Lola Takes Flight

"I should probably--"

"Stay," he said, as if the judgement was final. "I could use the company tonight."

"Okay," I mumbled, slouching down under the water.

"You probably could, too," he smiled. "Since neither of us have dates tonight."

His suit jacket was off now. As he unbuttoned his dress shirt, warning sirens were going off inside my brain, but I just sat there silently, unsure of what to do, listening to the rumble of the hot tub as it filled the night air. Then, he unbuckled his belt.

"Don't you have a suit?" I asked nervously.

"It's down in the laundry room," he laughed. "But then, I thought I'd have the place to myself."

"Shouldn't you go get it?" I whispered, but he didn't seem to hear me.

I bit my lip. He can't. He won't. He wouldn't.

"Don't worry," he chuckled, pulling down his trousers. "This is Napa, not the French Riviera."

Mr. Richards stood up tall, still wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs. I felt a momentary pang of relief. But then, he climbed over the wall of the tub and sat down across from me, his 6'4 frame displacing a tremendous amount of water as he did.

"That's the stuff," he whistled, stretching his arms out along the sides. "Feels so good after a long day, doesn't it?"

I nodded, trying to keep my body hidden underwater without touching any part of Mr. Richards. But his legs were so long that I basically had to kneel in order to keep from rubbing against him.

"Marcy got married tonight," he sighed in disbelief. "Hard to believe my little girl is all grown up."

"Yeah," I agreed. "It is."

"You girls grow up too fast," he said, shaking his head. "You're both beautiful young women now."

I shrugged, not sure how to respond. My heart was beating too quickly.

"Oh, come on, Lola," he said, splashing a little water at me. "You know that boyfriend of yours is one lucky son of a bitch."

"I dunno," I said, looking down into the water. Why was he bringing up Chase again? I could feel a knot forming inside my stomach.

"Okay, c'mon," he said, gesturing with his hand for me to speak up. "I can see something's on your mind, so just come out and say it."

The knot was getting bigger, pushing its way from my stomach up into my chest.

"Mr. Richards, umm--"

"Hank," he said. "We're both adults now. You can call me Hank."

"Mr. Ric--um, Hank?" I said, his first name leaving a funny taste in my mouth. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, sweetheart," he said, folding his thick, hairy arms across his chest. "Tell ol' Hank what's going on."

"Why does Marcy always get everything?" I mumbled.

"How do you mean?" Hank chuckled. "You saying that I spoil her?"

"I mean..."

I started speaking, but trailed off. I didn't really know what I was about to say, or if I should say anything at all.

I waited for Mr. Richards to say something, or to change the subject, but he just sat there, silently staring at me, waiting for me to explain myself.

The knot in my chest wouldn't go away. I raised my fingers to the gold necklace, playing with the key charm nervously.

"Marcy and I... we were always even growing up. But now, she has everything," I said softly. "And I don't have anything."

"Like what, Lola?" he asked.

"Like... everything," I said, still fidgeting with the tiny key. "She's got money, and I don't. She has a great job, and I don't. And now, she has a husband, and I don't."

"You've got a boyfriend," Hank replied, a gleam in his eye.

"Do I?" Slowly, I looked up from the water at Marcy's dad. "Where is he?"

"I see," Hank nodded, stroking his chin with his hand. "You're nervous, aren't you? About what he's getting up to... over there. I guess I would be, too, if I were you."

For almost a minute, we both sat there in silence, steam rising from the water into the night air. Mr. Richards was looking at me intently, his blue eyes staring deeply into my brown ones, and it seemed like he was waiting for something.

Then, I closed my eyes. I felt the knot rising into my throat, and for a second, I feared all that champagne was coming back up.

And in a way, I guess it was, because an unexpected question tumbled out of my mouth.

"Can you tell me what it's like?"

"What?" Hank grunted.

"Being a white guy," I whispered reluctantly, opening my eyes to look at him. "In Asia."

Marcy's dad unfolded his arms, stretching them back over the walls of the tub. I could see a smirk playing across his face.

"You really wanna know?" he said, his deep voice dropping to a low growl.

You're so drunk, Lola, I thought to myself. It's not too late to get up and go back to your room. He's giving you a choice.

I toyed with the tiny gold key, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. I knew the real question that Mr. Richards was asking: Do you really want to open this door?

