In the Midwest, a busty redhead scrolls down on her smartphone to the tune of one blogger from another world.
She frequently sends in her Asks, giving us a taste of her life with her real man in her real life; I hope they get hot reading this together and get some ideas.
She is one of my favorite followers because she contributes, adds comments to the posts I write, with her loyalty and spark. Above all, she always brings something fun and light to the conversation, and it is because of that, the first story I create in the next chapter of my writing journey is headed your way.
So just ease back ginger, slide your free hand between your legs and let me do what I do best. Well…the thing I do second best.
I hope you enjoy, redbird. And so it begins…
Three weeks ago, as work demanded it, a businessman from another world booked a flight, a rental car, and of course, a hotel.
That last part — it is important.
He usually makes his way across every nook and cranny of this beautiful country throughout the year, but the Midwest always feels like a second home, for some reason. The time is up again for his quarterly trip across those several states, each time staying in some tiny little town with very few options on lodging.
When it comes to the Midwest, the conversations with the people booking his travel at work are always interesting. It usually goes: “Let’s see. Would you like to stay at the Marriott Fairfield Inn and Suites, or um, how about the Marriott Fairfield Inn and Suites? Ha! Seems like you have one option. Let’s hope it didn’t burn down”.
Nice. “Thanks for putting the image of freezing or burning to death in my head.”
But burn down it did not do.
Instead, a new girl was working at the front desk. An hour prior, he had landed at STL, carry-on only, made a beeline for Hertz, headed to the hotel, and was greeted by none other than the redhead herself.
Well, “greeted” is a stretch.
You see he walked into an empty lobby at a hotel with only one other guest staying that night. She thought she had privacy, so her iPad was propped up, reading porn on a blogger’s website, hand down her pants, rubbing herself.
She never heard him walk in.
He saw everything, completely stunned, not sure what the next step to do was. He had already planned, “Hi, I am checking in for four nights”, but that no longer seemed appropriate because she still didn’t even notice him.
“Fuck it”, he thought. “I am totally going to stand here, grab my dick until it gets hard, and wait until she actually orgasms. Why not? This will be hot and it will satiate my exhibitionist urge for a moment. Besides, what a hot story to tell people later.”
But that is when he realized something.
“She is looking at ‘MY’ blog.”
“Holy shit! I know I have a decent following, but not ‘that big’. What are the odds? Seriously? Ah, never mind that! Just watch her cum.”
A couple of minutes and the orgasms starts forming in her, and it’s about the three-minute mark from the time he walked into the lobby until now, when she lets out the panting sounds.
“Here it comes”, he thinks, as she eases back in her desk chair, thinking she is alone, more and more, touches faster, then more, then faster, then she has her usual nightly orgasm, all alone she thinks.
He waits a few more minutes and pretends he is just arriving — so to not embarrass her.
After checking in and getting his keycard, which read “#13”, he does one thing to let her wonder, just wonder, “did he see me?”
He puts down a business card, face down, and says “oh, here is my card in case you need ‘assistance ’ — in any way.”
She thinks that is an odd thing to say, sees him wheel his carry-on to his room, enjoys the view and post-orgasm high, and then picks up the card.
“Holy shit”, she thinks.
Her inner-monologue says, “Two things: first of all — is the same guy that is responsible for dozens of my orgasms over the past several months, and besides, what are the odds he is staying here anyway? Second, did he just see me cum? Why the hell would he put his card down if not? What the fuck? Just…seriously, what the fuck? My head is spinning.”
Too afraid to go knock on his door just out of curiosity — she is just perplexed until her shift ends at midnight, checking the blog over and over and over for a sign, any sign, that this was actually him, and not some red and black business with TRD as the acronym and this is all in her head.
The next day, he is gone to see his clients when her shift starts and ends the next day, and the next, and the next. “Was that it? Is that all that is going to happen?”, she wonders. “God that would suck.”
Then the last day of his stay, an envelope is awaiting her when she starts. A note, saying the following: “Hello, redbird. Yes. It is me, in case you were not certain. Don’t believe me? Check the blog if you need proof.”
She logs in and finds a post titled — “Redbird”.
The rest of the note was pretty clear. It read, “Room 13. Not really an unlucky number. 11 PM. Sharp!”
Her stomach drops.
She is the only one working tonight and her shift ends at 2 AM. She won’t hear from a soul after she sets the safety lock on the doors at 10 PM. All people who have booked — which is 2 other people now in the entire hotel — three including him — all have been in their rooms since well before nine.
“Fuck it”, she tells herself. “I will wonder forever if I don’t.”
10:50 PM — she is looking for any signs of him. She pacing around the lobby, walking by Room 13, over and over and over, and meanwhile, it looks as though he must be sleeping. The lights are out — not a sound. But she is certain he must be there, for his car is parked and his card was swiped a few hours earlier.
10:58 — she reads the note again.
It said “Sharp!”. Even with an exclamation point. And he does not seem like the type to mean something, halfway, so I better show up at 11 or not at all. “Why do I feel like I need to be obedient? What is this? Even worse, why do I like it?”
