Airport Moments

So, you're leaving. We're at the airport. You're going on a trip somewhere. South America I think. Or South Dakota, or South Africa or something, I don't know, I don't care. All I know is that for the next six weeks I won't have you. I won't be able to have you. I won't be able to fuck you, taste you, cum with you, cum on you, be inside you. But this trip is important, and I support you, so I'm here dropping you off, wishing I wasn't, thinking about every part of your body and how I'm going to miss waking up next to all of you.

We fucked this morning. It's not subtle. I can smell you on me, and every time I kiss you I can smell me on you. We might pretend that only you and I can smell us, be we both know we reek of sex. I saw the look you gave the ticket agent. She smelled the sex on you, and you know what she will be doing as soon as she can get a break. I know that you will wear that smell as long as you can. The first time you shower after you leave you will regret the fact that you are washing me off of you. And me? Well at least I have our love stained sheets to come back to.

We got here early. Not so surprising given your desire to be timely. But the flight is also delayed, so we have some more time before you have to go through security. "Let's take a walk," I say hoping to find some vaguely secluded place to make out. You know what I have in mind, but you humor me. We walk around the tourist areas, looking at couples kissing goodbye for a little while. I find nothing suitable. I'm beginning to become frustrated. I was fine when we left, but now that I have an idea in my head, I need to have you, just a little bit, one more time before you go.

We find an elevator. I invite you in with a smirk. You know that for a few seconds you will be subject to my hands. The second the doors close I kiss you, gently at first but that seems to last tenths of seconds. I know I have precious little time so I kiss you harder and begin to move my hands all over your body. Thank God you wore a dress. I don't get enough time, but I do get to hear you moan as my lips and hands try to do your incredible body justice in the precious seconds we have.

The elevator dings as the door opens. Thankfully no one is waiting or they may have been treated to a site that is for mine eyes alone. You quickly smooth your dress back into place and I reluctantly disengage myself from your body and we both try to remind ourselves that this is not the bedroom. While no one has seen us, there are many, many people walking the area. This appears to be a useless but trafficked part of the airport. There are various plaques that people are pretending to read as they prod their families along and wait through hours of delays.

At first this seems to have been a mistake. While it's out of the way, there are way too many people here for what I have in mind. But then my impatient mind begins to actually take in the surroundings. We are up above the terminals. There is a long wide path in front of us. To the left is the various entrances and baggage claim. To the right is a railing that over looks the ticket counters. We catch each other looking for the ticket agent you excited earlier. When we notice that she's apparently on break, we give each other some very wicked smiles.

Overlooking the ticket counters are benches evenly spaced. They are the other side of the "historic" plaques that the tourists are reading. They are kind of like enclosed bus terminals; large wall to the back, bench in front and an overhanging canopy. I guide you to one in the middle of the walkway. We sit down. I check my watch to make sure I have the time for what I have in mind and I being to tell you a story far more dirty than this one.

I start so... so... slow. Even though your need was quenched so recently you begin to realize that if you let me go on you will have to HAVE TO find release on the plane. The idea intrigues you, and you find you can't stop me, though leaving you unstated is the furthest thing from my mind.

I continue with my story, you continue to enjoy it. You begin to notice that my hands are in no way content with stroking your hair or shoulders. You start to feel my hand moving up your dress. People are walking behind you, you can hear at least five different conversations around you and my hand is moving closer and closer to your pussy. You can see at least 150 people below you. Sure they are oblivious to your existence, but all they would have to do is look up to see me attacking your neck and moving my hand up your dress.

For a few moments you are conflicted. You badly want me play out my game and you know that if you stop me you will never hear the end of my story. But you also know that if I continue to do what I'm doing, you are going to cum. Hard, and, more to the point, LOUD. You start to squirm, trying to find some way to enjoy what I'm doing to you without screaming my name to an airport full of people. But you lost that battle before it began. Between the story in your ears and the hand between your legs you are lost. You can only hope that this orgasm is good enough to get arrested for.

But I am watching you, waiting for that moment. I know what I do to you and I can read your body like Braile. I take you to the absolute limit, stroke by stoke, fast and deep. When I feel your body react and I know that you are about to scream I move my other hand to your mouth. Gratefully you take it as a gag and bite down. I little bit at first; looking into my eyes to make sure you're not hurting me. But very quickly these earthly concerns are not yours. As I continue to stroke you, inside and out, your eyes roll back and you bite down in earnest. I knew you were going to draw blood, but I begin to fear for my bones.

Finally you begin to come back to reality. You look me in the eye as you take your teeth out of my hand. I try to keep your eye contact as I hide what you have done to me, but you know. We smile at each other and I know what we are both thinking. If this is what we do when we part, I'm not sure we'll survive the reunion.