I'd opened so many forbidden doors for so many men these past few years, but this one--this door, for this particular man--seemed like the most taboo of all. Forget how Marcy had felt about seeing me in this hot tub with her older brother, Tim. This was her father, a man who had watched me grow up, now in his mid-50s. I knew I was crossing a line just by being here, alone with him, my champagne-soaked dress crumpled uselessly on a chair nearby.

"Well," he whispered impatiently, an edge in his voice. "Do you?"

If I opened this door, I knew Marcy could never, ever find out. She would never, ever forgive me, and she shouldn't. My best friend's dad, on her wedding night.

"I... I just--"

Gently, I lifted the key charm out of the water, holding it a few inches in front of my face, watching it glean in the moonlight.

"I just can't stop thinking about it," I whispered, looking at him.

Slowly, I opened my mouth, slipping the little key inside. I closed my lips, wrapping my tongue around the key, feeling its edges, tasting the metal. Two golden strands of thin, braided chain descended past my lips, wrapping around the back of my neck.

Hank's face curled into a brash, hungry smirk. In an instant, I watched as all fatherly pretensions drained from his face. He was just another man now, and he was done pretending not to want what all men want.

"Did Marcy ever tell you why her mom and I split up?" he said, speaking slowly in his low, rumbling register.

"You had an affair," I whispered, closing my eyes. "With your... secretary."

"Eventually, yes," he began. "But that's not how things started."

I felt little ripples across the surface of the hot tub. My eyes were closed, but I could tell Mr. Richards was moving, doing something below the water.

"When she was in elementary school, that's when I started traveling to Asia," he continued. "I'd never been much of a tourist, so my first time there was on a business trip to Singapore. You ever been to Singapore?"

I shook my head.

"It was a British colony, just like Hong Kong. There's a long, complicated history there, but the Brits lost Singapore when the Japanese invaded. They had a plan to retake it, but then we bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the Japanese surrendered. Maybe that's why they started to gravitate towards Americans, because we were really the ones to liberate them."

The sound of Hank's voice wash over me. It was soothing not to think. All I had to do was listen.

"Whatever the reason, they love Americans, and business travelers best of all. Singapore's an expensive city, just like Hong Kong, and business travelers spend money like water."

I felt the water level in the tub change as Hank shifted his position, his huge frame making waves as he moved.

"It started even before I got there, on the flight over," he said, his voice much closer to me now. "Singapore Airlines. My god."

I kept my eyes closed, my hands folded in my lap below the surface of the water.

"The cabin crew was entirely young Asian girls, all around your age. I couldn't believe my eyes. I'd never seen so many beautiful women in one place. All that long, shiny black hair and red lipstick. All those bright, flawless smiles. And their bodies. You could see every curve in those uniforms. Small and tight and tan, like dolls that had come to life."

I was trying to remain still, but my tongue wouldn't stop moving, wrapping itself insistently around the tiny golden key inside my mouth.

"Back then, I still thought of myself as a good husband, the kind of man who would never cheat. But those girls..."

My hands were still folded primly in my lap. But the right hand--the one that I prayed he couldn't see, hidden beneath the left--he begun to stir.

"One of them kept checking on me during the flight. Her name was Mei. At first, I thought that was normal, just good service for a business class passenger. But when she came to check on me, she kept crouching down in the aisle, lowering herself so that she could look up at me. Then I noticed she wasn't doing that for any of the other business passengers, and neither were any of the other girls."

Slowly--ever so slowly--the tip of my right middle finger began to move, vibrating imperceptibly against the sheer fabric of my thong.

"And then, she made some comment about how she had to adjust my headrest. So she leans over the seat, right over me, and her tits are just... right there, in my face, so close that I could smell her perfume."

I felt Mr. Richards slide closer to me along the wall of the tub.

"It's a long flight from SFO, more than 16 hours, so eventually, the cabin gets dark. I think I'm going to sleep, so I close my eyes, but I'm wide-awake. So eventually, I open my eyes and stand up to stretch. There are a few other passengers in business class, but they're all asleep."

I could feel the warmth of Mr. Richards' body as he settled himself next to me.

"So I sit back down, but a few seconds later, Mei appears in the aisle next to me. And then she leans over and says in her sexy little accent, 'It looks like you're having trouble falling asleep, sir. Are you comfortable?'"

Gently, I felt Mr. Richards reach his arm around the back of my seat. Now, his arm was sitting on the wall behind me, perched above my shoulders.