11 PM — standing in front of the door, she is as nervous as she has ever been. The master access keycard in hand, red and black lingerie underneath her hotel uniform — she is a leaf — shaking against her will.
She knows she has 60 seconds or she will disappoint him.
She reaches her arm out, opens the door, and finds a room with every single light turned off. Candles light the room and there is one on the bed and something next to it.
Expecting to see him, it seems like this room is empty. Meanwhile, he is sitting in a lounge chair in the corner, in the darkest corner of the room, watching this like as if it were a movie. In the pitch black, he is enjoying his bourbon — no ice — to keep the sounds down, and seeing her trying to make sense of it all. She is scared as hell, and really only sees a few candles and that ‘something’ on the bed.
She walks over to it and sees a letter, and the object. The object — is a pair of cuffs. The letter reads, “Hotel uniform off. Cuffs, on. Kneel.”
Her stomach drops a second time.
She senses he is watching somehow and doesn’t want to test his patience, so she does as is expected of her, because the alternative frightens her to even contemplate.
She finds herself in a perplexing physical, and even emotional place; a surreal feeling washes over her. It is as if she is seeing herself, as an out of body experience is beginning to shape.
There she is, wearing red and black lingerie, kneeling like she has not done since she was a girl, and fixing restraints to her for a man who she has not even had a real conversation with. She hardly knows him, but in some ways, she really does know him. She knows exactly how his mind works — more so than even some ex-boyfriends — from all the posts that she has read, seeing his inner monologue on display for the world.
Then, a glass is set down on the table. She jumps from the sudden noise.
“You’ve done well”, he says.
It’s that deep voice of his that floods her almost immediately. If hindsight is 20/20 and looking back at the past was even possible right then, she’d know that she has never gotten so wet, so fast in her entire life. Her pussy as soaked as if she just had sex. All because of just three simple words from him.
“You’ve. Done. Well.”
He walks up to her in a black button down, jeans, and leather shoes. From all the experiences in the past, she’d expect a kiss right now, but rather it was hand yanking at her hair that was the first touch.
Shoving her forward and up onto the bed, he pulls her panties down from the back as she bent over the bed now. In one violent motion, she is totally exposed and for-the-taking. Hard slaps across her ass as he dives his face into her pussy from the back.
Fingers are being driven inside both holes as his tongue fights his hand to make itself known.
Flipping her onto her back, he swallows her clit and shoves two fingers at her G and another in her ass and makes every blog moment come to life in vivid color. The first orgasm was hardly a fight, as it flooded out of her with his tongue flicking her clit in a rhythm and passion she’d never known.
Then, like clockwork 2, 3, 4, and 5 all came within minutes. She is totally wiped-the-fuck-out when he finally pulls his mouth away from her throbbing pussy and fills her pussy with even more fingers, using his leverage to crush her wherewithal even more. Her G is taking a hit like never before when she cums again, squirts, stops caring about how much she just squirted and then cums again.
He slaps her tits very hard. Really, really hard. He then spins her whole body around in one thrust, strictly from a yank at her hair at the base of her scalp. Her head now hangs off the bed, his dick is hard and pulled out. He shoves it in her mouth with no intention of “getting a blowjob” but rather using her mouth as a hole to fuck. He won’t stop until the gagging is loud and the saliva is running across her eyes. Continually fucking away at her throat, he reaches across her naval and slaps her pussy hard a few times before rubbing her clit with his fingers at what must feel like Hitachi-mode, rubbing her as fast as he humanly can.
She cums immediately.
He spins her around again, legs spread and taps his cock on her overly sensitive pussy. Then a hard thrust deep inside her and now she is full, with him, feeling the best feeling she knows.
Full with his cock inside her, two hands now around her neck as he drives himself deeper and deeper into her. Harder and harder, faster and faster, she is just about to cum again — when he stops suddenly — leaving his hard dick inside her, filling her up. Then he puts one hand over her clit and rubs her to the edge again, then thrusts, to the edge again.
Over and over and over — he brings her to the edge. Then says three more words, that could have been whispered but they were loud and clear.
“Beg for it”, he says.
She asks, “can I cum now?”.
He responds, “No. Not loud enough. And besides, I don’t believe you need it. Make me believe it.”
“Please. Make me cum again. Please.”
“I said ‘Beg!’ and I fucking meant it. Now beg!”
“Please, please, please!!! Let me fucking cum, goddamn it!!!!”, she cries.
“Now, that is much better,” he says. He rubs her clit much faster now, squeezes her neck, and pounds her cervix relentlessly as he sees the orgasm he just dangled in front of her flood across her body and he knows this one right here feels the most intense.
Unloading his cum all over her stomach and tits, he tells her to wipe it off and to lick every last drop.
As she does, she gets one last set of words that wipes her out.
I hope you enjoyed it, redbird. Now to anybody else who enjoyed it, this is what I am writing for each and every one of the first 25 Patrons and anybody else who wants one developed at my website, for purchase. You give me the details and I write the story.