The Layover (MF, ageplay, risky, mild-public)

Annabelle slid the cherry-red panties over her shapely thighs, letting the elastic rest against her hips as she admired her round behind. Pale cheeks, like a half moon eclipsed by red, flaunted roundness in the mirror’s reflection. Confidence brewing, she gave her ass a shake before pulling up her stockings, dropping a black dress over her shoulders and smoothing the fabric over her hips. This was meant to be the dress she wore on New Years, celebrating a fresh start in her new apartment she leased with her best friend.

Across the country, her belongings already brought in the New Year, nestled in boxes and bags. Perhaps if Annabelle had rented a car she wouldn’t have gotten caught in a swirl of bad weather, heavy snow drifting around the airport hotel. She wasn’t the only one stuck and separated from festities and loved ones, family and friends. The hotel was filled with delayed passengers. The stranded.

She had just finished braiding her dark hair into a single plait when a knock came at the door. Opening it, she was please by the impressed look on Hunter’s face, a slight smoldering of his grey eyes before they flickered past her out of respect for the wedding band around his finger. He had been another unfortunate trapped soul. They had shared a crossword puzzle from a community newspaper these last two days, seated together at a table in the hotel’s breakfast nook.

Two people needed only one thing to link them. Hunter and Annabelle had three: brain teasers, missing the same flight, and being trapped. Apart from that, the married man was nothing like Annabelle, floating in her early twenties at the beginnings of a career. He couldn’t have been much older, early to mid-thirties, but they had chosen different paths – he had confessed his wife and he were trying unsuccessfully to conceive. Annabelle couldn’t imagine having children soon.

“The Stranded have started a party down in the lobby. Complimentary wine until the box is empty,” he suggested, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. He wasn’t a big man, or small. The best way to describe him was average, dirty blonde hair cut short and thin wired glasses balanced on his even nose. He was in the same maroon sweater and dark jeans that he had been during breakfast, casual compared to her dress.

“Let me change, then I’ll come join you,” she replied.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not going in this.”

“Please do,” he insisted, “You’d be the hottest woman I’ve been seen around with.”

“Outside of your wife, of course.” Annabelle was used to these slight compliments, she often bundled them with the truth of his marriage. It was a reminder to herself to behave. Yet, So soon after Christmas, it was almost like they were each other’s presents. Something sparkly to toy around with while they waited for real life to resume,

“My wife is hot, but you’re hotter,” he countered. “Probably because you are…what fruit always tastes the sweetest?”

“The one that is forbidden.”

“Exactly. Come on.”

“Coming.” She slipped on her flats, pulling a purple hoodie from the end of her bed, and zipping it closed to hide the plunge of cleavage offered by the dress. As the elevator brought them down she gestured to the alternated outfit. “Still the hottest girl you’ve ever seen.”

“Ever?”

Annabelle joked, “You haven’t seen me naked.”

“Then I’ll hold out on that ‘ever’ until I have proof.” Hunter winked, hands in his pockets.

The elevator dinged.

“Let me know if you’d like to change that.” Annabelle, keeping up with their flirtatious interactions, gave him a wiggle of her behind as she exited the elevator and saturated herself in the contemporary music drifting from speakers hanging in ceiling corners. The televisions showing a band performing as the broadcast a delayed version of the ball dropping. Around people clustered into groups. The staff served drinks in plastic cups, popcorn in little baskets. They made small talk, together and apart, until she saw Hunter disappear back to his room.

She followed his footsteps and gave the door a knock. Answering with his wine still in hand, though nearly gone now, he smiled. “Hoping you’d come find me.”

“I take it you’re not a fan of crowds,” she said.

“I value my privacy.”

Inviting her in, Hunter shut the door. A single lamp by bed was on, yellow light spilling out into the night through widely opened curtains. Taking a seat in a faux leather chair, his gaze fixated on the flurries, pure white and falling with such innocence. What trouble a collection of flakes caused. But just one was so pure. One wasn’t trouble at all.

“It’s almost like I am home.”

Annabelle smiled. “You hide from the party at home too?”

“This isn’t hiding, this is enjoying what’s going on around me without the painful stress of making small talk or worse, a resolution,” he said and took a sip of the red wine, a bead of it on his lower lip until he licked it free.

