Confidence

Monique was used to being looked at and admired and she enjoyed it, especially today. Today, for her tediously long trip from Albany, New York to St. George, Utah, she had adorned herself in an outfit that was designed to be ogled, and she was not disappointed.

Monique's tall slender body was almost a gravity-defying freak of nature to begin with, exceptionally so for a woman who had recently celebrated her forty-ninth birthday. There was not a hint of fat on her torso, and her impossibly long, defined legs and luscious butt were kept shapely and toned by a very simple daily exercise routine. Walking. Five to ten miles a day, six days a week.

But that was only Monique's second favorite aerobic activity in recent years. Fucking was first, and since her divorce almost two years ago, Monique had not been a stranger to cock. In fact, she was becoming sort of a snooty penile connoisseur, accepting only the best, a fledgling size whore, as she described herself.

However, more than anything, Monique also craved a man who could stimulate her intellectually as well. Monique realized that she could entice essentially any man that she wanted to, but this was becoming a bit mundane to her. Monique respected strength and confidence in a man, and she had a closet submissive side that lay dormant due to the fact that no man had successfully induced her interest and passion enough to extract that subservient side of her. Fortunate, oh so fortunate, would be the man who shall succeed in capturing her mind, she mused.

It was for these very reasons, the promises of nature and exercise, and the potential for uncomplicated sexual encounters, that Monique decided for this year's Christmas Holiday season she would make a ten-day solo getaway to the town of St. George, or "Utah Dixie" as it was sometimes referred to, for its temperate year-round climate. Monique was a hiker, not a skier, and the travel agent had recommended the allure of the Pine Valley Mountains as one of the most desirable hidden vacation gems in the country.

However, right now, Monique wanted to strangle that very same travel agent for booking her on a connection that caused her to spend almost four hours in Baltimore Washington International Airport. Oh, well, she mused, shame on me for not looking more closely at the itinerary. Besides, this gave her ample time to take a long, leisurely walk through the wide corridors of BWI, and she was becoming more horny with each man whose head swiveled when she passed. She kept her legs deliberately close to each other as she walked, which had the effect of causing her hips to sway even more than usual. More than one man tripped over a stray piece of baggage as they visually followed her path with wandering eyes.

And small wonder.

Monique was adorned in a cherry red and charcoal grey pencil-cut miniskirt that barely covered her shapely, taut, mature ass. Almost like a schoolgirl uniform, reminiscent of her own adolescence in Southern France. A short, flirty fit, a tease, a 'boner stimulus plan' as she called this skirt. She augmented the slutty, edgy, sophisticated schoolgirl look spectacularly by adding sheer, opaque backseamed pantyhose with a hint of lace. Crotchless? You bet. Is there any other way to wear pantyhose?

Her still humid cunt almost steamed in the cool air of the terminal after a rousing digital self-exploration session in the restroom on the short flight from Albany to Baltimore . She also wore a tight, ribbed ebony sweater with an open-zippered crimson red cardigan vest that only served to accentuate her smallish but firm, uplifted breasts. Her always responsive nipples were nearly bursting with arousal beneath the material. She rarely wore a bra and was without one today. The tiny brown pearls of her nips became more pronounced with each glance or gape from an admirer, male or female.

Of course, there were the obligatory red and black pumps, but only with three-inch heels, a small concession to comfort for the cross-country day of air travel. Monique secretly considered them her 'I-don't-want-to-be-too-uncomfortable-but-I-still-want-you-to-fuck-me-silly' shoes. Even with the somewhat conservative length of the heels, Monique still stood just over six feet tall, and she capped off her timeless palette of fashion hues with an authentic French beret, jet-black to match her short hair, cocked sideways to cover one of her smoldering dark brown eyes.

Sex on a stick was what she looked like. The more that men looked, the more her ass wiggled, and the wetter she became. She glanced at her watch. Three-thirty-one. Her flight to Vegas, which was the closest big city to St. George, was not scheduled to leave gate C-8 until seven-fifteen. It was then that she saw him, at the adjacent gate, C-6, accompanied by a small boy, perhaps ten, who was deeply engrossed in his Nintendo, and thus blissfully unaware of his father studying this beautiful woman so brazenly. The man's gaze was so intent that she first slowed her gait, and then stopped completely, to return his bold stare.

