Saturday, August 17, 2019

From a Distance - #Retrospection #Spirituality #Compassion



From a distance you look like my friend
Even though we are at war
From a distance I just cannot comprehend
What all this fighting’s for....
~ Bette Midler, “From a Distance”

Just before I entered my senior year in high school, humans walked on the moon for the first time. With my long-time love of both science and science fiction, I was jubilant. The stars beckoned. Anything was possible.

Only months later, the Ohio National Guard fatally shot four Kent State University students protesting the Vietnam war.

Looking back, I cannot recall how I reconciled the elation and the horror stemming from these two events, though I know both affected me deeply.

We believed, back then, in the inevitable revolution. Things would never be the same. “The time’s they are a-changing,” Dylan sang, and we believed. We looked to a new world of love and peace, freedom and justice and moral responsibility. The Age of Aquarius.

Things didn’t quite turn out that way.

Well, the times did change. They always do. We impeached a president. We waited in long lines for rationed gas. We danced to Saturday Night Fever. We watched the stock market crash, rise and crash again.

Hijacked planes toppled the twin towers and claimed three thousand lives. Nightmare waves scoured the coasts of the Indian Ocean, killing two hundred thousand. Having finally quit the jungles of Vietnam, U.S. soldiers occupied the deserts of Iraq and Afghanistan.

We elected a black man to the Oval Office—twice. We cloned sheep, transplanted hearts, sequenced our own DNA and that of our animal cousins. We haven’t walked on Mars yet, but our robots have. We know there’s certainly water on the Red Planet, and probably some form of life.

My siblings had kids, who grew up, graduated high school, went to college. My parents left the earth, after bountiful lives no one could call short. A dear friend succumbed to ovarian cancer at fifty two. Two of my former lovers committed suicide.

Technology followed the science fiction of my youth. Computers shrank to the size of match boxes. It became more and more difficult to distinguish fact from deliberate fabrication.

My spirituality is eclectic, but I do believe the Buddha’s teaching that everything is transient. Suffering derives from attachment, the attempt to resist changing circumstances.

Through the distance of six and a half decades, I find comfort in the constant cycles of change. No matter how horrible things appear right now, they’ll be different tomorrow, or next week, or next year. Of course this also means more hard times may be coming, but they will eventually fade away as well.

The only reality (again according to the Buddha), the key to breaking the chains of illusion, is compassion. That’s my focus now, in these latter days of my life. I am trying to release the hate and anger stirred up so effectively by today’s media. I don’t want to sweat the small stuff, but to do justice and love kindness and refrain from judgment if I can. I am trying, with mixed success, to be a center of peace, radiating to those around me.

Really, that seems to be the only option.

To quote Paul McCartney, another prophet from my youth:

And in the end
the love you take
is equal to the love
you make.


Friday, August 16, 2019

Seven things about Jon Palmer - New #gayromance from @Parr_Books

Like a Thief in the Night cover
 
Seven things about character Jon Palmer from new release gay romance, Like a Thief in the Night.

1. He wears an Armani jacket for work.
2. He prefers to wear ripped jeans and a t-shirt
3. He’s used to heights since he’s had to scale the roof of an apartment block all summer
4. He likes hot chocolate before bed
5. He owns a pair of blue rubber toe post sandals
6. He has a tiny art studio in a beach suburb
7. Circumstances force him to quit his city job

Like a Thief in the Night

Gorgeous businessman Saxon Dearing buys a pied de terre in the city where he works. Only using the place on three nights, he goes home to his beachside house for the rest of the week. At thirty-two, immersed in his work, he doesn’t know he’s lonely until delicious, twenty-five year old Jon Palmer literally drops into his life during a thunderstorm.

Artist Jon struggles to sell his paintings from a tiny studio, and works in a city gallery to pay his rent. As the two men fall in love, Jon can’t overcome the idea his lack of success is a barrier to telling handsome, wealthy Saxon how he feels.

When his boss offers him a dangerous way of making money, Jon must make a choice.

Will he risk telling Saxon he loves him or let his lack of confidence lead him astray and away from the man who loves him, too?

Excerpt

The invitation to kiss lured Jon in a second. The delicious feel of his lover’s lips mingled with the emotion that swished in his stomach. He clung to Saxon, sharing heated kiss after kiss until his heart raced. He drew away trying to cool the moment.

Saxon traced a finger along Jon’s cheek to his jaw. It left delectable sensation in its wake.

Jon took a deep breath. He returned to sitting in the shelter of Saxon’s arm and stared at the screen where the movie played on.
Moments passed before Saxon spoke softly.

I know you go home Saturday after work, but can I see you tomorrow night? Will you come to the beach house? I know it’s clingy, maybe even surprising, but I feel like I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

The sentiment sent a wave of warmth into Jon’s heart. If only things were different, we’d fall in love. I already feel safe with him. I want to love him and have him love me. He won’t love a felon. Jon sighed.

