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Airport Layover Encounter

Cancelled flights and an overbooked motel bring a married businessman and priest together.
I used to fly frequently to the upper Midwest, connecting on Comair airline through the Cincinnati airport (actually in northern KY). The regional jets were not always reliable, and I found myself on more than one occasion with a cancelled evening flight, and no available connections until sometime the next morning. As soon as I was aware of the likelihood of a cancelled flight, I would immediately call for a reservation at a nearby hotel, since rooms quickly filled up when bad weather forced lots of cancellations. After rebooking the flight, it was off to the shuttle area for a ride over to the hotel with my carry-on bag. This narrative tells the account of one such instance.

First, a little about myself. At the time, I was a middle-aged, married, family guy with a professional job and managerial responsibility. I kept myself in shape, and was from all appearances a normal, business traveler. But, I had a little secret. I enjoyed private times away from home so I could engage in prolonged, multi-orgasmic, masturbatory fantasies of sex with other men. I carried a few accessories in my carry-on bag - an anal douche, a male dildo and prostate massager, some lubricant, some cock rings, and a few sexy thongs. On a very few occasions, I had actually met with a like-minded man for sex while away on an overnight business trip. I tried to be careful, and limited such encounters to equally safe and sane looking gentlemen.

That being said, I return to my story. I had stayed at this particular hotel on several occasions, mostly because it had a free shuttle service, was affordable, and usually had last minute vacancy. It was not the newest one on the block, and was not a chain franchise, but it was adequate. This night was no different. There was a line of travelers like myself at the front desk, stranded overnight by cancelled flights, some with reservations and some without. After a certain time, those lacking reservations were just out of luck. It was at those times that I appreciated having a reservation.

On this particular night, the guy in front of me was told there was no more vacancy, and that nearby hotels were also reporting being fully occupied. As he turned around, I noticed that he was some kind of priest, on account of his clerical collar and black suit. Otherwise, he was middle-aged, of average build, with salt and pepper hair and neatly trimmed goatee. Our eyes met briefly, and I could see the look of dejection. He walked away back into the lobby, apparently to try and call other hotels. I booked my room - a single with a king-sized bed (all that was left at that point) - and turned towards the elevator.

Something made me pause, however, and I entertained the thought of inviting the rejected traveler to share my room. Surely a man of the cloth could be trusted, so what did I have to loose (other than my private play time). I went over and introduced myself, observing that he appeared to be without lodging for the night. I told him that I only had a room with a single bed, but that I felt it would have either a recliner or day sofa, which he was welcome to use until morning. He paused for a moment, understandably trying to weight the offer against his limited alternatives. With a slight smile, he accepted, thanking me profusely, and assuring me that he would stay out of my way and give me as much privacy as he could.

We headed up to the room, sharing our respective traveling woes of the day. We also shared enough about each other to have some degree of comfort and trust. He was single, and a priest of a parish in the Midwest. Obviously, I revealed no hint of my secret desires. Upon arriving, we entered and settled in with our bags, me on the king bed and my guest on the day sofa. By now, it was rather late, with little to do but to prepare for getting some rest. I told him to go ahead and use the bathroom, and I would go next. I looked at my things in my bag, somewhat disappointed that I would not be free to engage in erotic self-pleasures that evening.

He came out, dressed in his boxers and tee shirt, and I went in. I had in the meantime found an extra blanket and pillow, which I left on the sofa. While in the bathroom, I took a few extra moments for a quick douche, and inserted some lubricant, just in case. I exited to a darkened room, dressed as he had been. I noticed that I had forgotten to close my bag, and was embarrassed that he may have seen some of my playthings in plain view. He was attempting to find a comfortable position on the sofa, but it was just too short. He was a good sport, though, and said that he would be just fine. I knew better.

I usually sleep in a king bed at home with my wife, and after a little snuggling, we separate to our respective sides, really never touching after that. So, I knew that we could do so as well. I decided to offer to share the bed with him just to be magnanimous, knowing that he would almost certainly decline. I was pleasantly surprised when he accepted. Climbing into the bed, he again assured me that he would not trouble me, and thanked me repeatedly. I turned off the bathroom light and in the darkness next to the bed, pulled my tee shirt over my head, and slid down my shorts. I always sleep in the nude, and I find it difficult to sleep with anything on. In the silence of the room, I was aware that the sounds of my underwear being removed had not been lost on him. I joined him in bed, on my side, of course.