Annabelle drank from her white, sitting on the armrest of the Hunter’s chair. “So what would it be?”

“Don’t make me banish you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right,” Hunter agreed, eyes drinking in her body, going to her stockinged legs, hem of her dress riding up. He rest a hand on her knee, keeping it trained there. “I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t go telling me you’re giving up pretty young things,” she teased in familiar banter between the two of them.

He crossed the line, voice turning deep. “Would mean I’d have to have a taste of them first.”

“Do you want a taste?” Annabelle found herself offering, matching his candor.

The hand on her leg scooted up an inch, heat crawling up and pooling between her thighs. Cherry red, as brilliant as her panties touched her cheeks at her forwardness. She had thought about Hunter’s head between her legs, creamy thighs gripped by his hands. Those hands often smudged by ink from crosswords. They were clean now but she wanted them dirty.

Her hand touched atop his, repeating. “Hunter, do you?”

He blinked a few perplexed times. “Think I just blacked out. What is in this wine?” Holding up the cup to the light Hunter gave a chuckle, charming half smile flashed her way before he finished the last dregs.

“It wasn’t the wine, it was what I said.” Annabelle was frank and mildly disheartened. She shifted to stand, only his grip tightened on her thigh. There was no sensible reason to desire a married man, any lust the fizzle and pop of fireworks. Quick to dazzle, soon to fade. Never lasting.

“Was trying not to hear what you said.”

“Oh, okay, I see. Can pretend like you didn’t.”

“No, I cannot.” He shook his head slowly. Hunter replaced the cup he held onto with the nape of her neck, pulling her down to meet his lips. The stubble was rough as first as his mouth opened, her own parting as their tongues met.

With more hesitation than her words suggested, she place a shaking hand to his shoulder. She slid into his lap. Growing in confidence after setting her wine down, her other hand cupped his jaw as her body leaned into him. A soft moan caught like a hum at the back of her throat.

Down her spine, his hand bypassed the hood of her sweater and smoothed to the hem. There was no bare skin to be reached, though he gripped the fabric over her hips with gratitude, reeling her in tightly to his chest. Annabelle had to adjust her position, planting her knees on either side of his legs. There was no feeling more primal than the bulge of hardening cock trapped behind jeans, a flagrant display of arousal that she ground herself onto dutifully.

Their lips parted with a wet smack, smiling instantly. “You have a taste for it yet?”

“How could I not.” He looked at her with boundless hunger, hands fitted snug at her waist. One stayed put, while the other sought the zipper of her hoodie. He pulled it down, revealing the neckline that offer sight to the top of her pert breasts. He pushed it off her shoulders, utilizing both hands to draw the straps of her dress aside. The hint of her red bra provoked Hunter to yank down the neckline. “You are fucking hot. You wear this on purpose?”

“Thought I’d try out my new resolution.”

“And what’s that?” His knuckles caressed the tops of her pale breasts, sinking between the cleavage in delicate exploration.

“Seduce more men at hotels while stuck in snowstorms. It’s a really niche resolution, best taken when the opportunity presents itself,” Annabella purred, leaning in to kiss along his neck and jaw. Lips working to his ear, tongue flicking against it to make him groan.

His fingers were already at the zipper on the back of her dress, unwrapping her like a belated holiday gift. His eyes were struck with wonder as he took her in, a dazzling show of her standing and letting the dress fall off before the open window. She was performing, feeling over the curves of her breasts, down the silky smooth skin of a pale stomach, over her thighs hugged tight by the waistband of her stockings.

She have him a magnificent arch, her nipples straining against the thin fabric of her bra. Stretching her hands above her head and turning so he could take in her full ass, she shimmied her hips. Peeking over her shoulder, she caught him in awe.

“You wore this for me, didn’t you?”

“I did.” She finally confirmed. Annabelle hadn’t decided to actually show him until his hand came to rest on her knee minutes ago. She hooked her fingers into the tops of her tights and pulled them down, allowing them to roll over her behind, inch by inch revealed. “You like?”

“I shouldn’t. But I do.” He sat back in the chair. Hand rubbing his hardness.

She stepped out of her stockings, uncaring how the outside world saw her – this town wouldn’t remember her anyways. She was just another woman. He was just another man.