Saxon must have mistaken the sigh for a refusal. “You probably have plans, of course.”

Jon hurried to correct the idea. “No. I’d love to see you, Saxon.”
Where’s your phone? I’ll put my address and both my numbers in your contacts.”

Jon couldn’t help smiling. He likes me a lot, for sure. He stood and went to his jacket. He brought his smartphone back to the couch and sat beside Saxon. “Here you go.”

Saxon bent his head to key in the information.

Just watching him gave Jon a soft glow of affection for the man.


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Wednesday, August 14, 2019

Free Reading Fest winners and a new release - #giveaway #fetish #FreeReadingFest


Winners banner

Well, I’m back from travels, and very happy to see that at least some readers have been enjoying the free stories on my blog over the past three week.

Random.org helped me draw the names of my four winners. Here they are:

First prize - $10 gift certificate – Trix
Second prize - $5 gift certificate – Marle
Third prize – two free ebooks – BN100
Fourth prize – one free ebook – JeanMP

A big thank you to everyone who participated. If you didn’t win this time, stay tuned. I’ll certainly be having another giveaway soon.

By the way, I’m considering packaging up all the stories and publishing them as a free volume on Smashwords and BN. All I have to do is find the time...

Meanwhile, I do have a new release, or rather, a re-release, to announce. SinCyr Publishing has brought out a new edition of Rule 34: Weird & Wonderful Fetish Erotica. Along with many other fabulous stories, this volume includes my haunting erotic tale “Fire”, about a young man who finds fire so arousing that he becomes an arsonist. 


Here’s a short excerpt:

The flames drew me as nothing ever had. I craved them, wanted to feel their burning caress on my sweaty skin. I wanted to be consumed. For one crazy moment, I almost gave in to the need, almost broke through the ranks of police and firemen and threw myself into the blaze.

Something shifted. I felt the flames inside of me. They surged through my body, tasting my fear and my lust. They teased me, rippling up and down my spine. The heat was unbearable.

My dick went hard as rock. My breath came in gasps. I wanted to grab my cock and jerk away at it until the flames spurted out but, somehow, I was paralyzed, hands clenched into fists by my side.

I watched, fascinated, as the fire whirled and eddied through the shell of the house. I felt it circling my dick, searing my rigid flesh. I heard a strange sound, some animal whining in pain. I realized dimly that it was my own voice.

My eyes felt scratchy and dry, from the brightness and the drifting ash. I closed them for a moment, but the flames still danced on the insides of my eyelids. I could feel the fire breathing. It sucked up all the air into itself, then released it in scorching gusts. Once, then again, and again.

My aching lungs took up the same rhythm. My cock throbbed in time. The fire ate me from the inside out, turning my bones to embers, roasting my organs, bringing my spunk to a rolling boil. I writhed in its embrace, pleasure so acute that it was almost agony.

Thunder cracked, suddenly, close enough to deafen me. I opened my eyes in time to see the house's roof collapse into the raging furnace below it. A cloud of sparks flew into the night sky. Droplets of fire rained down on the crowd of bystanders. The first ones seared my bare arms just as the shock wave hit.

Like the house, I exploded into a million shards of flame.

* * *

You can find all the buy links here: https://books2read.com/u/m2P5E1

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Nothing held back ... INDULGE ME by @TinaDonahue #taboo #multipartner #eroticromance


Indulge Me cover

Blurb

Nothing forbidden…nothing held back.

Lissa prefers reading to cutting loose, but is willing to do whatever it takes to get the juiciest assignments for her job at a major travel magazine. Her chance finally arrives. She’s set to experience a posh Caribbean resort, a dream article and review except for one huge problem. It’s the anything goes theme week where nudity is expected and lusty hook-ups make threesomes look downright tame. Holy Hell. What has she gotten herself into?

Precisely what resort owner Jon Thorne thinks. Tall, dark, and luscious, he fears the randy male guests will eat her alive, resulting in a lousy review. His only option is to serve as her guide for every decadent delight from nude body painting to Dom’s Den where submission and punishment rule. Unless she wants to call the whole thing off…

And lose her chance with him, plus give up this gig? Dream on. Tempted beyond anything she’s known, she matches his passion and then some, surprising him during a sexy adventure like no other. 


 

Excerpt

They placed a sugared grape in her navel, two thin mango slices beneath her breasts, laid a pineapple slice over each nipple, settled a chocolate-coated strawberry in the hollow of her throat and on each palm, then glided beef au jus on her inner thighs.

She fought for breath, their touch further igniting the fire within her.

Using the spoon, Jon spread passion fruit over her bush.

She gurgled.

The guys held her tighter.

Jon gobbled the strawberry on her throat and suckled her neck, creating indecent pleasure.

