Your Weekly Dose

The airport is nearly empty at 4:30 am. We're two of a handful of sleepy people scattered throughout the terminal. We've been up all night. There's knots in the back of my hair, whisker scrapes across my cheekbones. People look, look away. No one can see that spot by your nipple, the half-moon bruises just forming, where I bit you too hard as I came.

I’m the last one left. I don’t need help. He knows it. Stands mid-plane, looks at me cool and level. I stand up in the aisle, eyes on his, turn my back, bend from the waist to get my bag. My skirt is short enough he can see I’ve taken my underwear off. Two beats. The flat of his palm lands a hot smack on my ass. I buckle forward across the seat, my fingers directly to my clit. Get yourself off, bitch he says, the blows raining down.

We’re all pretending to be asleep. But my left eye is open. The coat has shifted from his lap, where his cock is pointed hard towards his belly, his boyfriend’s hand pumping. His right eye is open, watching me watch. The arch in his lower back steadily increases. He presses his shoulders into the backrest. Stops breathing.

His come a white smear across his jeans. I dip my finger in, close my eyes, suck it off.

On my way down the aisle, he caught my gaze, smiled. Flicked a look up and down, the left corner of his mouth lifting. Lips parted. Teeth tips. My fingers trailed lightly over his shoulder as I made my slow way past his seat.

I left the bathroom door unlocked on purpose. I kept my eyes closed. My mouth open.

There was no soft tap, just the door folding in quickly, snapping shut, the grate of his zipper as he pulled it slowly down.

They’d bumped her up to first class. -It’s my first time. She grins conspiratorially. –I’m not sure what to do.

I lick my lips and look down her shirt.

But she does know what to do, tilting her seat back to the same angle as mine. Letting her elbow touch mine, her hand drifting down, edging under the blanket. My skirt already pushed up, my legs open. She flicks my clit, my shoulders twitch. Leans over me to close the shutter, presses her breasts to my face, suffocating.

She’s fucking me hard enough the red handles of the drawers are bruising my back, the loose screw on the cabinet digging scratches across my scalp. I’d yell, but she’s got her hand clamped over my mouth to keep me quiet, told me to listen for the Velcro of the curtains releasing. She’ll take care of the rest, she whispered, she’ll take care of me. She pulls her fingers out of my cunt, pinches my clit and twists until I bite her palm.

You can’t find my gag reflex. My lips are around your knuckles. You drag your nails along my tongue as you slowly draw your fingers out, a long trail of thick spit you smear over my face.

Well, yes, actually, I do like anal play. I like my lover to really take his time, pay attention to the muscles twitching. Then, I like him to turn his tongue or his fingers in my asshole. After that, if he’s done a good job, I like him to rub my cheeks and slap them until I’m begging for his cock. In the end, if I’m quite turned on, I can take 4 fingers up my ass.

I will slide my fingers into the cup of your corset, draw your nipples up and over the scratchy lace edge. Separate your knees, push them flat on the bed, bite your inner thigh, breathe over your clit until you say some other filthy longing thing.

You're wearing the black slip again. Sitting on the plush red stool in the middle of the room. Knees together, feet splayed to either side. Your head is titled down demurely, but you're staring straight at my bulging crotch from under your lashes.

-Show me.

You lift one hand to cup your breast, use the gentle fingertips of the other to push the satin aside, the nipple rising under the friction, flushed dark when it spills over the edge.