fingers. I’d been so turned on for so long, I knew I’d come in seconds. To my surprise, she pulled away before I could get there. Then I heard it, and my heart stopped.
The unmistakable sound of a zipper slowly sliding open.
When I moved to turn around, she cupped the back of my neck in her hand to stop me with a whisper. “No.”
Off balance, still braced against the wall, I had no room to do anything but wait. I felt as if my whole body was waiting, waiting to be touched, waiting to be filled, waiting to be taken. It was wholly unfamiliar and completely natural. With the first brush of the smooth, cool length of her dick between my legs, my clit jerked and I tightened inside and all I wanted was for her to make me come. I pushed back again, this time against the fat, firm head, and felt it slip inside. I moaned. I couldn’t help it.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, honey?” she murmured in my ear, her breath hot and ragged.
I knew what she was feeling, the pressure against her clit from the base of the cock, the sweet power of being inside her woman, the need to give and take at the same time. I could only whimper and nod my head. I wanted more, but I was afraid. Afraid to be other than I have always thought myself to be; afraid to be not less, but more. She knew, and she helped me.
She moved her hand from my neck around the front of my body and underneath the edge of the tiny skirt. She held my clitoris gently between her fingers and began to slide it back and forth the way she knows always makes me come. As soon as she started, I pushed back onto her dick and she slid deeper inside. As I stretched in body and mind to take her, the pressure surged into my clit, and I knew I was going to come.
She stroked me, I rocked against her, she pushed deeper. Once, twice, and then I felt it—the slow, rolling contractions in the core of me that in another minute would burst shooting from my clit.
“I’m coming,” I cried softly. I felt her weight against my back, her body trembling as she worked herself inside me. I heard the quick, high-pitched sound she makes when she’s nearing orgasm. Just as I crashed over the edge and lost all sense of anything but her, I heard her triumphant voice in my ear.
“Bingo, baby. Bingo.”
Aflame
Gun Brooke
“May I have an extra blanket, please?”
The cognac voice from across the aisle caught Corazon Perez’s attention as she unbuckled her seat belt. By force of habit, she had closed her eyes hard during takeoff and not paid any attention to anything except her own breathing. Afraid of flying was a phrase that didn’t cover how bad it really was. She was so terrified of takeoffs and landings she had to fight medicating herself into oblivion.
Corazon looked furtively toward the passenger occupying the window seat. A striking woman who looked to be in her early forties rubbed her arms, which she had wrapped around her chest, as if to warm them. She wore a tight off-white suede skirt that reached just below her knees and a short blue suede jacket over a blue satin shirt. Golden brown tresses, several shades darker than chestnut, had escaped a loose twist and framed a slightly angular, thin face that boasted a determined chin. She wasn’t beautiful in the classical sense, but she was definitely attractive. Letting her gaze slide down the other woman’s body, Corazon felt her nipples stand at attention.
Suddenly, light green eyes under dark eyebrows locked onto Corazon’s, startling her with their shimmering intensity. Almost fluorescent, they shone before warming up as she smiled. “If I didn’t know the windows were sealed tight, I’d say there’s a draft.”
“Must be the ventilation,” Corazon offered, a little annoyed at how tense her voice sounded. “A blanket ought to do it. Or…” She leaned back, flashing the other woman a slow smile. “Or you could ask the flight attendant if you can move over here. I don’t get a draft.”
It was true. She was
The unmistakable sound of a zipper slowly sliding open.
When I moved to turn around, she cupped the back of my neck in her hand to stop me with a whisper. “No.”
Off balance, still braced against the wall, I had no room to do anything but wait. I felt as if my whole body was waiting, waiting to be touched, waiting to be filled, waiting to be taken. It was wholly unfamiliar and completely natural. With the first brush of the smooth, cool length of her dick between my legs, my clit jerked and I tightened inside and all I wanted was for her to make me come. I pushed back again, this time against the fat, firm head, and felt it slip inside. I moaned. I couldn’t help it.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, honey?” she murmured in my ear, her breath hot and ragged.
I knew what she was feeling, the pressure against her clit from the base of the cock, the sweet power of being inside her woman, the need to give and take at the same time. I could only whimper and nod my head. I wanted more, but I was afraid. Afraid to be other than I have always thought myself to be; afraid to be not less, but more. She knew, and she helped me.
She moved her hand from my neck around the front of my body and underneath the edge of the tiny skirt. She held my clitoris gently between her fingers and began to slide it back and forth the way she knows always makes me come. As soon as she started, I pushed back onto her dick and she slid deeper inside. As I stretched in body and mind to take her, the pressure surged into my clit, and I knew I was going to come.
She stroked me, I rocked against her, she pushed deeper. Once, twice, and then I felt it—the slow, rolling contractions in the core of me that in another minute would burst shooting from my clit.
“I’m coming,” I cried softly. I felt her weight against my back, her body trembling as she worked herself inside me. I heard the quick, high-pitched sound she makes when she’s nearing orgasm. Just as I crashed over the edge and lost all sense of anything but her, I heard her triumphant voice in my ear.
“Bingo, baby. Bingo.”
Aflame
Gun Brooke
“May I have an extra blanket, please?”
The cognac voice from across the aisle caught Corazon Perez’s attention as she unbuckled her seat belt. By force of habit, she had closed her eyes hard during takeoff and not paid any attention to anything except her own breathing. Afraid of flying was a phrase that didn’t cover how bad it really was. She was so terrified of takeoffs and landings she had to fight medicating herself into oblivion.
Corazon looked furtively toward the passenger occupying the window seat. A striking woman who looked to be in her early forties rubbed her arms, which she had wrapped around her chest, as if to warm them. She wore a tight off-white suede skirt that reached just below her knees and a short blue suede jacket over a blue satin shirt. Golden brown tresses, several shades darker than chestnut, had escaped a loose twist and framed a slightly angular, thin face that boasted a determined chin. She wasn’t beautiful in the classical sense, but she was definitely attractive. Letting her gaze slide down the other woman’s body, Corazon felt her nipples stand at attention.
Suddenly, light green eyes under dark eyebrows locked onto Corazon’s, startling her with their shimmering intensity. Almost fluorescent, they shone before warming up as she smiled. “If I didn’t know the windows were sealed tight, I’d say there’s a draft.”
“Must be the ventilation,” Corazon offered, a little annoyed at how tense her voice sounded. “A blanket ought to do it. Or…” She leaned back, flashing the other woman a slow smile. “Or you could ask the flight attendant if you can move over here. I don’t get a draft.”
It was true. She was
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