I was in a hotel again, at the end of yet another business trip. Honest, I don't just fly around the country getting laid, and this morning although I was trying to get out early, maybe catch a bit of breakfast, one after another task appeared to keep me at my phone and laptop. Meanwhile my superpower was twitching, but I thought it had gone crazy and maybe wasn't real at all because it trickled up and down my spine instead of the usual place. But it did keep me answering texts and emails, thinking the next would be what my superpower was signaling for. But nothing except work happened.
At last I stepped out of my room. At the same moment the door to the room across the hall opened. A man came out dressed in a jogging suit, a bit unusual since this was a business hotel in an industrial district. Everyone else I'd seen around the hotel was dressed as I was, all business. But that wasn't what caught my eye. It was the view into his room.
It was a room just like mine, just like all the other rooms in this place, I presumed. But behind the man as he let the door swing closed I caught a glimpse, just a quick flash, of a scene so intriguing I stopped in my tracks.
He walked off around the corner, glancing at me without noticing me. I was just another businessman. His door swung in, stopped for a moment, slowly creeped the last inch to the lock.
My superpower hit me hard. Without a thought I went to the door and put my hand to it, stopping it a few millimeters before it could click shut. I took a coin out of my pocket and stuck it in the jamb, keeping the door ajar. The elevator dinged. I peered around the corner of the hall. He entered the elevator.
The hotel was one of those pseudo-fancy ones built around a huge atrium. I went to the balcony and watched his elevator car descend. I lost him for a few moments after he exited, but then picked him out— easy to do given his clothing— entering the restaurant in the lobby. Yes.
I went back to my room and called to postpone my noon meeting; then I crossed to his room. I opened the door slowly, catching my coin and moving as quietly as possible. She was there, just as I'd seen her in that single flash. Long black hair and olive skin, oval face, pretty. Full breasts. She looked so inviting.
Because she was blindfolded, on her knees, in black lace bra and panties. Her hands were tied behind her back, which accentuated those nice breasts, and were tied by a short length of rope to her feet, also bound together. She might have been able to crawl somewhere on her knees except that besides the push-up bra and thin lacy panties, her one other article of clothing was a leash that went from her neck to the bed frame.
"Back so soon? Forget your wallet again?"
So she'd heard me. I stood silently, breathing as slowly as I could, contemplating the exciting view.
"Or couldn't you wait until after lunch?"
I slowly unzipped, hoping she wouldn't hear a sound her lover's clothes wouldn't make, and pulled out my cock. It was already hardening in anticipation. How could I have ever doubted my superpower?
But the sound of the zipper had alerted her. "Gene?" She turned her head back and forth, trying to aurally locate whoever I was. I moved to her, took her head in my hands, and guided her to my organ. She smiled when my cock touched her lips. "What caused this, some teenage jailbait in the lobby?" She slipped my cockhead into her mouth— but immediately backed off.
"Who the fuck are you?"
In answer I pulled her to me by her leash and thrust my meat back between those soft lips, over that sharp tongue, all the way to the back. She struggled at first, but I know how to interest a woman's oral desires, and anyway, what could she do?
When I pulled out to let her take a breath she said, "Nice. Did Gene put you up to this?"
I slowly pushed my way back into her and down her throat. She didn't struggle. She gagged a few times before she relaxed and let me have her. She tried to hold me in as I withdrew. Experienced.
"Wow." She cleared her throat. "Who— who are you? How did you get in?" Her voice trembled around the edges of her words.
I fed her my balls. She sucked on them carefully but enthusiastically, then scratched her way up my shaft with her teeth and took me back in her mouth. She couldn't bring herself to take me down her throat on her own, but she brought me to the entrance and hummed her desire for more. I sank down her gullet again. Together we spent some time exploring the intimacy of our connection. She swallowed on me, gagged, worked herself onto me more, wriggled. When I withdrew she said, "You're so bad. Are you my present? You're going to keep forcing that big thing down my throat, aren't you?"
I stood, silent, recovering. I wished I could see her eyes. As compensation I opened her bra and played with as nice a pair of big, soft breasts as I'd ever seen.
"You're a rapist, aren't you? I bet you're some big Black guy from room service. Yeah, that's how you got in. And I'm a poor, defenseless woman, tied up and in her underwear, and I can't keep you from doing anything you want. Is that a black cock you're forcing me to suck? You're going to rape my mouth, aren't you? You're going to make me drink your African—"
