Lavish Didi Stories - Business Trip - Chapter 3

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 3

He woke me with a text message at 5:17 a.m.

Ryan: Gym. 6. Don’t be late.

Ryan: Wear the leggings under your shorts. Nothing else.

Ryan: And don’t put the wig on. Not on the gym, be discrete.

I stared at the screen in the dark. My hole was still sore from the night before. I could feel the dried mess on my thighs when I shifted. I typed back one word.

David: Okay.

The hotel gym was on the second floor, small and half-empty at that hour, the kind of place with two treadmills, one rack, and a TV stuck on a news channel on mute. I got there at 5:58 in a black T-shirt and loose shorts over the tight black leggings he’d told me to wear. No wig. Hair still messed from sleep. Ryan was already on the treadmill in a gray cutoff and black shorts, sweating through the fabric, earbuds in. He didn’t look at me when I walked in. He just jerked his chin once at the squat rack and kept running.

I started with the empty bar. My thighs were already tight from the night before. He finished his run, stepped off, and wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt, exposing the soft line of his stomach. He came over close enough that I could smell the heat and the salt coming off him. No cologne. Just the run.

“Lower,” he said, quiet. “All the way down. Hold it.”

I went down. The leggings pulled tight across my ass. He stood behind me and didn’t touch. Just watched.

“Again.”

I did another. And another. My thighs burned. He made me do sets until my legs shook. Every time I came up he was right there, close, breathing through his nose. A guy in his forties came in, nodded at us, and got on a bike at the far end. Ryan didn’t move away.

“Locker room,” he said when the set ended. “Now. Leave the shorts on until I say.”

The locker room was brighter than the gym. Empty except for one shower running behind a half-wall. Ryan walked me to the back row of lockers, out of sight of the entrance. He pulled his cutoff off and dropped it on the bench. His chest was flushed and wet. He smelled like the run.

“Turn around. Hands on the locker.”

I did. The metal was cold. He stepped in behind me and yanked my shorts down to mid-thigh, leaving the leggings on. His hand slid between my legs and pressed two fingers against my hole through the thin fabric. I was still loose from last night. He felt it.

“Still open,” he muttered. “Good.”

He pulled the leggings down just enough. Cool air on my hairless ass cheeks. Then the thick head of his cock, already hard, pressed against me. He didn’t spit. He just pushed. The stretch was worse than the hotel bed because I was standing and my legs were already tired. I bit the inside of my cheek to stay quiet. The shower kept running on the other side of the wall.

Ryan fucked me in short, heavy strokes, one hand flat on my lower back pushing me forward against the cold metal, the other gripping the top of the locker so it rattled every time he drove in. His sweat dripped onto the back of my neck and ran under my collar. Every time he bottomed out I felt the thick head press deep and the air leave my lungs in a controlled rush I had to swallow. I stayed silent. The shower kept running on the other side of the half-wall. A guy coughed once, wet and ordinary, the sound bouncing off the tile. Ryan didn’t slow down. His hips kept the same deliberate pace, like he was counting the strokes.

“Melissa never lets me do this after I train,” he said against my ear, low. “Says  I’m too sweaty and she’s tired. You’re not tired, are you.”

I shook my head.

“Say it.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Louder.”

“I’m not—”

He shoved in harder and I cut the word off against my teeth. The shower stopped. Water dripping. Footsteps on wet tile. A locker opened somewhere closer than I wanted, the metal clang too loud. Ryan froze with his cock buried to the root, breathing hard through his nose, chest pressed to my back. We stayed like that, both of us shaking a little, until the footsteps moved toward the exit. The door opened. Shut. Silence again except for the hum of the lights.

Ryan started moving again, slower now, deeper. His hand came around and covered my mouth. Not rough. Just there.

“Stay quiet. I’m close.”

He fucked me until his rhythm broke. Then he buried himself and came, his cock pulsing and I felt it inside, his cum ropes, one after another. He stayed there, forehead against the back of my neck, until he was done. When he pulled out, cum ran down the inside of my thigh and soaked into the leggings.

He stepped back. Pulled his shorts up. Wiped his face with his shirt.

“Fix yourself. Go up the stairs. I’ll take the elevator. Don’t talk to me at breakfast.”

I pulled the leggings and shorts back into place. My legs were unsteady. He was already at the door.

“Ryan.”

He stopped. Didn’t turn.

“Tonight,” he said. “Wig on. Door unlocked. You can say no again if you want. I’ll still take it. Deal?”

“Yes.” I consented.

He left.

I stood there for another minute with his cum cooling in the leggings and the sound of the empty locker room in my ears. Then I fixed my shirt and took the stairs.

At breakfast he sat three tables away with two other guys from the office and didn’t look at me once. My phone buzzed under the table.

Ryan: You leaked through the leggings on the way up. I saw it.

Ryan: Tonight you’re Melissa again. Don’t forget.

I put the phone face-down and drank my coffee. My hole ached every time I shifted in the chair. I already knew I’d be waiting with the door unlocked for Ryan. But I wanted more… and I had some ideas.