Baby Changing Station

"Aren't you going to take your dress off?"

"Nope. Against the rules." She eased upwards a little, so that half of the purple condom was exposed, and took out her phone again, pointing it at the mirror. "Damn! Can't get a good angle." She passed me the camera. "Can you get your dick and my face at the same time?"

"How do I take a picture?"

"Just push the fucking button. God, you don't know how to use a phone? Let me see." She grabbed to phone back. "Yeah, that'll do." She pulled up. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"Come on, open up." And she sat down on my face, and peed into my mouth. Not a lot, just a slow trickle, but enough to make me gag. "What's the matter," she said. "You never had a guy come in your mouth? Well, now you know what it feels like. Now make me come."

Her clit was enormous. I trapped it in my teeth. She reached behind her and dug her nails into my groin. "I will rip your fucking balls off," she growled. But then, I began to flick my tongue against the tip that was protruding into my mouth, and she forgot about anything else. I ran my hands down her spine, over her muscular cheeks, and inward, then I jabbed the middle finger of each hand into her asshole, tugging her, spreading her, clawing her with the other fingers. I started to bite a little harder, and my tongue, instead of flicking, was mashing her clit into the back of my teeth. She started to come even harder, and I scraped her with my middle fingers also. She knew she couldn't scream, she knew she didn't dare make any sound at all. At last, she stopped moving, and I slid her back, pulled down her head to bury my tongue in her mouth.

"Okay," I said, "my turn now."

"Your turn?" She seemed dazed, confused, listless. I slid out from underneath her and let slump face down onto the changing table. "You said we would switch. Didn't you?"

"Switch?"

"It's my turn to do anything I want."

"Let me guess." She rolled over to face me. "You want to fuck me up the ass. How fucking original."

"You're saying no?"

"I don't give a shit. No, wait, I do, literally. Give me a minute."

"What?"

"Don't you like to get yourself cleared out, before you get fucked up the ass?"

I did not dignify that one with a reply, but she gave me a little smirk. She remembered how readily I had opened to her fingers. She went over to the toilet, and I turned around to stare at the other corner of the room.

"It's okay," she said. "Haven't you ever watched anyone take a shit?"

"No."

She pulled her legs up onto each side of the toilet seat so I could get a better view. "There," she said, at last, "you still want to put you dick there?"

"Yes."

"Want to lick me clean?"

"No."

"Chicken." She wiped herself off with some toilet paper and flushed. There was a fan in the room, and I turned it on.

"Okay," she said, "I'm ready. Let's get it over with." And she leaned over the changing table, spreading herself for me.

But, instead of impaling her, I spanked, hard, slapping her right cheek so that it turned a bright red.

"What the fuck was that for?" she asked.

"That's for being such a know-it-all bitch." Slap. "And that's for making me cheat on my wife." Slap. "And that's for peeing in my face." Slap.

"What was the last one for?"

"I don't know."

"You've run out of ideas already? How about just fucking me so we can get out of here?"

Well, her asshole had been wide open, a few minutes ago. But the spanking had put her into a knot.

"Damn you," I snarled, "open up!"

I grabbed her hair and just pushed through. I could feel the ring of muscle in spasm around me. Still, she would not scream. She had that much self control, that much pride. I pushed in all the way, not gently, then stuck a couple of fingers into her cunt, just to prove to myself it was still wide open. I stopped for a moment, just to admire it all.

"Come on," she said, "if you're going to do something, do it."

So I started to fuck, very methodically. How could it be that, with all the drama, in the end it was almost boring? Well, no matter how exciting the situation might be, it was only a few hours since my last time, I'd had a beer or two in the meantime, and the stupid condom was like wearing a sock. Once she relaxed, I was basically feeling nothing. Her heat, of course, and a hint of smoothness, but not nearly as much sensation as I needed. The only good part was that I could see myself in the mirror, but in a way that was more of distraction. What was this distinguished looking old guy doing with his dick up some strange ass? It just reminded me that there was probably at least one camera recording everything, and that did not help matters.

"What the fuck is the matter?" She could sense me losing interest.

"Nothing's the matter."

"Jeez, you're too old after all."

Well, that did it. "Stupid, fucking whore," I growled. Oh, I could come all right, if I didn't care what happened to her. I had left my wife in tears a few times, working myself into that state of lust and rage, I had weaned myself away from, but this time it really didn't matter, didn't matter. I could fuck her as hard as I wanted. Even so, it took me a few minutes to come, and I was really pounding into her at the end.

"My God!" she gasped, "are you through?"

Suddenly, it did matter after all, and I felt an overwhelming rush of guilt and shame.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm just great," she growled. "I may never walk again, but I'm just fucking wonderful."

I reached down to rub her back, but she brushed my hand away. And then, there was an announcement for my flight!

"I've got to go, " I stammered as I pulled my clothes back on. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," she said, "just get the fuck out of here and leave me alone."

So I ran back down to the seating area, leaving her sobbing on the changing table.

But, it was a false alarm. We still had half an hour before boarding. My wife asked me if I was feeling better. She didn't show any trace of concern. Apparently, the whole incident had only taken about fifteen minutes, although it had seemed to me that we had been in there for an hour or so.

About five minutes later, the blonde appeared. I still had no idea what her name was. Her face was washed, her hair was combed, her dress was not even wrinkled. The only sign of distress was that she did not exactly sit down on her chair. She was leaning on leg, keeping the weight off of her rear end. She looked over at me without the slightest hint of recognition. Then she went over to the honeymooners, to retrieve her computer, and took her phone out. The three of them were soon tittering. I thought I saw the lady honeymooner leering at me with what I hoped was new found respect.

After a few minutes of that, the honeymooners got up, and strolled off together. I had a good idea where they were headed.

A few minutes later, before the honeymooners had returned, they really did call our flight. I gave the blonde a furtive wave as we walked away, and I'm sure she gave me a wink back. Maybe, maybe, all was forgiven. For some reason, maybe it was the beer, maybe the excitement, I had to pee almost as soon as I sat down. I kept thinking it was her revenge on me. Each little bump the plane made on takeoff seemed like it was going to burst my bladder. When I finally got into the lavatory, I realized I was still wearing the purple condom. I couldn't resist giving it a little lick before I flushed it away forever.