Some play with fire. Some avoid it. No one is immune to it. Just like no one is immune to me.
I am the fire. I burn hot. I grow bigger the more you blow on me. I scorch chivalry and can disintegrate anyone's societal expectations with ease, melting their stupid rules to the ground. I play by my own rules. It's just my nature.
I will be seen. I will be felt. I will be the reason somebody wakes up tomorrow with questions they can't answer.
And I will be there tonight. At the bar that is always bumping with business. Its front doors open up directly across from my hotel. I booked a room here for that exact purpose.
It'll be my first visit. Rumor has it that it's the kind of place where beer and bad decisions are equal in number.
Right up my alley.
Not because I require the skank atmosphere to score my wood some slots to dunk in, but… it doesn't hurt.
Afterall, I am the guy who owns any room without ever having to say a single word. I simply walk in and everyone’s eyes stick to me right away. Much longer than what they'd probably intended.
My presence is enough to stir up arguments between the jealous couples who notice me. My cock is enough to extinguish the both of them.
And tonight, I feel like reminding someone of that.
⌾⌾⌾
She was hooked on me at first sight. I could just tell. She stared at me, dry humping her bar stool. I don't think she realized it how obvious it was.
Good.
All she needed to know is how good it's gonna feel when I'm slipping in and out of her slutty holes.
I winked at her and grabbed my bulge. She knew what was coming.
I walked up to her and she vomited her name. I intentionally ignored it, then told her not to say anything else until she had permission to speak. Especially if it was about her worthless name.
If she slipped up and did it again, I will discipline her accordingly. Until then, she was a warm body waiting to be used.
I don't act polite or sweet. There's no need to. I just relax and start shooting the shots. Straight and simple.I expect compliance every time because I'm here to do what I want, when I want.
I keep my eyes on her for an extra beat, then I spit on the ground. I don't give a fuck about the bar's etiquette or whatever.
I'm in charge.
She giggled.
A sticky, wet drop of precum leaked in my boxers.
It felt good.
I reached in and rubbed the liquid around my head.
Then the bartender fucked up my moment.
He asked how he could help me. I told him to ask me that same question 3 more times, back-to-back.
He did. Obviously a faggot. Cool.
I stepped forward, locking my eyes with his. Then I spit in his face.
He fucking smiled and blushed. I didn't give a rat's ass.
He said, “Thank you, sir.”
I actually really respected that.
I smiled and said, "You've got one shot to bring me a drink that I'm going to like. For free. Got it?"
He looked confident, which caught me by surprise. He turns and starts doing the work I gave him.
I accidentally checked out his ass. And damn. I immediately popped a hard-on and knew that his ass was going to be getting some of my heat in a few.
I thought it was cool that I got hard because I had never fucked a faggot before and knew the chick wouldn't mind him tagging along.
I spat on my hand, reached back in my pants, gripped my cock, and started jerking it.
It felt so good.
Then I got pissed because I was eager to get some holes hugging my hog.
I yelled at the faggot to hurry up.
He did.
He brought me a cognac and a dope-ass cigar and set them on the bar. I told him to pick it up and ask me where he should put it.
He complies.
I told him to figure it out, that he was the servant, not me.
He obeys.
I took the cigar and rolled it between my fingers just glaring at him, expecting to be given a lighter already. He caught on quick, tries to hand me the lighter.
I laughed and said, "You're fucking retarded."
He said, “Thank you.” Like a total dweeb.
I said, “No, you light it. Dumbass.”
He does.
I kept blowing out the flame, calling him an inadequate bottom feeder.
Once the cigar was finally lit, I puffed it twice, then dropped it. I grabbed my drink, slammed it, and handed it back to the idiot.
I wiped my finger under his nose and said, "Your pussy better be tight, deep, and wet as fuck, popped up in room 469 in 10 minutes flat."
I didn't wait for a response, I just walked over to the slot-hole slut bitch from earlier and said, “I'm going to try out your pussy now, alright?"
She didn't speak, like a well-mannered fuck doll. She hopped off the bar stool, and I lead her to room 469.
I could see the way her chest rose and the way her lips parted so easily. She was already falling into proper submission, and I hadn’t even opened any of her holes yet.
Inside I pointed to a chair, told her to sit, then slid into the seat next to her. Close enough that our thighs brushed together.
She didn’t budge.
“You’re staring,” I said.
She swallowed hard as I leaned in closer. I could smell her perfume. It didn’t matter. She was just a hole to me. A pretty little fuck toy waiting to be played with.
“You’ve been watching me, ever since I walked in."
Her cheeks went hot, and her eyes flicked around the room like she was worried her daddy might see.