The two holding her wrists wolfed down the chocolate strawberries on her palms, sucked her fingers, and planted wet kisses on her arms. The ones grasping her ankles, lapped au jus from her inner thighs.

She bucked.

Jon held her down and licked the pineapple slices surrounding her nipples, touching her areolas and tips more than he did the fruit.

Heated waves washed over her, turning her limbs to jelly, making them so deliciously weak she never wanted to leave this spot.

As the others feasted on her arms and inner thighs, he finished the pineapple and mangos, then focused on the grape, chasing it around her stomach like a ball, his licks arousing her past the point of no return.

Fighting for control, she tensed.

The grape rolled off her, settling next to her hip.

He grasped her upper thigh, bent down, and ate the piece, his fingers near her pussy.

She sucked in air. Didn’t help. The hut kept swimming, the candlelight blurred.

Hmm.” He licked his lips and pressed his forehead to hers.

Gasping, she gathered enough strength to capture his mouth. He tasted like chocolate, sugar, pineapple, and a surprisingly tart flavor. This was eating at its finest.

He pulled his mouth from hers and heaved air, wonder in his eyes.

His reaction was the best present he could have given her. This wasn’t a surprise. It was a freaking miracle.

Settled between her legs, he lowered his mouth to her bush, but bypassed it and the passion fruit to tongue her cleft.

Jesus mother.

She arched her back, her legs wobbling, skin tingling from too much stimulation.

Her jailors clamped down.

She fought them to get to him. Even if she hadn’t liked him as much as she did, she wouldn’t have stopped what he’d planned for her. He was a damn artist in the sack, gliding his tongue down her slit then back up to lick her nub.

She pulled air in too fast and coughed.

Gripping her thighs, he lapped her cleft as he might an ice cream cone, sometimes touching her clit, sometimes not, his actions becoming a hit or miss proposition as far as making her blast off. Deliberately, he kept her from climaxing, drawing out the pleasure, her excitement growing only to wane before she reached her peak.

Perspiration glazed her throat and neck. Frustrated at him denying her, she lifted her butt and pushed her pussy closer to him.

Hand on her stomach, he guided her back down and kept her there, as the others did her legs and arms.

Her heart quivered at their alpha ways. She stayed where she was, until she ached to get closer to Jon and finally fought him and them.

On a huff, he broke the others’ hold on her legs, propped her calves on his shoulders and resumed his torment.

She clawed her captors’ shorts.

They didn’t let go.

She scratched their balls.

They pulled her hands away.

Jon indulged, slipping two fingers in her opening while suckling her nub.

Something inside her coiled and nagged. An itch she couldn’t scratch, her pussy constricting around his fingers.

He spread them, making this more intimate, downright base.

Powerless against his strength, she dug her nails into her palms, using pain as a distraction to keep from nearing climax too fast and having him delay it as before.

He worked his fingers deeper into her pussy then pulled them back, repeating the process to mimic a fuck, his pace on her clit increasing, his suckling pushing her to the limit.

Delight pressed close then scampered away only to return a second later. Pulling in any air became impossible. Her world centered on her nub, the wondrous pressure that kept building and torturing, refusing to stop.

She stiffened and gasped, everything within her exploding. Dazzling pleasure swept over her, heating her clear to the back of her mouth, making sounds sharper, touch more acute.

Her pussy went wild, a strong pulse beating rhythmically deep inside.

Buy Links







About the Author



Tina is an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic novels were Readers' Choice Award winners. Another three were named finalists in the EPIC competition. One of her erotic contemporary romances was chosen Book of the Year at the French review site Blue Moon reviews. The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for one of her erotic romances. Two of her titles received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition. Another two won second place in the NEC RWA contest (different years). Tina is featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.










Amazon author page: http://amzn.to/1ChWFkO

My page at TRR: http://bit.ly/1vb7eEc


Sweet ‘n Sexy Divas: http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

Romance Books 4 US: http://bit.ly/1JPtfeS




Monday, August 12, 2019

Caritas -- #FirstImpressions #Menage #FreeReadingFest #Prizes

 Image by Ulrike Leone from Pixabay
 
Beanpole.” That’s what they call him, those designer-clad, perfectly-coiffed society moms over near the window. One of the kinder epithets they’ve bestowed, actually, but it fits him, poor man.

Awkward, skinny and at least six feet tall, he hunches over his laptop at his regular table in the corner, alternately pounding away at the keys and staring into space. His head’s a wild mass of straw-colored curls. His eyes are a watery blue behind the thick lenses of his wire-frame specs. His wrinkled shirt is half untucked and half unbuttoned. I catch a glimpse of his pale chest, sprinkled with blond fuzz.

