Obedience and Fire
https://frodobodybagginswords.blog/2025/06/09/the-rest-stop-nsfw/: Hotel Heat NSFWThe hotel door clicked shut behind them.
She stood just inside the room, blouse torn from earlier, skirt still clinging to her thighs, hair a mess from the wind and what he’d already done to her.
She didn’t turn around.
Didn’t need to.
She felt the shift in the air the moment he stepped closer — the heat of his presence, the danger in his silence.
Then came his voice. Calm. Dark. Certain.
“Hands on the wall.”
Her breath hitched. She stepped forward, palms flattening against the beige wallpaper next to the mirror.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
She bit her lip.
Behind her, he dropped the bags to the floor.
She heard his footsteps as he came up behind her — slow, deliberate.
“Feet apart.”
She obeyed.
He stood just behind her, not touching yet, just watching. Letting the tension bloom.
“You know how hard it was for me,” he said, “not to pull off the road and fuck you into the dirt?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
His hand came down suddenly on her arse — a sharp slap that made her yelp.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sir, I wanted it too.”
Another slap, this one rougher, handprint blooming already.
“You think you get to want before I give permission?”
“No, sir.”
But her voice was trembling. Wet.
He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear.
“Turn around. Face me.”
She turned, wide-eyed, lips parted.
“Undo your skirt,” he said.
Her fingers moved fast, fumbling slightly from how badly she wanted to please him. She pushed the fabric down her hips, stepping out of it slowly.
She stood in front of him in her ripped blouse and soaked panties, thighs sticky with need.
“Blouse. Off. Now.”
She peeled it off and let it fall.
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then reached out, dragging a single finger down between her breasts, over her navel, stopping just above the waistband of her underwear.
He hooked his finger into it.
Pulled it forward.
Let it snap back against her soaked skin.
She gasped.
He smirked. “You are soaked. You’d let me bend you over any surface in this room, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get on the bed. All fours. Face the mirror.”
She moved instantly, crawling onto the edge of the bed, presenting herself just as he ordered. The headboard mirror reflected everything — her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, nipples stiff with anticipation.
He walked over to her, still fully clothed.
“You’ve earned this,” he said simply, unbuckling his belt with one slow drag.
Her thighs shook.
She watched him in the mirror — the moment he freed himself, hard and ready, the moment he grabbed her hips and lined himself up.
“No begging,” he said. “No talking. Just take it.”
And he slammed into her.
She cried out, face hitting the bed, hands gripping the sheets.
He was relentless.
Rhythmic.
Punishing.
She lifted her head enough to meet his gaze in the mirror, and something about seeing herself like that — ruined, taken, being used exactly how she craved — pushed her over the edge.
But she didn’t dare cum yet.
Not without permission.
He fucked her like he meant to leave a mark on her soul. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her. Her moans filled the room. He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back.
“You love being used like this.”
She nodded, barely able to breathe.
“You look so good when you suffer for me.”
He pulled out suddenly. She whimpered.
“Shower,” he said. “Now.”
She scrambled off the bed on shaky legs, hurrying into the bathroom with him close behind. Steam was already starting to cloud the mirror as she turned the water on.
“Get in.”
She stepped under the stream, the water hot against her oversensitive skin.
He followed her in. Still fully dominant, his presence filled the room like smoke.
He ran his hands over her slick body — possessive, claiming.
But then his fingers dipped between her thighs again.
And she nearly collapsed.
“You thought I was done?” he murmured.
She shook her head, eyes fluttering closed.
“Look at me.”
She did.
He pressed her back against the tile and slid down to his knees.
Her hands hit the wall as he licked her like a man starved — broad strokes, precision, tongue circling her clit in ways that made her legs shake and her vision blur.
“Don’t you dare cum until I say.”
“I won’t, I swear—”
He slapped her thigh once.
“No swearing in front of me, little slut.”
She whimpered. “Sorry, sir.”
He slid two fingers into her, pumping slow, curling just right.
Her head thudded back against the wall.
“Sir, please—”
“Not yet.”
He worked her until her entire body vibrated.
Until she sobbed.
Until she was seconds from collapse.
“Now,” he said finally. “Let me feel it.”
And she shattered.
Screamed.
Collapsed into him.
He caught her.
Held her for a second.
Then stood.
“Turn around.”
She did, face against the wall, water cascading down her back.
He slammed into her from behind, one hand gripping her throat, the other wrapped tight around her hip.
This was not soft.
This was not gentle.
This was a man claiming what was his.
Fucking her like he had a point to prove.
She cried out his name, begged him to take her harder, to fill her, to ruin her.
And he did.
He drove into her until the slap of skin echoed against tile.
Until she was raw and wrecked and clenching around him again.
