A man on a business trip. A woman he doesn’t know. A hotel pool at midnight. Explicit, 18+.
I arrived in Munich on Thursday evening, on business, with a meeting Friday morning. The hotel was one of those anonymous business places near the Stachus, with an unheated outdoor whirlpool and a small indoor pool in the spa. I couldn’t sleep. My cock was hard from loneliness and boredom, and I needed to move. I went downstairs around eleven-thirty to swim.
She was already in the pool. A woman in her early forties, dark hair wet on her shoulders, alone, in a black swimsuit. Her tits showed through the wet fabric, firm and round. She was on the far side, leaning against the edge, staring into the water.
“Excuse me,” I said, “do you mind?”
She looked up. Her eyes met mine. “Please. It was lonely.”
I went down the steps. The water was warm, almost too warm. It wrapped around my body like a second skin. I swam two laps, freestyle, feeling my muscles work. Then I came to rest at her side. She’d been watching me swim, I could tell from the way her gaze clung to my body.
“You swim well.” Her voice was rough, almost hoarse, as if she hadn’t spoken in a while.
“I competed as a teenager.”
“You can tell.” She let her eyes drift over my chest, my arms. “You have a good body.”
Her name was Ana, Spanish, in Munich for a conference. I was Maximilian, from Vienna, for a consulting session. We exchanged exactly those sentences, and that was it. We didn’t talk about personal things. We talked about Munich, the weather, the hotel. But under the water, I felt the tension between us, electric, almost tangible.
After ten minutes in the warm water, when my hands were already twitching beneath the surface to touch her, she said:
“Maximilian.”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t slept with anyone in three months. My husband is having an affair. We’re not talking right now. I’m in this hotel because I didn’t want to sleep at my sister’s, who wants to know what I’m thinking.”
I looked at her. She said it without drama, almost like a weather forecast. But her eyes betrayed hunger, raw desire.
“I haven’t slept with anyone in a year,” I said. “I got divorced a year ago. It was my initiative. It’s a longer story too.”
She nodded. Her gaze dropped to my crotch, where my cock was outlined under my swim trunks, half-hard from the water and the sight of her. “My room is on the second floor. 218.”
“Mine is 312.”
“Which is closer?”
“Both the same distance.” I grinned.
She laughed briefly, a deep, smoky laugh. “Yours, then.”
We got out of the pool. Water ran down her legs, dripped from her tits. I could see the shape of her nipples through the wet fabric, hard and erect. We dried off in the same room, with separate towels. She rubbed herself slowly, bent over, letting me see her ass, perfectly rounded under the black fabric. We put on bathrobes that were in the spa. We walked to the elevator. We didn’t say a word until we were on the third floor and my door was open.
She stepped in. She looked around. An anonymous business room with a big bed, a minibar, a desk. She took off the robe in the bathroom and came into the bedroom in her black swimsuit. The fabric clung to her, hinting at every curve.
“Maximilian.”
“Yes.”
“I want it slow. I haven’t had anyone in three months. I need time.”
“Me too. Slow is good.” But my cock was already hard, pressing against the swim trunks I still wore.
We kissed standing up, at the foot of the bed. She tasted like chlorine and woman. She was shorter than me; she had to lift her head. I put my hands on her hips, through the swimsuit. Her body trembled slightly under my fingers. She unzipped the front—the suit opened in front—and let it hang at her hips. My hands slid inside, touching bare skin. She had small breasts, slightly sagging, with dark nipples that stiffened under my thumbs. A small scar on her belly—C-section, I guessed—ran across her lower abdomen.
I kissed her shoulder, her neck. I put my hands on her breasts, gently, then harder. She was cold from the pool. I rubbed her warm, felt her skin come alive under my fingers. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
We moved to the bed. She took off the suit completely, let it fall to the floor. I pulled off my boxers, and my cock sprang free, hard, the tip already wet with desire. She looked at it, licked her lips. We lay side by side, slowly, kissing for a long time. I stroked her belly, her hips, then between her legs. She was wet—from the pool or the kiss or both. Her pussy was slick, the lips swollen, and I felt the heat radiating from her.
I started fingering her. Two fingers, gently, my thumb on her clit. She flinched when I touched her, a small cry. I massaged the little pearl, felt it grow harder. She exhaled deeply, eyes closed. I took it slow—maybe twenty minutes. I watched her. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, but she didn’t say it in words; she said it with her body. A slight lift of her hips meant deeper. A slight press of my hand meant slower. Her pussy got wetter, and my fingers slid deeper inside her, feeling her tight, hot walls. She moaned softly, a deep, throaty sound that burned in me.
She came after a long while, quietly, almost just a sigh. Her body trembled, her legs twitched. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around my fingers. Her eyes stayed closed.
“Maximilian.” Her voice was hoarse.
“Yes.”
“Do you have condoms?”
“In my toiletries bag.” I stood up, my legs trembling with arousal. I got one, tore open the wrapper. She watched me roll it onto my hard cock. She didn’t look surprised—I probably wasn’t the first naked man she’d seen—but she looked like she’d prepared to take her time. She looked like she wanted to be fucked, properly, deep, hard.
I lay on top of her. She spread her legs wide, inviting me in. Her pussy was soaking wet, glistening in the light of the bedside lamp. I guided my cock to her opening, felt the heat radiating from her. I pressed gently—
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