The Wrong Suitcase

When the cut-rate commuter flight finally bumped down onto the runway I breathed a sigh of relief. Some of these budget airlines feel like they're held together with duct tape and hope. At least I was at the front of the plane and could get out quickly. I had to gate-check my bag but it was already waiting, alongside the others in the walkway, and I grabbed it quickly on my way to try to beat the crowds at the cab stand.

I was in town for our annual conference. Three days of workshops, presentations, and the often enjoyable socializing with casual acquaintances all happy to be out of the office and away from home. I wasn't traveling as much as before the pandemic, so I still enjoyed the sense of anonymity and escape that came with checking into a hotel.

I dropped my suitcase onto the luggage rack and opened it to find something cooler to wear. I feel like the fact that something was wrong hit me before I even saw what was inside. Maybe it was that the weight felt off, or else I caught a whiff of a pleasant but unfamiliar scent. But before any of this fully registered I realized what happened as soon as I opened the lid: I had taken the wrong suitcase.

I was cursing myself for rushing off of the plane, but it was an honest mistake. We had identical suitcases from a trendy new travel company; we were probably both drawn in to buying them from the same Instagram ad. I closed the top and started to get out my phone to call the airline, but then paused. I'm not typically a voyeur but the thought of being able to freely explore somebody's personal items like this piqued my curiosity. There's no harm in looking, right?

The suitcase was neatly packed, everything in matching packing cubes with a travel hairdryer tucked in. My interest grew: this was a woman's suitcase. I unzipped the first compartment to find two neatly folded sweaters. I peeked into the toiletry bag to find mini squeeze bottles, some Advil, makeup, and a brush. Nothing too unusual or incriminating. I rummaged until I found a packing cube with a hint of lace visible through the mesh top and smiled as I unzipped it.

Neatly folded inside were a few pairs of silk panties and a couple of bras. It was the bras that immediately caught my attention: one was black, smooth to the touch, almost a satiny feel to it; the other was a light pink made of some sort of delicate, intricately-detailed lace; both were huge. The bra cups looked almost like fabric cereal bowls. It was clear that each one held more than a handful. And I have large hands. I looked at the tag: 38G. Her chest was easily a good bit larger than that of any woman I'd ever dated.

I was kicking myself for not paying more attention on the plane -- she may have been sitting nearby and I missed a chance for us to walk out together. I started to re-pack (lingering for a minute over the bras and panties) and lamented my bad luck when I noticed a zippered pocked on the inner lid. It was flat and didn't appear to hold anything at all until I looked in and spotted a folder. It was a packet for the same conference I was attending. I couldn't find a name but my mind was racing ahead: she -- whoever she was -- had to be in the hotel.

I normally skip the opening reception for these conferences, but there's no way I was going to miss this one: I had a mission. I reviewed everything I knew about the mystery woman behind the suitcase: her clothes seemed like normal business and workout wear. The shoes in one of the packing cubes didn't seem excessively large or small so I couldn't make any educated guesses about her height. I checked her conference folder again -- the only personal touches I could find were checkmarks by some of the sessions. Really the only thing I could surmise from all of this was that I would make a pretty poor detective. But, I console myself, I wasn't left with nothing at all: I knew for certain that I was looking for a woman with really big tits.

As I entered the ballroom where the reception was being held, I considered the new lens through which I was viewing the crowd. In a space like this I was used to noticing women in the crowd, admiring shapely figures when I spotted them, but this felt different. I zeroed in on the chest of every woman that passed by, picturing the curvier ones in the underwear still in the suitcase in my room. Twice I found likely candidates and asked if they'd picked up the wrong suitcase at the airport. I probably looked like I was trying out a terrible new pickup line, but they were friendly enough when I explained what had happened and I said that they looked like somebody I thought I'd spotted on the plane. I was particularly disappointed when the second one I asked, a top-heavy blonde in her twenties, just shook her head and wished me luck.

