Cutedelicategay Posted 9 hours ago Report Posted 9 hours ago (This is a true story and first names are also true. Events from 30 Oct 25 night) The quiet hum of the hotel bar in London, Ontario, wrapped around me like a secret as I nursed my beer after a long day delivering my lecture at the two-day professional conference. I'd arrived earlier for the event, stepping out to the wooded trail behind the hotel to spark up a joint, the fresh outdoor air mixing with the weed's mellow haze as I inhaled deep under the trees. The high lingered, buzzing through my veins, sharpening my senses without dulling the edge of my hunger. London was buzzing with club-level hockey playoffs, and one of the teams had crashed in the same hotel—most players had hit the ice earlier, but the post-game energy still crackled in the air. The rest of the team slowly slipped into their rooms to sleep, leaving just two lingering at the end of the bar: Ryan and Chris, mid-forties white-collar pros who doubled as players on the squad, their athletic builds honed from years on the rink and in the gym. They were friends, dressed down post-game in casual polos that clung to their broad shoulders and sweatpants that outlined powerful legs, Ryan's clean-shaven face and strong jaw exuding that executive confidence even off the ice, Chris with neatly trimmed hair and glasses perched on his chiseled features, his frame radiating quiet dominance. I'd changed out of my conference suit into casual clothes before hitting the bar—light grey running tights that hugged my legs and accentuated my bubble butt, the thin fabric riding low enough to expose the deep crack of my ass when I leaned forward. As I bent over the bar to order my drink, I felt their eyes lock on, Ryan's gaze tracing the curve of my cheeks, Chris shifting on his stool with a low whistle under his breath. The exposure sent a thrill through me, my hole twitching under the material, knowing it drew them in like a magnet. The bartender, a younger graduate student in his mid-twenties moonlighting at the bar for extra cash, poured my beer with a knowing smirk, his sharp features and lean build suggesting he balanced studies with late-night shifts. He was efficient, chatting lightly about the playoffs chaos filling the hotel. I caught Ryan's glance first, his green eyes locking on mine with a spark of interest, fueled by the view of my ass. I shifted on my stool, letting my knee brush his as he ordered another round. 'Tough playoffs game?' I asked, voice low, the weed making me bold. He grinned, wiping a hand over his damp polo from the earlier exertion. 'We pulled it off, but with the team crashing out now, it's just us left to unwind after the conference crowd clears.' Chris leaned in, his subtle cologne cutting through the bar's haze. 'You here for the event? You look like prime company in those tights.' Their flirtation hit quick—Ryan's hand grazing my thigh under the bar, Chris whispering about heading upstairs for 'private negotiations,' his fingers itching to explore the crack they'd eyed. I nodded, pulse quickening, my cock stirring against the tight fabric as they sketched the scene: me sandwiched between them, no barriers, just urgent release. The bartender polished glasses nearby, clearly catching every word, his eyes flicking our way, lingering on the heat building and the way my tights outlined my form. We wrapped up plans—my room in ten—and the two guys headed up first, the bar emptying as the last echoes of the team's footsteps faded down the halls. 'Put it on my room,' I told the grad student bat tender sliding my keycard details over. He nodded, jotting down 312 with a subtle grin, the quiet amplifying my anticipation as he locked up. I slipped back to my room, heart pounding, the high turning every step into foreplay. They were waiting outside when I opened the door, polos tugged off to reveal smooth, toned torsos marked by faint bruises from the game and tan lines from outdoor practices. Ryan pulled me in by the waist, his mouth claiming mine in a deep, commanding kiss, tongue probing like he was checking for weaknesses on the ice. Chris pressed from behind, hands roaming my chest, pinching nipples until I gasped into Ryan's mouth, his palms sliding down to squeeze the bubble of my ass through the tights. 'That crack at the bar had us hooked, especially with the team finally bedding down,' Ryan murmured, stripping the light grey fabric away along with my shirt. I fumbled for the poppers in my bag, inhaling deep as they shoved the tights down my thighs, the rush hitting hard, loosening my body and firing up every nerve. Naked now, I dropped to my knees between them, their cocks springing free from their sweatpants—Ryan's thick and veined, Chris's longer with a pronounced upward curve. I took Ryan first, lips stretching around his girth, sucking deep while stroking Chris. They groaned, hands in my hair, guiding me back and forth. 