Unhooking her bra, her firm breasts stood up naturally. The perfect handful with hard, blushing nipples. Their hands traded places as she got to her knees, carpet rough against her smooth legs. She glided her palm along his length, undoing his belt and zipper next. Hunter’s hands cupped her breasts, admiring their vitality. His fingers rolled each nipple between them, a soft breath caught in her throat at the pinching sensation.

“I’m not fragile,” she told him, freeing his cock as she tugged down his pants and boxers. Licking her lips at the treat before her, she playfully dragged her tongue from the base of his shaft to the head. He flinched. “But I’ll be gentle with you.”

“Don’t be,” he grunted, dropping a breast to take root in her hair as he guided her lips to the head of his cock, glistening already with a bead of precum. She kissed the head, batted her eyes at him, then lowered her hot mouth around his thick shaft, devouring the first few inches in a few bobs of her mouth.

A collection of saliva dribbled past her lips, loud slurping sounds joining Hunter’s heavy breathing. Annabelle was intoxicated by the act, as she often was when on her knees, drawing him further into her mouth as her eyes observed his pleasure. She hadn’t seen a man look at her with such hunger in years. It was enough to have tingles explode across her body, creating an ache to be touched.

He steered her head with his hand, lowering her until she met her own hand that worked the bottom of his shaft. Then he held her there, his length pumping into her mouth cautiously at first, until he was granted silent permission to fuck her mouth.

He didn’t treat her as breakable, pushing just a bit deeper each time he held her head still. Gasping and gagging, at first, around his manhood, saliva dripped down her chin. Bands of it hung between her swollen lips and his glistening head when he yanked her away.

Annabelle was convinced all she needed was him to release in her mouth, or on her breasts. To watch his seed drip over her nipples and slide along her stomach.

It could be enough. Already it was more than enough, more than should have happened. His cock twitched before her. Clearly not enough for Hunter. “Perfect, fuck, you are too perfect. I need to taste you.”

“So you don’t want to stop?” She felt guilty on his behalf, but only slightly. Not enough that it stopped her from standing and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she moved over to his unmade bed.

“Where is that fire you just had?”

“Replaced by commonsense.”

“What about that resolution of yours. I’d hate for you to not archive it,” Hunter said smoothly. He stood, removing his pants, once more before the window which Annabelle found she now cared was open. Yet, She cared slightly less when he removed his shirt, a trail of hair down his chest, blending into the dark curls at the base of his shaft, now drenched in her saliva.

Between her legs was drenched in her own juices. The red panties now dark. When she parted her thighs for him the material clung to her lips. It was an invitation to him, even if her words contrasted playfully, “I’d hate to have you break yours.”

“I haven’t actually told you mine. You’re breaking nothing,” he rasped, getting down on his knees before her. Seizing her thighs, he pulled her to the edge of the bed, nose nuzzling the wet fabric.

Annabelle whimpered, laying backwards once she felt his tongue pressing to the drenched panties. He tasted her through cotton, shoveling his tongue between her vulva and up to her clit. Nibbling, she gripped his hair, wishing he would draw the material aside. Instead he pressed two fingers at the entrance of her pussy and toyed with her by pushing her panties into her.

“Oh, oh! Hunter,” she crooned.

“My name on your lips, god, it’s good.”

“It would be louder if you actually fucked me.”

“Like this,” he said, pushing aside her panties, mouth returning to her clitorious. The sudden change in pressure had her gasping, a live wire of feeling jolted through her. Hips thrust from the bed, refusing to touch back down as his fingers soaked themselves in her wet sex.

“Fuck! Just like that! Just like that!” Annabelle gripped her own tit. Giving it a hard squeeze, she had to fight to not clamp her knees together as he sucked her clit, tongue flicking against it. The fingers curled and pressed into her walls – instantly she was gushing, leaking into the panties and bed.

He had a purpose. A drive. Just like when he controlled how she sucked his cock. Hunter knew what he wanted and it was her. He made her toes curl with every friction, beckoning her body to spout off words like, ‘Fuck!’ and ‘Shit!’ repeatedly. Joined by the messy sounds of a sloppy sex, she filled the room with joyous exclamations while every muscle in her body tightened.