After slipping away from a dreary conversation with a couple of former co-workers I went to console myself at the bar. I was staring into my bourbon, sadly realizing that my hopes for romance were probably unrealistic to begin with and resigning myself to calling the airline as soon as I got back to the hotel. It was getting crowded and I moved to make way for somebody trying to get the bartender's attention. I did not feel like getting sucked into work talk again and kept my head down, turning my gaze just enough to the side to see whether it was somebody else I knew. It was a woman -- I could tell from her pale arm on the bar and, my eyes widening, from the way her sweater strained over her large, round, heavy breasts.

"Excuse me," I said, as she looked at me with a weary, annoyed look. "Did you happen to pick up the wrong suitcase at the airport this afternoon?"

She opened her mouth in surprise, then eyed me suspiciously. "What?"

"One fifteen from Atlanta? Black rollerball suitcase?"

"Yes . . ." still seeming hesitant.

"We were on the same flight," I smiled. "And obviously have the same taste in luggage. We must have gotten out bags mixed up coming off the plane." (I was intentionally leaving off the fact that I got off the flight first.)

"Oh my god," she said, "of course. I spent a half hour on the phone with the airline. They were useless."

I laughed. "I'm not surprised."

"So you have my suitcase," she said.

"I do. And I'm assuming you have mine? Are you staying here?"

"I am."

I smiled, finally taking a good look at her. She looked to be in her mid thirties, probably ten years younger than me. She had long dark hair with streaks of gray pulled back into a ponytail. Even in her sweater and jeans I could tell that she had an hourglass figure -- wide hips, a little on the heavy side, and a generous chest that I was using all my willpower not to stare at. She had green eyes and a sort of wry smile that I really liked.

"Perfect. Shall we arrange a trade? I mean, unless you'd rather keep my clothes. I'm sure you'd look great in my brown sport coat."

She laughed, seeming to relax a little. "That's very nice of you to offer but I think I'll stick with mine. So," pausing a minute to consider, "have you been spending the whole evening asking every person here if they lost their suitcase?"

I hadn't considered how I'd respond to this very reasonable question. "Of course not," I stammered, thinking fast, "As soon as I realized it wasn't mine, I mean, I did recognize that it was a woman's suitcase" -- talking quickly so she wouldn't ask how I knew -- "and I looked for identification and found the conference packet in there and so I realized whoever the suitcase belonged to may show up here tonight. And" -- still scrambling -- "I thought I would just try my luck before dealing with the airline. You were my last try."

"So you were just going up to random women?"

"Well I mean I was hoping I'd recognize somebody from the plane and, if not, maybe I could spot somebody who was still dressed for travel, or who just looked tired and annoyed." I regretted that last statement as soon as I said it but she broke into a full laugh for the first time.

"Tired and annoyed is exactly what I was feeling. I guess it showed."

Before she could ask any more questions that would get me into trouble I suggested we get the suitcases and meet back in the lobby in ten minutes.

She seemed much warmer and more relaxed when I spotted her rolling my bag toward me, her breasts bouncing slightly with every step. "I can't tell you what a relief this is," she said. "I was dreading having to deal with this tomorrow."

"I know exactly what you mean," I said as we traded bags. They really were identical. "I'm James," I said.

"Yes," I can read. I followed her eyes to my conference badge. "I bet you can't guess my name."

I laughed. "So, Lydia --" nodding at her nametag -- "Do you have plans for tonight?"

She smiled. "I had a feeling that was coming next. I was just going to have a quiet night in the room."

"And I have a feeling that you already know my next question."

She laughed. "Dinner sounds great."

We made plans to meet in the hotel restaurant in an hour, both of us eager to unpack and change. While I got ready I tried to picture what she'd be wearing -- not just on top but underneath. It thrilled me to think that when I saw her again she'd probably be wearing some of the clothes I had held in my hands. Maybe even the lacy, pink bra. I was already feeling excited as I headed back downstairs.

I got there a few minutes before she did and watched as Lydia walked across the lobby. She was in a simple black dress with a cardigan pulled loosely over her chest. She had a sort of carefree confidence in the way she walked and that hypnotizing sway in her hips that I always found irresistible in women. The hostess led us to a small table in the corner and I sat with my back to the room, eager to avoid any current or former co-workers who might be dining there.

