One Night Stand
An SPH Experience by TheBizz_11
She slid onto the stool next to me about twenty minutes later. I noticed her before she sat—a curvy woman in a deep red dress that hugged every generous curve. Dark hair piled loosely on her head, a few strands falling around her face. She had a laugh that carried, a voice that didn’t whisper, and when she ordered a gin and tonic, she told the bartender to make it strong because her flight got delayed and she was done with airports for the day.
I smiled at that. She caught me looking and raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t agree?”
“I absolutely agree,” I said. “I’ve been in meetings all day. I’d trade you airports for conference rooms any day.”
She laughed—loud, unapologetic—and that was it. We talked for the next two hours. She was in sales, she told me, on her way to a regional conference, but her connection got screwed. She was bold, sharp, and she didn’t shrink herself to fit the conversation. She took up space. I loved it. And somehow, she seemed to like me too. She kept touching my arm when she made a point, leaning in close, her perfume filling my head.
Around midnight, she finished her third drink and looked at me squarely. “My room’s on the fourth floor. You want to come up?”
My cock twitched in my pants. “Yeah. I do.”
The walk to the elevator was electric. Her hand found my lower back, then slid down to cup my ass through my slacks. I let out a shaky breath. When the elevator doors closed, she pressed me against the wall and kissed me—deep, tasting of gin and lip gloss. My hands found her hips, then her thick thighs through the dress. She was solid, warm, real.
Her room was standard—king bed, generic art, a suitcase open on the luggage rack. She kicked off her heels and turned to face me, her hands already working the zipper of her dress. It pooled at her feet. She was wearing black lace panties and a matching bra, her belly soft and beautiful, her thighs heavy and strong. I was already hard, my cock straining against my trousers.
She stepped out of her dress and came to me, unbuckling my belt, pulling my pants and boxers down in one motion. My cock sprang free—four inches, maybe four and a half, hard as a rock and already glistening at the tip. She looked down at it, then back up at my face, a slow smile spreading across her lips.
“Well, aren’t you eager?” she said, her voice a low purr. She wrapped her fingers around my shaft—not a full fist, just her thumb and forefinger, like she was testing the circumference. “Cute.”
I felt a flush of heat. She didn’t say anything more, just led me to the bed and lay back, spreading her legs. Her pussy was gorgeous—dark, hairy, wet. The lips were full and parted, glistening under the dim light. I could smell her, musky and sweet. My cock ached.
I climbed on top of her, positioned myself, and pushed forward. The head slid in—just barely—and then slid out again. I tried again, guiding myself with my hand, feeling the slick heat of her opening, and pushed deeper. I felt myself slide in, then slowly slide back out. I thrust again, and this time I managed to stay in for a few seconds, but the angle was wrong—my cock kept slipping, finding no purchase. My hips moved, but I felt like I was fucking air.
She let out a short breath. “Oh, I can’t even feel it if it did stay in. Get on your knees.”
The words hit me like a cold wave. I didn’t argue. I pulled back, my cock wet with her juices, already starting to soften from embarrassment. I slid off the bed and dropped to my knees on the carpet.
She rearranged herself, pulling a pillow under her hips, opening her legs wider. Her pussy was right there, inches from my face. I could see my own wetness on her inner thighs. I didn’t hesitate. I leaned in and put my mouth on her.
I knew I had to make up for it. I had spent years—years—learning to use my tongue, my lips, my fingers. When your cock is small, you compensate. You become an expert with your mouth. I spread her open with my thumbs and traced her clit with the flat of my tongue, slow, then faster, then in circles. I sucked gently, then harder, then dipped my tongue inside her, tasting her, drinking her. Her hips bucked against my face, and she let out a low groan.
“Yeah, right there. Keep doing that.”
I worked her clit with my tongue while sliding two fingers inside her, curling them upward. She was tight, hot, and the sounds she made—guttural, unrestrained—filled the room. Her hand came down and tangled in my hair, gripping hard, pulling me deeper into her. I didn’t need air. I needed to make her cum.
“Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”
I didn’t. I sucked her clit between my lips and flicked it with the tip of my tongue, over and over, matching the rhythm of my fingers. Her breathing turned ragged, her thighs clamped around my head, and then she screamed—a raw, full-throated cry that echoed off the hotel walls. Her whole body convulsed, her legs trembling, her pussy clenching around my fingers. I kept licking through it, slowing as her orgasm subsided, lapping up the flood of wetness that coated my chin.
She lay there, panting, her chest heaving, sweat glistening on her skin. I pulled back, my face slick, my jaw aching. I looked up at her, hopeful.
She opened her eyes, looked down at me, and said, flatly, “Alright. Get dressed and leave.”
No, thank you. No kiss. No acknowledgment of the orgasm I had just wrung out of her. Just the command, delivered as if I were a maintenance worker who had finished a job.
I stood, my knees sore, my cock now completely soft and shriveled against my thigh. I pulled on my boxers, my pants, my shirt, not looking at her. She had already rolled onto her side, reaching for her phone on the nightstand.
At the door, I paused. “Was it… was I okay?”
She didn’t look up. “Your mouth works fine. That’s all that matters. Goodnight.”
The door clicked shut behind me. I stood in the hallway, my face still wet with her, my stomach churning with a strange mix of humiliation and arousal. My cock, still soft, felt like nothing inside my pants. I walked back to my room, took a long shower, and couldn’t stop thinking about the way she had dismissed me—like my small cock was a joke, and my tongue was just a tool she had used and discarded.
I jerked off in the shower, thinking about her legs shaking, her scream, and her cold dismissal. I came harder than I had in months.
The End.
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