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🏨 Stranger on the Train – Part 4: Check-In, Strip Down
The hotel she picked wasn’t fancy — but discreet.
He stood outside Room 407, heart hammering. He’d been on edge all day. The memory of her lips, the buzz of the ring, the way she took control — it haunted every second of his thoughts.
He raised his hand to knock… but the door opened first.
She stood there in nothing but a silk robe and heels. One look and his knees almost buckled.
“You’re late,” she said, pulling him inside by the shirt.
The room was dimly lit, warm, and smelled faintly of candle wax and arousal. The curtains were closed — but the possibilities were wide open.
She shoved him against the door and kissed him — hungry, deep, claiming. Then she stepped back.
“Strip.”
He obeyed.
When he stood naked, she circled him slowly — her fingers grazing his chest, his thighs, teasing everything but what ached the most.
Then she pulled out a pair of soft leather cuffs.
“Bed,” she ordered.
She tied him to the headboard — arms spread, legs just enough apart to make him twitch. Then she climbed on top, straddling him, her robe falling open to reveal lace, skin, and control.
“Now you learn how to beg.”
She reached for a small bottle of warm oil. Poured it onto her palm. Slowly massaged it onto his chest, his stomach… lower. Every movement was torturous. The ring still gripped him, and every second it stayed on made him harder, more desperate.
She hovered over him, barely touching, just letting him feel the heat between her thighs.
“You think you’ve tasted me,” she said, grinding slowly, “but not like this.”
Then she slid down onto him — tight, slick, unhurried.
He gasped. She moaned softly, in control of every motion. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t touch her. Could only feel her riding him, slowly, deeply, like she was marking every inch.
“You don’t come,” she warned, as her hips worked faster.
“Not until I say your name.”
He held on. Barely.
She leaned forward, hands on his chest, whispering filthy things into his ear — about how she'd use him, tie him up in public, maybe let someone else watch next time.
He was seconds from the edge.
She leaned down… licked his ear… and whispered:
“Good boy.”
That was it.
He exploded, body tensing, gasping her name, lost in waves of overwhelming, blinding pleasure.
She rode it out, her own climax shuddering through her right after — body pressed to his, breath hot on his neck.
They lay there in silence for a long moment.
Then she whispered:
“Next time… you don’t get to come.”