Lydia looked more relaxed, refreshed. She had re-done her makeup and let her hair down from the ponytail. It was shoulder length, thick, and messy but in an elegant way, if that's even possible. I thought I could recognize the soft, floral scent I had noticed in her suitcase.

She was easy to talk to and we quickly made our way through a bottle of wine. Neither of us talked about our personal lives -- we mostly chatted about work, about the politics of our different offices and the few people we knew in common. Even though the restaurant was crowded and loud around us it felt like we were in our own bubble. Or at least I did. I was mustering up the courage to see if she felt the same when she leaned across the table and spoke first.

"So," the wry smile back on her face, "is this the part of the evening where you suggest we have a nightcap up in your room?"

I acted offended. "I can't believe it. This whole time you were thinking I was just trying to get you into bed?"

"Um . . .," she narrowed her eyes, trying to tell if I was being serious while I fought to hold back a smile. "If that's the case . . . I apologize for being presumptuous."

"I accept your apology," trying to look serious before I said. "And as I sign of good faith, I'd like to offer you a nightcap in my room."

She laughed. "I knew it."

"So is that a yes?"

"Sure. Why not."

I kept my hands off of her throughout the whole elevator ride and walk down the hall. I let us into the room. After the crowds and noise in the bar it felt intensely quiet and intimate. I didn't want to speak first and watched her, but she didn't move either, her eyes locked on mine, perhaps a little nervous. I stepped closer, our bodies almost touching, and put my hands gently on her hips. She looked up at me, her lips parted slightly, and I leaned in for a kiss.

I can't find a non-cliched way to say how it felt. We melted into each other, we dissolved, we turned to putty in each other's arms. All of it felt true; it just felt right. Or maybe I was just desperate: it had been a while. She kissed me back eagerly, her tongue swirling with mine. I pulled her into me, feeling her soft body against mine, knowing that she could feel me starting to get hard.

Without breaking our kiss I pushed the cardigan off of her shoulders and found the zipper in back of her dress. I slid it down slowly, the sexy sound thrilling to hear. Her dress loose, she stepped back to take it off, letting it fall first over her chest and then pushing it over her wide hips. She looked stunning. She was wearing the black bra and matching panties. The bra held her large breasts perfectly, the cleavage was stunning.

"Wow," I said softly, meaning it.

She came back into my arms. "That's the response I was hoping for." Kissing me again as she undid the buttons on my shirt, roughly untucking it and pulling it off before she started to work on my belt. She undid the buckle and pulled the belt off with a flourish, laughing as she dropped it to the floor. I kissed her neck while she unzipped my pants and pushed them down, leaving me in my boxers, already absurdly tented by my erection.

"Nice yourself," she said, running a hand over my long cock. While she stroked me I finally got my hands on her breasts, truly more than a handful, heavy in my hands as I squeezed gently, running my thumbs over her nipples, already stiffening. "Take it off," she whispered, and I went to work on the many hooks in the back, failing completely to be swift and smooth about it. She either took pity on me or lost patience and reached back and finished the job.

I slid my hands under her slack bra and felt her warm, bare breasts in my hands. She shrugged out of the bra and stood before me topless. I moved my hands to admire her huge, full breasts, sagging but beautiful, large, pale aureolae, and stiff, pink nipples. I squeezed them together and leaned in to kiss them, my lips alternating from one to the other, gently sucking her nipples until I heard a soft moan. I wanted more.

I moved her so that she was standing at the edge of the bed, looking at me with a half smile and one eyebrow raised. I smiled and resumed kissing her breasts, and then lower, over her ribs, trailing kisses down her belly and hearing a quiet "mmmmmm" as she certainly know where I was heading. I was on my knees on the carpet, my face at her crotch as she sat on the bed and eagerly spread her legs for me. I kissed her panties, the black fabric smooth on my lips, and smelled her, felt her warmth.

As I pulled down her panties she lay back on the bed, legs spread again, her neatly shaved pussy open and ready for me. I began to lick slowly, loving that she was already wet and excited. I traced my tongue over her labia and then pushed in slightly, trying to find the places and pressures that made her squirm. I found her swollen clit and began licking, sucking, working on a rhythm that got a reaction.

