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Onstage, The Amazin’ Sex BDSM Club, New York

He clipped a silver chain leash to her collar, then said, “Heel!”

She dropped to her hands and knees, and shuffled after him as he walked slowly onstage. She was naked except for her collar and the leather restraints on her ankles and wrists.

As she shuffled past the curtains stage-left, she saw, or rather, felt, the hundreds of people in the audience. The spotlights hit them, and the audience roared its approval. Marta’s heart was pounding in her chest, and she was having great difficulty breathing. Her tits wobbled in the spotlight as she shuffled onstage on her hands and knees, head down, blushing furiously. She had never been so humiliated…or so wet…without even being touched.

She was going to suck his cock, onstage, with hundreds of people watching.

~~~~~

James, Two Weeks Earlier

Once again, I woke to sunlight streaming through my windows, but this time I was alone in bed. I got up, used the bathroom, grabbed a robe from the back of the door, and went to find my two strays.

I found them in the living room, cuddling. Marta was holding Sammi’s head against her upper chest, and was smoothing her hair, murmuring soothing words to her. Sammi was quietly sobbing.

I quirked an eyebrow at Marta, and she nodded to Sammi’s other side, so I sat down, and placed my hand on Sammi’s shoulder.

“What’s up, Little Girl? Are you okay?”

Sammi, stopped sobbing, lifted her head, tears fogging her eyes, and tried to smile at me. “I’m so sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean to…”

“Hush now, woman. Whatever you need, and whatever we can do to help, we’ll do. But first we need to know what the problem is. It’s your parents, isn’t it, Sammi?”

Tears started streaming down her face again, and her faux smile collapsed into crying again, “It’s…it’s my Mom! I’m mad as hell at her, but I miss her, too! She’s always been on my side before.” And she buried her head in Marta’s chest again.

I looked quizzically at Marta. She shrugged, then said, “It’s okay, dear. Cry. It helps…I know.” And she continued to smooth Sammi’s hair.

I moved over so that my body was pressed against hers, then started to synchronize my breathing with hers, gradually feeling her sobbing slow as I slowed my breathing. I was using a simple technique from Neuro-Linguistic Programming to help her calm down by synching her body’s behavior with mine.

Once she was calmer, I sat up again, and said, “Tell you what, kiddo…let’s get some food in you, get your blood sugar up, and then we’ll talk about what we can do. We’ll figure something, I promise.”

She wiped her eyes on the back of her hands, smiled at me again, a better smile this time, and nodded.

~~~~~

We sat with the residue of breakfast around us – I’d made simple cheese omelettes with green onions, plus English muffins with preserves, slices of cold ham, broiled tomato halves, coffee for Marta and me, and herbal tea for Sammi.

“Sammi, would you like us to talk to your mother?” I began.

She looked uncertain, started to nod, then stopped. “I…I don’t know. I’ve never had a problem with Mom before. I…I don’t know what to do!”

“Well…” I started, then heard a strange noise.

Sammi jumped up. “Oh! My phone!” and dashed out of the room.

We heard her answer, and she eventually walked slowly back into the kitchen. Most of what she said was “Uh-huh,” “OK” and similar remarks, then ended with “Only if Marta and James come with me!” She listened further, then finally ended with “Okay.”

When she ended the call, she looked at us, and said, “That was Dad. He asked if I would come upstairs to talk with him and Mom. You heard me say that I’d only go if you two could come with me. He said that might be better.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! I didn’t think…would you please come with me, Marta and…and Sir?”

I smiled, “If that’s what you want, then of course we will. But it might be better if you called me ‘James’ for now, okay?”

And that’s how, about half an hour later, we wound up in the Fleming’s apartment, seated around their kitchen table, all five of us.

Sandy Fleming, Sammi’s father, gave us coffee while Sammi got herself a can of soda from the fridge, and sat down next to Marta.

Janet, Sammi’s mother, was seated next to her husband, and across from Sammi and Marta. I had, somehow, found myself at the head of the table…not the position I would have chosen. I had to fight the impulse to bring the meeting to order.

Sandy cleared his throat, “Uh…I think your mother has something to say, Sammi.”

Janet looked down at the table, then up at Marta, avoiding my eye. “I…I’m sorry to you both. I was worried about what you might be doing to Sammi. I can see by the way she’s behaving towards you both that I was mistaken. I…apologize.”

Marta reached across the table, and took the older woman’s hand. “We understand. You were concerned…and rightly so!…about what two strangers might be doing with your child.”