He wasted no time as their eyes locked into each others. The man whispered something into the young lad's ear, who nodded, but never looked up from his Super Smash Brothers Brawl game, and he patted him on the head and walked directly towards Monique, his brilliant green eyes like a laser into her dark-almond-colored pupils.

His confident smile was almost like a boyish smirk as his eyes finally lingered up and down Monique's impeccably attired frame. His obvious confidence seemed both to arouse and discomfort Monique. He approached her so closely that Monique took an involuntary half-step backwards and she noted the curly wisps of salt-and-pepper hair that tugged at his temples. This guy must get laid like a madman if he's single, Monique thought. He wasn't extraordinarily handsome, but there was just something about this sexy, brazen daddy. Approaching fifty years old himself, she guessed.

His verbal introduction was short, simple, succinct. She would soon find that was the essence of this man. To the point, his words and actions tempered with an alacrity and purpose. "I'm John, and you're lovely." He extended his hand, and his countenance softened into a warm grin. Monique felt her cheeks flush and the rush of heat beneath her skin. That simple, straightforward approach was all it took for Monique to already wonder what it might be like to fuck this guy.

She met his hand and gripped it warmly, and the spark of sexual chemistry was lit with just this simple initial touch.

"Thank you, John. I'm Monique." The usual time to release a natural introductory handshake was only a few seconds, yet their hands continued to softly yet firmly pump each others, while John's index finger inched up Monique's wrist.

She glanced at the youngster, whose head was now raised, watching his dad talk to the stranger. "Is that your son? He's adorable, but I think he's curious as to who Dad may be talking to, and why." They both looked at the sandy-haired boy now and smiled as one, and the boy shrugged, disinterested, and returned his focus to the electronic battle on his lap between Mario and Pikachu.

"Yep, that's my son, Taylor, he's off to his mom's in Ohio for the holidays. I'm the primary parent, he lives most of the year with me, and he's flying solo now that he's ten. I just have to stay with him until they announce it's time to board, and, oh........" John cupped his hand to his ear. "There it is now."

A small scowl of disappointment came over Monique's face. "Well, if you must go, well, it's been nice...." It was only then that Monique became conscious that their hands were still intertwined, and she looked down at their grip. John took the opportunity to pat her one hand and grip the other, which resulted in her being pulled a bit closer to him.

"Don't be silly, Monique, please, what time is your own flight?" John's eyebrows raised hopefully. "And, where are you going, lovely Monique?"

"I have quite a few hours to kill, John. My flight doesn't depart until after seven. And my final destination is St. George, Utah, via Las Vegas."

John was happily satisfied with both answers. "Ah, Zion National Park, the scenery there is almost as lovely as the woman whose hand I still hold."

She blushed more deeply at the tender compliment, and was impressed that he was familiar with the area. "Wow, so you know the region? You've been there, I presume?"

John glanced over Monique's shoulder, and her head turned to follow his gaze. "Monique, I have an idea. Why don't you go over to Starbucks and I'll be there in a few minutes once I assure my precious cargo gets on his flight to majestic Columbus. Then, we can chat and flirt and learn all about each other, and I'll be the envy of every man in this terminal who's been peeking at you and they will wonder why I'm the lucky man who will have the pleasure of the company of this incredibly sensual woman in the hot schoolgirl uniform."

Monique's cheek flushed the shade of her vest. Before she could answer, John patted her on the hand again and held up a finger in a shushing gesture and did his best to mimic her accented lilting voice. "Why, that sounds like a splendid idea, John."

Monique watched John as he went through his parental duties. There was something inherently sexy about a good dad. As she walked over to Starbucks, now unaware of the throng of other men that still surveyed her every wiggle, she let her mind drift.

She was intrigued by him immediately and, well, it had been months since she had had a man between her legs and she suddenly wanted that right now. Getting herself off, as she had done in the shuttle flight from Albany to Baltimore, only went so far. It really didn't count as an initiation into the Mile High Club, she thought with a soft chuckle. There was nothing like the real thing. A warm tongue and a hard cock. Priceless.

