My Lover Left Me Naked in That Hotel

This thing of having a boyfriend was never my thing. I’ve been single for almost a year now and, honestly, I’ve never felt better. I do what I want, with whomever I want, without having to meet any family, without falling in love, without waiting for a good-morning text. Although, I admit, sometimes I miss those cheesy little things.

Until someone comes along who really interests me, I’m going to keep enjoying my sexuality without limits. And boy, have I enjoyed it.

I like to experiment. A few months ago I bought several plugs and, whenever I can, I put one in and go out for a walk. Many times in a skirt and with no underwear. I’d never before stuck anything bigger than a finger up my ass; every man I’d been with, at some point, wanted to fuck me there, and I always told them no. Now I’m the one who decides, and that changes everything.

One of my oldest fantasies is to strip completely naked in the middle of the street, leave my clothes tossed aside, touch myself, and go back home like that, with nothing on. The only problem is that I still live with my parents, so for now it remains just that: a fantasy. But what I’m about to tell you came pretty close.

***

I started going out with several guys. The first was in early March. He had just turned thirty-two, was a little taller than me, with dark hair and a thick beard. I don’t have a fixed type of man, but he had something: he was serious, quiet, and from the first conversation he made it clear that he wanted to take me back to his apartment.

I knew him from before. He was my ex’s friend; they had met at English school and, although he was older by years, they got along well. But I always felt his eyes on me whenever my ex turned around. So I wasn’t surprised that as soon as we broke up, he asked me out.

I never thought about going out with my ex’s “friend,” but after going back and forth a lot, I agreed. The first date was not going well: I still felt something for that idiot, we had little in common, and he was eight years older than me. Even so, he caught my attention, and I needed sex urgently, though not with just anyone. We ended up tangled in his bed that very afternoon.

And that’s where I discovered something about myself. I always wanted to be in control, but with him I couldn’t. He put me under quickly, without asking permission, and despite everything I loved it. What we had became a way to let off steam: we’d see each other, fuck, relax. No promises. I became his submissive almost without realizing it.

We fucked at my place, at his, in cheap motels. Even that turned him on: having me in places where we could get caught. Me too, if I’m honest.

He loved treating me like I belonged to him. It was a game in which he called me his slut and wanted to rip my clothes off the moment he saw me. He didn’t care about spanking me or touching my tits with people around. Sometimes he told me he wanted to strip me naked in public so everyone could see me, and I always refused. He’d also floated the idea of sharing me with other men, which, I confess, intrigued me. But that still hadn’t happened.

***

Now I’m going to tell you about the most thrilling experience of my life. Maybe the most thrilling of all.

It was one afternoon, after we did it in a hotel. He asked me to let him finish on my face, and I agreed. I sucked him until he came, and I was covered from my hair to my breasts. What I didn’t expect was what came next: he used my thong to wipe himself off and then shoved it into my mouth. I don’t know how I agreed to all that. Before, I would never have imagined anyone treating me like that. And yet just remembering it gets me aroused all over again.

When we finished, he started getting dressed while I was still kneeling there, naked, waiting for instructions like the good submissive I was. But he told me not to change. He put on his clothes, his jacket, his watch, and then suddenly gathered up all my things: my skirt, blouse, shoes, purse, phone. He grabbed my cheek, threw the soaked thong to the back of the room, and said, in a calm voice that chilled me to the bone:

—I’ll wait for you in the car.

I was panicking. He laughed and left. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified and, at the same time, more aroused than I had ever been in my life. I picked up the thong from the floor and held it in my hand: I wasn’t planning to put it on, because now being part of the game meant getting to the car with nothing on.

***

Let me describe the place. It was a five-story building with a pool in the middle and a common area for socializing. To my bad luck, he had chosen that hotel on purpose. Down below, kids were playing with their parents, and our room was on the fourth floor, all the way at the back. The parking lot was outside, on a very busy street. To get there, I had to pass through the family area, then the front desk, and then a gate that led out to the street.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew I liked exhibitionism, but I had never done something like that in front of so many people, much less completely naked.

I opened the door and crawled out into the hallway. Before moving on, I stayed a while on the floor, touching myself with the tips of my fingers, feeling the cold floor against my naked skin. So hot I was, I shoved the thong back into my mouth. I peeked down and to the sides. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him near the public area, waiting for me.

My heart was pounding. The cool air brushed my skin and raised goose bumps along my back. I had two options: stay hidden, knowing that sooner or later someone would find me, or take the risk and live it.

I started crawling with my panties between my teeth, my whole body exposed. Almost instantly, two teenagers jumped when they saw me; I guessed they were about fifteen or sixteen. I stayed crouched there, a shiver of fear running through my entire body, trying to cover my breasts with one hand and my cunt with the other. It felt like forever passed. Then I gathered the courage to stand and keep going. I passed in front of them without letting go of the thong in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye I saw them take out their phones to record me, and I hurried on, very fast, until I lost them.

***

On the fourth floor I ran into a man in his fifties, bulky and not attractive at all. He didn’t hesitate either: he shamelessly took photos while I tried to hide my face. And despite everything, I could feel my arousal growing.

The man started rubbing his crotch, pulled his cock out for a moment, and called to me in a whisper. I froze, torn between fear and the urge to keep going. He kept insisting, his hand stroking the bulge.

I went down the stairs in a rush and ran into the bastard who had stolen my clothes. Laughing, he asked me how I was enjoying myself and whether I wanted to make it more intense. I nodded, angry and horny at the same time. I’m going to call him D, because I still hadn’t told you his name.