“I’m gonna cum…Hunter, I’m going to cum!” Annabelle cried, losing the fight against her legs as they clamped over his head, drowning him in her own release.

He ripped his head way only to kiss her mound, flash her determined grey eyes, and growl, “I’m not done tasting you.”

Hunter removed his fingers and turned her over roughly. He drew the panties down her legs and feasted once more. Licking from the top of her sex down and to her ass, where his tongue swirled around the cluster of nerves, pressing in to tease her tight hole.

Pushing herself onto her knees, she kept her back arched and legs spread for him. When his tongue entered her ass, she rocked back into it, essentially fucking herself. She would have been terribly shy about this if she knew she would be seeing him again. “This feels so good!”

“You taste so good,” he said when drawing a deep breath. His hand came down to smack her behind. “Think I’m going to take those panties home with me as a souvenir.”

“Think that’s smart?” She asked him, words muffled by the bed.

“Absolutely not.” Hunter stood. She felt the thick shaft of his cock slap down on her back. He guided it between her ass, brushing the sensitive hole and making her squirm. He angled it against her unprotected pussy, gripping her hips. “Neither is this.”

Hunter thrust his hips forward, the full of his veiny length sliding into her still oversensitive pussy. Her walls clenched around his cock, body seizing. Annabelle gasped his name, pushing back to swallow and coat his cock in her slickness. Moaning, she worked against him. “No, this is very, very bad of both of us.”

“The worst.”

“We’ll be better next year.”

He had started a steady rhythm, hands sliding up her body until his chest pressed into her, hand gripping one of her swaying breasts. He pinched her nipple, until she gave a little yelp, then released it. He gave a it a rousing slap, enough that Annabelle gritted her jaw and hit a high squeak at the back of her throat. Her fingers fisted into the sheets.

The skin of her ass and hips jiggled with the pistoning of his hips. She felt his manhood pounding against the raised cluster of nerves inside her. The repetition had her brimming near completion when Hunter rolled away. On his back, hair finally out of line, he gave her a smile. His hard cock was in his hand, waving back and forth. “You just going to sit there? Look at the time.”

“Not much left ‘til we have to be good.” Annabelle cooed, crawling over to him. She leaned over his manhood, popping it to her mouth. Her lips wrapped around the twitching member, tasting herself briefly before moving to straddle him. She quickly impaled herself on his cock, rolling her shoulders from the pleasure of fullness as she began to fuck a man she shouldn’t.

He pulled her into him with possession, their kiss searing as they worked together. Bodies and hands colliding, skin slapping together as he pumped upwards into each of her rolling downward strokes. The bed groaned along with them. When his hands gripped her firm behind, bringing them to a pace of harmony, she settled her body over his with her tits hovering just above his chest. Every few thrusts, a nipple would graze along the hairs on Hunter’s chest, triggering sparks to flair between her legs.

“I’m going to cum,” she rasped, voice warbled. When she collapsed onto his chest, he pushed her back onto the bed. His cock filled her once again, the pressure of rentery enough to have her nails dig into his shoulders as she squealed through her orgasm, leaving marks his wife could find.

Hunter grunted, before bowing his head into the crook of her neck and pumping rope after rope of his seed into her convulsing pussy. She felt the mess between her legs when he pulled from her, sliding his still hard cock across her mound as he spilled even more onto her abdomen. “Meant to pull out. Shit, sorry.”

“There are pills for that. Don’t worry,” she breathed in a haze, fingers lazily dipping into her, smearing his cum around as it dribbled out from her used, pink pussy.

He didn’t seem to fret as he pulled her into his side. “Look,” He said and drew her attention to the clock beside the bed. “Just in time.”

“Just in time,” Annabelle repeated as the the New Year rolled in by the simple shift of digits. “Happy New Year.”

“The happiest New Year.” He kissed her until their bodies were flush together.

Smiling, she whispered against his lips, “So, what is your resolution?”

“To do this again. Maybe I’ll see you around the city,” he said, shocking Annabelle.

“Maybe,” she kissed him, knowing she wanted this only once. Like the snowstorm blowing outside the open window, she would be gone tomorrow leaving him nothing but memories and a pair of cherry-red panties.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ab7g7g/the_layover_mf_ageplay_risky_mildpublic

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