to help me push the water aside, the water of Trevor, the lapping ripples of pure sunshine and love inside him that could make its way into my pussy and…
I suddenly needed to pee.
My legs were still there, and when I stood all those fleshbags were there, row after row of men and women and boys and girls, the occasional squawking baby fleshbag in the mix. I smiled nice and big as my not-twelve-inch ass made its way down the long aisle to the bathroom.
Occupied.
Bang bang bang . Didn’t people understand I needed to go? My shirt covered my waistband, but my hands found the button to my jeans undone. Silly Trevor. He must have tried to get in my pants earlier.
“Occupied,” a man’s voice said.
“I can read !” I said loudly. And then—click. The door opened, an arm shot out, and I was pulled into a silver-covered room not much bigger than a coffin.
Hey, if you’re headed to hell already, might as well spend some time in a coffin on the way there.
Joe’s mouth crushed mine with the kind of kiss that tells you everything. He wanted me, he wanted my mouth, his hands (attached!) ate up my big old ass, running up under my t-shirt. A groan escaped when he groped my unbra-ed breasts and I groaned, too. Trevor had made my pussy nice and wet by just being Trevor and now Joe was—
What in the hell was Joe doing?
“Want to join the Mile-High Club?” he asked, shuffling his feet, the press of his erection against my thigh the only card I needed to become a member of this exclusive, invitation-only group.
“Hell yes. Sex on a motherfucking plane sure does beat snakes.” Snakes! My head whipped around the room as Joe’s fingers undid my zipper, his hands everywhere, like he’d multiplied them and had them surgically attached to come out whenever he had an erection.
Maybe he had. I couldn’t put anything past Joe.
Oh, how he tasted so fine, like coffee and mint and citrus and man and yum . My hands found his cock quickly, somehow figuring out zippers and boxer briefs and the feel of his soft flesh against mine was like ice on fire, like something immortal and naughty being emblazoned into my soul.
He turned me, one finger sliding in my wetness, and I groaned, because Joe had this way . This perfect way of touching me that made me—
“Oh, God,” I whispered. “Right there.” The throbbing made all my fears and shakes and worries go away, and he turned me so my ass faced him, then pulled my jeans down with a frantic need that made me want him more.
“What about a condom?” You’d think my brain, which was more likely to wander off than my hands, wouldn’t worry, but some part of me did.
“Got it.” A kiss on my neck came with the tearing of foil and then he was poised at the tip of my sweetness and plunged in from behind, his thighs hot against my own, my arms balanced over the toilet seat, my face inches from the flushing warning.
Romantic.
You take what you can get, and in this case I was getting out of my head as Joe was getting into me, and holy fuck as he thrust into me it was like all the cacophony of this plane-ride chaos—of Mama and work and Suzy and the enormity—disappeared into the lust of being fucked so hard and so well I pulled in, a wave of muscle and need curling up and tightening around him like I could never let him go.
“You’re milking me from the inside,” he hissed, the motion making him thrust harder as I came not once, but a million times in one giant wave, pulsing through my core as I shook not with anxiety, but with the oh, holy hell of Joe delivering exactly what I needed, and when.
His tight legs told me he was coming, too, and then he bent down and hissed my name in my ear, the kind of verbal branding that makes you smile from within at the knowledge that you own him and he owns you.
And then my hand slipped and I flushed the toilet.
My loose shirt slid down the little hole, into the blue water, and I watched it, transfixed, mouth open and my vision barely
I suddenly needed to pee.
My legs were still there, and when I stood all those fleshbags were there, row after row of men and women and boys and girls, the occasional squawking baby fleshbag in the mix. I smiled nice and big as my not-twelve-inch ass made its way down the long aisle to the bathroom.
Occupied.
Bang bang bang . Didn’t people understand I needed to go? My shirt covered my waistband, but my hands found the button to my jeans undone. Silly Trevor. He must have tried to get in my pants earlier.
“Occupied,” a man’s voice said.
“I can read !” I said loudly. And then—click. The door opened, an arm shot out, and I was pulled into a silver-covered room not much bigger than a coffin.
Hey, if you’re headed to hell already, might as well spend some time in a coffin on the way there.
Joe’s mouth crushed mine with the kind of kiss that tells you everything. He wanted me, he wanted my mouth, his hands (attached!) ate up my big old ass, running up under my t-shirt. A groan escaped when he groped my unbra-ed breasts and I groaned, too. Trevor had made my pussy nice and wet by just being Trevor and now Joe was—
What in the hell was Joe doing?
“Want to join the Mile-High Club?” he asked, shuffling his feet, the press of his erection against my thigh the only card I needed to become a member of this exclusive, invitation-only group.
“Hell yes. Sex on a motherfucking plane sure does beat snakes.” Snakes! My head whipped around the room as Joe’s fingers undid my zipper, his hands everywhere, like he’d multiplied them and had them surgically attached to come out whenever he had an erection.
Maybe he had. I couldn’t put anything past Joe.
Oh, how he tasted so fine, like coffee and mint and citrus and man and yum . My hands found his cock quickly, somehow figuring out zippers and boxer briefs and the feel of his soft flesh against mine was like ice on fire, like something immortal and naughty being emblazoned into my soul.
He turned me, one finger sliding in my wetness, and I groaned, because Joe had this way . This perfect way of touching me that made me—
“Oh, God,” I whispered. “Right there.” The throbbing made all my fears and shakes and worries go away, and he turned me so my ass faced him, then pulled my jeans down with a frantic need that made me want him more.
“What about a condom?” You’d think my brain, which was more likely to wander off than my hands, wouldn’t worry, but some part of me did.
“Got it.” A kiss on my neck came with the tearing of foil and then he was poised at the tip of my sweetness and plunged in from behind, his thighs hot against my own, my arms balanced over the toilet seat, my face inches from the flushing warning.
Romantic.
You take what you can get, and in this case I was getting out of my head as Joe was getting into me, and holy fuck as he thrust into me it was like all the cacophony of this plane-ride chaos—of Mama and work and Suzy and the enormity—disappeared into the lust of being fucked so hard and so well I pulled in, a wave of muscle and need curling up and tightening around him like I could never let him go.
“You’re milking me from the inside,” he hissed, the motion making him thrust harder as I came not once, but a million times in one giant wave, pulsing through my core as I shook not with anxiety, but with the oh, holy hell of Joe delivering exactly what I needed, and when.
His tight legs told me he was coming, too, and then he bent down and hissed my name in my ear, the kind of verbal branding that makes you smile from within at the knowledge that you own him and he owns you.
And then my hand slipped and I flushed the toilet.
My loose shirt slid down the little hole, into the blue water, and I watched it, transfixed, mouth open and my vision barely
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