He flashes me a vague grin when I bring him his double cappuccino. Not at all like the avid gaze he turns on the coeds and career gals who come in for their caffeine fix—all those tanned legs and painted toenails, flirty skirts and high heeled sandals. Not that I blame him; summer brings out the best in the local women.

With my buzz cut and tattoos, I guess he doesn’t realize I’m a girl. Still, I’d wager a triple mocha frappe with extra whipped cream that I could show him a better time than one of those little tarts.

He’s not really my type—I prefer both my men and my women with darker hair and more meat on their bones—but he broadcasts his need like an S.O.S. Plus I’m intrigued by his metier. He’s spent almost every weekday afternoon here, for the past month, and I’ve had plenty of opportunity to sneak glimpses at his screen.

He’s a writer—well, anyone could figure that out—but guess what he writes? Erotic stories. Kinky stories, if I’m not mistaken. I’d love to read them, but in my professional capacity I’ve only caught a sentence here and there.

I’m willing to bet the price of this fancy ride that your pussy’s bare under your skirt.”

Oh, but those rosy nipples just cry out for some clamps!”

The belt slices into my flesh, less than an inch from my pubis.”

I’ll say one thing for Mr. Beanpole. He’s got a vivid imagination. Probably compensating for a lack of sex in his everyday life. In this image-obsessed town, especially, someone with such a total lack of style probably has a tough time getting laid.

What would happen if I came on to him? I can picture him stretched out on my futon, his desperate cock rearing up from the pale golden tangle of his pubes. I suspect it’s long and thin, like he is, just right for getting at those hard to reach places. Perfect for back-door entry, actually. That’s probably something he’s fantasized about a lot—most guys do, I gather. One of my specialities—both taking and giving.

Wiping the smudges off the massive brass espresso machine, I pause for a moment to close my eyes and imagine his solid, greased rod sliding into my anus. I feel the scary pressure against my tight ring of muscle, always there no matter how many times I’m butt-fucked. Then the painful instant when he breaches me, followed by the sweet, nasty sensation of his bulk filling me up. My clit tingles and swells as I mingle recollection with anticipation. My jeans are suddenly too tight.

When I shoot a glance in his direction, I discover he’s looking back at me. He points to his empty cup and with an apologetic grin, raises one finger.

Sure, baby. Whatever you want.

I grind the beans, set a pristine cup under the spout, and go to pour the milk while the head of steam builds. Inhaling the rich, complex scent of quality coffee, I flip the scene in my head. Now I’m the one reaming him, the straps of my harness biting into my hips as I bury my cock deep in his ass. His pasty white cheeks tense each time I impale him. They just cry out to be pinked by a slap or two.

Would he like that? Given what he writes, he just might.

He wouldn’t refuse me, certainly. If nothing else, he’d want the opportunity to research all the things he writes about. And I expect he’d be suitably grateful. After I make him come, I’m sure I could coax him into eating me out.

So what I’m not his ideal woman, all soft and feminine. Beggars can’t be choosers.

I scribble my phone number on a napkin and stuff it into my jeans pocket. Then, feeling playful, I sprinkle cinnamon over the foamy surface of his beverage, in the shape of a heart. When I place the cup next to him on the table, I deliberately brush the side of my breast against his arm.

He starts, looks up, snags my eyes. Oh, there’s fire there! A bolt of lust sizzles from my solar plexus to my pussy.

I’m just about to hand him the napkin when the door of the shop opens. His gaze snaps to the woman who enters.

He jumps to his feet, towering over me. “Layla! You’re early!”

She breezes in, silver bracelets tinkling, unutterably lovely. Ringlets black as midnight tumble over her shoulders and down her back. Ropes of colorful beads encircle her neck, nestling in the valley between her opulent breasts. A flowing rainbow-hued skirt drapes over her equally abundant hips and swirls around her sturdy ankles.

Michael, darling!” I back away as she descends on the writer and sweeps him into a searing French kiss. His hands slide down her back to fondle her ass. As his tongue plunders her mouth, he grinds his pelvis against hers. The gesture’s definitely not family-friendly. I glance around at the other customers, hoping no one has noticed, but everyone appears to be transfixed by various mobile devices.

They make out for a shockingly long time, while I watch, becoming hotter by the instant. And I thought this guy wasn’t getting any! I thrust my hands in my pockets and crumple up the phone number, as a blush climbs into my cheeks. Talk about feeling stupid!

Finally, I tear myself away from the erotic spectacle, hurrying back to busy myself behind the counter. They’re still kissing, though the intensity has waned a bit. At last he releases her. She sinks into the chair next to him, licking her lips.

I’m still quivering with arousal when the writer—Michael—beckons to me.

Can I get the check please, Nikki?”

I didn’t think he knew my name. “Oh—sure. Just a sec.” I have new respect for this guy. Despite his less than impressive appearance, he must be someone special, to have hooked someone as gorgeous as Layla.