'Skilled tongue, especially after teasing us with that ass while the rest of the guys headed up,' Chris muttered, thrusting shallowly past my lips. The weed kept me relaxed, savoring the musky taste post-game, but the poppers made it electric, my throat opening as they face-fucked me in turns. Ryan hauled me up, bending me over the bed. His fingers probed my ass, spitting on them for lube before sliding two in, scissoring rough against the deep crack they'd admired. I moaned, pushing back, the stretch burning sweet. Chris knelt in front, feeding me his dick again, muffling my cries. 'Ready for bareback?' Ryan asked, voice husky from the exertion. I nodded around Chris's shaft, begging with my eyes. He lined up, pressing his fat head against my hole—no condom, just skin on skin—and thrust in slow at first, then deep, filling me inch by inch. The poppers' wave crested again as I huffed from the bottle on the nightstand, my ring relaxing to take him fully, every ridge dragging inside me. He started pounding, hips slamming forward, balls slapping my skin with wet smacks. Chris pulled out of my mouth, watching with a grin before joining, sliding under me on the bed. Ryan lifted my hips, and Chris guided his cock to my entrance—easing in after Ryan withdrew, his length spearing deeper, hitting spots that made my vision spark. Ryan straddled my chest, jerking his slick cock over my face, dripping pre-cum on my lips. I licked it up, sucking his balls as Chris reamed me, the bed creaking under his powerful drives. They flipped me onto my back, legs over Ryan's shoulders now. He plunged in, folding me in half, his post-game sweat mingling with mine as he kissed me hard. Chris stroked himself beside us, then leaned in to suck my nipples, biting just enough to sting. Ryan's thrusts turned brutal, prostate hammered relentlessly, my cock leaking untouched onto my stomach. 'Gonna fill you up,' he grunted, beads of sweat tracing his defined abs from the rink. I snatched the poppers, inhaling sharp—the chemical high blending with the lingering weed to push me over, my body clenching as I came hands-free, ropes of cum splattering my chest. Ryan followed seconds later, burying deep and pulsing, hot seed flooding my guts, thick and warm. He pulled out slow, cum dribbling from my hole, and Chris dove right in, using the fresh slick to glide smooth. His pace was faster, hips snapping like he was chasing a loose puck, churning Ryan's load into a frothy mess. I wrapped my legs around him, urging deeper, the fullness overwhelming. Another hit of poppers, and I floated as he unloaded, jets mixing inside me, overflowing with each pull back. They collapsed beside me, breathing heavy, cocks softening against my thighs. 'That hit the spot after the game and with the team finally out cold,' Ryan said, tracing a finger through the mess on my skin. We lay there, sticky and spent, until my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Unknown number—hotel line. I answered, voice hoarse. 'Hey, it's the bartender from downstairs—the grad student pulling shifts. Overheard your plans and saw your room on the tab. Mind if I come feel that body under me? Bar's shut down, and the halls are quiet now.' Chris and Ryan exchanged smirks, nodding me on. 'Door's open,' I said, hanging up, cock twitching back to life. He arrived quick, stripping as he entered, his body wiry but toned from campus runs, cock average but hard and ready. Both the guys watched from the bed, stroking lazily as he climbed over me, pinning my wrists above my head. 'Been stiff since you leaned over the bar in those tights,' he confessed, kissing down my neck, tasting the salt. His mouth found my nipples, sucking hard, then trailed lower to lap at the cum on my stomach. I arched, the weed's outdoor buzz still mellowing the intensity, but his weight grounded me. He flipped me onto my stomach, spreading my cheeks to see the mess—cum leaking from my used hole. 'Damn, that's inviting, especially after eyeing that deep crack,' he murmured, diving in with his tongue, rimming deep, slurping the combined loads. I moaned into the pillow, pushing back as he ate me out, his stubble scraping sensitive skin. The poppers bottle was within reach; I huffed it, the rush making his licks feel like fire. Satisfied, he mounted me, sliding his cock in easy through the slickness, groaning at the warmth. His fucks were steady, hips rolling deep, grinding against my prostate with each push. The two guys joined in—Ryan feeding me his semi-hard dick, Chris fingering my mouth. The bartender gripped my hips, pounding harder, the room filling with slaps and grunts. 'Still gripping like a vice,' he panted, spanking my ass red. I clenched around him, milking his shaft, and he came quick—spurting inside, adding to the flood, his body shuddering over mine. He rolled off, spent, joining the pile of bodies. We lay tangled, the air thick with sex and satisfaction, my ass throbbing full, already craving the next high amid the conference whirl and playoff vibes, the hotel silent now with the team tucked away. 5 Quote
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