Jack uncuffed my ankles then uncuffed my arms. I collapsed onto his shoulder, and felt myself being carried across the room, thrown onto a mattress on the floor.

Still blindfolded, I was helpless. I was a sex slave. I mumbled incoherently, under my breath.

"Take me, Jack. I want more."

If he heard me he didn't speak. I felt my hips being picked up and a pillow of some sort placed under me. My ass was exposed again. I felt oil being poured over me, a warmth covering my back, my ass and my legs. And then the cuffs again, stretching me spread eagle across the pillow and mattress.

I was pinned and planted.

And then the machine again, this time placed at the entrace to my ass. His fingers entered me first, stretching my hole slowly but forcefully, oiling me, training me. The machine came to life, pushing something against my hole, probing, opening me, then slowly entering me as I gasped and thrashed. Deep inside me, it began to vibrate. I felt like my entire insides were buzzing. It was an incredible sensation.

I screamed in pain and begged for more.

"Fuck me!" I yelled, not sure if I was talking to Jack or the machine. "Fuck me hard."

The machine began to move again, in and out, in and out.

Then the whips returned, softly against my back then harder against my ass, stinging little painful slaps that made me squeal and sweat. It seemed to last for hours. I lost all track of time. I had no idea where I was, how long I would be here, if I would ever be released.

I didn't want to released. I wanted more.

The object inside me was smooth, sliding easily in and out of me now as orgasms swept inside me, cum running down my legs, cum oozing my asshole. I cried and shook my head. fighting the pain, inviting the pleasure, my tongue hanging from my mouth like a wild animal.

I was fucked until I passed out.

When I awoke, I was dressed, my sundress on, my sandals on. Jack was brushing my hair as I lay on the couch. I opened my eyes and got my bearings as Jack continued to stroke my hair.