Endless hours watching all the beautiful people board and exit airplanes, chat and flirt in airport cafés, seducing each as a new lover, an erotic possibility, a quick but eternally satisfying fuck to embed in the imagination forever.

Such runs my Lana's mind.

So tired, both of us, but both of us feeling the freedom from North American work drudgery and she hot as usual to get off at any and every juncture possible during the eternal trip.

Insatiable Lana had her long strong model's fingers in her cunt constantly during the infinite dark hours of the flight. She kept teasing her pussy rich fragrant fingers into her mouth, then into my mouth, then back into her cunt for more taste. Without even thinking about it, and without a thought as to what anyone else might think about it.

Mile after mile, meal after meal, sameness settles. Lana escapes from sameness and returns over and over to the safe personal pleasure of her pussy and engages me in her incessant masturbation.

I have to smile when I see Yvette coming with the drink and snack cart.

I reach over to take Lana's panties off her seat-back table where she neatly folded them in front of her in plain view of anyone in the aisle when she needed to feel her bottom be naked when we were barely off the ground in New York.

I tuck her panties into my jacket pocket. She only looks a blank question at me about what the fuck I might be doing with her underwear.

"Nothing, darling. I'll give them to you after a snack."

It's much easier to try to pick up after Lana than to make her understand all the social rules.

When the lights went out and people-rustling diminished to sleep silence, she fished around inside my jeans for my dick and worked me out into the open.

I, not Lana, pulled the airline blanket close and held it near for emergency cover. Which row and which seat made no difference at all to Lana.

She sucked me off deliciously. She swallowed what she could. She rubbed what was left on her hands into the inside of my shirt, then she pressed my shirt against my chest so it stuck to me. She smiled sweetly and patted me a couple of times, tasted her salty sweet palm once more, then she put her head on my shoulder and sighed, musk breath strong but comforting while she snoozed.

Think stuff like that clear across the deep blue sea, continent to continent. Lana is Lana is Lana mile after mile, roller-coaster year after roller-coaster year.

I'm afraid if I cure her, she'll die. if she dies, I'll die. I'm that guy that just loves her exactly as she is.

So, Yvette arrived with the snack cart. Yvette was sensational, French smock and frilly apron notwithstanding, Air France's finest foot forward. Delicious more than the croissants and honey butter she brought.

Of course Yvette fell madly in love and in lust with Lana. Lana got Yvette's cell phone number while I was in the bathroom washing my hands.

"Hire her." Lana didn't wait until Yvette was out of ear shot. "She wants to fuck me - bad. She'll do us both and show us Paris and even go south to Switzerland with us if we like." Lana laughed at her own word choice. "Oh fucking yeah, she'll go south okay!" She patted my dick, then rubbed her cunt vigorously a few times, then laughed out loud. "Send her to The Apple for our New Year's shoot."

I put Yvette's number in my pocket. Lana never missed a rising talent. She was still the hottest of them.

"Yvette flies all this weekend. We're on our own until then. God I feel like getting off! Don't you? Jesus, you're such a fucking rock! Let's do me in the ass in the bathroom when everybody goes to sleep."

Lana is a lust junky. All her friends say she's a diagnosable sex addict. Her business associates and clients say she's a slut.

Lana says she's a diagnosable sex addict, then matter-factly she licks her fingers, and adds that, yeah, she's pretty much a slut, too. Her enemies can't even use that against her because everyone knows she's a slut, and, well, she never denies it.

She never loses a friend. She constantly gains new friends.

She never loses a client. She constantly gains new clients.

She never loses me. She constantly tries to train me into the joys and tribulations of being a diagnosable sex addict. I am a model student, I just get tired easier than she does. I have to run her business.

She believes being in Paris for a week might help.

Adorably oblivious who, or how many whos may call her a slut, Lana sighs a deep, exhausted breath and declares herself a slut on vacation.

* * *

Finally at the charming hotel, I get our bags settled and fill the ice bucket. I find Lana in the bathroom. She is sitting on the plush vanity stool fingering her cunt, teasing her tits, reading a Paris tourist guide magazine, one leg perched on the edge of the garden tub, self-fucking, mesmerized by the sensation of frigging her cunt while the tub fills, steams, and churns just like her raging pussy.

Her eyes droop shut, puffy, tired, her multi-million dollar cherub face is radiant with the child-like innocence I loved from the first instant I saw her -- the last image I'll ever have the second I die, that image I cherished before I ever booked her first interview, or her first photo shoot, or her first national commercial, or the rest.

My heart still skips a beat, and my breath still catches when I see her like this, knowing full well both that this contagious innocence and inner beauty is what is deepest in her driven soul, and that within two hours of first seeing Lana's face in a stationary shop in Greenwich Village, where she was buying Christmas cards for her mother and step-sisters, Lana was fucking me like an infatuated wife on Valentine's day - only in a wrought-iron inset gateway against a massive ornate ceramic planter with bright yellow flowers.

She opens her eyes with a slight startle when she feels me watching her masturbate on the stool. I bring her carefully breathed glass of wine, she takes it gratefully, gives me her "give me a few moments" grin and moves her finger from her cunt to her mouth, winking at me. That's my clue to write for awhile while she gets her arrival-in-France release in the tub.

After five minutes away from her, I get tired of being alone and bring my tiny writing computer and set it on the sink counter.

Lana is now sprawled in the bubble filled garden tub fingering her pussy through soapy suds.

I take off my clothes and settle behind her on the edge of the Paris hotel garden tub. I touch myself rock hard, teasing until the clear thick lube squeezes out. I stroke and squeeze my cock and nestle it in her hair, wrap her hair around me, lovingly bounce my dick off her head a couple of times, glue strands of model hair together like devil horns with clear cum.

I recall how naturally she kept her pussy-rich fingers in my mouth during the flight and I play like I'm Lana, only Lana the guy slut, feeling what it must feel like to nonchalantly do something sexually outrageous using someone else's body for a prop.

I reach down and gently cup her face with my fingers, and let her nestle her cheek into my touch, and feel her sigh contentedly.

I tease myself a droplet of clear cock wetness. I smear it into her open mouth and around her upper lip where she can taste and smell it, just like she fed me throughout the interminable flight. She tastes me with her wine-touched tongue and murmurs approval and keeps relaxing and sipping wine around my fingers.

I mix my taste on her tongue palette, combining me with the wine and her own pussy into her taste, her cunt still coating her lips, still painted into her mouth before she got all soapy.

She lets my thickening wannabe cum gather in her mouth and string down her chin with her unrestrained spit, coating her slender, delectable throat and neck and her quivering tits with my signature sexual lotion that mixes right into her bath.

I cup her face gently from behind with one hand and jack off in long strokes, getting to orgasm quickly, coming as fully as I can, aiming it into her hair. She moans quietly and happily and turns her face to the side, reaching with her tongue, tired eyes still shut, soft smile tugging her pouting lips.

I catch my cum flood with my free hand as it drips through her hair and down her cheek, feeding a little, just a little, into her reaching mouth. I empty what's left into her hair and massage my conditioning cum shampoo into her hair.

Lana revels in her spa treatment and sees this as good a time as any to venture back into her pussy. She eases into her sweeping soapy orgasm, fingering herself deeply, bucking and groaning with each wave of her cum, then settles back exhausted against my legs and the tub pillow, giggling to see how our cum pools in the water like tiny beads of candle wax.

"Very creative, baby. Very nice. Thanks. Write that!"

* * *

Lover's silence for two minutes and seventeen seconds.

"You got Yvette's number, right?"

* * *

To be continued...

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