“You wanna fuck me on this chair?” he asked, throwing down a towel before kneeling upon the cushion, his meaty ass presented to me, begging to be fucked. I had never fucked a guy before. But what good is a business trip away from the wife and kids without a little fun on the side?
The hotel bar was hopping earlier that evening when I took a seat at the bar, ordering a scotch on the rocks—a double, I decided. It had been a long but successful day of meetings, and I looked forward to unwinding a bit before my flight home in the morning. And I’m not ashamed to say that my goal was to pick up some easy bitch and then smash her pussy upstairs in my room.
I had never cheated on my wife before but desperate times call for desperate measures. After ten years of marriage, and two kids, my wife took her pussy off the market. I was thirty-five years old and staring down the rest of my life with just my right hand for satisfaction. But I had to be careful. I wasn’t looking to blow up my marriage by knocking up some needy bitch who wanted to be my second wife. And so a business trip provided the perfect opportunity to play around discreetly.
I scanned the bar, sipping my scotch, trying to find an easy bitch who might be up for an anonymous rendezvous in my room. But most of the women there were either not my type—I wasn’t that desperate—or appeared to be already paired off with another dude. By the time I was on my second round, the situation began to look grim.
“Is this seat taken?” asked a young guy, gesturing to the empty barstool next to mine. He was handsome and dressed nicely as if he was going on a date, likely followed by an evening of easy sex. Lucky bastard. “Mind if I have a seat?”
“It’s all yours,” I sighed, gesturing to the barstool, my dream of dipping my stick evaporating quicker than the scotch in my tumbler.
“You from around here?” he asked me while signaling to the bartender for a beer.
“Nah—here on business,” I answered. “You?”
“I live here in town,” he replied. “Lemme guess—you’re looking for an easy hookup while away from the wife?”
“Jesus,” I gasped. “Am I that transparent?”
“Not really,” he laughed. “But it’s a hotel bar. Almost every guy here is just like you, married and looking to dip his stick while away from the old ball and chain. That’s why I come here often—it’s a great place to score.”
“Good for you,” I snickered. “But I’ve been sitting my ass here for nearly an hour and haven’t had the slightest bit of luck in scoring some snatch.”
“Maybe you need to revise your parameters,” he suggested. “Think about maybe—?”
“Maybe what? That ugly bitch over there in the corner?” I pointed to a homely looking cow who looked like half the weary mothers in my wife’s book club. “No thanks,” I spat. “I’m not gonna fuck some baggy cunt.”
“That’s right—you need a tight cunt,” he observed, looking down at my crotch. “Something that can handle that big dick you’ve got.”
“Fuckin-A,” I agreed loudly, the scotch coursing through my veins. “I need a tight cunt for this big dick.”
“You wanna fuck my tight cunt?” he dropped the bomb, his eyes locked on mine.
“THE FUCK?!” I spat, nearly spraying my scotch. “Dude, I don’t fuck—”
I started to say it—that I don’t fuck faggots. But then I remembered my place, that I was in a busy bar, that I didn’t want to draw unwanted attention by dropping an inappropriate slur.
“I don’t fuck dudes,” I finally spat quietly, trying to temper myself. Before the guy could say anything, before he could try to sink his hooks into me any further, I threw down two twenty dollar bills for my drinks and quickly took my leave.
I went up to my room—alone—the night a complete waste. I called my wife and listened to her drone on about her day, not really listening to her. I said goodnight to my kids, telling them I would be home the next day, telling them to be good for their mother. And then I fired up some porn on my phone.
It wasn’t doing it for me. I was angry at the porn dude, his big dick balls deep in some screaming bitch’s wet pussy. I wanted to be that dude. My dick—not his—was supposed to be in some bitch’s snatch. And then I thought back to that brazen dude downstairs in the bar—that faggot—and the tight cunt that he had promised me.
I had always been indiscriminate in college, fucking just about any bitch with a pulse—just never a guy. Yet I fucked more than my share of ugly bitches when I just needed to get my rocks off. And then there was that one bitch—just that one time—who was on the rag but let me fuck her backdoor. Jesus Christ, it felt good—the tightest hole my big dick had ever met.
What the hell was wrong with me? I had a tight, easy hole presented to me on a silver platter, and I had walked away from it. All I had to do was go back down to the bar and claim it. I don’t know if it was the scotch or my desperate need to get laid, but all I wanted in that moment was to get my big dick inside the dude from the bar.
He was still at his barstool, nursing his beer, scanning the room for his next target. He did a double take when he saw me, his eyes searching mine for meaning. With a subtle cock of my head, I gestured towards the hotel lobby and the bank of elevators stationed opposite the bar. Throwing down a ten for his beer, he quickly followed.
“You tell no one about this,” I cautioned as soon as we were alone in the elevator.
“Dude—who am I gonna tell?” he laughed. “That’s why I cruise this place. Like you, all I want is some quick, easy, anonymous sex.”