Until his moan filled her ears and she felt him flood inside her with a final, brutal thrust.
They stayed like that for a beat.
Pressed together.
Hearts pounding.
Bodies shaking.
Eventually, he pulled out, kissed her shoulder, then pulled her into his arms under the water.
Now came the gentleness.
Now came the peace.
He lathered her hair. Massaged her scalp. Kissed her soaked cheeks and whispered praise in her ear.
“You were perfect.”
“I love being good for you.”
“You always are.”
Later, wrapped in towels, they curled up in the hotel bed.
She lay between his legs, her back to his chest, his hands lazily stroking over her body like he still didn’t want to let go.
He kissed her temple.
“Still with me?”
She nodded, letting out a breathless little laugh.
“I think I left my soul in the shower.”
He chuckled. “I took it. It’s mine now.”
“Good.”
They drifted for a while, the low hum of the AC filling the quiet.
Then she shifted, glancing back at him with a smirk.
“What?”
Hotel Heat: Round Two – Break Me
The room was quiet now.
Low golden light spilled from a bedside lamp.
Steam clung to the mirrors, ghosts of the shower still thick in the air.
She lay on her back, skin flushed, limbs stretched out, utterly spent — or so she thought.
He was reclined against the headboard, towel around his hips, chest still glistening from the shower.
Watching her.
Not touching.
Not saying a word.
She stirred. Rolled toward him slowly. Eyes bright with mischief now, not submission. Her voice came low, sweet, dangerous.
“You didn’t break the bed.”
His brow twitched. “Excuse me?”
She crawled toward him — slowly, like a cat, deliberate. Her towel dropped along the way, forgotten on the floor. Now bare and glowing, she slithered into his lap, straddling him.
“Just saying…” she murmured, trailing her fingers along his chest, “…for all the things you’ve done to me today, the bed frame still looks suspiciously intact.”
He stared at her, unmoving.
Until his hand came up and wrapped around her throat — not tight, just enough to still her.
“You’re feeling brave tonight.”
She grinned, leaning forward to kiss him. “I’m feeling insatiable.”
His hand slid from her throat to her jaw, holding her still as he kissed her back — hard, deep, claiming. Then he pulled away, just enough to speak.
“You want me to break the bed, princess?”
She nodded, pulse hammering beneath his fingers.
“Then ride me like your life depends on it. And when your legs give out, I’ll finish what you started.”
Her breath hitched.
He shoved the towel off his hips, hard and ready for her again.
Without hesitation, she reached down, took him in hand, and guided him to her entrance. She was still soaked, swollen, needy. He slid inside with ease, but the stretch still made her gasp.
“Fuck— yes—”
She rolled her hips, grinding down on him, and his head fell back against the wall with a growl.
“Ride me,” he ordered.
She obeyed.
Rising and falling, her thighs straining, her breath hitching, nails dragging down his chest. She bounced on him like a woman possessed — every movement demanding, desperate, determined to ruin him as much as he ruined her.
The slap of skin echoed off the walls.
She moaned, bit her lip, rode him harder.
But her strength was fading.
He felt it.
Saw it in her shaking limbs, in the way her rhythm stuttered.
He grabbed her hips.
“Don’t stop now. You wanted this.”
She whimpered, trying to keep going, but her body betrayed her.
He flipped them in one brutal movement.
Now she was on her back, legs spread wide, his body over hers.
“Hands above your head,” he said.
She obeyed.
“Don’t move.”
She didn’t.
He slid back into her — deep, punishing, relentless.
And now the bed creaked.
With every thrust, the headboard knocked against the wall, louder and louder. The frame shuddered beneath them. Her eyes rolled back as she gripped the sheets.
“Too much?” he asked, teeth bared.
“Not enough,” she gasped.
He growled and drove into her harder. Again. Again.
The mattress shifted, twisted beneath them.
“Fucking take it,” he snarled. “Take every inch.”
“Yes— yes, sir— I—”
“You wanted me wild. You wanted broken. Then fucking break with me.”
Her orgasm ripped through her like fire. Back arched, mouth open, scream strangled into moans as her body clenched around him in a messy, soaking release.
He didn’t stop.
Not yet.
Not until he slammed into her one last time and spilled inside her with a guttural noise that sounded half-feral.
They lay there, shaking.
Breathless.
Sweaty.
The bed creaked once more beneath them, weak and wounded.
He finally collapsed beside her, pulling her into his chest.
She blinked up at the ceiling, still dazed.
“You—”
“Yes,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I think I heard the frame crack.”
She laughed. It was hoarse. Wrecked.
“Worth it.”
He smirked, hand sliding up her thigh again. “Round three?”
Her voice came soft, drowsy. “Let me walk first.”
Words by Frodo 