I decided I had to speak up. “Except she’s not a child, Janet. She may be somewhat inexperienced – after all, she’s only seventeen – yet, she does not comport herself like a child, but rather as a self-confident woman.”

Janet looked at me, and I could see she still had mixed feelings about me.

“Janet, you have no reason to trust me, but let me offer you logic instead of trust. What would impel us to be here if we had nefarious designs on your daughter? If it comes to that, why would either of us bother? If I’m the louche rake you think I am, why would I bother with a seventeen-year-old girl instead of the bevy of beauties who would willingly throw themselves at me…or rather, my money.

“In fact, the only reason we are involved with your daughter at all is that she approached us. She is a charming, delightful, and remarkably worldly young woman whose company we have come to truly enjoy.

“But for my final argument: do you trust your daughter’s judgement?”

Janet continued to avoid my eyes, but nodded. “Yes, she’s a very level-headed girl – I mean woman – even if she does seem to have a voracious appetite for sex.”

Sandy drew back to look at his wife, and remarked, “Now, I wonder where she gets that from?”

Sammi looked at her father, then broke into giggles, which she tried – unsuccessfully – to smother with her hand. He soon joined her.

Janet looked crossly at both of them, then finally she broke down and started giggling, too.

Marta and I smiled at each other, then shrugged.

Janet finally looked at me, and asked, “Are you really that rich? You don’t look like it.”

I shrugged, “Well, if you mean I’m not flashing status symbols, it’s partially because I’ve been there and done that, and finally found it intensely trivial.”

I glanced at Marta, who smiled back at me, “I also found that the real riches in life lie in the ability to get things done, to love people…and especially, to learn things. That’s the reason I moved here…I wanted to study with the world’s leading authority on quantum mechanics: my financée, Dr. Marta Rabinovich. This was the only way I could figure to get close enough to her to ask. I just didn’t expect to fall in love with her.”

She leaned over and kissed me, then rubbed her nose against mine.

Sammi was looking much happier now, so piped up, “So, when are you getting married?”

Janet looked embarrassed, “Sammi! Stop it!”

I smiled, “No, Sammi’s right…I need to tie her down before she smartens up.”

Marta leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You can tie me up any time you want…my Lord!” And giggled.

“Stop it!” I whispered back.

“Or what?” she replied, looking at me through her lashes, with a cat-gets-the-cream look.

I ignored her and turned back to the others, “Which is why I’m going to suggest to my fiancée that we fly down to Costa Rica a week from Friday and get married on the beach. Would you all like to come with us? My treat. I can afford it, as Janet has so kindly pointed out.”

That nicely changed the subject, and the conversation turned to whether they could, or should, or would come with us, with Sammi arguing vociferously that they just had to, Janet saying they couldn’t possibly, and Sandy, after being quiet for a bit, coming out in support of Sammi’s position.

Meanwhile, Marta turned to me and whispered, “That’s a lovely idea, but you might have asked me! How am I going to find time to get a dress?”

I looked at her, “But that’s all part of my cunning plan! You can get married in a bikini – and the bonus is that there won’t be as much for me to take off!”

She sat back, a smoldering look in her eyes, and said, “And where’s the fun in that!” Her smile broadened.

“I know that look,” I said. “You’re plotting something, aren’t you?”

She smirked at me, and kept quiet for a time, then said gave me a slow smile and said, “Maybe…”

~~~~~

We didn’t manage to get to Costa Rica for almost a month after that for a variety of reasons, not least people re-organizing their schedules. By then, the worst of Winter was past us, and everyone was looking forward to a warm weather breather, so the wedding seemed like a happy excuse to have an early Spring break.

Except to Marta and me, of course, for whom the trip was primarily about getting married. Yet, Marta was actually part of the reason we had to delay. She insisted she had to fulfill her promise before she would marry me.

I had edged Marta in the movie theatre until she begged to be allowed to cum, and promised to do anything that I wanted if I would let her. I had responded with a long-time fantasy of mine: “I’ve always wanted a beautiful, brilliant woman to kneel, stark naked, hands bound behind her, with my cock deep down her throat, gagging her, on stage while hundreds of people watch her being humiliated.”

She had agreed. I hadn’t really been serious, partly because I didn’t ever expect it to happen. But when I proposed marriage, she accepted on two conditions, first that she would become my wife only if she could also be my slave, permanently, and second that she be allowed to fulfill that promise – and any other fantasies I might have.

So, now I had to find a way to make that fantasy happen.

Fortunately, from my earlier, more adventurous days, I knew someone in New York City who was a name in the BDSM scene. After some back-and-forth, the arrangements were set.