He turns to the gypsy-like vision beside him. “This is Nikki. She’s been taking care of me over the past few weeks, while I’ve been trying to finish the novel.”

Layla snares me with eyes the color of French roast coffee. “Thanks, Nikki. I know Michael can consume a lot caffeine when he’s in the throes of a creative endeavour.”

Um. Yeah. I noticed.” I’m burning up, though I can’t say whether desire or embarrassment makes the greater contribution.

She turns to her lover. The pair share a long, smoldering look, before she swings her gaze back to me.

Looks like you work really hard.”

Is she mocking me? She must have noticed the cinnamon heart decorating her partner’s drink. “Well, you know. It’s a job.”

She fingers an inky tendril of hair before flipping it over her shoulder. Her full lips curve into a friendly smile. “So we were wondering, Michael and I, when you have a day off.”

What? My knees actually go weak for an instant. Does she mean...?

I’ve been feeling a bit sorry for you, actually,” Michael adds. “Seems as though nobody here really appreciates you.”

Except Michael,” Layla adds, stroking his arm. He shifts in his chair. Even though his lap’s in shadow, I glimpse the swelling in his crotch. “And me, of course.”

The beanpole hands me a twenty. Electricity sizzles between us when our fingers touch. “Keep the change, Nikki.” His smile makes me feel naked.

Meanwhile, Layla pulls a pen from her lover’s shirt pocket and writes something on the check. “Call us,” she murmurs. “We’ll be good to you.”

Blood roars in my ears. I have a lot of fantasies. I’m not used to having them come true.

I’m certainly not going to turn them down. Even if, for them, it’s an act of charity.


Today's the last day of my Free Reading Fest. I hope you've enjoyed it. I will announce the winners on Wednesday. (Of course, you can still enter today, by leaving a comment with your email.)




Friday, August 9, 2019

Red Eye -- #Stewardess #MileHighClub #FreeReadingFest #Prizes

plane wing
 Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

He was the one. She knew it, the first time she felt him slide into her. Everything was right. Perfect fit, glorious fullness without pain. Every movement woke new nerves, sent new sensations shimmering through her. Bent over the seat, digging her nails into the faux leather covering the armrests as her body shook with his thrusts, she couldn't see his face. She didn't need to see him; she knew what he was thinking, knew what he wanted.

She arched her back, letting him bury his flesh more deeply in hers. She clenched her inner muscles around his hardness, wanting to swallow him, to make him part of her. He rammed his cock into her again and again, one hand over her mouth to stifle her cries. She writhed against him, each stroke a shuddering, prolonged delight that nudged her closer to the ultimate pleasure.

He was not gentle like the men she had dreamed about before she knew him. He was not tender. Still, she had no doubts that he was meant for her. In the darkened cabin, he read her body like Braille. He knew how to tease every nuance of pleasure out of her wet and open flesh. While one hand held her gagged, the other toyed with her nipples through her blouse, twisting and squeezing the swollen nubs. She worried briefly that he'd tear the fabric, until the seething flood of sensation washed her worries away.

Above the sussurations of the passengers shifting in their seats, the coughs and the snores and the faint babble of movie sound tracks, she could hear the slap of his balls against her bare thighs and his open-mouthed panting. The steamy jungle smell of her cunt rose around them. She was sure that someone would notice, would turn around to check the empty rows toward the back of the section. His palm smothered her moans. Then the pulse of his come inside her swept her into a whirling climax. The engine whined in her ears. Gravity released her. She floated weightless, shaken by spasms of pleasure so intense that they practically stripped her of consciousness.

When she came to herself, she was on her knees, her face buried in the cushion, the seat belt buckle digging into her cheek. There was no trace of him, save for the burning in her cunt and the used condom she found under the seat. She pulled herself to her feet, smoothed her uniform down over her torn pantyhose, slipped back into her sensible pumps. She was still shaking.

She peered through the dimness toward the front of the plane. There was a man's head there in 16B, silhouetted by the lighted No Smoking sign on the cabin wall. He leaned against the headrest, seemingly asleep. She could almost believe it had been a dream. But her thighs were sticky with her own juices, and when she pressed them together, delicious echos of her climax sparked through her.

Later, an hour before landing when she came down the aisle with drinks, he had grinned and slipped a card into her hand. "Email me," he had said. "If you want, that is." His expression made it clear that he had no doubts about her decision.

So it had begun. He was a fortyish media hotshot with a cedar and glass ranch house in the Hollywood Hills and a condo on Central Park West. He had lots of excuses to fly cross-country. He had a wife in LA, a suspicious wife who checked his cell phone bills and tried to read his email, a wife too expensive to divorce.

