Lola Takes Flight

Slowly, I fixed the ponytail into place, my fingers moving at a languid pace. With both hands behind my head, my large, full breasts sat even higher on my chest, jutting proudly in the pilot's direction. I felt the tiny, key-shaped charm dangling from the chain on my neck, swaying gently back and forth in the golden valley between my tits.

Finishing the ponytail, I took a deep breath, gently rolling my shoulders back. Then, without looking up, I moved my fingers to the white shoe in front of me, its laces tied into neat, crisscrossing rows. Gingerly, I took hold of each end and pulled, making a show of unraveling the tidy little knot. Then, I looked back up at the pilot.

There was the smug, approving smile. And there was the familiar fire burning inside his bright blue eyes.

With our eyes locked, my pink-tipped fingers pulled the laces tight, retying the knot the deftly from memory. This took only a second, but after I was done, I lingered down on one knee for a just moment longer, looking directly at this older pilot as he looked at me.

Go ahead, my eyes seemed to say. Drink it in, old man. Remember every detail of what I look like, down on my knees for you.

I stood back up, and the old pilot raised his cup of coffee, our eye-contact still unbroken. Ever so slightly, he tipped the cup in my direction. As he did, I gently bit my lower lip, exposing a sliver of the straight, white teeth behind my full, pink lips.

Sorry, captain, I thought to myself. Maybe next flight.

Then, I grabbed the handle of my rolling carryon and turned away from him, putting a little extra swing in my hips as I continued down the corridor without stopping for coffee.

Why bother, I thought to myself. No amount of caffeine could compete with that kind of adrenaline rush.

...

Walking past the baggage claim, I pulled out my phone, texting Marcy to let her know where to pick me up. Then, I began texting Chase.

"Landed at SFO! see you in a few hours," followed by a lipstick kiss emoji.

I knew he would be in flight somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, so I didn't expect a text back right away. But I wanted to give him something to enjoy upon his arrival.

I opened up the camera and held it up, making sure that my boobs were nicely in frame. Then, I bit my lower lip, making a face that was somewhere in between pouty and apologetic. The shutter clicked as I snapped a selfie.

Dropping the picture into my text to Chase, I wrote:

"I did something naughty at the airport this morning. Maybe i'll tell you later"

For effect, I added a purple smiley face emoji with devil horns, followed by two monkey emojis: see no evil and speak no evil. Then, I pressed send.

One of the most attractive, most alpha things about Chase was the fact that he wasn't threatened at all by my kink for teasing other guys. Unlike Jesse, whose insecurities became inflamed when other men hit on me, Chase actually seemed to enjoy watching me with his competition. Why else would he sit at the bar and watch as other men made passes at me while I was working at the nightclub? If it had been Jesse, he would have been hovering near the hostess stand the whole night, too nervous to intervene but still trying to project the fact that we were together.

But Chase had extraordinary confidence, even as it related to a beautiful, desirable younger woman like me. He was so secure in the hold he had on me that when he was at the club, he never got up from the bar until my shift was over and it was time to collect me. He just sat there, sipping expensive whiskey and watching as other men approached me, almost like the owner of a basketball team watching his team play from the comfort of his skybox.

This made me nervous, but in a very good, thrill-seeking kind of way. Because I knew that Chase wasn't just there to claim me at the end of the night. If that was all he wanted, he could have just sent a car for me to meet him at the hotel.

But I knew that wasn't all Chase wanted from me.

You see, for alphas like him, sex is just another competitive arena. For these kinds of men, the thrill is in the challenge, and the more obstacles they have to overcome, the more they ultimately enjoy the spoils of their victory.

Sometimes, the challenge comes from the girl herself. If she is shy or prude, religious or frigid, or perhaps just playing hard to get, then an alpha will relish breaking down these barriers en route to claiming her.

Other times, the challenge comes in the form of other men. The biggest thing that makes sex better with a hot girl has nothing to do with the superior pleasure that her body can provide. It's about the knowledge that many, many other men wanted her, but you're the one who got her. Nothing gets a man's dick as hard as knowing that he won.

This is why Jesse played such an important if unfortunate role in bringing me and Chase together. My body and my looks may have been the first thing that attracted Chase to me, but when he found out that I was dating Jesse, I believe that's when he became infatuated with the idea of fucking me.

