Morgan's Genie Ch. 04

"I don't think so, no," Morgan said. "Maybe, but...I dunno. It's a lot to think about."

"I'm afraid there is only so much advice I might offer," Thomas shrugged. "I'm not familiar enough with the world as it is now."

"Guess not," she nodded. She glanced up again. "Still. You're really nice to talk to. And to have around." There was a long pause. "I'm really glad you're here with me."

"As am I."

Intimate as they had been already, Morgan still found herself a bit overwhelmed by his affection. He was attentive and loyal without smothering her. When he looked at her like that, as if she were the only woman on the planet, Morgan couldn't help but blush inside and glance away. She could initiate whatever she wanted, with something as subtle as a come-hither gaze or as blunt as direct demands. Yet when he looked at her with those eyes and that strong, confident smile, she found herself feeling quite shy.

She had worried, at first, that he would obsess about her. The whole "command me, mistress," bit had been a touch unsettling. But he was soon dazzled by video players, cars and phones. He was eager to get caught up with the world, even understanding that doing so would take him a lifetime. And he took an interest in the lives of others. His interest and affection had some perspective, at least.

The thought that filled her with butterflies wasn't that he was her genie to command at her whim, but rather that the look in his eyes and the sound in his voice were both entirely genuine.

"Um. Anyway," she mumbled, glancing at him, then away, then back and forth again. "Lot to think about, but like I said, it's a six hour flight. Okay, only a six hour flight," she corrected, smirking at him. "If you want to, um, go look around out the windows or whatever again, I'm fine."

"I have your leave, mistress?" he asked.

She chuckled. He was playing. "You do."

"Then, if I am to be trusted with my own discretion..."

She gasped softly as his lips descended onto the side of her neck. A hand trailed up her leg, while the other, wrapped around the top of her head, stroked her cheek. "Oh," she sighed softly. "That's really nice."

"You did say something about spoiling you rotten," he murmured beside her ear.

The hand that roamed over her legs and then her belly touched her as if there was nothing between them. She felt skin and warmth instead of mere cloth and pressure. Her body responded, tensing and shifting languidly under his touch. Morgan's face turned slightly, inviting the deep kiss that was soon on her lips. As their tongues slid together, filling her with wonder, Thomas unbuckled the latches on the straps securing her to the bed. They fell away on their own.

Morgan's hand was in Thomas's hair, holding him close as the kiss went on and on. He smelled so good, tasted so wonderful. It was utterly unfair to have something this good all to herself, but she didn't think for a moment about letting him go.

It wasn't until the kiss finally broke that she gave any thought at all to the rest of the world. "Seems a little weird," she whispered, "doing this in a plane full of people."

"What people?" Thomas asked.

She glanced past his shoulder at the opposite bulkhead, where the Marine was reading a Maxim magazine and the injured airman above him had been playing with an iPod...only they were gone. "Is that an illusion?" she asked.

"I thought you might like the sense of privacy," he said gently. "As much for your own sake as for theirs. They will be even less aware of us as you are of them. They'll see you napping soundly, nothing more."

He kissed her again. She accepted it eagerly, surprised at how much she wanted this. Her next thought was that she was surprised she hadn't thought about spending at least some of the flight like this in the first place.

His free hand roamed over her. She felt naked underneath his touch, felt vulnerable as he stood over her and kissed her. Eventually she didn't feel anything at all other than her increasingly more comfortable bunk and her genie's touch. When their kiss finally broke, she glanced at herself and realized she was nude.

His lips fell from her mouth to her neck again, and then to her collarbone. The arm that cradled her head slipped away, his hands now tracing over her arms and her sides. "This still an illusion?" she breathed.

"What fun would it be if you knew for sure?" she felt him grin against her breast.

There was a reply on her tongue, but it died there as his lips teased around one nipple and then lovingly took it in. She gasped, feeling his tongue swirl in soft circles around its hardness. Morgan hadn't been so sensitive there before him. There was a lot about her that was different before he came along.

The next rack of bunks past her feet was entirely empty. That was no illusion; it was empty when she came on. It was a good thing, because there was nothing odd about Thomas clambering up with utterly unrealistic grace to lie partly on Morgan's bunk, partly on the next one over, and partly suspended between both.

