The planned deceit was as stimulating as the desire itself. We had met that morning at the airport, playing our parts perfectly – two colleagues headed to a conference, something dry and predictable about leadership metrics. But the professional façade was thin. I was tired of touching myself to his photos; the arrangement for a weekend away, a resort far from judging eyes, felt less like a vacation and more like a necessary release. We were a conspiracy of two.
He was standing near the gate, leaning slightly, his laptop bag resting at his feet. He’d been working out. The sharp, clean lines of his polo shirt – corporate blue, utterly deceptive – were stretched taut by the thick muscle in his biceps. I watched the fabric give against the ridge of his shoulder every time he shifted his weight. That tight, perfect shape of his ass was precisely outlined by the tailored grey of his pants. I felt the familiar, dangerous heat coil in my stomach.
Do not look at his bulge. The internal warning was instant, a command I instantly wanted to violate. I’d seen him completely – I knew exactly what lay beneath the button fly – yet now, in the sterile light of the terminal, the sheer proximity made my hands tremble. Why was I suddenly this nervous? Maybe it was the knowledge that we would finally be alone, with hours of shared air to fill, and he would have the liberty to do with me exactly what I wanted. To dismantle the professional persona. Use me. I bit my lower lip hard, tasting the thin, metallic sting. The thought was a raw, immediate demand: I’d do anything to feel the forceful pressure of his hand, to have him command me to my knees and take all of him into my mouth. The intensity of the anticipation alone was almost too much to bear.
*
It was just the two of us on the chartered flight. He sat across from me, laptop open doing some work. I was onto my second glass of champagne. My pussy had began to throb at the sight of Nate – something about how he smelt, how his brows furrowed when he was focusing was just so sexy to me. I could tell he was stressed about something.
“Still working on the ‘25 numbers?” I asked quietly. I tried to infuse the question with the gentle, professional concern appropriate for our setting, hoping my tone would completely conceal the bubbling frustration – the raw impatience – inside me.
“Yeah, I feel like I’ve hit a wall here.”
His sigh was brief, a sudden expulsion of air that was less about the spreadsheets and more about the shared, unacknowledged pressure between us. He leaned back in the plush leather of the seat, crossing one ankle over the other. His face, usually open, was hardened; his brows were low, and his eyes, when they briefly met mine, held a shadow of frustration that matched my own. He wasn’t
stressed about the conference; he was stressed about waiting.
I allowed the silence to linger, letting the low hum of the jet engine and the clink of my champagne glass fill the space.
I met his gaze and held it, offering a small, knowing smile – the kind that broke every rule we had established.
“Maybe I could help…” I murmured, my voice now low, stripped of its professional cadence.
Before the last syllable faded, my hand was already moving. I didn’t wait for his answer. The first button of my blouse was undone, then the second. The cool air of the cabin hit my skin, an immediate shock that sharpened my focus. The cotton fabric slid off my shoulders and pooled silently on the carpeted floor. My panties, I remembered with a surge of heat, had been off since the airport bathroom; the only thing separating me from him was the wide aisle.
I began to crawl.
Nate watched the movement, his intense stare dropping from my eyes to my exposed chest, then back again. The hardened look on his face softened, replaced by that curious expression you noticed, though now it was underscored by a flicker of pure, unrestrained hunger.
I stopped just short of his knees, close enough to smell the expensive leather of his shoes and the rich, warm scent of his skin beneath the polo. I reached up and placed a hand lightly on his thigh.
“Let me help you,” I urged, the words barely a whisper. My fingers snaked over his belt buckle, the brass cold beneath my touch. I felt the heat rising through the thick fabric of his trousers as I unbuttoned and pulled the zipper down with deliberate slowness.
The fabric fell open, and I could see clearly now the already hard bulge, eager and thick, welcoming me. There was no going back.
I closed my eyes, the world outside the cabin windows disappearing as I took him into my mouth. The heat of him was a shock against my tongue, a heavy, pulse-thrumming weight that filled me completely. I didn’t just feel him; I felt the sharp intake of his breath vibrating through his thighs. Nate groaned in satisfaction as he rotated his hips, letting his cock explore deeper down my throat with every thrust.
Saliva dripping down my face. Nate’s hand dove into my hair, his fingers biting into my scalp with a proprietary grip that anchored me to him. He didn’t just move; he took what he wanted, his rhythm breaking from the professional restraint he’d shown all morning. Each thrust was deep and demanding, a raw, wordless hunger that left me clawing at the expensive leather of his seat. The sound of my own muffled gurgles and the low hum of the jet were the only things left in the universe.