~~~~~~

Marta

I was so scared I could barely breathe, and yet my pussy lips are so slick that I was dripping on the stage. I was standing in the wings of a stage at The Amazin’ Sex Club in New York City, waiting to be led onstage by my Lord, then humiliated in front of the hundreds of people in the audience – as I had promised.

I was wearing quite a bit of make-up to disguise me, plus a beautiful, long-haired, red wig, and had shaved and waxed my mound so that people couldn’t compare my drapes with the carpet. Other than that, I was naked except for my leather collar, wrist, and ankle cuffs.

I was standing next to Sir, listening to, but not really hearing, us being introduced by the MC at the Club’s Saturday night Munch show. I heard the audience break into applause, and knew it was time.

Sir turned to me, clipped a silver, chain leash to my collar, then said, “Heel.” I drop to my hands and knees, looked down, and shuffled onstage behind him as he walked out to take the microphone from the MC.

As I shuffled past the curtain at stage-left, the spotlight hit me like a blow, and I heard a roar, but didn’t look up. I felt my tits both wobble and tighten as Sir pulled on my leash, urging me to the center of the stage, and I shuffled faster. When I got to center stage, he commanded me to “Sit!”

I sat up on my knees, hands on my thighs, looking up at him expectantly.

“There’s a tag on your collar. Tell these people what it says.” He holds the mike down to my mouth.

I glanced up at his eyes, but they are cold and distant. We hadn’t talked about this, yet I had no choice. I tried to speak, but found my mouth too dry. I swallowed hard, and whispered, “It says ‘I’m a slut, a…a cunt, and a…cocksucker,’ Sir.”

“And are you?”

I nod, “Yes, Sir.” My words trail off, and I’m sure my face is beet red. I’m so embarrassed. I had not expected to have to say anything! This is agony, especially as I hate speaking in front of crowds, even at scientific conferences!

“And are you going to prove that to the people here, watching you?”

I nod again, but am unable to speak, and look down to hide my face behind the red hair of my wig.

“Alright, then prove to us that you really are a cocksucker, slut.” He puts the mike into the mike stand next to him, then turns back to me, and unzips his fly.

His voice was cruel, yet my cunt is, if anything, even wetter than it was. I feel sure the audience can see my need as I can feel my juices dripping onto the stage between my legs, and wonder why being humiliated like this excites me so, especially as I hate being in the spotlight.

I reach up and fish his cock out of his pants. He wore boxers with a big slit today specifically to make this easy, and as he is already almost fully erect, his cock almost springs out of his pants towards me.

I find myself entranced once again. I don’t know why, but I have come to adore his cock, to hunger after it. That first night, when he first forced his cock down my throat, I felt only disdain, dismissing it as a typical male fuck-fantasy.

But as I have come to love and worship him as my Lord, so, too, have I come to adore sucking his cock, and feeling it forced down my throat. I have even dreamed about it when alone, and woken up wet and yearning.

I cradle it in my hands, and nuzzle it against my face, getting pre-cum around my cheeks and lips. Then I hold it up, lick my lips, and slowly, gently run my tongue from bottom to top of the tip, then kiss it.

The audience has vanished as far as I’m concerned now. It’s just me and my Lord, and another opportunity to worship him, to take him into my mouth. I have told him, truthfully, that I consider my mouth to be the proper home for his cock, where it belongs.

I open my lips, and breathe hot breath on him, and am rewarded by seeing him shiver. I slowly start to take him into my mouth, feeling the rumpled surface of the frenulum with my tongue, while my upper lips trace their way along the helmet of his cut form. I stop when I have all of his cockhead between my lips, and take time to run my tongue all around it.

My feelings are all muddled up. I have come to love the taste of his pre-cum and cum, and the feel of him on my tongue and lips. Yet, there is also a part of me that exults, as if feeling powerful and in control of him, to have him vulnerable between my teeth, to be able to bite his cock right off if I really wanted to, but not ever to wish it.

But more than anything else, it is the power of being able to control his bliss that makes this such a thrill to me, to be able to pleasure the man I have come to love. The ability to give him what is clearly an incredible thrill for him. It has turned what was originally a chore into an ecstatic joy for me. It has become almost a religious experience for me, and I sometimes find myself close to climaxing when he cums in my mouth.

