"I hope you enjoy your stay with us, Mr. Sutton," the woman behind the London hotel desk smiled at me. She spoke with a fitting, posh English accent.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure I will," I smiled back, allowing myself to check her out a moment. I think she was about 40 years old, not that it was easy to tell with her makeup and smooth, pale skin. Her fiery, wavy red hair fell past her shoulders, to her plunging neckline, to her big, proud breasts. I was worried I was being too obvious, but I saw her big blue eyes smiling at me. I didn't think she minded. That easy smile on her as she watched me studying her. Those dimples.
"If there's anything I can do to make your stay more pleasurable, please do let me know." She was almost certainly flirting with me, but it can be hard to tell. Plus I was exhausted. So I nodded sheepishly and took my bags up to my room.
The moment the hotel room door closed behind me, I let my bags fall to the floor. I draped my suit jacket over the couch en route to the bed and did a trust-fall backwards into the embrace of the luxury bedding on the king mattress. I undid my necktie and unbuttoned the top three buttons of my shirt before halting. It feels so good to surrender sometimes.
Between the redeye to London flight and the all-day negotiation, I was wiped. Fortunately it was going well--we had more to hash out, but our counterparties had caved on major points for us. This would close soon.
The hotel was nice, too. Good bed, marble bathroom with a soaking tub, floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the nearby park. It was an old hotel, but I much preferred the classic architecture vibe to some business district glass tower above the Thames. The sun was just about down setting. I'd stay up a bit longer to avoid a late-night, jet lagged wake-up.
Or so I told myself. The next thing I knew, I was groggily opening my eyes to a night-darkened room and the sound of... God help me, shrieking.
"Baby!" A female voice cried through the wall. That was the problem with these old hotels: Even when they had modern renovations, they rarely did anything to dampen sound between rooms. So now I'd listen to some woman's nighttime hysterics.
"Great," I muttered as I wrapped a pillow around my ears.
"Baby, baby, yes!" The voice yelled again. An American accent. And now a clapping sound. Followed by an unintelligible, lower-pitched voice. My brain was waking up--this didn't sound like a phone call or idle chatter.
"Oh, fuck, smash that pussy!" The voice moaned. Now I got it: some chick was getting fucked. "Ugh, I love iiit!" The voice was high and clear. She sounded like a porn star who might actually be getting off--for real--in a scene she's shooting. And I have a weakness for a woman who's vocalizing her love of how she's getting dicked down.
Between the sex noises and having just awoken, I was rock-hard. My length was straining uncomfortably in the suit trousers I hadn't taken off. I undid my belt and pushed down the trousers. My hand dashed into the waistband of my boxer-briefs and gripped my thickness. Even in my big hands, my girth was a handful. And I could feel I was already dripping preejaculate.
"Harder!" She begged through the wall. I started stroking my fist down my dick. "Harder, baby. Fucking use this pussy!" The fleshy smacking sounds got louder. "Yeeesss, pump me deeeeep!" She whined in ecstasy.
My mind sketched her up as I stroked my precum-slicked dick. TikTok gym girl: long hair, slim waist, bubble butt jiggling as she got it clapped by this lucky guy's pelvis. Sleep in my brain made the images extra vivid.
"You like it rough, bitch," I grunted to myself as I worked my dick, imagining I was the guy bending over this hot little firecracker. I kept my voice low--if I could hear her, then at some volumes she'd be able to hear me. And I didn't exactly want her to know she had a neighbor perving out.
"Treat me like a slut, baby!" She called out to her lover. "C'mon! Leave me sore! Treat me like a little slut!" I hoped this guy knew how lucky he was to get a girl who begged for it all nasty like that.
"Nooo, not yet! Keep fucking me!" She complained. "I'm so close, I'm so close. Hold it back and then give me your load." Her guy must've been on the bring of cumming too quickly for her tastes. Not that I can blame him with a woman who sounded so sexy. The flesh-slapping sounds ceased. But I kept going.
"Daddy's going to make sure you cum like a whore before he gives you this nut," I muttered as I masturbated. I always took a while to cum. I often felt self-conscious about that, but most women I'd been with would wax poetic about my staying power. (One had complained. "I can't get pounded by something that big for so long," she'd griped one night. She had me finish up by jerking off on her tits while she rubbed her pussy. Which was hot in its own right.)
"Fine, just finger me then," the woman demanded. I was only getting one side of the conversation, but she sounded disappointed. "Finger me harder! Harder!" She barked, her volume ramping back up. "Yes, baby, make me drench the sheets! Put it in my mou--rm glrg glrghh. Ah, fuck yes, make me taste my pussy!" I imagined her laid out on her back, perky tits pointed at the ceiling as this dude fucked her face. "Glrgh rngh!"She was glugging like a throat goat loudly enough that I heard her through the wall. That was fucking hot.
"You like tasting your wrecked whore cunt, slut?" I sneered, feeling my own orgasm approaching. "Yeah, let Daddy own that throat like he owns your pussy. Fuck." Would this be the rare quickie for me? "You want it down your throat? Want Daddy spraying straight into your tummy?" My own dirty talk was getting me closer.
She was moaning again. "Oh, I'm gonna, I'm gonna--no, why'd you--ew, Jack!" Moans had once again turned to complaints.
And now I was curious. The sudden gripes staunched my orgasm.
"It's all over my face. You came so much." She sounded legitimately surprised. "You love my mouth and pussy, don't you?" Her voice drifted back to a sexy lilt.
"Your holes deserve every fucking drop," I said to myself, accelerating my masturbating. I was throbbing. She sounded so hot. I imagined her, face dripping with spunk, spreading her legs wide so I could enjoy her pussy to completion.