This isn't rocket science: we all just want what we can't have. And as I have learned several times over, a hot girl with a boyfriend makes an especially juicy target for a certain type of alpha male. For these kinds of guys, there simply aren't many obstacles more compelling than seducing a girl in a committed relationship.

Because of how we first hooked up--with Chase fucking the life out of me as my boyfriend watched helplessly from the sidelines--Chase knew that I had submissive tendencies, an exhibitionist streak, and a kink for teasing strange men. When you put all of these things together inside my body, what you get is a hot Asian girl with big tits who knows how to put on a show.

So it wasn't hard for me to figure out why Chase came to the club and sat at the bar while I was working. He wanted to see me with his competition. And he wanted me to put on a show for him. So I did.

Fortunately, this wasn't very hard, because as the hostess at an LA nightclub, you're already expected to put on a bit of a show. As a hostess, you are the first person that guests see upon entry, and your main job is to make them feel welcome and get them excited to be there. In most cases, the primary qualifications for this job are a hot body, a winning smile, and an inviting personality.

Flirting with the male patrons isn't explicitly in the job description, but it's something of an unspoken expectation. Men are the ones who spend money at nightclubs, and nothing opens a wallet like a pretty face smiling at you.

Veteran club-goers understand that hostesses, waitresses, and bartenders are hired guns who are there to separate men from their money. For this reason, some guys will try to avoid engaging with us. But for others, we have a special sort of allure: beautiful women who are effectively paid to flirt with you. Most of the time, we won't sleep with you, but it does happen often enough that most men think they have a shot. And we're generally happy to let them keep believing it as long as their credit card is behind the bar.

On a typical Friday or Saturday night, several different guys would approach the hostess stand during my shift. These visits would generally become more frequent after midnight: partly, this was because the men got drunker and hornier as the night wore on. But it was also because, once the club was at capacity, we couldn't let anyone else in until somebody left. And in that lull, some guys inevitably saw an opportunity to make a move on the busty, 22-year-old Asian girl who was suddenly standing very much alone at the hostess stand.

To be honest, most of these passes were pretty weak. These guys would try to make conversation, but the club was loud, and I had an earpiece in to communicate with the bouncer outside. I'd smile, maybe laugh if something seemed like a joke, and then turn them down gently when they asked for my number or what I was doing later.

But some guys were more persistent and aggressive, and this is where I had to be careful. I wanted to put on a good show for Chase, but I couldn't let the guy (or myself) get so worked up that I lost control of the situation.

There were some close calls.

One night, around 1AM, a tall, light-skinned Black guy approached me at the hostess stand. I'd been expecting this: he had looked me up and down twice upon arrival with no subtlety at all. Over the next hour, I'd caught him looking at me several times, using his height to stare at me from the dance floor. Once the club was at capacity and the door traffic died down, I was certain he would make a move.

He had strong cheekbones, smooth skin, and neat, tidy dreadlocks that were tied up behind his head. He had a nose-ring, an eyebrow ring, and several ear piercings, which gave him a Lenny Kravitz kind of vibe. He was very good-looking, and from the way he carried himself, you could tell that he knew it.

If you've read my previous stories, then you know that I have a weird, somewhat checkered history with Black guys. I won't say a lot more about that here--you can read the stories if you want--but I sort of knew that this guy could be trouble.

My premonition was confirmed almost immediately. Because instead of approaching the hostess stand like a normal guest, he walked right around it, positioning himself next to me rather than across from me. Then, he sighed, leaning against the hostess stand as if he were the one killing time in between guests.

"Hi," I said, taking a half-step back from him to reconstitute my personal space. "Can I help you?"

He shrugged, turning his body towards me. He leaned in, speaking into the ear that didn't have an earpiece.

"I'm bored," he sighed, his broad chest deflating with a long exhale. "Tonight's boring."

"I'm sorry?" I said, smiling uncertainly.

"Aren't you bored?" he said. "You look bored."

"I'm working," I smirked.

"Are you?" he said, gesturing with his hand to the empty space around the hostess stand. "You look lonely."

"Do I?" I said, shrugging my shoulders. "I don't feel lonely."

"Then maybe you're just a loner," he said. "Maybe you need a friend."

"I have lots of friends," I said, cocking an eyebrow.