She was moaning softly as I licked and sucked, her hands moving to cup her breasts. I looked up and saw her squeezing them, pinching her nipples. From my perspective, it was all I could see -- her breasts completely blocked any view of her face and this made me more excited still. I started licking faster, sucking harder, my hands on her hips, my face buried now in her pussy, sucking her clit as I heard her breaths grow faster, shallow, her moans louder. When I began flicking her clit with my tongue I heard "Yes! Like that! Don't stop" and felt her body grow tense, her back arching, pressing herself even harder into my face as I kept it up and then she exploded with a shuddering moan and it felt like waves of pleasure were washing over her body. When they finally subsided her body relaxed and she let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

I crawled up next to her on the bed. "Wow," she said, "I guess I needed that."

"Happy to be of service."

She laughed. "Your face is a mess," then pulling me in for a kiss, tasting herself on my lips and chin. "Listen," she said, "I promise I'll suck your cock later -- I just really need you to fuck me right now."

She laughed again when she saw my eyes get wide and then as I scrambled to get out of my boxers, clearly eager to comply. I climbed over her, admiring the view of her lovely, curvy, prone body, while my stiff cock bobbed lewdly in the air. She took hold of my shaft and stroked it a few times, her warm, soft hand getting me even more excited, and then positioned it at her pussy, rubbing a few times and then holding me as I began to push inside.

I went slowly, letting myself ease into her warm, wet pussy, watching her face as I slid deeper and deeper until I was all the way in. My cock was throbbing inside of her, swollen with desire. "Yesssss," she whispered, as I started to slide in and out. She put her hands on my ass, squeezing, pulling me deep with every thrust as I went harder, faster.

"Is that it?," I teased, "Is that what you wanted?"

"Oh god yes," she moaned, "fuck me harder."

Her words made me more excited and I did as asked, thrusting faster, harder. I was leaning on my elbows so I could see her body, her big tits jiggling with every thrust, her face showing her excitement, both of us starting to get sweaty, the sounds and smells of our sex filling the room.

"Mmm, your cock feels so good," she whispered as I collapsed on top of her, still thrusting, our bodies against each other, faces close together, kissing her again.

"I love your body," I moaned, my words just coming out now, "I love your big tits, your pussy, all of it." She held me tighter as I spoke, pushing up into me while I slid as deep as I could.

"Do you want me to get on all fours?" she whispered. "I will if you want."

"Do you like that?" I asked. She bit her lip and just nodded, her eyes wide. I pulled out, my cock thick and glistening from her wetness as she rolled over and got on her hands and knees, looking back over her shoulder and smiling as I kneeled behind her. I couldn't believe how sexy she looked like this, her wide ass in the air, her tits hanging free as I started to slide my cock into her pussy again.

"Go slow at first," she whispered as I eased it in, reveling in how it felt in this position, somehow different, more intimate. When I was all the way in I waited while she adjusted slightly and then said, "okay."

I went slowly at first, not too deep, my hands on her hips, but she was starting to move, too, pushing back into me harder, increasing the rhythm until I was fucking her as hard as before, my body slamming into hers from behind. I could see her tits swaying and this drove me wild. My excitement was building and I knew I couldn't hold back much longer. I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her body, holding her breasts in my hands as she collapsed onto her elbows, her face buried in the pillow.

Her breasts felt amazing, filling my hands, her nipples stiff, while my cock slammed over and over again into her tight, wet pussy. She must have felt my cock starting to swell -- she turned her head to the side and smiled, "You can come inside me. It's okay."

Her words pushed me over the edge and I exploded, squeezing her breasts while I came deep inside her pussy, a longer, deeper orgasm than I'd had in a long time.

We lay quiet for a few minutes while our breathing slowed and my cock softened -- though not very much -- inside of her. I finally rolled over onto my back and she nestled into me, her soft breasts against my skin.

"I don't think I ever apologized for taking the wrong suitcase," I said, smiling.

She laughed. "I'm really glad you did."