There was no way I could sleep, at least initially. The heating unit was very noisy when it came on, and I had a difficult time ignoring the distraction. But my biggest reason for not sleeping was the thought of the man in bed with me, priest or not. I adjusted my position a couple of times, eventually ending up on my back near the middle of the bed. The rest would have to be up to him, as I dared not initiate any contact. Time passed, and I finally gave up hope, rolling over on my side. I considered jacking off, but I knew I could not do so without rocking the bed.

I eventually dozed off, but I awoke part way through the night. In my sleep I had rolled onto my back towards the center. As I lay there still coming out of my sleep, I though I felt his leg touch mine. I did not pull away, and the touching recurred, until his leg was resting against mine. My heart was pounding, and my arousal was growing. I rolled over facing away from him, but still maintaining some contact with his leg.

There was movement again, and I felt his groin and thighs ever so gently touching my ass and backs of my legs. I pushed back into him, teasingly pressing my ass into his groin. He reached around my chest, pulling me back fully against him in a spooning position. I felt the whiskers of his goatee against the back of my neck, planting gentle kisses. I turned my head around to face him, and our mouths joined and our tongues intertwined in a passionate kiss. His hand slowly moved down my chest, over my stomach, and to my throbbing hardness. He gripped my shaft and rubbed the oozing precum over my sensitive plumb-shaped knob, drawing a moan from me. As he did so he humped his boxer clad groin into my ass, and I could feel the unmistakable hardness of his own arousal against me.

I slowly rolled over onto my back next to him, still kissing. His kisses gradually trailed down over my chest, stopping briefly at my nipples and belly button, before ending up between my legs, which I instinctively spread in a demonstration of my willingness. He teasingly licked up my throbbing shaft and over my oozing knob, then took me fully into his expert mouth, causing me to groan aloud and lift my hips to him. He was no novice, and I was racked with unspeakable pleasure.

He wet a finger and began teasing my shaved ass, directing his efforts on my needy rosebud. (Was he reading my mind, or did he look in my travel bag?) This only made me spread wider for him, letting him know in no uncertain terms I was most receptive. His finger pushed against my sphincter, which yielded and welcomed his entry. He found my male pleasure center and massaged it in concert with his oral motions.

At this point I was the picture of a totally-yielded male - back arched, head back, eyes closed, uttering unintelligible groanings of hidden desires too frequently repressed. He continued his priestly ministrations without interruption, preparing to receive my drink offering. My orgasm built, and I erupted in his mouth, flooding it with my essence as my anal muscles went into contractions around his finger. After my spasms ceased, he climbed up and kissed me, sharing the last remnants of my cum with me.

After I recovered, it was my turn. I rolled him over, still kissing. I pushed his shorts down and grasped his hard, drooling shaft. My kisses descended to his erect manhood, which I quickly engulfed in my eager mouth, eliciting a moan as his hands encircled my head, pulling me onto him. Judging from his response, my efforts were having the intended effect on him, but I did not want him to cum in my mouth.

I climbed up and straddled his hips, and slowly lowered myself onto him in an act of ultimate penance. I directed his slippery knob into my already lubricated anal orifice, and soon I was bottomed out against his groin. After adjusting to the intrusion for a moment, I began to move, all the while watching has face as a reflection of his pleasure. My hips became a blur of unrelenting movement, up and down, forward and back, from several different angles. For me, the feeling was ecstatic. I couldn’t get enough of his hard cock.

I knew he was close, but I had no intention of stopping or slowing. I wanted this manly lover to fully consummate our conjugal union. Suddenly, he pulled me down against him and thrust his hips hard against my ass. I could feel the movements of his cock as it convulsed in orgasmic spasms, releasing his priestly semen deep inside my body. My work of penance had its desired result, and I was infused with his holy seed.

We lay together, embracing and kissing as we came down from our lovemaking high. Sleep was welcome, at least until morning when we once again found ourselves in a sacramental union of brotherly male love. But, the coupling was fleeting, as we both had to get ready to get back to the airport. Neither of us ever inquired of the other how a married family man and a supposedly chaste priest could resolve what had happened. Perhaps it was a divine encounter, after all.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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