A work trip experience

[fl****]

I spend my weeks bouncing between the same handful of cities—San Antonio, Austin, Houston, then up to Baltimore before dropping back down to the Florida run: Tampa area, West Palm, Naples, Fort Myers. It’s always a different hotel, same routine: roll in late, key card, elevator, drop the laptop bag, loosen my tie, and try to shake off the day. As an HR exec, I’m the one who spends hours listening to people, mediating, coaching, keeping everything calm and professional. By the time the sun goes down, though, something in me flips. I don’t want to listen anymore. I want to decide. I want someone to hand over every bit of control without a single negotiation.
It was the day after Christmas—December 26th—and I’d just wrapped a two-day mediation in Fort Myers. Drove down to Naples that evening, checked into a quiet boutique hotel off Third Street. The bar downstairs was half-empty, holiday travelers mostly gone, just a few locals lingering. I’d changed into dark jeans and a charcoal button-down, sleeves rolled up, no tie, nothing that screamed “corporate.” Just a whiskey in my hand and the kind of quiet focus that tends to pull people in.
She was at a small table near the window—mid-thirties, dark hair pulled loosely back, olive skin, wearing a simple black wrap dress that tied at the side. She’d been glancing my way for ten minutes before I finally walked over and sat down across from her without asking.
“You’ve been watching me,” I said, voice low enough that she had to lean in to hear it.
A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Maybe.”
Her name was Mia. In town alone for the weekend, escaping family obligations up in Tampa. We talked easily at first—about the insane holiday traffic on I-75, the overpriced cocktails, how exhausting it is to always be “on” for other people. But I steered it quick. I asked what she did for work (marketing), what she hated about it (too many opinions, no one willing to make a final call), and then I asked what she wanted right now, tonight, no bullshit.
She hesitated, cheeks flushing. “Someone who doesn’t ask. Someone who just… takes over.”
That was all I needed.
I stood, left cash on the table, and told her, “Let’s go.” She followed me to the elevator without a word.
The second the door shut, I backed her into the corner, one hand sliding to the back of her neck, thumb pressing just under her jaw—not hard, just enough to let her feel the shift. I kissed her slow at first, then deeper, until she made that soft little sound in her throat. When the doors opened on my floor, I broke it just long enough to say, “Walk.” She did.
Inside the room, I didn’t bother with the lights. Just the glow from the half-open curtains was enough. I turned her to face me, untied the knot at her hip, and let the dress fall open. Black lace underneath, skin warm under my palms.
“Hands behind your back.”
She obeyed instantly. I traced my fingers down her arms, over her waist, between her legs—just a tease through the lace—until her breathing went shallow. Then I stepped back.
“Take the rest off. Leave the heels.”
She did, eyes never leaving mine. When she was bare except for those thin straps on her feet, I told her to kneel. The carpet was soft; she sank down gracefully, waiting. I unbuttoned my shirt slowly, let her watch, then unzipped.
“Show me how much you want this.”
She leaned forward, took me in her mouth without hesitation—warm, wet, eager. I let her set the pace for only a moment before my hand slid into her hair, gripping tight, guiding her deeper, slower, exactly how I wanted. Every time she tried to s***d up, I held her still until she whimpered around me.
When I’d had enough of that, I pulled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the edge of the bed. I spanked her once—sharp, deliberate—watching the pale skin bloom pink.
“Count.”
One. Two. Three. By eight she was pushing back into my hand, voice breaking on every number.
I slid her panties down her thighs, left them tangled at her knees, and ran two fingers through her slick heat. She was soaked, trembling.
“Beg.”
“Please… please fuck me.”
I didn’t make her wait long. I pushed inside in one slow, steady thrust until she took every inch. She moaned loud enough I had to cover her mouth with my hand, fingers pressing against her lips.
“Quiet. You take what I give you.”
I set a hard, relentless rhythm—deep strokes that had her gripping the sheets, back arched, heels digging into the carpet for leverage. Every time she got close, I slowed, pulled almost all the way out, made her feel the loss until she was shaking.
Finally I flipped her onto her back, pinned both wrists above her head with one hand, and drove back in. My other hand found her clit, rubbing tight circles until her whole body tensed.
“Come. Now.”
She did—hard—clenching around me so tight it pulled me over the edge with her. I buried myself deep and let go, groaning against her neck as I filled her.
After, I pulled her against me on the bed, her head on my chest, legs tangled. She was quiet for a long time, just breathing. Eventually she whispered, “I needed that.”
I kissed the top of her head. “I know.”
Morning came quick. I had an early flight to Tampa. She left first—quiet kiss at the door, no numbers exchanged. That’s how these nights go. Clean. Intense. Over.

[sp****]

Fantastic story. The imagery.. WOW. I would give anything to be in Mia’s shoes!

[Te****]

Very interesting and intense. Love the confidence. Can’t really find women my age that would be interested in going along like Mia did. Nowadays people are scared to let out their kinky side

[Cy****]

Awesome fan fic! Omit Baltimore; we wouldn't claim you. Say BWI, that's more realistic.