She was twenty eight, a single girl from Iowa City, brought up on the Bible, Nora Roberts and Danielle Steele. The airline had based her in Minneapolis. Her schedule changed from month to month, but whenever she was assigned the red eye, she'd let him know. He'd do his best to arrange a trip east to coincide. Business class. Sixteen B.

It started with her standing at the door of the plane, proper and well-groomed, inspecting boarding passes. He'd tower over her, giving her a proprietary grin that liquefied her bare cunt. She'd learned not to wear underwear when he flied. His scent made her knees buckle even as she welcomed him aboard. "Sixteen B", she'd say, handing back the slip of cardboard. "Down the right aisle, sir." His fingers would brush hers, sending electric sparks to her cunt.

Sometimes he'd murmur his instructions, sotto voce, as she came through with the drink cart, forty five minutes out of LAX. Sometimes he would email her beforehand, sharing his fantasies. "I should crouch behind you as you're checking the boarding passes. My fingers would be buried in your cunt, my thumb stuck in your ass. Then we'd see how cool and collected you really are, Ms. Perfectly Poised Airline Hostess."

Alone in her neat apartment, she'd still blush, reading his messages. Her nipples would harden to aching pebbles. Her pussy would grow so wet that she'd be slithering back and forth on the vinyl desk chair. She'd close her eyes and remember how it felt to have his cock, or his fingers, or both, inside her. She couldn't wait.

At the same time, he scared her. Or rather, her need for him scared her. More than once she was tempted to call in sick when she was assigned to the red eye. What would he think, boarding, finding himself welcomed by some other young lady in the trim navy uniform? Would he miss her, really? Would he make a pass at someone else?

Ultimately, she couldn't bear to give up a chance to see him. To touch and be touched by him. It might be weeks, even months, before the next opportunity. Typically she'd be at the airport hours before the scheduled departure time, hanging around in the staff lounge, drinking cup after cup of weak coffee and replaying their last encounter. Once, he had laid her out on an empty seat, binding her wrists with the seatbelt while he slurped hungrily at her cunt. On another flight, he'd locked them into the bathroom, then made her kneel on the commode and swallow his cock. He had even fingered her to climax in the galley, while the other stewardesses chatted on the other side of the curtain.

She was amazed that they'd never been caught. People - the passengers and the crew - were all so oblivious. For everyone else, the flight was just routine: stressful, exhausting, part of the job, something to be gotten through. For the two of them, it was a ritual.

"It's been six months," he had written to her yesterday. "Our anniversary. I think we should plan something special." She'd followed his instructions, giving herself an enema, gasping at the nasty, delicious relief that came from emptying himself. She bought a tube of personal lubricant at a pharmacy on the far side of town, her cheeks blazing red even though she knew she'd never see the cashier again. As she waited for the first passengers, just inside the door, she was suddenly, irrationally sure that he wouldn't show up. That he'd leave her, empty and hungry, suffering through endless five hour arc across the continent.

But no, there he was, elite level frequent flyer that he was, one of the first people up the jetway. Her heart revved like a jet engine. Liquid trickled down her naked thighs.

"Good evening, sir." His smile lit up the entire cabin. Calm certainty washed over her. Of course he was here. He was the one, the one she had been waiting for.

"Good evening, Miss. How are you tonight?" He hovered over her for an endless moment and she had a fleeting notion that he'd kiss her, though he never had, not on the lips at least. I'll remember that later, she thought. I'll imagine his mouth on mine.

"Very well. And you?"

"Excellent. Looking forward to the flight." He gave her a conspiratorial grin that nearly made her laugh out loud.

"Sixteen B?" she asked, a bit boldly.

"Of course."

"You know the way."

"I do indeed. I'll see you later." He gave her butt a soft slap as he passed. She desperately hoped that no one noticed.

After the folks crammed into economy had gotten their pretzels and the business class passengers had finished their chicken breasts in cream sauce, the lights dimmed. The flight was smooth, no turbulence predicted until eastern Pennsylvania. Their steel coccoon hurtled through the darkness, over the blankness of the plains where she'd been born.

She moved silently through the aisles, headed for the rear-most lavatory, the larger one that was handicapped accessible.

"Leave the door unlocked," he wrote. "Lift your skirt to your waist and bend over the toilet, holding onto the invalid bars. Put the lube on the sink. And wait for me."

When she'd read his instructions, she had imagined what it would feel like, to be so exposed and vulnerable. Since the lock was not thrown, the indicator lights would show that the lavatory was free. At any moment, someone might slide open the door and come face to face with her bare bum. How could she possibly do such a thing, even for him? Still, she knew in her soul that she'd follow his instructions to the letter. She didn't sleep, the night she got that message. She sat up, naked in her single bed, staring at her own pale, lush body, wondering what she was becoming.