I granted her permission to speak and told her that she'd better figure out the right way to speak to me, quick.
She fixed her tits and said, “Maybe I was.”
"I’m not here to play games." I responded. "And you better call me sir."
Her face was glowing. She was hypnotized.
I continued, "You’re going to do everything I say. And if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have a taste of what’s in my pants.”
Her lips relaxed and she rubbed them back and forth like she was about to say something, but no words came out.
I said, "Speak, slut." and didn’t give her a chance to think. If she knew anything, I wanted to know exactly what was on her mind.
She said, "Fuck my luck.” then put her hands up in surrender. “You're the man. You're the only one that matters."
I reached out my fingers. She immediately spread her legs and lifted her dress. I slipped my fingers in her pussy with ease.
It was ike a big, wet bowl of warm pudding.
I pressed deeper until her pussy lips wrapped around my knuckles. I gently hooked my fingers to get a solid grip, and I pulled her up at an angle. She melted with my touch, matching the flow of my direction like choreography.
My cock throbbed, soaked with pre-cum. I told her to clean it off with her lips.
She did. With expert-level care.
I said, "Fuck you bitch. That's perfect."
I leaned my head back, and my knees got weak. She reached up and cupped my fat nut sack with her soft hands.
I went wild.
I said, "Open your fucking mouth, whore," then fed her every inch of my thick, meaty boner. Straight to the back of her throat. I was expecting some reflex... a gag, coughing, whimpering… all the weak, pussy-girl-shit, but my cock slipped in with ease.
My pubes looked so hot against her face. She took a deep breath and I heard her pussy squish with arousal.
I told her to stand up and do something awesome.
She wasted no time.
She slipped out of her clothes in one motion, took a step towards me, threw one leg around my back to pull herself closer.
My penis sank into a direct bullseye.
She stood on her tiptoes, grinding her soaking wet boat on my shaft like it was nothing. She alternated between sucking each of my nipples, keeping her hands active on every part of my body.
“What’s your name?” I whimpered, though I didn’t really give a fuck.
“Layla,” she stammered.
“Layla,” I repeated, “Pretty name for a pretty little fuckhole.”
She bit her lip and thrusted harder. Deeper.
“You think you can handle me, Layla?”
She nodded and her pulse fluttered in her neck.
“Good girl." I gasped, easeing her back down, flat on her feet. My cock slipped out with a loud suction.
“Now. Say it,” I growled. “Call me sir.”
“Sir,” she whispered.
I stood and tugged her off her feet. She stumbled a little, but I didn’t slow down. I didn’t have to. She’d keep up. She wanted this as much as I did.
Her fingers tightened around my own and she pressed her body against mine. She was falling apart.
I couldn't be bothered to be gentle.
She was wet, obedient, and could handle all of me like a pro.
“Remember what I said?” I asked, deep and low. “You call me sir. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.” she said, because she didn’t have a choice.
“Good girl,” I said and sat, leaning back on the couch.
Then someone knocked on my door.
I opened it without checking the peep hole. Without covering myself. It was that fucking faggot. I'd totally fucking forgotten about that loser.
I laughed and stepped to the side. He was already halfway undressed.
I shut the door and looked at Layla. She was fucking perfect. I stepped closer, grabbed her hips and pulled her against me.
Her hands flew up and around my shoulders.
“You don't mind a little company do you?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No sir.”
I watched the faggot undress. That ass was fine as fuck. Thick and round. Smooth and hungry.
"Where do you want me?" He said, and offered up his hands.
"Bed." I replied.
He crawls onto the bed, obviously remembering my orders from earlier. He pops his ass up and buries his face in the pillow.
A bottle of lube hits the bed and the power cuts out. Complete darkness.
"What the fuck." I heard myself say. "Layla, use your flashlight."
She doesn't respond.
"Layla!" I yell, "help me out here."
Silence.
I fumble around in the dark until I find my phone. I flip on the flash light and scan the room.
"Hello?" I sing mockingly, "what gives?"
I sweep my light across the room again, shine it on the bed. I don't see the faggot.
"One of you, say something," I humor, "now!"
I hear the door click open, then shut.
"You should be more careful about who you let into your private spaces." Said a voice in a whisper, too low to know if it was male of female."
"What?" I reacted, "who said that?"
The voice came again. Closer than before.
"You're not the only one who likes to take control."
Then silence. Just silence.
(... to be continued...)
Let me know if you'd like a continuation of "ROOM 469"
I'm a new writer here and wanted to give you all a sample of my story telling. Please share your thoughts and comments. Good, bad, big or small, I want to hear it all!
Thank you for reading my story.