There was just something about him, she thought, as he waited for his son's plane to depart, diligently performing his required duties of not leaving the gate area until the plane was off the ground. She was starting to fantasize about what it would be like to be in bed with him while she waited. What it would be like to suck him, and to have him eating her, sucking on her desperately sensitive nipples, and to finally have him between her legs. She was having such a good time in the fantasy that she felt herself starting to drip down her thigh, and her nipples were doing push-ups against the fabric of her sweater.

She didn't order anything at Starbucks. What she wanted was not on their menu. Instead, she sat on the stool in front of the window, crossing and uncrossing her legs, hoping that John would get an even better view of her naked pussy. Her efforts did not go unnoticed nor unappreciated.

John stopped a few feet away from the window and made not the slightest pretense of staring anywhere but directly between Monique's legs. As he did so, he took a cell phone out of his pocket and dialed up a number. After a brief pause, he began to speak into the mouthpiece, and while doing so, he made a motion with his eyes and tilting head for Monique to look down at his crotch. She nearly slid off of her stool with delighted desire when she saw that John's hand was buried in his pocket and he was stroking a very erect, very prominent bulge beneath the fabric of his khaki trousers, right in the middle of the terminal, but had positioned himself strategically so that Monique could get the best birds-eye view of this subtly brazen display of exhibitionism.

Monique quickly calibrated his length in her mind as she watched, mesmerized. It starts THERE and ends WHERE? Geez, wow, could it be that long, really? Monique was brought back from her impromptu algebra session (eight inches, more?) as John snapped his cell phone shut and strode through the store's entrance. Monique made notice that a young blonde to her left had also caught John's act, and seemed to be squirming in her own stool, a bit glassy-eyed, and looked at Monique enviously as John walked past the blonde and directly towards Monique's seat.

Monique opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so, John had quickly and gracefully cupped his hands around her face and stared directly into her dark brown eyes, the color of rich mocha, and lowered his lips onto hers, his tongue gently easing ever so slowly into her mouth, probing, exploring, and Monique felt her mouth part to greet his. The blood rushed to her head as she had expected the kiss to be a fleeting one, an introductory preamble. Instead, his kiss lingered and intensified, and the fact that they were in public and had met less than ten minutes ago only served to fuel Monique's desire. This was what she had wanted, to be taken, completely, and her legs instinctively parted further as she felt John's knowing hands begin to slide up her thigh and raise the hem of her skirt even higher.

Using his hand on her thigh, John turned Monique on her stool ninety degrees so that she was facing the blonde young woman directly now, perhaps a mere five feet away, and with the other hand, he guided Monique's manicured hand down to his own lap, reluctantly released his kiss, leaned into her ear, and whispered, mouthing the words so that the blonde could clearly see them, "We're going to fuck." The blonde herself felt a small rumble of excitement pulse beneath her own skirt as she watched Monique's long fingers fondle John's testicles, cradling them in her palm. John reached down with his mouth to capture Monique's lips once again, and guided his hand down to her ass and lifted it from the seat.

Monique brought her head back from his, and asked only one word.

"Where?"

Monique's chest heaved from arousal. If this man could fuck like he could kiss, she was in for the afternoon of a lifetime. Monique had a time-tested theory that the first kiss was a precursor for all future sexual chemistry, and John had passed the test with an anticipated final grade of 'Monique-cum-loudly'.

John smiled at Monique and extended his hand, which she grasped. "Follow me." Over their shoulder, they heard the blonde murmur to them, "That is so fucking HOT, have fun."

John led Monique to the moving walkway where he stood directly behind her, his impossibly hard cock pushing into the crevice of her ass cheeks, feeling the firmness of her buttocks inching backward to accept his pelvic invasion into her. "I've booked us a room at the Sheraton next door," he hissed into her ear, nibbling on the soft lobe seductively. He swiveled her head so that she could see the astonished faces of the many people in the crowded terminal, which served to arouse Monique even more.

His right hand eased under the wool miniskirt's hem line and he began to massage her ass on the walkway, parting the globes slightly with his index finger, walking the daring tightrope between public affection and indecent exposure. Deliberately. He had sized Monique up perfectly.