And so I start to move my head down and up, taking him gradually deeper and deeper into my throat, and feel my excitement rise along with his. Finally, I let his cock reach the back of my throat, and stop there, suppressing the gag reflex until I can’t any more, then feel my gorge rise as I retch. I pull myself back, breathe deeply…then feel him take charge of me.

He bends over me, and pulls my hands together behind me without even token resistance, then clips the restraints together. I am helpless now to stop him from choking me…and wouldn’t want to, even if I could.

He straightens up, and places both hands on the back of my head. Knowing what’s coming, I take a big breath in, then feel him shove himself deep into my throat.

There is no suppressing my gag reflex this time. The thrust is too fast, and too hard, and I gag immediately, then cough, then retch slightly, then gag again. He holds me there, forcing me to gag continuously on his cock. My body convulses slightly when my abdomen tenses as my throat and stomach rebel. The revulsion is strong, the discomfort pronounced…and I find myself craving it!

Finally, when I start to feel the beginnings of panic at not being able to breathe, he pulls back. He holds my head firmly so I cannot remove his cock from my mouth, even if I wanted to. I open my mouth wide so I can breathe around his cock, then take another big gulp of air as I feel his hands tense, and know he’s going to force his way back down my throat.

Reflexively, my hands try to separate, to defend myself, but they are trapped. I am helpless, a slave, a willing receptacle for his abuse. I have no choice but to accept his cock as it shoves its way back into me, again gagging me, and making me cough and retch. He holds me hard with one hand, while with the other he now strokes my cheek, a strange disconnect between violence literally on one hand, and love on the other.

Then once again, he releases me, and guides my head back off of his dick, but only just so far. I gulp air in again around his cockhead, and once again he forces his way back down my throat, and I gag and cough.

Now, though, he doesn’t hold me, but starts slowly fucking my face, making sure to gag me each time he goes deep, holding there for a second or two before pulling back so just his cockhead is in my mouth, then back deep again. I clench my lips around his girth.

I hear the disgusting “ulk!” sound I make each time his cock makes me retch, plus the squelching noises his cock makes as he slides in and out, a spurt of saliva being forced out of a corner of my mouth, and dripping onto my tits. All of this only adds to my defilement and excitement. I become again aware of the audience, their growing excitement as they witness my debasement, my degradation, my humiliation.

He is working in a steady rhythm now, and is fucking my mouth faster and faster. I feel his balls tense as they slap my chin, and the turgid shaft working my mouth getting harder. He will cum soon, I know, and I must swallow all of it, or be punished by being made to do it all over again.

And now I can feel his cock coil, as if it is tensing to spring – then suddenly it explodes in my mouth, pulsing warm, salty, wonderful cum over my tongue, into my throat, and down into my stomach. I gag once on the initial surge, then swallow quickly, sucking hard to keep it inside me, desperate to hold it all in, and not lose a single drop. Unwittingly, I try to separate my arms, but again they are stymied, and I feel trapped, chained into a position of subservience, a slut whose only purpose is to swallow his cum.

And for the first time ever while sucking him off, I cum. It’s not a massive or dramatic orgasm, but one constrained by my imprisonment. Yet my body shudders, I moan deeply around his member, and my skin flushes hot. I doubt anyone other than my Lord notices, but I know he does.

Finally, he is done. He folds over my head, and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you,” he whispers in my ear. “You are an incredible slut, and I am so lucky to have you! Thank you for making my fantasy cum true.”

I tighten my mouth around his cock and swallow to let him feel my appreciation, but also to emphasize my own degradation and readiness to submit, to be his willing – and loving – slave. His slut.