"I said yes, but she says, 'Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable?' And I looked at her, and she was so fucking young and gorgeous, just like you. So I nodded, not knowing what was going to happen next."

My breathing had become so shallow now. I was hanging on his every word, my clit throbbing against my finger through my thong.

"So she kneels down, and my heart starts to pound, because I've never cheated on Debra before. There's plenty of leg room in business class, especially in those days, so I watch as she crawls in between my legs."

"Oh god," I whispered.

"I'm looking around at the other passengers, wondering if anyone sees us. But then I look down at her, and the way she's looking up at me, I can't take my eyes off her."

I felt Mr. Richards reach into the water and take hold of my left wrist, gently lifting it from my lap.

"Don't," I murmured, resisting, my eyes still closed. "Please don't."

"Let me watch," he whispers. "And I'll keep talking."

Reluctantly, I relaxed my arm, letting him lift my left hand, revealing the shameful, furtive movements of my right.

"Keep--keep talking," I moaned softly, too far gone to stop what I was doing.

"As I'm looking down at her, she picks up the blanket in the empty seat next to me, and she spreads it over my chair. Then, she reaches underneath it, and she starts to touch me."

"Ohh Jesus," I moaned. He moved my left hand gently through the water, guiding it between his legs.

"She's rubbing me through my suit pants, and I'm so hard, the blood just drains from my head. I can't remember my wife or my family or my name. My whole world is her pretty Asian face smiling up at me, and her hands on my cock. And then, she unzips my pants, and she pulls it out."

As he said this, my left hand finally arrived at its destination, and I realized that he had taken off his boxers.

"Ohhhhh fuuuuck," I moan, my mouth opening wide, my necklace spilling out into the water.

"She made the same face," he whispered. "But yours is even prettier."

I shut my eyes even more tightly, turning my face away from him, desperate not to see that my pink-tipped fingers were now wrapped around this old man's cock.

"She used two hands on me, but I see one of yours is a bit busy," he laughed wickedly.

I couldn't look. If I kept my eyes closed, I could pretend that I wasn't in my underwear, playing with my pussy in a hot tub next to Marcy's dad. I could pretend that he wasn't completely naked and fully erect beside me. And I could pretend that my hand wasn't gliding gently up and down his shaft, slowly jacking him off as he whispered in my ear.

"Her hands were so fucking soft," he whispered. "But her lips looked even softer."

I was shaking my head, trying to deny the reality of what was happening.

"And I could tell she wanted to see what was underneath the blanket, so I lifted it up," he breathed. "Open your eyes, Lola..."

"No, no," I murmured, looking away. "Don't make me."

He cupped his huge hand beneath my chin, turning my head to face him.

"I knew she wanted to see it," he whispered. "And so do you."

As I opened my eyes, Mr. Richards stood up in the hot tub. As his huge, heavy body rose out of the water, I found myself face to face with a reality I so badly wanted to deny.

I was in my bra and thong, kneeling in the hot tub as my best friend's dad towered above me, fully naked and menacingly erect, my hand wrapped around the base of the oldest, thickest cock I'd ever seen.

For a second, I just stood there staring, stunned by the mere fact of it. This was a man I had known since childhood, but I'd known him as Marcy's father, never as a man. Now, the very proof of his manhood was inches from my face, throbbing as I stroked it.

"The sorority girls back in college used to call me 'Hank the Tank,'" he gloated, his voice dripping with arrogance.

His cock was about average length, perhaps six inches or so, unimpressive by my own size queen standards. But his girth was unlike anything I'd ever seen, as thick as my forearm and girded with veins, each bulging as it supplied the incredible amount of blood required to inflate the soda can that had risen between his legs. Despite the thatch of dense, untamed gray hair that encircled it, his erection was so magnificently hard that it seemed to belong to a younger man. He was uncut, and as my dainty fingers moved up and down his shaft, the loose skin moved in tandem with my hand.

"She used two hands, honey," he reminded me.

"But I need to cum," I murmured, my other hand still moving in circles around my clit.

"Not yet," he said, his voice suddenly stern.

"But I'm so close," I whined, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I need it..."

"You don't cum until I tell you to cum," he growled. "Understood?"

Reluctantly, I raised my right hand, cupping his heavy, distended balls. Then, I started to massage them, pleasuring him with both hands just like the slutty Asian flight attendant in his story.