“What’s in it for you?” I demanded. “You gotta husband or a boyfriend you’re cheating on?”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “I just like to get my ass fucked. And a hot, married guy like you—in a nice hotel like this—sure beats giving up my ass in a toilet stall down at the truck stop.”
I ignored that image as we departed the elevator and made our way to my hotel room. Once inside, he wasted no time in stripping down. I had warned him in the elevator that I didn’t want any kissing or romantic shit. This would be sex, pure and simple. Honoring my request, he made a beeline for a chair in the corner as I undressed.
“You wanna fuck me on this chair?” he asked, throwing down a towel that he had swiped from the bathroom before kneeling upon the cushion. His meaty ass was presented to me, begging to be fucked.
“Works for me,” I replied, my eight-incher already raging hard, eager to do the deed.
“Damn, you are hung,” he observed, turning his face over his shoulder, his eyes wide with excitement. “Get that big dick in me.”
“I—I don’t have any lube,” I stated, suddenly aware that it wasn’t something that I had packed, and not wanting to rub my dick raw in a dry hole.
“No worries,” he replied. “I came prepared—my hole is already prepped and ready. Just shove it in and wreck my cunt with that big dick.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” I taunted, pushing my rounded cock head against his puckered hole, his sphincter tightening in response.
“FUUUCK,” he screamed as I impaled him with one, quick thrust, my big cock charging into the depths of his bowels. “Christ, you’re thick.”
“That’s it, bitch,” I slapped his ass, my dick reveling in the warmth of his tight fuck canal. Jesus, it felt good. Even better than that one bitch who’d given up her ass to me in college. “Take this big—fucking—cock.”
“Yeah—fuck me with that big cock,” he begged, gripping the back of the chair, my big dick pummeling his insides. “Fuck me good.”
It had been a long time since I had all out fucked a warm hole. Even back when my wife had been spreading her legs for me, sex with her was expected to be romantic and gentle. I had to be tender and sensual, a kind lover. I didn’t need to be kind to this slutty dude who was giving up his ass to me. In fact, he wanted it rough and mean.
“Fuck me harder,” he pleaded as I jackhammered his ass. “Fucking give it to me. Fuck me with that big dick.”
The naughty talk was a huge turn on, my dick harder than it had ever been since my college days. Gripping him by the shoulders, I unleashed a violent assault on his ass, my strong cock a battering ram in his bowels.
“You like this dick up your ass?” I demanded, sweat dripping down my chest, my balls smacking his hole over and over. “You like this big cock in that tight cunt?”
“Yes,” he exhaled, breathless, his cunt quivering as my big dick pummeled him harder and harder.
Jesus, his cunt felt amazing. I didn’t want the encounter to end—but that wasn’t exactly up to me. It was then that I felt that all-too-familiar throb in my balls, the cum rising in my shaft, my cock swelling against the walls of his fuck canal.
“SHIT—I’m about to bust,” I warned urgently.
“Breed me,” he begged. “Fuckin’ shoot that load in me.”
Instantly, he got his wish. “FUCK—FUCK,” I grunted, my cock spasming in his depths, spewing my load into his bowels. “Yeah, bitch—take my fuckin’ nut.”
I couldn't recall the last time I had an orgasm that good—possibly never before. My body convulsed as my balls emptied into him, an ejaculation of epic proportions.
“Fuck, I needed that,” I exhaled as I pulled out of him, my pearly load dripping from his wrecked hole. With his duty complete, he promptly dismounted the chair and, turning around, dropped to his knees and sucked my cock clean—the dirty fucker.
“Thanks for the dick,” he winked, rising up from his knees on wobbly legs, reaching for his crumpled clothes on the floor. He quickly dressed, pulling up his pants as my load trickled down the inside of his thighs. And then he was gone. Transaction over. Mission complete.
I tried to go to sleep. It had been a long day, and my brain was fogged with scotch and coital bliss. But I couldn’t sleep. I wanted more. I was such an idiot. I should have invited the guy to stay the night—pounding load after load into him until I had to grab my shuttle to the airport. Maybe it wasn’t too late?
He was on a barstool again when I made my way back downstairs to the hotel bar. But he was chatting up some other dude—his next cock. This dude could have been a carbon-copy of me: mid-thirties, married, business attire, sipping a scotch. I had lost my chance for a second round. Fuck.
But then some other young guy noticed me as he sat at the bar. He was handsome and dressed nicely, like he was going on a date. He gestured for me to take the barstool next to him, asking me if I was from out of town.
“Lemme guess,” he ventured, eyeing my wedding band, “you’re looking for an easy hookup while away from the wife?”
“Yeah,” I locked eyes with the new guy. “You wanna come up to my room and fuck?”
I missed my airport shuttle the next morning—and my flight—while balls deep in the new guy. I eventually called my wife and told her that I needed to stay an extra night for some unforeseen business. Maybe a couple more nights, I added.
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
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