Applause breaks out, and the audience cheers. I have fulfilled my promise, and am willing to marry him now.

~~~~~~

James

I managed to persuade Margrit and Carl to take time off from work and come with us, and asked Margrit to stand up for me as my Best Gal, with Carl as my sides-guy. Since they were the only real family I have, they were the only ones invited on my side – although Margrit suggested that we also bring Thesea, she of the olive skin and ringlet hair. I was happy to ask her along, partially because I owed her for stepping in to help Marta, and partly because I knew how good a bodyguard she is. Despite her apparent diminutive size, she is…legendary.

Marta didn’t have any family she wanted to invite, either, but asked Sammi to be her Maid of Honor, and Janet to give her away. I thought that showed great class…and subtle diplomacy. Sandy was invited to join his wife and daughter.  

An ironic note to the whole thing: Sandy told me that he and Janet had pretty much fallen out of the habit of having sex when Sammi reached the stage of going to bed after they did, and he was hoping to re-start their romance on this trip. He also muttered something about “bringing the toys,” but wouldn’t elaborate – and I didn’t push the issue.

Yet, I was getting a strange vibe from Sandy and wife Janet, a Dom and sub kind of vibe, but perhaps with the roles reversed from Marta and me. I was starting to see hot glances and grins flow between Janet and Sandy, and hoped this trip might repair some of the discord between us. Maybe it would help them both to get their rocks off without a teenager underfoot.

There was one almost-sticking point in the whole process: Janet insisted that she and Sandy pay for the three members of her family. I finally allowed her to pay for the suite I’d reserved for her and Sandy, but Sammi got her own room…and, as it just so happened, it was located between her parents and the bridal suite that Marta and I had reserved. Sammi’s room was included in the price of our suite as part of a Wedding Special package that I had invented, and which I lied about so Sammi didn’t need to pay for her room.

What Janet didn’t know…then…was that there was a connecting door between Sammi’s room and ours that could be locked from either side. Not that I expected it would be locked on either side after our first honeymoon night!

As for the airfare…I pointed out that I owned a fractional share of a series of jets to keep me out of public airports and off airlines when I traveled. What’s more, I was at risk of forfeiting my fees for the many months I hadn't been using them.

As a result, I told them that the net cost to me of flying all seven of us down to Costa Rica was effectively zero, which was almost true – if you didn’t count fuel and various similar sundries. I told Janet that she could, if she wanted, pay me their proportion of zero.

She snorted, and I had a feeling the matter was not settled in her mind. Well, we’d burn that bridge when we got to it. At any rate, all the arrangements were finally made, and the departure day finally rolled around.

Janet asked what time they needed to be at the airport for our flight. I asked what time she’d like to leave. She looked confused, then the penny dropped.

“Private aircraft. The pilots won’t leave without us,” I said, working hard not to smile. That earned me yet another dirty look…which was fine with me. But I’d watch myself walking through doors when she was around.

On departure day, I had limos pick everyone up, and we arrived at the private terminal of Teterboro at 9 a.m. Our luggage was transferred quickly, and everyone, even Janet, seemed excited to climb into the private jet…a Bombardier Global 6500 aircraft. It had room for 17 people, was wide-bodied, and a range of 6,600 miles – easily enough to get us to Costa Rica’s Pacific coast, where our resort was.

Everyone oohh’d and aahh’d over the interior – I’d upgraded the plane as I wanted it to be luxurious instead of business-like – and Sammi kept moving excitedly from seat to seat, trying to figure out which one gave the best view from the windows.

Marta and I picked seats near the front, and sat next to each other, holding hands. Sammi finally settled on a seat across the aisle from us.

As the plane was taxiing for take-off, Marta leaned over and whispered, “You know, I’ve never had the opportunity to join the Mile High Club. May I apply for membership here?”

I thought for a moment, then whispered back, “I’m sure we could work something out…or in…but you might find it rather cramped in the restroom. Why, I’m not sure even you could get your knickers off in there!”

She smiled at me and said, “What knickers?”

My eyes widened, then I smiled back, and said, “Why Dr. Rabinovich! I’m shocked…and delighted. We’ll accept your application at the first opportunity.” I smirked at her. “As it happens, I’ve asked the captain to let us know when we’re officially more than one mile high…”

She giggled, and put her head against mine, then whispered, “I can’t wait…”

I looked across the aisle, and saw Sammi grinning at both of us. She must have guessed or overheard what we were talking about because she leaned across the aisle, pointed to herself and whispered, “Me too!”

I just shook my head, then said as quietly as I could, “Maybe on the way home!”

She pouted, winked at me and wriggled, then turned to look out the window again.

After about fifteen minutes after take-off, the captain turned off the seatbelt sign and announced, “Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen, and congratulations to the soon-to-be-weds! This is your pilot, Captain Jenny Ramirez, with First Officer Maria Sanchez and Flight Attendant Melisa Smith. We should have a smooth flight most of the way to San José, capital of Costa Rica. Our flying time will be just under five hours, so sit back, relax and…have fun. We’re just passing an altitude of one mile above sea level.” And the intercom clicked off.