Realization flashed through her mind. He hadn't done this yet. She wasn't even sure he would, but his trail of kisses over her hips and along her thighs certainly foreshadowed his intentions. Thomas slipped a hand over her inner thigh, then mirrored the touch at the other, encouraging her to spread her legs for him.

She did. Her hands slipped into his hair again as her thighs parted, inviting him in. Morgan was wet and needful and wanted him to know it. She felt his breath before his kiss, warm and tender, slowly fell against one leg just short of her lips, lingering, and then teasingly against the other.

Morgan let him tease. She wanted to savor this. Her body was at once relaxed in luxury and alive with electricity as his first gentle lick brushed along her lips. Morgan stole a glance at him, looking between the valleys of her breasts and then between her legs, seeing his eyes look back. His tongue descended again, out of her sight but now much more intently than before.

Her eyes fell shut at the sensation. Her hands stayed light against his head. She wanted to encourage him without guiding him. A small part of her wanted to just pull him in and make him devour her, but he clearly knew what he was doing. His tongue parted her lips and probed lovingly and made it pointless to think about much of anything else.

His focus rose and fell along the full length of her sex, bottom to top and deep within. Morgan laid back and whimpered in appreciation as his kiss brushed against her clit, once and then again. She felt wet fingers enter her. She gave herself up to him completely, moaning out loud in surrender.

The one hand coaxed her to greater pleasure, fingers finding even more sensitive spots within her and stroking them expertly, while Morgan felt the other one slide up her leg and her belly to take a spot on her breast. She encouraged it, sliding her right hand up his outstretched arm to hold tightly over his.

His soft but relentless tongue and beckoning fingers left her panting. She lingered there, happily drifting in bliss, for a long time.

A very long time.

There was no move or moment that put her past the point of no return. She eventually realized, belatedly, that she was beyond that point, and gradually her body tensed and trembled under him.

Orgasm came with a long and unmistakable build. She finally came, spasming joyously and uncontrollably for her lover, and that went on and on, too. Bursts of light and color against her tightly-shut eyelids dazzled her in time with her body's every eruption, one after the other.

Thomas brought her down as gently and tenderly as he had begun. Her head swam with pleasure as she roused herself to look down at him. There was some small amount of pride in those eyes that hovered just over her pussy. She couldn't blame him.

"Can you...can you do that again?" she asked.

"I'd love to," he said softly against her wet lips. "We've only got four more hours."

* * *

She held out until well into the third hour, but eventually she couldn't resist. Morgan beckoned to her man, hands tugging at his shoulders and neck, coaxing him to lie against her where she could kiss him. He was perfectly warm in this, too. Comforting, confident, masculine. She had expected to taste herself on him, and when she didn't, she could only grin into his kiss.

Then she lay back, slowly catching her breath. He waited, tracing his fingers across her body to relieve her of sweat and fatigue. Four hours of tensing and spasming muscles had left her gloriously worn out.

Morgan saw the look in his eye and grinned in spite of herself. She had spent so much of the flight coming for this man and yet she still felt shy.

"Why do you look away like that?" he asked.

"Like what?" She looked back at him and then glanced away yet again.

"Like you're embarrassed for some reason," he pressed quietly. "Does it bother you when I look at you?"

"No! No." She got ahold of herself, forcing her eyes to look in his. "I love the way you look at me."

"Then why do you look away?"

She shrugged, which had the effect of only cuddling her up to him more. "Guess I'm just not used to it. I might never get used to it."

"Well, if you're going to continually look away from me, I'll have to stop."

"Don't you dare," she muttered. There was a long silence as he waited for her to explain, and finally she relented. "You look at me like I'm the most beautiful thing you've ever seen."

"You are."

"Oh, bullshit. I like it, but come on. Seriously?"

"I don't understand. You're very beautiful."

"No, I'm passingly pretty," Morgan sighed. "I'm healthy. I'm in pretty decent shape. And maybe I clean up well, but I'm not..."

Thomas frowned at her, not without humor. "I suppose it should be comforting that I've finally found at least one thing that hasn't changed over the centuries. Women are still capable of convincing themselves they aren't as pretty as they are."

It was Morgan's turn to frown. She nudged against him as she grumbled, then looked around the plane. "Hey," she said, "bring us back to reality a bit."