"But none like me," he whispered. He leaned in so close to my ear that his lips grazed my earlobe. "I'm a special kind of friend."

"Oh yeah?" I said, taking another half-step back. I was trying to keep a little space between us, but the hostess stand abutted the wall on one side, and now I was up against it. "What makes you special?"

"I'm a fortune-teller," he smiled, his bright white teeth shining. "I can read palms."

"Shut up," I laughed, rolling my eyes. "No you can't."

"I can," he nodded. "I'll show you."

He reached out, taking hold of my wrist and pulling my hand towards him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, laughing nervously.

"My grandmother was from Trinidad," he said, raising my palm towards his face. "She taught me."

"Yeah, I don't believe in this kind of thing," I replied.

He was holding my wrist in one hand, and I could feel the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against my pulse. With his other hand, he gently spread my fingers apart, fanning them out. I could feel goosebumps forming on the back of my neck.

"That's too bad," he said, looking down at my palm intently. "I thought magic was part of Asian culture."

"Okay," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "You know a lot about Asian culture, do you?"

He kept raising my hand closer to his face, pulling me closer to him inch-by-inch.

"I have some experience," he chuckled.

"Whatever," I said, glancing nervously away from him, my eyes scanning the bar for Chase.

"People think palm reading is all about lines," he said, flipping my hand over so that our palms were touching. "But it's really about the fingers."

"Uh huh," I said distractedly. I'd found Chase, still sitting in the same spot at the bar, sipping his whiskey. I could see him looking at me, watching us, and I was trying to read his eyes from across the room.

"Let me show you," the Black guy whispered.

Then, before I could say anything, he raised my hand to his lips and slipped my middle finger into his mouth.

"Whoaaa," I cried in surprise as my entire digit disappeared into his mouth. "Hey now!"

He glanced up, making direct eye contact with me as his tongue swirled around my finger. I felt my finger press against a small metal ball, which must have been a tongue stud.

"That's enough," I murmured, anxiously trying to pull my hand back. But he was holding my wrist firmly. "C'mon now..."

Slowly, he let me withdraw my finger, his teeth grazing lightly against it as his tongue continued to move in circles around my fingertip. Reflexively, I felt my body tingle, as if his tongue were playing with my clit rather than my fingertip.

I was praying that my black contour dress was dark enough to hide the fact that my nipples had become extremely hard.

"I mean it," I said, trying desperately to reign the situation back under control. "I'm working..."

"Mmmm hmmm," he sighed as my finger emerged from his mouth. "Very tasty."

I pulled my hand away from him, glancing over at Chase.

"I need to work now," I muttered, turning away from him to face the door, as if I expected a guest to appear at any second.

"But don't you want to know your fortune?" he whispered, his right hand moving to my waist. "It's a very good one..."

"Not right now, okay?" I said, placing my left hand flat against the center of his chest. "I need to work..."

"I love your energy," he whispered, his left hand wrapping around my wrist as his right hand moved to the curve of my ass. "You're very blessed, girl..."

I kept glancing over at Chase, who was still watching me intently from his seat at the bar. He could see exactly what this man was doing to me, and that only turned me on even more.

"I have a boyfriend, okay?" I hissed, bracing my right hand against the hostess stand as he squeezed my ass, groping at the hem of my contour dress. "He's--he's here, right now..."

"Come to the bathroom with me," he whispered, pulling my left hand downwards from his chest. "I've got a big fortune for you..."

As he said that, he moved my left hand in between his legs, pushing my palm against his thickening tool.

"Okay, I need you to step back," I whispered, my voice climbing an octave. "Now, please."

I tried pulling my left hand back from between his legs, but he had completely covered it with his own, much larger hand. Instead of letting it go, he closed his fingers over mine, forcing me to press my hand against the shaft of his cock.

I couldn't help but feel where his confidence came from. Because his jeans were sagging well below his waist, the only thing between my hand and his cock was a pair of thin, silk boxers that left little to the imagination. I could feel the blood pumping through his veins as he thickened against my touch.

"You feel that?" he whispered, using my left hand to massage his cock as the fingers of his right hand curled inside the hem of my dress. "I can make you believe in magic..."

I knew then that I wouldn't be able to stop him on my own. I moved my right hand to my earpiece, pressing the button on the side to open up the mic.