Marta looked at me and giggled. Melisa came over to us, bearing a tray with two glasses of champagne. “Compliments of the flight crew, Mr. Gainsborough!” We each took a glass, thanked her, then clinked and took a sip.

But we both held each other’s eyes, and quickly put our glasses down in the cup holders, stood up, and made our way to the plane’s only restroom.

Not daring to look at the others, Marta opened the restroom door and slipped inside. I followed her, then turned to look around the cabin.

Janet had a sour look on her face, while Sandy was smirking at me. Carl had his seat reclined, and was asleep, but Margrit looked at me with a small smile on her face, then nodded and winked. Thesea looked at us calmly, then I saw a small smile quirk at the corners of her mouth. She winked at me, too, which surprised me.

Sammi couldn’t contain herself, and shouted out, “Have fun, kids!” and laughed.

I smiled back at her, then winked at Janet…and went in.

Only to find my bride-to-be completely naked except for her collar, and on her knees in the relatively spacious restroom of this admittedly luxurious jet. She reached for my zipper, and fished out my cock.

“I think your cock needs to be warmed up before it finds its way into my cunt. Don’t you?” And she opened her mouth, and slid me into her throat.

After an initial repeat performance of our recent – and only – smash hit stage appearance, Marta stood, turned, and put her hands on the edge of the sink, bending over and spreading her legs as wide as the restroom allowed.

She turned her head towards me, smiled, and said, “Fuck me hard, please, my Lord. I don’t want anyone to have any doubts about my qualifications for membership in the Mile High Club!”

So I did. Being inside her hot, slick, and willing cunt felt so good, and being on an airplane, and knowing that the people in the cabin knew what we were up to added a certain something to the experience.

As my excitement rose, so too did my desire to dominate and humiliate Marta, so I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to face herself in the restroom mirror.

“Tell me what you are,” I demanded.

Her eyes glazed with lust, she straightened her arms so her tits were visible in the mirror, jiggling as I porked her from behind.

“I’m a slut, a cunt, and a cocksucker.”

“Again, keep repeating it, slut!”

“I’m…I’m a slut…” She was having trouble concentrating, and I could tell that her cunt was interfering with her ability to think – as it was mine.

Then she giggled and said, “I’m a slut, I’m a slut, I’m a slut, slut, slut…”

That was…strange. I recognized the pattern, but couldn’t quite place it.

“I’m a slut, I’m a slut, I’m a slut, slut, slut…”

Then I got it! It was the William Tell Overture – perhaps better known as the theme song from the old TV series, The Lone Ranger!

I almost lost it, but held still, and started doing a horse gallop, slapping my hands together, then slapping her buttocks.

We kept that up, her saying, “I’m a slut, I’m a slut, I’m a slut, slut, slut…”, and me making horse gallop sounds, until we both lost it, and collapsed on the floor, laughing helplessly, and hugging each other.

When  our laughter finally slowed down, I said, “So much for being a big, bad Dom!”

And that started us off again.

When we finally stopped laughing, we wiped our eyes, hugged and cuddled together, with me holding her, naked, in my arms, feeling the loving bond between us.

She looked back at me. “I still want to join the Mile High Club…Sir.”

I leaned down and kissed her, then moved her so I could get up. I seated myself on the closed toilet, then motioned for her to sit facing me. She smiled, spread her legs, and maneuvered her pussy so that I fit into her as she sat. When I was firmly seated inside her, she wrapped her legs behind me, and held her arms around me.

Rather than try to move up and down, I started leaning forward and back, so that my cock was slipping in and out of her, but much more gently than if we had been going up and down.

I leaned up and kissed her, and she opened her mouth to me, curling her hands in my hair. It was, in the words of The Princess Bride, one of the five most passionate, most pure kisses since the invention of the kiss, and before long, we both felt each other cumming, and reached the goal together – something that hardly ever happens in real life.

We sat, joined as one for some time after that, until we heard a light knock at the door. “James? Sir? Dad needs to use the restroom,” said Sammi.

Marta and I looked at each other, giggled, then disentangled. Marta took her dress from the hook on the back of the door, shimmied into it, then smoothed it into place, slipped her sandals on, then nodded to me.

I opened the door, and we walked out, returning to our seats.

Sammi was standing to one side of the restroom door, smirking at us. Marta quickly moved to her seat, and buried her face in a magazine. I gave Sammi a bland, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth look, then winked, picked up my briefcase, and fished out my laptop.

Sandy got up from his seat, and made his way to the restroom, closing the door quietly behind him, not looking at us.

I glanced over at Margrit. She grinned at me, and skinned one index finger over the other at me in the universal “shame on you!” sign.

I didn’t dare look at Janet, but buried myself in my laptop.

It was one of the best flights of my life!