"That's it," he sighed approvingly. "You're good at this, aren't you?"

I looked up, eyes wet with shame, and gave him a pliant, guilty nod.

"So then you already know," he smiled smugly, "what happened next."

He reached his huge hand behind my head, gathering a fistful of my long, black hair.

"Was she good?" I asked softly, licking my lips, getting myself ready for him.

"Oh yeah," he grinned, pulling my head forward. "But I bet you're even better."

As my face moved towards his cock, my mind was crowded with questions. Was his story about the Asian flight attendant really true? Why did she act like such a slut for him back then? Why was I being such a slut for him now?

But there was no more time to answer these questions, because suddenly the tip of his cock was pressed against my soft, pink lips, demanding entry. And then, for reasons I couldn't entirely understand, I parted my lips for him, allowing my best friend's dad to slide his 50-year-old cock into my 22-year-old mouth.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh fuck yesssss," he moaned, reveling in the sweetness of my acquiescence. "Suck my dick with that pretty young mouth..."

With shamefully little resistance, my drunken instincts for sucking cock kicked in. I began to bob my head on his tool, slowly opening my throat to take him deeper. With my left hand, I continued to squeeze the base of his shaft, my dainty fingers surrounded by coarse, gray pubes. With my right, I continued to massaged his old man balls, feeling the heaviness of the load they carried.

"God," he sighed in disbelief. "You're an even better cocksucker than she was..."

Even as drunk as I was, I knew I shouldn't have let this happen, that what I was doing to Marcy was unforgivable. But it was happening... and she never had to find out.

With my throat now open, I quickened my pace, removing my hand from around the base of his cock so I could take him the all way.

"Jesus--Jesus fucking Christ," he moaned. "You--you've done this a lot, haven't you?"

"Mmhmm," I moaned softly, slowing my pace just a little.

"Who was it?" he moaned. I shrugged.

"Frat boys?" he snarled, looking down at me. "You suck a lot of frat boy cock at college?"

"Nnnhnnn," I shook my head innocently, mouth still full of cock.

"Football players, then?"

"Hmmhm," I nodded.

"Fucking jocks, huh?" he moaned. "I bet they broke you in, didn't they?"

"Mmhm," I nodded, focused on the task of pleasing him.

"What about--what about men?" he grunted, releasing my hair, letting me control the pace. "Older men."

I shrugged my shoulders again.

"It was, wasn't it?" he smiled. "I knew I couldn't be the first."

"Nnnhnn," I shook my head.

"Some--some grad student?"

"Nnnhnn"

"Who then?!" he demanded. "A coach? Professor?"

"Both," I whispered, taking my mouth off of his cock only long enough to speak the word.

"Holy shit, you--you fucked your professor?"

"Nnnhnn," I shook my head, remembering how he had taken advantage of me.

"Don't lie to me," he snarled. "You fucked him, didn't you?"

"No," I whispered, taking my mouth off of him again. "But he fucked me."

Suddenly, he bent down, reaching into the water to get me. Sweeping one arm under my leg and the other behind my back, he lifted me out of the water and hoisting me against his chest.

"Put me down, old man," I said. "I'm a grown woman, remember?"

He cocked his head at me, then nodded, setting me down on the edge of the hot tub with my legs on the other side.

I scooted off the edge of the tub and onto the balcony. Slowly, I walked back towards the sliding glass door.

Entering the master bedroom, I walked straight towards the door, my wet feet leaving damp spots on the carpet.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mr. Richards called from behind me.

I turned around. He was on the balcony, leaning against the doorframe, his cock pointing at me from across the room.

"You know," I said softly. "You really just should have let me finish."

He cocked at his head at me, stepping into the room.

"We were caught up in the moment," I shook my head. "I could have lived with that. You found me in the hot tub, I was drunk, Chase wasn't here, one thing led to another... and I sucked your dick. I could have lived with that."

He folded his arms across his chest.

"But now... now it's a choice," I said, folding my own arms in front of my tits.

"Are you done?" he said, walking into the room.

"You had to ask all those questions," I said, a twinge of frustration in my voice. "I was gonna let you cum down my throat, but you had to know whose dick I sucked or which guys I've fucked. Who does every guy want to know who else I've been with?"

"Because it's obvious that it turns you on," he said, moving towards me. "Talking about being a slut."