"Yes, I want you to keep fingering me, Jack!" She yelped like it was obvious. "I was so close." Then a pause. "No, baby. Come on!" Another pause. "Don't you want to see me cum with your cum all over my face?" Another pause. "Fine! Then I'll do it myself." Whatever this Jack character had going for him, it must not have included making sure a woman got hers once he got his. That poor girl.
"Fuck, I'm so wet. Do you hear how gushy my pussy is?" She moaned. That got me back to stroking my dick. I felt a big glob of precum leak out.
"Yeah," I said back, surely too quietly to be heard. "I can feel it, too. Can feel that cunt getting juicier on my cock. Fucking take it, bitch. Take Daddy's dick. Be a good cumdump and let me spunk you deep."
"Oooh I'm a cum covered whore!" She wailed. "Fuck! Fuck! I want more. More cum. Spurt it inside me. Oh! Fuck! I'm cumming!"
I squeezed my cock in my pistoning fist, trying to mimic the feel of an orgasmic, clasping pussy. "Gonna breed you good, baby. Fuck yes. Nasty whores deserve multiple loads." I was so close!
"I know you're not going to cum again, Jack," she sniped, clearly responding to something her lover had just said. "It was just dirty talk. And why can't you keep fingering me just because you're done?" Then another pause. "Oh my god, fine! At least bring me a towel and some water."
I rolled my eyes. Whatever was going on over there, I needed to get mine. "You want it, slut?" I snarled. "Want me to creampie that pretty pussy? Fuck yeah, take this fucking load nice and deep!" I got louder as I felt my spunk rocket up through my cock. "Fuck!" I grunted I came. I imagined pressing deliciously into her gym bunny cervix as I flooded her. A rope of semen lashed across my chest, hitting the exposed skin exposed by my partially unbuttoned shirt. Another landed on my lower chest and stomach. And another. And another. I angled my cock as it continued to push out its climax.
When I finished shooting, I was sweaty and annoyed with myself. In my haste to cum to the sounds of the sexy girl next door, I hadn't grabbed anything for cleanup. Now I was soaked in my own semen. But at least I'd kept the mess to my shirt. Getting cum out of cotton was far easier than getting it out of tailored woolen suit trousers.
I unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way and took it off. I used it to mop up the mess I'd made and tossed it, crumpled, to the floor. As I fell back asleep, I amused myself with the thought of billing hotel dry cleaning as a business travel expense.
* * * * *
When I woke next I was just in my boxer briefs on top of the bed covers. Sunlight was hitting my face and diagnaling across my bare torso. It must have been early still. That's what I get for not closing the curtains.
I looked at my phone. 6:41. At least that was convenient. I dismissed the phone's notification for the 6:55 alarm and picked myself off the bed. My suit trousers were on the carpeted hotel floor, along with the crumpled wad that was my soiled dress shirt. The night came back to me. I chuckled as I recalled the fun I'd had listening to my neighbors. I twisted my torso from side to side, stretching my muscles. My cock was straining with morning wood. I was still horny thinking about what I had overheard, but I didn't want to spend the time getting off again. I went to pee, which mostly took care of the erection. Enough that I could slip on the swim trunks I brought with me without feeling like I was showing off my size to whoever might see me in the hotel halls. I may be a kinky pervert, but I'm not a jerk.
I kicked my feet into the white slippers the hotel had provided--"one size fits all," so small for me, but serviceable--and made my way out of my room and towards the swimming pool. When I got there, a pleasant desk attendant handed me a towel and said to let him know if I needed anything. Unlike with the redheaded check-in woman, I didn't linger with him.
I set my towel down on a poolside chair along with my t-shirt and kicked off the slippers. I jumped right into the water. Invigorating cold overwhelmed me. It wasn't comfortable, but the discomfort made me feel awake. And soon it didn't feel cold at all. I began to swim my laps. Water and exertion carried me to the realm of the living.
While I had been the only person at the pool when I arrived, I noticed, after maybe fifteen minutes of swim time, that I was no longer alone. On the lip of the pool, her feet dangling into the water, sat a woman in a black one-piece. She had long, dark hair and definitely would be categorized as "thick": full, high C-cup breasts, a strong-looking waist, and full, plush thighs that I immediately wanted to sink my teeth into. Her oval face had a classic beauty to it, like a Victorian portrait redone for the Instagram age.
When she turned to the side to go down the pool ladder, my cock throbbed: She had a huge, bubbly, juicy ass! It leapt out from her waist, like two half beach balls that jiggled with her movements. That bathing suit was clearly not designed for a body like hers. It cut into her ass cheeks, threatening to become a thong on her.
She looked at me over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed and she grinned. I smiled back, a bit embarrassed to have been caught checking her out when we were the only ones here. So I turned and resumed swimming laps.
When I made it to the lip of the pool, she was again sitting with her feet in the water. Except now she was looking right at me. "How are you swimming in this?" She asked with a clear American accent. "It's so cold!"
I smiled back. "It's nice once you're in."
"If I go in, my nipples are going to tear through my bathing suit." She looked halfway between concerned and knowingly teasing.
"Good thing no one is here then," I quipped.
"Um, you're here," she grinned, tipping her head slightly to the side. Her brown eyes twinkled playfulness.
"In water-space, no one can see your nips," I rasped.
"Yeah, Mr. Swimmer?" She asked. "Or do you just want a peak?"
I shrugged. "I won't look if you don't want me to. Scout's honor." As I said this, I raised an arm out of the water and, with my palm turned towards her, crossed my middle finger behind my index finger.
"Ha ha," she intoned, still smiling. "Very funny, Mr. Swimmer."