Her clothing returned. Her fellow passengers faded into view. Thomas was still there, but as usual no one noticed him. Morgan looked off to her side. The Marine in the middle bunk had dozed off, his magazine on his chest.

"Grab me that?" Morgan asked, pointing to it. Thomas slipped off of her bunk and retrieved the magazine, handing it to her.

Morgan took one look at the Maxim cover girl and pointed to it. "She's gorgeous," his mistress said. She flipped through the pages, pointing to model after model. "Pretty. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Okay, that chick just looks like trash. Pretty. Beautiful. I mean, I'm not saying that you have to dress like this to be attractive, because this magazine is ridiculous. It plays to fantasies, not real behavior. And these photos have had a lot of help. But do you see their faces? Those bodies? Do you get what I'm saying?"

He paid attention thoughtfully. The women were unarguably lovely, but also dangerously skinny. A tough winter would certainly end every one of them. To compare them to Morgan seemed like nitpicking, as she was hardly heavyset or lacking in curves herself.

"I mean, what would you say is beautiful?" Morgan asked. "And don't say me. I mean in the abstract. In general. How would you describe a beautiful woman?"

His mouth opened, but then closed again. He hadn't given it definitive thought in some time. He looked at the magazine and pondered. "Good health. Smooth, clean skin. A body that is slim but not skin and bones," he shrugged. "I suppose I would say that a narrow waist is attractive. Men might argue how curved a woman should be, but..." Again, he shrugged.

Morgan yawned. "Well, whatever. I guess it's nice to have you look at me like that. It really is. I'm not complaining at all. It's just that you asked. I know I'm not a hag, but I'm not the woman that all the guys flock around at parties, either." She held the magazine back to him. "Wow. I'm more tired than I realized. You wore me out," she smiled appreciatively. "I think I need a nap."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, eliciting another appreciative smile. "Thank you," she murmured. "For everything. You're wonderful."

His thoughts were still on the matter at hand. Thomas glanced at her, seeing her quickly dozing off. "Morgan," he asked softly, "would you want to look like these women?"

"Sure," she mumbled, already half-asleep and hardly thinking. "Who wouldn't?"

It didn't lift the frown from his face. Rather than press the subject, Thomas swung himself up to sit on the empty rack just past hers. He thumbed through the magazine yet again. After a bit of thought, he understood what Morgan meant: many of the pictures seemed hardly realistic, though it wasn't as if he really had a solid grip on what constituted reality in the 21st Century. He was willing to take Morgan's word for it, at least. But whether or not the situations depicted were believable, the women in the pictures weren't paintings or drawings. They were real. Weren't they?

What did Morgan mean in saying that the pictures had had "help?"

Thomas kept looking. How any woman could be that tanned and yet clearly never work a day in her life was perplexing. But then, no one in Morgan's land had to do even so much as draw water out of a well; it was right there for the taking from those faucet things, which seemed to be in every room. And perhaps all of these women were racially mixed? It certainly seemed plausible.

He looked from a picture of one woman, lying around on a beach in some sort of undergarments, and back to Morgan. She had larger, fuller breasts and hips than his mistress. Her legs were no thinner, but they were somewhat smoother. Her features were slightly more delicate. They all seemed like such marginal differences.

Thomas hopped off the rack and replaced the magazine on the sleeping man's chest. He looked around the open bay of the plane for more such materials. The magazines in Morgan's knapsack were virtually all words and no pictures.

He kept looking throughout the plane, ignored by everyone around him. It wasn't long before he found other magazines, though most had far more in the way of words than pictures, and of those pictures fewer were of strikingly attractive women. Eventually, though, he slipped from bags and bunks a couple more magazines similar to the one Morgan had showed him.

There was no denying that the women were attractive. They probably needed servants and attendants, what with how delicate they all seemed, but...

He pondered as he put the magazines back where he found them. Maybe all was not as it seemed?

Eventually, Thomas returned to Morgan's side. Her desires were clear enough, arguable though they were by a matter of degrees. Thomas reached out to her face, tracing his fingers over her skin so softly that she hardly stirred in her sleep. He smoothed out her skin tone. He brushed away tiny blemishes and wrinkles.

Thomas smirked as he continued on. If his lovely mistress wanted to be even more beautiful, he certainly wasn't going to argue.