"DeShawn, I have a Code Black at reception," I said, trying to keep my voice level, desperate to hide the panic and arousal surging through my body.

"You want Code Black?" the man smiled, pressing my fingers against his cock again. "I can tell..."

"Now, DeShawn," I pleaded, trying to stifle a moan as the hem of my dress begin to creep upwards, exposing the bare curve of my ass. "Please..."

"Copy that," a voice crackled over the speaker.

For the next few seconds, I closed my eyes, trying to stay composed as I waited for our 300-pound bouncer, DeShawn, to burst through the front door.

But even with my eyes closed, I could still feel the huge, strange cock in my left hand. It was throbbing, pulsing, vibrating, so long and thick and alive with need. Instinctively, I wrapped my fingers around it, giving it a gentle squeeze all on my own, feeling its girth.

"Yesss, that's it, girl," he growled, voice thick with hunger. His right hand slipped beneath the hem of my dress as he began to hook his finger inside my thong. "Just bend over now, no one will know..."

"Ohh, HELL FUCKIN NO," I heard DeShawn yell.

I opened my eyes just in time to see DeShawn grab reach across the hostess stand, grab my assailant by the collar, and pull him away from me.

"Let go, man," he cried, swinging his fists as DeShawn dragged him to the ground. "Get the fuck off me off!"

"You done fucked up, playboy," DeShawn said, pulling the man's arm behind him. "You want me to rough him up, Lola?"

"No, no, it's okay," I said, quickly pulling the hem of my dress back down to cover my thong. "He just got carried away."

"See, asshole?" the man snarled at DeShawn, squirming against his armlock. "We were just chatting..."

"Shut the FUCK up," DeShawn said, twisting the arm a little further. Then, he looked up at me. "You sure you good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I nodded, crossing my hands in front of my chest to hide that my nipples were poking lewdly through my dress. "Just get rid of him, okay?"

"With pleasure," DeShawn said, turning the man's body towards the door. "Time to take your light-skinned ass home, bro."

As soon as the two men disappeared through the door, my manager Tom arrived to check on me.

"Are you okay?" he said, his voice full of concern. "Are you sure?"

"It's fine, Tom" I said, trying to crack a little smile. "It's just a drunk guy. Nothing to see."

"Okay," he said, nodding furiously. "Okay. But why don't you take the rest of the night off?"

I looked over to the bar, and when I spotted Chase, he tapped his watch and held up three fingers.

"Sure, thanks," I agreed.

Less than 20 minutes later, I was naked on a hotel bed, my tits bouncing wildly as Chase slammed into me over and over, my primed, soaking wet pussy sliding up and down his magnificent cock. In between moans, I described for Chase everything the man at the club had said to me, everything he had made me do.

When I finally got to the part about how he had wrapped my fingers around his cock, practically forcing me to jerk him off behind the hostess stand, Chase and I both came at the same time, our bodies a single shuddering mass of ecstasy.

Waiting for Marcy outside of the Arrivals terminal at SFO, I found myself thinking once again about that night at the club.

What I didn't tell Chase that night--what I still hadn't told him--was how, in the moment before DeShawn intervened, my fingers had moved with a mind of their own. What I still didn't know, even now, was how much longer I could have held out before the rest of my body followed suit.

I knew that Chase had enjoyed my performance with the handsome, aggressive Black guy, but I wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. Things had very nearly gotten out of hand, yet even as I was being manhandled, Chase had watched without intervening.

If it had been Jesse watching me from the bar, I would have regarded this as classic beta behavior, not so different from how things had played out when Chase himself was the aggressor. But that didn't track with what I knew about Chase.

I wondered if perhaps he had seen the tall, good-looking Black guy as a worthy adversary, a fellow alpha he could respect. Maybe there was some sporting notion of fair play in letting this other man take his best shot at me. If I'd given him my submission, maybe Chase would have simply tipped his cap to the better man.

When I used to tease Jesse, part of what I was doing was testing him, pushing his boundaries to see how far I could go. Maybe now the shoe was on the other foot, and Chase was the one testing me. Maybe Chase wanted to see whether I could hold my own with other men, or whether I would give my body up as soon as another dominant man made a serious run at me. Maybe now I was the one who had something to prove.