His words continued to flow, soothing, assuring, causing her to melt into his strong grip. "Every man here wants to fuck you. I'm going to. They all want to know if you are a classy woman, or a slut. I know that you are both. And you will be mine in just a few moments, and I will control you, completely. Your mind. Your actions. Your sensational body. For the next few hours, until your flight, you will ONLY be my slut." Once more, his tongue grazed her ear while his hips pressed into her nearly exposed backside.

"And this tongue and cock will bring you great joy."

She moaned, milky liquid beginning to ooze out of her cunt now, and her beret fell to the tread of the walkway as she turned to kiss him deeply, her tongue dancing into his hot, warm mouth, announcing her non-verbal yet binding agreement to the proposal. John scooped up the trendy hat and placed it back on Monique's head. "I want you to leave this on when you suck my cock. What's that song? Leave your hat on?"

They finally reached the area outside of baggage claim where the hotel shuttle picked them up. The couple was the only one to board the van in the mid-afternoon hour, and the elderly driver eyed them quizzically as the boarded. "No bags?"

"Nope," John replied, leading Monique into the back row of the empty van. "We're only here for a few hours of relaxation."

The driver seemed partially satisfied with that response. "Layover?"

John smiled at him, while easing his hand beneath Monique's skirt on the seat, hidden from the driver's view. "Yes, it's about to be." John parted Monique's legs wide, and his ring finger plunged into her slit as the van bumped into motion.

Gasping, she drew a quick breath as she felt her body yielding to him, molding itself around the welcome invasion. His thumb glanced over her clit, sending an electric current through her. He circled that stiff nub over and over as he pushed his finger back and forth, eliciting more gasps from her.

"Oh, Jesus," she softly whimpered, as she spread her legs even further, granting him unfettered access to her cunt, surrendering to the pleasure overtaking her.

He twisted his finger, making her muscles tighten around it with each movement. He could feel her body's reactions with each turn, her wetness increasing, making each thrust smoother as her back arched and tensed. Other than the hum of the heater the only sound breaking the silence was her ragged breathing, and this did not go unnoticed by the driver. "You folks enjoy yourselves now, don't hold back on my account. Your secret is safe with me."

With that thinly disguised urging of their driver to essentially make his day, John decided to give the pleasant septuagenarian a little show he would not soon forget and would be the fodder for many a conversation during the slow times in the hotel shuttle business. "I'm telling you, no shit, he finger fucked this hot bitch right on my van, standing up."

Monique was a more than willing participant as she heeded John's silent, eyebrow-arched plea. She rose, stood in the aisle, lifted her left leg onto the seat next to John, and slowly took the hem of her plaid skirt in her hand, and peeled away her salmon-hued labia to lewdly expose her jewel.

The old man peered into the rear view mirror and ran onto the shoulder of the airport exit road as the sound of two of John's fingers squishing into Monique's spewing hole permeated the small van. She caressed her own clit while she looked into the eyes of the driver through the rear view mirror until she came in a spurt, the juices flowing into John's hand, with a force that caused the nectar to puddle in his palm.

The shuttle pulled into the hotel driveway now, and John reached for Monique's own hand and rubbed it all over her drenched crotch. The old man was almost panting now, his ability to speak momentarily paralyzed. Before exiting the small stairs, John took Monique's juice-covered fingers and guided them to the driver's mouth, while looking at his name badge. "Here's your tip, Otis, have a nice day."

The van screeched away after Otis had his first taste of pussy in more than a decade, and the couple laughed out loud as they saw the van pull into a isolated corner of the hotel parking lot. Otis would need to take his blood pressure medicine after his first masturbation session in many moons.

They walked into the lobby, nodded to the doorman who took quite an extra stare at Monique's skirt, now wrinkled, never noticing her flushed face. The pleasant young woman behind the front desk looked as thought she was straight out of a Sheraton commercial.

"Welcome to the Baltimore Washington International Airport Sheraton," she said cheerily. John thought that must get tired saying that hundreds of times each day when a simple "Hi" would suffice. Again, John was a man of few words. "Do you have a reservation?"