D took out a marker — later I found out it was oil-based — and asked me to turn around. I knew he was going to write something on my body, but I didn’t care anymore; in fact, it turned me on. When I looked in the hallway mirror, I discovered what he’d scribbled on my ass: “I’m Renata and I’m a hot slut.” That turned him on so much that he shoved my panties back into my mouth, brushed my clit with his cold fingers, and told me again to wait for him in the car.

***

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Part of me wanted to run straight to the parking lot; another, bolder part wanted to stretch the moment out. I went downstairs slowly, feeling each step under my bare feet, until I ran into a waitress.

She stared, mouth open, seeing me naked, with my panties in my mouth and my hands trying to cover me. We looked at each other for a moment, not knowing how to react. My heart was hammering, a mix of shame and excitement running through me. She only smiled and murmured:

—Oh, these young people nowadays.

On the second floor I noticed the man from the fourth floor following me at a distance, still with his phone raised. I tried not to turn around so at least my face wouldn’t show up. But I was so turned on that at one point I showed too much when I bent over backward so he could read the message on my ass. He called me by name:

—Yeah, you’re a slut, Renata.

I turned to cover my face and ended up showing him my whole body. I even gave him one last photo, sitting down on the cold floor and spreading my legs. In the end I gave him the soaked thong and a kiss on the cheek, which he took advantage of to grab my ass and my tits.

***

I went down to the first floor, where a group of young people were laughing. In the lobby there were several people, some looking at their phones, others chatting. I tried to blend in, but it was impossible: every eye was fixed on my naked body.

A few teenagers started whistling and shouting dirty remarks. An elderly woman clutched her chest, scandalized. The receptionist stared at me, mouth open, not knowing what to do. I walked quickly toward the exit, cheeks burning and nipples hard from the cold and the excitement. I could feel the wetness between my legs.

It was around six in the evening and the avenue was still full of people. The worst part was the final stretch: D had parked the car on the other side of the street. I gathered my courage, pushed the doors open, and ran toward the avenue, feeling dozens of eyes on me. Cars slammed on the brakes, drivers honked, I heard whistles all around me, but I kept my eyes fixed on the car.

When I finally got there, I pulled on the handle. Locked. D was watching me from inside with a mocking smile. I pressed myself against the window, covering myself as best I could, begging him with my eyes. He shook his head and motioned for me to take one full lap, slowly, around the car. I preferred to cover my face with my hair and hands rather than cover what everyone had already seen. Some people started shouting my name: they had read it on my skin.

—What a slut! —someone yelled, laughing.

My cheeks burned with shame, but I could also feel the excitement devouring me.

***

D finally opened the door. I threw myself inside, grateful for the refuge. But he had other plans.

—We’re not done yet —he said, starting the engine.

We drove in silence. He rolled the windows down a little “so you can cool off,” the son of a bitch said, and I felt the evening air directly on my nipples and between my legs, still wet. Every traffic light was torture: people on the sidewalks turning to look, drivers braking to get a better view.

—Where are we going? —I asked, my voice trembling.

—You’ll see —he smiled.

After about fifteen minutes he stopped in front of a crowded park.

—Get out and take a walk. That’s the last thing you’ll do today.

I shook my head, terrified. But he insisted:

—Do it, or I’ll leave you here.

I opened the door and got out. I’d forgotten the thong inside, and he tossed it back to me, laughing.

I walked quickly along the path, feeling the cool grass under my feet. My body was shaking, not just from the air, but from the adrenaline. Families strolling, couples holding hands, groups of friends chatting. And there I was, naked, with the obscene message still written on my ass.

—My God! —a mother exclaimed, covering her child’s eyes.

A group of teenagers pulled out their phones. I kept covering my face; I didn’t want them to recognize me. An older man came closer, looking me up and down.

—How much do you charge, sweetheart? —he asked in a raspy voice.

I shook my head and quickened my pace, the blush spreading all over my body. When I completed the lap, I ran back to the car.

—Very good, my little exhibitionist —D said, satisfied. —Did you like your walk?

I didn’t answer. Part of me wanted to slap him; the other part was incredibly turned on. I got in trembling like a leaf, my skin prickling and my heart racing.

—Now I’m taking you home, my little slut.

***

We got to my neighborhood around eight-thirty. It was already dark, but the streets were lit and there were neighbors taking out the trash, walking the dog, chatting on the corner. D parked half a block from my house, turned off the engine, and, for once, took pity on me: he gave me back my skirt and blouse. The old man at the hotel had already kept the thong. I dressed immediately, still with the marker on my skin.

The living room lights were on, the TV on. My dad in the armchair, my mom in the kitchen; I could hear them talking about dinner. I took a deep breath and opened the door as carefully as I could. I went in, closed it slowly, and stood there in the dark hallway, smelling of sex and sweat, with my ass marked and my body still throbbing.

—Renata? Is that you, honey? —my mom shouted from the kitchen.

I cleared my throat as best I could, swallowing my embarrassment.

—Y-yes, Mom… I’m home.

—Why so late? Everything okay?

I leaned against the wall, feeling the cold in my back, and answered in the sweetest, most innocent voice I could manage:

—Yes, Mom… everything’s fine. I was with a friend. I’m going to shower and go to sleep now.

—Okay, honey. I saved you dinner in the fridge. Good night, I love you.

—I love you too, Mom… —I whispered, almost laughing at how absurd it was.

I tiptoed up the stairs, no thong on, with the marker still on my skin and my body shaking from adrenaline. I went into my room, closed the door, flopped onto the bed, and touched myself until I came silently, biting the pillow so they wouldn’t hear me. I didn’t shower until the next day, and that marker took days to fade.

His good girl had gotten home. And nobody ever knew what I did that afternoon. Except D… and now you.