“Look at me,” he demanded. His voice was a low growl. He forced my head up, and the sudden shift in perspective made the cabin tilt. I saw the silver of his necklace bouncing in a frantic, metallic rhythm against his chest. I couldn’t help but moan – the look in his eyes like a lion with his prey; I was something he was in the middle of devouring, and I moaned against him, finally unmade by the look.
*
I could’ve sworn time had stopped until I was brought back to reality by the jet suddenly dropping – a violent pocket of air that made the cabin floor fall away for a terrifying heartbeat. My teeth grazed him, and Nate’s hand tightened in my hair, steadying us both as the plane rattled with a metallic
groan. The “Fasten Seatbelt” sign chimed above us, a pathetic, polite ding in the middle of our wreckage.
The jolt made my heart race – this only made me want him more. As the plane levelled into a shaky, vibrating glide, I didn’t pull away. I doubled down on my own desperation, my hand sliding down to find my own heat. I needed more than just the taste of him; I needed to feel the friction of my own fingers against the throb he’d created. I needed him inside me.
Nate noticed the movement immediately. His breath hitched, a jagged sound that cut through the hum of the engines. He didn’t just watch; he took charge.
“Up,” he commanded, his voice vibrating with a new, rough edge.
I barely had time to catch my breath before he was hauling me up. The cabin felt small, the air thick with the scents of champagne, cologne and sweat. He didn’t ask; he dictated, forcing me to bend over the leather seat where he’d just been working. My palms pressed against the cool, expensive hide of the chair, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I felt his hands first as a heavy, dragging heat against my knees. His fingers didn’t just trace; they hooked into the fabric of my skirt, gathering the expensive material into rough fistfuls with every slow, deliberate inch he gained. The sensation left a static charge in its wake, a sharp, electric thrum that made the hair on my arms stand up. He was mapping me, his calloused fingertips snagging slightly against the softness of my inner thighs.
The air in the cabin seemed to vanish when his hand reached the top of my thigh. He froze. I heard the sharp, jagged intake of his breath — that was the sound of a man who had suddenly lost his grip on the professional composure he prized so much.
“Fuck,” he hissed, the word less a curse and more of a surrender. The realisation that there was no silk, no lace – nothing but my bare, expectant throbbing pussy – seemed to shatter the last of his restraint.
He didn’t rush. Instead, he used two fingers to graze the very crest of my pussy, a slow, investigative swipe that made my hips involuntary buck against his hand. The contact was a revelation; he found me not just ready, but soaked. The overwhelming wetness was an undeniable confession of how long I’d been wanting this – wanting him. Accepting the invitation, he pressed his soaked fingers deeper inside me earning him a whimper in response.
The first few inches were a deliberate, testing intrusion. He moved slowly, his long, fat cock claiming space within my wet, tight walls as if he were memorising my response. I felt a searing, beautiful fullness—a slow stretching that forced a ragged breath from my lungs. My body didn’t just accept him; it arched in a desperate invitation, pulling him deeper into the heat. The next thrust was a blunt, forceful impact that buried him completely, the sound of our skin meeting lost in the roar of the jet engines. That tingle was more than just a feeling; it was a white-hot current soaring through my body to my very fingertips. He gripped the curve of my ass, his fingers digging in with a bruising intensity that anchored me as he began a relentless, driving rhythm.
“Please… don’t stop,” I begged, the words barely coherent.
He moved his hands to my waist, digging into my sides as he filled me with his cock until my legs began to shudder, unable to support the weight of the pleasure he was forcing into me. He felt impossibly hard, was it possible for his cock to get any harder than it had been?
A sharp, guttural sound broke from his throat—not a word, but a warning.
“I’m about to cum!” He exclaimed as he pulled back with a sudden, jarring urgency, his hands twisting me back onto my knees. The world tilted as I looked up, my mouth open in a silent plea. I felt his hot load spray my face and fall into my open mouth; the heavy, salt-sweet taste of his release flooding my senses. He tasted just as good as he felt.
*
The world eventually settled, the tires of the jet finally finding the tarmac far below, but the internal storm was still raging. I found myself still on my knees before him, my hair a mess, my face covered in his thick load.
Nate leaned forward, his necklace swinging one last time before coming to rest against his chest. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw as he looked down at me.
“Such a good girl,” he whispered.
As he watched the evidence of his release on my face, his eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they grew darker, more predatory. He wasn’t finished. The conference hadn’t even started yet, and I realised with a shiver that I was only at the beginning of what he had planned for me.
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