Now, actually arrayed in the indecent position that he had dictated, she felt oddly calm, though there was an undercurrent of excitement. He was in charge, even if he was still lounging back in 16B sipping his scotch. She would wait for him. She trusted him to come. To take what he wanted and give her what she needed. And if someone else discovered her lewdness, well, perhaps that was his intent, to show her how much she craved the exposure and the shame.

A steady stream of cool air from the ventilator played over her buttocks. She could almost believe it was his fingers, stroking, testing her readiness. No one had ever touched her, there in that most private spot, let alone entered her as he promised to do. She was simultaneously terrified and eager.

Five minutes. Ten. She became agitated. How long? She felt the plane shift, a kind of hiccup in the air. Could they were descending, two hours early?

All at once she heard of squeak of the door sliding open. She stopped breathing. There was no gasp of shock, no outraged shriek. His scent wafted into the small chamber. The door scraped shut. The lock clicked. She released her pent-up breath.

He laid his hand lightly on her naked rump. "Lovely," he murmured, his fingers drawing small circles on her flesh. Bending over, he planted a kiss on each cheek. "Thank you, Alison."

Her heart surged. He rarely used her name. That was part of the game, the conceit that they were chance-met, lust-driven strangers, that this was the first time that he'd partaken of her body. Perhaps tonight would be different. Perhaps they were moving toward something closer, more substantial, something beyond fantasy.

He did not say anything further. He simply stroked her ass, and looked at her. She felt the heat of his gaze sweeping over her like a spotlight. She didn't need to see him to know. It was, as always, as if she could read his thoughts. She arched her back a bit, offering him the swelling globes that he admired so much. He reacted with sudden, stinging slaps, one to each cheek. Her startled cry turned into a moan as the heat raced from her burning butt down to her pussy.

"Minx! Are you so eager?" He slipped a finger between her splayed thighs and into her soaking cunt. She bucked against him, unable to control her reactions. "Seems as though you are. Well, I won't make you wait any longer."

His hand left her sex for a moment. It was unbearable. She heard him pick up the K-Y. The tube made an obscene spurting sound as he squeezed out what sounded like several tablespoons. Then his fingers were back, lightly stroking her pussy lips and circling her clit. She squirmed, rubbing against him, halfway to coming already.

Then other sensations distracted her from the hungry buzz in her cunt. He traced one slippery finger down the crack between her cheeks. It settled against the whorl of her sphincter, swirling around that sensitive spot, slathering her with lubricant. At first he concentrated only on the entrance. Even that was nearly too intense to bear. He massaged her clit and her rear hole in the same rhythm, circling, spiraling down, then slipping his digits into her, front and back. His finger in her anus reawakened all the shameful pleasure of the enema. She clenched down on him, struggling for breath. He probed deeper, then added another finger, stretching and loosening the rubbery ring of muscle.

He knew that she was virgin there. He took his time, adding another finger only when she was rocking backwards, keening, urging him deeper, silently begging. He pulled out, and she thought that she'd weep. Then she felt delicious pressure against her slippery hole and knew that it was his cock, much thicker and harder than his fingers, seeking entrance.

He hovered there, rubbing the bulb against her, easing her open. All at once he jerked his hips, forcing his bulk halfway into her rectum. She whimpered at the sudden invasion, edged as it was with unaccustomed pain. He thrust again and buried his full length in her bowels. His hand was ready to muffle her scream. Her musk rose fresh and sharp from his fingers to her nostrils.

He waited while she became accustomed to the novel sensations. The pain faded. He seemed to swell inside her, huge and hot. She fought the urge to expel him, trying to relax. He started to move, pulling partway out and then slamming his cock even deeper than before. He gripped her ass cheeks and held them apart, so that he could plunge his engorged, solid cock in, up to his very balls.

It was like nothing that she'd ever felt. Each stroke kindled a delicious burn that radiated from her pinioned ass to her extremities. When he filled her, the pressure rose to her chest, making her gasp. When he emptied her, tears filled her eyes at the yawning ache that swept over her.

Her cunt felt all the emptier, with his flesh stretching her behind. She desperately wished that he had two cocks, that he could penetrate her front and rear at once. She wanted him to take all of her.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he slipped a hand into her cunt, gathering her juices. The next thing she knew, he was sliding something hard and smooth into her pussy, raking it across her clit on the way in.

It might have been the new stimulation. It could have been her foggy realization that he'd just plunged a dildo into her cunt. Her muscles clenched down on the enormous bulk invading her. Her cunt convulsed, vibrations speeding through her, pleasure peaking and then climbing off the scale.

Then, just as the first climax subsided, the plane hit a pocket of bad air. It bucked and rocked, slamming her back against the rod of flesh embedded in her ass, then forward onto the dildo. She came again, a delicious shattering that left her hanging limp on the two poles that impaled her.

The 747 continued to shake. He grabbed her hips and fucked her hard, using her body to bring himself off. The plane dipped suddenly, leaving a hole in her gut. What a way to die, she thought, delirious with pleasure. With one cock in my ass and one in my cunt.

With a grunt, he slammed into her one last time. She felt the heat of his come in her bowels, even through the latex. Every sensation seemed to be heightened after her dual crisis. When his cock slipped out of her, she reveled in the feel of his half-hard penis slithering over her cheeks. When he reached to remove the toy, she ground her clit against it, and exploded a third time.

The plane still tossed like a feather on the transcontinental currents. She heard a ding; a red light came on near the ceiling.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're experiencing some severe turbulence. Please return to your seats immediately and fasten your seatbelts."

She turned, seeing his face for the first time since he'd entered. He looked more serious than she would have expected, without his usual teasing grin.

"You'd better get back to your seat. If one of the other stewardesses notices that you're missing..."

He stopped her with a kiss, grabbing her shoulders, smearing KY all over her blouse. His mouth was as forceful as his cock. His tongue was brazen, taking her over. She relaxed into his embrace, floating on a pink cloud of happily ever afters. He devoured her as though she was his last meal.

The plane shook itself like a dog after swimming. The force of it pulled them apart.

He gazed at her, his dark eyes brimming with emotion. "Alison - thank you."

"Anytime, sir." Sure of herself, surer of him now than ever, she risked a bit of cheek. "You know that I'd do anything for you. Just let me know what you'd like for the next time."

He stroked her tousled blond hair. "I'm afraid that there won't be a next time."

Her heart skipped a beat, then another. She grabbed his shirt. "What? What do you mean?"

"My wife. She's been snooping around. Asking about all these trips to the east coast. Next time, she says, she wants to come with me. Visit the shops on Fifth Avenue. See a show."

"So? Take her some time when I'm not on call. Convince her there's nothing going on." She stood on tiptoe and tried to kiss him. He did not respond.

"I'm sorry..."

"Look, we can cool things off for a month or so. I can wait, if I have to, if that's the only way..."

"But I can't wait." He gently unclasped her hands where they gripped his clothing. "Between times - when we're apart - I can hardly stand it. I think of you all the time. I'm constantly tempted to write you, to tell you all the kinky things that I want to do to you..."

She snuggled against him. "So why don't you?"

"Don't you understand? I can't! I can't afford to be obsessed with you! It would ruin me. When I'm with you, I'm risking everything - my life, my fortune, my job, my reputation."

"And what about me? All I ever dreamed of as a kid was being a stewardess, but if we were caught - no airline would ever hire me again." She pulled herself to her full 5'4", just barely regulation height for air crew. "But I'd do anything for you. I love you."

He couldn't meet her eyes. "I know. I'm close to loving you, too. You're the most perfect partner. It's like you can read my mind..."

A hint of triumph laced through her pain. He felt it too. It wasn't just her romantic imagination. "I know. I understand." She took his hands in hers. "Please, Carl. Give us a chance. What we have is something precious. It's once in a lifetime. Don't throw it away."

Anguish twisted his handsome face. "Alison, I don't have a choice." The bell dinged again, and the seatbelt light switched off. He backed out of the cubicle, closing it behind him. Not even saying goodbye.

She sank down onto the toilet, burying her face in her hands. Her whole body shook, but her tears were silent, spilling over her fingers and soaking her crumpled skirt. Please, she thought, her mind whirling desperately. Let the plane crash. Let the world end.

She cried and cried, until her throat rasped and her eyes burned. Finally, exhausted, she leaned back against the wall. There was something there, pressing against her buttocks. She reached behind and brought out the dildo.

It was hard rubber, bright purple, and shaped like a rabbit. It was so ridiculous that in the depths of her despair, she almost laughed. She ran her hand along its sticky length, remembering the glorious places he had taken her. She sniffed at it. The oceany reek of her cunt woke echoes of her climax. She suddenly felt how stretched she was, behind, the legacy of his cock plowing her. It burned a bit, but the sensation was pleasant, stirring further shadows of past lust.

She felt the plane nose downward, just as the PA came on. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're starting our descent to JFK. Please fasten your seatbelts, lock your tray tables and bring your seats to an upright position." She stood up resolutely and tried to brush the wrinkles from her uniform.

Let him go. If he left, then she must have been wrong. He was not the one for her, the one she'd been searching for all her life. That man was still out there, waiting for her, somewhere. And now she knew a lot more about how to recognize him, and how to make him happy.

She splashed some hot water on her face, then peered at her reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot from all her crying, but otherwise, she looked pretty good. She pinned up her hair again, and reapplied her lipstick. After a moment's thought, she unfastened the top button on her blouse.

Lots of men had fantasies about stewardesses. She could take advantage of that. She smiled at the sexy young woman in the mirror, savoring the growing buzz between her thighs. "Good evening, sir," she pouted. "Welcome aboard."

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